#N MAKE ALL THE OTHER CHARACTERS THE SCARLET UNITS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

elane-in-the-shadows · 2 years ago

Text

Red Queen Fan Fiction - Off-Duty

February 2nd - Happy Birthday, Shade Barrow

A/N: This year, not fun edit-making but the finalization of the fic of pure self indulgence I laboured in love for 7 months. It was a marvellous joy, based on two old shit posts of mine (x y) I now offer to share to celebrate Shade’s birthday. (How much I enjoyed this, seven years after Glass Sword, shows me how much this character and couple still mean to me. Maybe I can believe in lasting love after all. For them.)

5504 words, it is long

Find this on Wattpad

Find this on AO3

Off-Duty

The rain pounded a rhythm on the makeshift balcony roof both irritating and comfortable. The first because of its dissonance with the ball’s music wafting up, the latter as the sound was certainly more homely than the howls of the storm ruling the skies of the Monfort capital for the last days. It was its own kind of uplifting, despite the wetness and still dark horizon, that Shade gave up keeping Clara indoors and set up their picnic on the balcony. The light at least was shining in a warm red from the gathered night lights beside them, reflecting the colour of the rain protection foils above. To keep them dry, Shade had scavenged umbrellas, wires and canvas and fumbled them into the resemblance of a roof through some risky ledge gymnastics relying on his teleporting ability to save him in case of falling. He hoped the same ability made him fast enough to grab Clara should her constant, curious skygazing lead her to lean too far over the ledge. In fact, he didn’t trust on teleporting alone when it came to her, as he was too nervous to leave her out of his sight for a second too long and eat in peace.

He tried to lure her away with some of the food he’d sacked from the snack buffet for the party downstairs in the palace. Though Clara did turn around, she ignored the orange-glazed yeast cake he held out in favour of a tiny rice and vegetable bowl. Shade exhaled with relief, but Clara seemed barely so. When he offered the rice pudding with cherries next, she shook her head. “For Mama,” she said. “Sure,” he replied with a forced smile. Clara could be more perceptive than he expected at her two and a half years. Did she understand Diana was missing her own party? Or had he been too exact about her anticipated return from the Lakelands? It wasn’t officially “her” party, more an annual ball to remember the fallen and the veterans, but in Davidson’s circle, it was known that General Farley was to meet with representatives from Prairie who finally showed the start of an interest in brokering an alliance – with Monfort and the Scarlet Guard, no less. Diana wasn’t the usual choice for diplomacy though given Ella’s advice, the warlord from Prairie would rather be convinced by a brusque military leader. More so if she brought as a negotiating feature intelligence on the latest lakelander movements. As she’d been engaged in them. Or still was. As of, right now. Shade bit off some spicy bread with a slice of smoked ham. He supposed he would’ve heard of it if things had gone that wrong and Diana’s unit was still tied in battle. But if the situation was that dire, anything could’ve happened and with the communication cut off. No wonder Clara stared at the sky as if she could see the light of the plane returning her mother. He couldn’t wait for it, either. Diana had been set to be back two days ago. Leaving them three whole days of family life before his own mission to Ciron loomed and whose preparations he felt less and less inclined to proceed with. While Mare was with Cal in Piedmont and Kilorn and his brothers in Norta, Shade had been recommended to scout in the western country for possible allies, ideally to initiate first contacts together with other high-profile spies he barely knew. The opposite to quality time with his longed-for beloved and their daughter couldn’t be harsher when the lack of contact also made him worry - if not freaking out - about the well-being of the rest of his family. He felt terribly egoistic and also almost unashamed of it. He was fed up. It broke his heart enough to see Clara staring after a glimpse of her mother, how could he abandon her now, without Diana to relieve him? As if it could be called relieve, like a battle strategy, but it was the plan the two of them had come up with: Just one of them would be engaged in operations at one time, and this had lasted for almost two years now. Only Shade doubted the system more and more. He hardly wanted to leave Clara out of his reach and miss her growing each day. He’d also wanted to welcome Diana, had dreamed of her skin, her smell, her voice. The way she only smiled at Clara. Yesterday should’ve been theirs and this pitiful picnic should’ve included her. In the sunshine. Climbing the hills as if on a vacation, to forget the dangers they were in or just escaped even though she would’ve questioned him about his mission in her way to see him off safe. Thanks to the storm, any part of this became impossible and Clara’s glare at the cloud didn’t lessen in concentration. If she could, she’d challenge the weather itself. Shade risked a second to dip a pig-shaped cake in caramelized milk and devour it in one go before trying to offer another to Clara. This time, she took it, dipping it absentmindedly, yet on the way to her mouth, she let it drop. “There!” she pointed, jumping up. Shade was too startled to think and, still struggling to swallow the food, simply reached for Clara. She grinned, pointing again. But he didn’t see, too relieved to have Clara secure against his chest. Then he heard the aircraft approaching the palace. When he grasped its meaning, his grin mirrored Clara’s. The storm drove rain in his face before Shade was fully materialized, and the ground swayed beneath his feet. The truth about teleporting was that the dizziness never went away, not even for a teleporter himself. The irritations and imbalances coming with contradicting the corporeal world had to be fought with resilience, willpower, and focus, whether you were sneaking behind an enemy or escaping them. Now, though, he was grounded by Clara on his shoulder and before him – Her eyes, bright despite the dark, finding them immediately – The surety of her gait, approaching – Her smile, growing clearer and broader with every step – She was a woman in parts, and he longed to have her whole in his arms, and so he strode to her – until Clara heaved and then he stumbled for real, glancing at his daughter, trying to shift or steadying her. But to no avail, as she puked all over his chest and he was thrown out of his dreamy desires and stood there, frozen and dumbfounded. He jerked his head to the sound of a snort and there she was, Diana standing right before him. “Come here, dove,” she said, taking Clara from Shade and already comforting and cleaning her with her scarf, as efficient as ever. “Mama,” cried Clara, and Diana was quick to answer with soothing phrases. He searched her eyes darting between Clara and him and around and when their gazes locked, he found her glance full of joy and amusement as she bit her lips to keep from laughing. “Well, Dee,” he said finally, “the ball’s food we ate was better than it seems right now.” “Was it?” she asked, smirking, and reached out to caress his cheek with her thumb. It sent a shiver over his whole body. He hoped there wasn’t vomit on his face, too, and he cursed the rain for interfering with the intensity of her touch. He wanted to take her hand and pull her close, despite it all, because who gave a shit, but then her hand was back to hold Clara whose temple she kissed while he was still full of sick. He decided he didn’t care after all and shook off his freeze, just when Diana changed direction. “Ah, there’s Grandma, dove, let’s greet her and Grandpa,” she said as she walked ahead where, indeed, Shade’s parents approached, supposed to have Clara while he and Diana attended the ball. Diana looked over her shoulder. “So we all have to get changed,” she said to him. Winking. “I bring Clara to Ruth and Daniel and we meet upstairs, okay?”

“Bye, Papa,” Clara said. “Okay, bye,” he replied with a sigh filled with deprivation as he crossed his arms – wet and dirty. He’d make do with a shower for now.

He'd hurried cleaning up in the shared bathroom but long hair had its demands, especially in case of an event. With his long hair just dried and out of its bun for the ball, Shade found Diana in their apartment, mistreating a dress uniform in front of a mirror. At the second of his entry, she glanced at him, currently forgetting her battle but revealing the sum of the mess frontally. She couldn’t stop fidgeting with the clothes just for a second, always dragging the sleeves this way or that. The uneven buttoning revealed her bare throat down to her skimpy undershirt, making her look as unstyled as Cal in his workshop clothes and the medals she tried to pin were all over her chest, but not in a becoming pattern. He burst out laughing, in revanche, louder and freer than Diana earlier without a sick Clara in vicinity. Diana flushed, increasing her visible contempt for the outfit. “I suspect medals are really meant for punishment if they come with this horrible dress uniform.” Shade wiped his mouth, stepping closer to inspect the horror. As he touched the jacket where Diana had experimented with shifting the alignment of buttons and buttonholes, she sucked in a breath. He swallowed in turn, a shiver running over his arms. He felt the ghost of their missed welcoming hug. Now, as near as they hadn’t been for weeks, the yearning for reunion was overwhelming. As it was for cupping her breasts. Another swallow ended in a cough. “First of all, try a proper shirt, loose on the shoulder, not a tank top.” “But – “ “I’ll leave the top buttons open and fix your tie in a fancy knot. And the pins I can use to keep the collar from your throat.” Assessing her styling kept him cool. Even as her eyes bored into him. Eyes that should match her style. So he should look – He stepped back but Diana caught his hand. “Help me take it off.” “It is already more off than on,” he said with a snort, pulling away for good to search for the right shirt. Some women were okay with clothes fitted for most men but curvy and broad-shouldered Diana was not one of them. He did not glimpse at her. “I left Clara with your parents,” she called to his back, “as usual at these blasted events. Tsk. As if I wouldn’t rather stay with her right now … she fell asleep before I could barely talk to her.” He heard her walking around. A hand on his shoulder. “You're right,” she said, glimpsing over his shoulder and eating a dish of rice pudding. “The food is great. I hope your parents got some snacks, too.” "I'd be surprised if they didn't." He smirked. "Clara wanted to leave that rice pudding for you, you know", he told her. "Really?" Diana beamed. "She can be so sweet." "Or almost grown up." Diana sighed, the remark nagging at her for a few seconds. He felt for her hand and squeezed it. “Was she better, no more throwing up?” he asked. She shook her as she took the shirt. “It just exhausted her. Maybe she’s just like me, uncomfortable with teleporting.” The thought amused them both, even as they cosseted and worried about Clara the immediate moment. The daughter of a teleporter couldn’t stand the ability. Did that mean she didn’t have the ability herself? He sighed. Suddenly he strongly wished to hold Clara and solace her. Indeed, a blasted event upsetting the millions of things they could better do tonight. Least of all tracing the curves of Diana’s body beneath the formal attire as she changed. Instead, he could talk. Neutrally asking about her recent operation. How did her mission go? Diana seemed hale and whole enough but the relief at the first sight of her washed over him again as she confirmed it. So, what about the rest of her unit? What was left out of the reports, what would affect the negotiations to take place? Would there be repercussions, also on his mission – the very next day? Diana was dry in her replies even as she chattered along nonetheless, playing along if Shade wasn’t open to “taking off” her uniform. He knew they wouldn’t leave the room this night if he gave in to that. As he produced his own dress uniform from the closet and moved to put it on, he cursed at their deal simply cut for unpredictable schedules. He should refrain from his missions. The thought, once appeared, dropped like a stone. He couldn’t imagine abandoning his comrades-to-be on a whim. But he was unable to unthink it. To stand back and steal the time for their family to stay together appeared like a goal. He straightened his posture, the reflection of his prim, military outfit belying his true resolution. “That we should have to steal the time to be together,” he said aloud. She met his eyes, softly for once. “We do it for Clara.” At first, he said nothing as he returned to dressing Diana and paced around her. “Clara needs a lot of things,” he replied finally as he put her jacket back in place. “You've been great with her the last weeks,” Diana whispered as the jacket almost glided onto her with the silky and loose-fitting tunic beneath. It was her favourite pretty shirt, one she hardly had chances to wear. "She already misses you," she said, glancing for the corner of his eye rather than his reflection. As do I, she mouthed. Why don't you say that aloud? he wondered. Her eyes in the mirror sparkled with something unsaid. She felt for his arm and squeezed. “I’ll look after her first thing in the morning. Rise with the dawn, and all that.” “I know, I know, you never forget about the Guard,” Shade answered, though with a dose of humour. He could see before his eyes how Diana would spend the next day spoiling Clara while staying alert for new military developments. He’d rather see it for real than imagine it, though. As he stood behind her, both before a mirror, he stretched out her arms, settling inner and outer sleeves. The he felt for her front for the buttons, watching their reflections as his fingers went up, pressing against her belly. “You’re so nimble,” she whispered. Finished at the front, his hands glided along her arms to entwine their fingers. “You’d know,” he answered quietly into her ear and his lips were just about to kiss her neck when he froze in the act. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Diana’s disappointment flash in the mirror. “I won’t undo my work right when it’s complete,” he said and, without letting go of her hand, spun around as if in a dance. If Diana was still flustered, she didn’t show it but only a wicked, dazzling grin as she swayed along with him. “See, you can move in it,” he said. “More elegant than you claimed once.” She snorted in affront. “These dress-up things are an insult to those who fight in the field, with how little movement they offer.” He increased the pace of their dance. “I find it quite comfortable right now.” Despite her complaints, she went along with the faster, more complicated dance moves he started. “Well, obviously the uniforms have been designed with your body types in mind from the start, all lean and straight.” “Straight.” He tsked. “Only outwardly,” she clarified and initiated a new step. “In a more – most – desirable way,” she added under her breath. “Glad to hear you still find me beautiful.” “Hm. You should say that to me,” she countered before he twisted them around, one, two, three times, until he let go of the dance pose to cup her face. “Has the gorgeous General Diana Farley of the Scarlet Guard and mother of our child finally become vain?” he asked. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Just that I’d enjoy to hear it, as a general, mother and your …” she bit her lips. He blinked. “What?” She took his hands to remove them from her face and pull away, turning to the mirror to control whether her outfit had survived. Or to check how deeply red her cheeks were. “A miracle,” she muttered. “Of course you are.” She smiled at him. “When did you even learn that?” Did she really think this obvious shift of topic would work? “From Gisa, for a start. Had to serve as her mannequin and model and you know she had to work for silver tastes.” He rolled his eyes. “But yeah, she also said the basic styles are like designed for sticks like me.” “A beautiful stick.” She cackled. “But good she had other customers and body types now.” “Like you? Truly.” He bit his lips. “Though there were always stockier silvers, too,” he said absentmindedly, though he was already thinking about someone else. Diana noticed. She waited for him to continue, merely blinking once or twice. She was never so calm or patient with anyone else but Clara – or him. It encouraged him as he took to his time to consider his words. “It was before we met, when I was newly conscripted to the nortan army. As an aide, I had to manage an officer’s supply including his clothes. “He treated me like a butler at times. Missed the luxuries from home but didn’t have the chance to bring them. Including servants.” Diana winced. “You only told me he was an idiot before, though smart enough to hire you.” “Smart?” Shade grimaced. “Not so rewarding for him given where we got as he went lost.” “So is he? Lost?” Shade shrugged and Diana prodded further. “I know you’d check what became of him.” Shade glanced away and quieted, listening in for the faint waves of the sound barely reaching them. They were more felt than heard. “It was a dark time I don’t take pleasure in telling and reliving,” Shade admitted finally. She hugged him back as he stood still for good. “But I'm here to listen when you need me to.”

His fingers drummed with the music as Shade glided through the ball. At times, he was about to start humming before stopping himself. At least it managed to distract him; almost too well. He didn’t have the nerve to spy tonight, to chat and deceive while the pressure of the next day loomed over him. Still, as his blood pulsed in anticipation of Diana’s return from conferring with the Prairie warlord, Russell. He had considered following Diana to hide and listen, but for what reason? She knew him too well not to notice and he wouldn’t bother her that way. And he trusted her. She’d succeed in negotiations and either way, he couldn’t look after her from tomorrow on –

“Thinking about me?” he startled and choked on his drink as Diana arrived that very moment to take him by the arm, entwining their fingers. She wasn’t one for public affection, so this display of closeness was as demonstrative as a kiss. It certainly felt almost as intimate as he glanced over the crowd in her grasp, aware of the people who saw them. He set aside the glass and completed their embrace, already pulling her along to sway to the rhythm of the song. “For sure,” he replied with an exaggerated drawl. “I longed to resume our dance where we left off.” She raised an eyebrow in amused doubt as her hand roamed over his back and he sucked in a breath. His own hand on her waist began to prove a temptation he tried to battle by focusing on intensifying the dance steps. He listened for the first beats of a new song, changing into a different dance and he was ready for the shift. A taxed Diana followed his lead. Despite her flush, she enjoyed the challenge of the dance. “You do seem eager.” He shrugged, smiling. “And you seem smug. You have the warlord wrapped around your fingers already?” She made a scale gesture with her fingers. “He’s predictable enough, as was his reluctance before. I know the type. Doesn’t want to state his offers, so I let him dangle and stay vague myself. He’ll spill soon enough.” He let her twirl under his raised arm.” And we have the time?” Her mouth twitched after the spin, unperturbed by the move, dancing as fresh as if just woken from sleep instead of locked in a tumultuous flight. “In this case. He’s so eager for the edge in an alliance he doesn’t grunt about efficiency in meetings.” “So he’s spying.” She mock-hit his shoulder. “Of course he’s spying, Shade Barrow. You’d know best.” He chuckled and she went on. “As I said, I’m acquainted with the type. I know where to bring his attention and Davidson knows how to appear generous.” “But do you want me to shadow his retinue?” Between the quick steps and the movements of the other dancers, speech was limited between catching breaths. Only as the song rolled out and slowed, they did as well, into a lazy motion staying on the spot, two people in their own pace and place, careless of the rest. Their grip on each other grew firmer and their gaze shifted from playful into serious. Diana swallowed, without losing sight of him. “You’d rather stay?” Her grasp became even tighter, almost hopeful. Could she be agreeing with his doubts? Shade traced her face with his figners. “If you hadn’t arrived this eve – right when you did – I wouldn’t be joining my mission tomorrow.” Diana’s eyes widened. “It’s exactly the promise we mode, isn’t it?” he went on. “One would always stay with Clara. So she’ll never see both parents dying in one battle.” For once, Diana hesitated to meet his eyes as she chewed on that. He shook his head. “Even if I’d spoken to you the day before, when your operation was over and you’d only have to return. Anything could’ve happened still, your base attacked, the airplane crashed – it wouldn’t matter. I couldn’t go on if we’d lost you, not knowing what’s become of you.” He stopped, his brow leaning against hers. Diana covered his hand on her face, her eyes aligning with his. “You would fight no longer … without me?” Shade broke her grip, stepping back. “It’s not like anyone can make me fight for them, can they?” he said, glimpsing Diana’s irritated frown before he teleported away. A silly joke, he knew. Jumping exactly out of reach but still in eyesight, urging Diana to follow him through the rush of partygoers. He could hear Diana calling his name, just not enough under her breath to avoid attention. She sped up, her instincts winning over the chaos. “Are we being dramatic now?” she spat, panting, when they’d reached the empty stairs outside the ballroom with only meters between them. The doors slammed shut behind her. He glanced over his shoulder; she was climbing up after him. “But you didn’t ask…!” she said, still panting, and quieter now. “What we could do differently …” She swallowed while her gaze continued to burn at him nonetheless. “Or if you believe our promise is for the gutter. “I’d rather spent this evening watching Clara sleep, too. Relaxing after being stuck in a plane for hours, delayed because of the weather as well as fake threats. Then hear how you and Clara spent these weeks together. How she grows, what she learns. Quarrel about who of us gets to do what with her. “I want so much, Shade. I’m full of it, so full I can only act to live with it. I understand what you say, I'd do the same. But not … forever. I want Clara, and us, any children we might have, our people, to have it better. I can’t and won’t stop before we win. Or we might lose it again.” She pushed through the final step and reached him at arms’ length. Her fingers fluttered against his back until he spun. “Why do you run away?” she muttered. “As long as it’s needed to make you talk as much as this,” he replied. She snorted but grasped his arms tight, nearly ending their balance – or just about keeping it. He gasped, and she leaned her head against his chest. They were rarely in this position, with her being taller than him. The unusual feeling of it both flustered and elated him, as he imagined her hearing the fast throb of his heart, or how that thought alone made it beat even faster. He started to caress her hair almost automatically. “I know you might not…”, Diana began eventually, lifting her face right so he could see her warmed gaze. “Maybe you don’t see it like that anymore.” What? He nearly said it aloud, having forgotten their topic for their embrace. “Maybe you wouldn’t fight no matter what anymore,” she went on. Ah. “Because we have Clara.” “I never said that,” he replied after clearing his throat. Quiet but sharp. Determined. “I can’t give this up no easier than you. But if – if– I lost you, I couldn’t go on like before.” “Then I want to know that!” she cried out, then exhaled until she caught herself. "There're always other jobs to do either way. I have to know. You could do anything, it doesn't have to in the field." She shook her head, pondering. His hand was on her waist, hugging her closer and closer. Indeed, Shade wasn’t sure himself if that was the solution he craved.

Finally, she lifted her piercing eyes. “Will you join your mission tomorrow?” she asked, her voice low. He sighed. He was here, at an event for soldiers and veterans, celebrating success as well as survival while they were about to broker a new military alliance. Diana stood before him, decked in medals earned in spilled blood, her own and others’. “A recon operation in Ciron,” he said. “I confess, I wonder about the point of where it all might lead.” Diana frowned. “Reconnaissance isn’t a coup.” “It might lead to one,” he countered. “So you’d rather leave it wholly in the hands of others?” “Well, in yours,” he admitted. “And you listen to me.” “I’m not sure if that flatters me,” she said with an ice-cold smile. The general’s smile. “Would you be as reluctant if Mare came with you?” His face fell, caught guilty as charged. No wonder she smiled like that. “No, I wouldn’t,” he confirmed. “I’m a terrible soldier, I suppose.” Diana straightened while he only longed to maintain their embrace as a cackle escaped her throat. “Inclined to blatant favoritism,” she said. “Disobeying orders and acting on his own advice. Questioning officers but without intention to take command yourself. Up for the sneaky jobs and avoiding supervision. Expecting personal relations to cover up misdemeanors.” For all the sharp accuracy, Diana listed the call-outs with an amused grin. “You’ve always been an awful soldier, Shade Barrow,” she concluded. “But I think that’s what brought us together in the first place, isn’t it? You aren’t cut to obey but would follow me lead anyway. To be honest, I’m very glad how you’ve kept running after me – ” Shade blushed at the memory he couldn’t deny. “Umm – “ “Indeed,” Diana went on, “I’ve been honoured to follow you as well. To be with you, as we watched each other’s backs. To see new options – to be made to see new options, because of you, as you insisted on my attention.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve changed for meeting you and I don’t regret a minute of it. Whatever you’ll choose, whoever you become, I want to be with you. I ... won't give you orders if you'll disobey in the end." He grimaced at that remark but Diana paused, puzzled until resolve flashed over her face. "I won't command you where to go but I promise to never leave you behind. Whatever the future holds for us or how we’ll react to it.” She swallowed and goosebumps rose over his skin as blood rushed through his head and her voice was warped by a ringing in his ears. “We’ve … made a promise after Clara was born. That one of us will always stay back for her. And maybe this promise doesn’t work out as well as we thought. But we can make other, new, … different promises. Or vows. A vow …” Her face shone with a flush. “Like?” he breathed, barely audible. “Like, Shade Barrow, would you marry me?” And her eyes sparkled as she said that, despite the way she’d stumbled over the words with insecurity. For a moment, he thought it was the bravest speech she’d ever held. As if she didn’t know what he’d reply. Nor did he, actually. “You never cease to surprise me,” he managed to utter and cursed himself next to her heaving breaths. She deserved a better answer. So he grabbed her by the waist and, as she didn’t kneel but still stood below him, lifted her up to the same stair as him and as she yelped, he embraced her so tightly he could bury his face in her neck. He panted now, harder than her, and not only due to the effort of lifting her. Her arms, hugging him back, were force stronger than gravity, so powerful he forgot he even could teleport. It was just what she always did. After he prodded and urged her to come closer, she’d give more than he’d even imagined asking for. Marriage had sounded so plain and formal, it felt pointless for them. They were comrades in arms, relying their lives on each other, as well as parents raising their little, lovely child. Any considerations to deployments or housing were granted them due to that; their intimate relationship no one else’s concern and he thought that only just. Silvers could keep their conjugal restrictions to settle their finances with marriages; any of Diana and Shade’ s endless but fruitless discussions about a second baby felt more significant. Until she asked him and it suddenly was significant, lighting a flame in his heart that filled him with an energy he craved without knowing what to use it for. They were in love, and it mattered. They became who they were and got to this point, in a palace with leaders on their side because of it and if anything, this flame should keep on burning for the world see and feel as they celebrated it. Shade startled, to look into her eyes and finally give her her bleeding reply, but this time, nothing could save their balance as a distraught Diana jerked as well and they would’ve tumbled down the stairs if their hands didn’t find each other, without thinking, and they maintained footing only to fall over each other with Diana on top of him, both loudly exhaling after the shock. Diana tore at her rumpled uniform. “All your work, undone again,” she exclaimed and laughed. “I’ll help your out of it,” he answered and their eyes met, filled with longing, and the centimeters between them broke into kisses like breathing, until they required real oxygen again. "Did you just come up with that?" he asked quietly, nuzzling her neck. Diana grasped his face to make him look at her but didn't say anything, only blinked. Shit. Guilt settled in his belly. “I didn't mean –” An uncertain smile appeared on her face in slow motion. "Partly?" she offered. Almost like she was prepared if he was taking it as a joke. Her flush intensified, but not just from kissing. Her nervosity heightened, too; he could feel that in her pulse. "I mean, it, the idea to ask, came over me in the heat of the moment, but ... well, I did think about it for a while but if it's all too much of a surprise for you, or not your preference at all-" A laugh rose in his throat, a laugh of elation he just about managed to swallow. "Diana, no." Her face froze. "No, sorry, I didn't mean – sorry!" He took he deep breath. Not a breath of hesitation, but one like drinking in the love for this woman. He found her gaze again. “I'll hold on to you for every minute we have. And I'll still rise before dawn to wake Clara with you, before I'll go to Ciron, for one final round of our plan and then I absolutely do want to marry you, Diana Farley. And throw a bloody royal feast for it.”

A/N 2: I hope that was a surprise for you! It sure was one for me that I managed to write something that made Me The Aro not disregard marriage as a repulsive patriarchal tool to control money and female sexuality let’s stop here but beam along with my OTP. As I worked really long on this, some things were changed and I want to make a honourary mention of the dancing montage bringing Fade from their room to the ballroom including a time skip - it’d work better in movie version ;-)

@elliemarchetti @lilyharvord @mareshmallow @maudthebookeater @king-maven-calore @samanthaslytherin @evangeline-of-montfort @farleydiana @scxrletguardsdawn @freaky-freiday @petergrantkavinsky @inopinion @hannaharies

#red queen #red queen fan fiction #red queen fanfiction #shade x farley #shade barrow #diana farley #victoria aveyard #war storm #glass sword #king's cage #broken throne #post war storm #death by cuteness #happy birthday #clara farley-barrow #general farley #imagine shade was still #off-duty #steel scars

25 notes · View notes

sweetchup · 5 years ago

Text

A Helping Hand

Type: Shalnark x reader

Au?: Savior Au. Normal Au.

Word count: 5,300+ (oof, Shalnark fans are going to be well fed)

Warnings: Spoliers from Manga Chapter 357+, Blood/gore, Cursing, Bad Coworker, Character Death, PTSD, Slight Angst, Fluff, I’m not a doctor and even if I did research not everything here is going to be accurate and correct

Author note: Honestly, I should’ve spent today working on my 100 follower special but I accidentally had a intresting thought after watching the phantom troupe fighting chimera ants. So... I grew back my love for smiley boi Shalnark and I had a thought about an intresting scenario. So, you ended up with this.

(Pt.2)—>

“You on your dinner break, (Y/n)?” Evan, your coworker says. You watch as he leans over the counter of the desk of the intensive care unit and raises an eyebrow at you as you chew on your taco salad. You squint your eyes at the man and gesture to your salad, like “seriously it’s obvious”. Evan laughs but soon let’s out a groan and stretches.

“You okay?” You say sloppily due to you still eating your salad. Afterall, you only had half an hour allowed to eat dinner before going back to work.

“Eh. Rough shift.” Evan says and Groans again as his hand massages over a specific muscle on his shoulder, “Did you hear about the situation down at Heaven’s Arena?”

You shake your head, you hadn’t heard anything today due to the number of patients you had to attend to in the intensive care unit. It was usually pretty crazy here after all. Though, there are some pretty bad cases that come into the emergency department as well, which Evan worked at, especially from Heaven’s Arena. So this wasn’t anything usual.

“Basically, there was a death match between floor masters Hisoka Morow and Chrollo Lucilfer.”

“Yeesh, so one of them came in still half alive?” You mumble, cringing at the thought. You dislike the brutality of what happens at some of the floors. It just wasn’t needed most of the time, especially with what almost happened to a boy named Gon, who Evan took care of.

“No. Worse. One of them manipulated most of the crowd and blew up the top floor so we have multiple casualties being rushed in.”

“Well, shouldn’t you be there right now?”

“Just got off shift. I’m staying, of course, just in case, but I’m waiting for them to check with the supervis—“

“Just wheel him out of here! He’s practically brain dead already!!” A screech resounds around the Intensive Care Unit as a slam of door comes after.

“But, Miss—“

“No! I said to pronounce him dead.”

You and Evan whip your head around to see what the yelling about, but you soon cringe as you see who it is. It was Sala Monodo, one of the head surgeons in charge of the Emergency Department. She was a really good surgeon but a greedy and nasty woman, along with one of the reasons why you switched from the Emergency Department to the intensive care unit.

You mumble a “what the fuck..” under your breath and place down your salad. Of course it would be this bitch to deny the ambulance crew to treat a still alive patient.

You rush around the counter and to the ambulance workers that had rolled the person down the hallway. Dale, an older worker of the Ambulance crew of the hospital, recognizes you and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Dale. What’s the situation?” You say, speed walking and examining the patient still on the stretcher. Man, this guy was in terrible condition. He was a young blonde haired man with blood just gushing from his nose. So much so he might even die from blood loss. It also didn’t help that he had lacerations and bruises on his wrists. Was this patient also caught up at the mess at Heaven’s Arena? No… there’s no burns which would have happened if he was part of an explosion.

“Young man, about mid-twenties, found hanged by his wrist at the playground downtown. No ID on him or info found in our Database. We do have a hunter’s License but that will take a while for Identification….”

Crap… that’s not good. Now, you don’t know if he takes any medication or if he’s allergic to any. On top of that we also don’t know his blood type or any past medical conditions, which will probably be useful in this situation.

“Our main problem is it seems he has a severe to moderate traumatic brain injury. Which is causing bad swelling of the brain. Along with a troubling possibility of damage to his spinal cord but that is still unconfirmed. We—“

“Dale, his heart stopped!” One of the other ambulance workers says. Fuck, that is the last thing we need right now. You quickly jump on top of the man on the stretcher as it continues to be wheeled and begin to give chest compressions.

“Dale, wheel—“ “What the hell are you doing?!?”

You glare towards Sala, still not stopping the chest compressions. “I said mark him as deceased! We are at max capacity in the Emergency room!”

You raise an eyebrow at the woman as Evan, who had sprinted over as well, jaw drops to the floor. Was this bitch serious? He’s still alive! He was breathing up until a couple of seconds ago. It also didn’t help that he needed to get him to the emergency room and you had no time to waste arguing with her. You know what… this will probably get you fired but oh well.

“Mal!” You shout as loud as you can for the Front desk women at the Intensive Care Unit. Mal, an older woman, runs out as fast as she can from a back room nearby, causing the door to slam against the wall. “Sign this patient under my name! We don’t have any identification yet so just roll with a description.”

Mal nods her head and runs in the direction of the front desk.

“You can’t do that!! He’s my patient so I say what happens!” Sala says screeching like a banshee at you. She chucks papers at you, probably the files to name this unknown man deceased. You only chuckle at her and give her a taunting look.

“Well, according to the paperwork, he’s a patient of the intensive care unit. So he’s mine now and I’m going to prove you wrong by making sure he lives.”

Sala goes to rebut but you cut her off. “Evan, pick up the papers she threw! Dale, take a blood sample and run it to the lab! I want his blood type and anything unusual. You two, wheel me to room 12, I’m going to need to get this man stable before we do a CAT scan on him.”

The other two ambulance personnel nod and turn you to that direction. Sala, unfortunately, is still chasing after you, not wanting to let this go. You give her a glare because you honestly don’t have time for this. You had just finished your thirty chest compressions so you need to give him air, fast.

Taking two fingers and you push the man’s head back to open his airway. Carefully, you put your lips on his, trying to not cringe at the sudden wetness and taste of blood, and give him two rescue breaths. You mentally sigh in relief as you watch his chest somewhat rise up at each of your breaths. That meant his airway thankfully wasn’t blocked and you could give him oxygen. Though it wasn’t lifting as much as usual which told you there was either a problem of the amount of blood blocking his airway or some being in his lungs.

You pull away from the man’s lips, yours tainted a little scarlet from his blood. You thankfully, as you lift up, lock eyes with a security personal and gesture to Sala. “Get this wacko out of here now! We have a situation!”

The security nods and grabs onto Sala who screeches and tries to fight back. Now that that was taken care of you can finally get this guy stable.

As the two ambulance personnel finally wheel you into room 12, you tell and gesture at them to leave and go. After all, they still had calls to get to and you had plenty of nurses who could help you out in a situation like this.

They thanked you and sprinted out, making sure to not bother you. Ok, so now that no one that was unauthorized was here you could try to see if you could use your Nen to try and stable him. Pulling your hands up, you close your eyes and focus. Focusing on sensing the blood in his body. Crap, your worst nightmare was true. There was blood blocking the airway through his nose and some in his lungs. Along with a conformation of swelling and too much blood in his brain. You now realize you can’t wait for a CAT scan or any other nurses to rush over here. You need to treat this man now or he will 100% be unable to be saved.

Taking some scissors from the metal tray, you carefully cut off the man’s purple tunic like shirt and his black undershirt. You throw the scissor back into the tray and put your hands in the middle of the man’s bare chest. Your heart was thumping out of your chest at the thought of not being quick enough. Come on (y/n), focus. This isn’t the time. You need to manipulate the unnecessary blood out of his body.

Taking a deep breath in, you run your hands up the man’s chest, around his neck and finally to his lips and nose. You slowly open your eyes and lift your hands away. You watch as blood in bubble-like shapes float out of the man’s nose and mouth. Swirling them all around in the air until it’s in a perfect droplet, you bend the blood over to a dish and drop it in it. Man, were you glad that you stuck to your gut and told your sensei you were going to manipulate blood. He didn’t think it was a smart choice but hey, suck it Sensei Matt. Look at how useful it is now.

After you made the blood clot the open wounds of the nose, all you had to do now, since there was no longer a risk of him drowning in his own blood or his airway possibly being blocked, you just needed to reduce the amount swelling to the brain and bring fresh oxygen throughout everything in his body to keep him alive.

Ok, you take a deep breath and raise your shaky hands. You can do this. All you needed to do was manipulate his blood throughout his whole body like a normal cycle, manipulate the blood in his heart to pump, and give him 2 rescue breaths every 30 cycles until he is stable or until blood tests come back. You can… You clench your hand in determination. No, you will do this.

————🚨📱🚨————

“What do you mean I’m wrong!?!”

You sit there rubbing your temples as you watch as one of the directors of the hospital sighs and explains how I'm not in trouble, to Sala, again. You lightly lean back in your chair and try to drown out the chaos in front of you.

It has been about a month since the incident with the 25 year old man, Shalnark, that got admitted to the hospital. Thankfully, you found out his name and age from the Hunter Association a week ago. Though it took them way too long to give it to you guys in your opinion. Along with the fact they didn’t give it to you personally and instead the department. Which gave Sala the opportunity to snoop and learn his name in order to try and get you in trouble with the Higher ups. But, it seems, due to what is going on right now, her plan has backfired. Though why wouldn’t it?! She denied a still alive man that you saved.

Afterall, Shalnark was now stable and on his way to recovering, thanks to your efforts. Though, he was currently in a coma. A big problem since you didn’t know how long he would stay that way either. But, at least since Shalnark is a skilled Nen user so he is able to heal pretty quickly and you hoped he would be able to be out of his comatose state between the next week to month. Since it seemed to be caused by brain damage.

So far while he was under your watch, with your blood manipulation you were able to heal and not cause scar tissue for most of the nerves in his spine and brain so he wouldn’t suffer from any permanent damage and be back to normal. Well…, not off the bat, he would still have to go through a lengthy recovery. One being doing some serious physical therapy sessions since he would still have to relearn a lot of his movements.

You take a sigh. Why are you worrying about this now? Well… it was probably due to the fact when you were washing him up after you saved him you saw his tattoo. A twelve legged spider. The symbol of loyalty to the phantom troupe. You haven’t told anyone, after all that would jeopardize his recovery and send hunters flooding in to try and kill him. Though—

The door suddenly slams open, startling everyone in the room. You quickly turn to see Evan, clearly out of breath, standing there.

“I’m…” Evan wheezes suddenly, “I’m so sorry Sir! But I need to tell (y/n) something. It’s important!”

The director nods his head, “Go right ahead. But, she can’t leave the room until the meeting ends.”

“Of course sir!”

Evan turns to you and smiles like a mad man. You just raise an eyebrow. What the fracking hell. Did Evan put crack cocaine in his coffee this morning or something?

“(Y/n). Shalnark is awake!”

Your jaw drops to the floor and you frantically stand up. “R-really? How’s he doing?!”

You take a gulp as you feel your throat tighten. You were scared to hear what Evan has to say. Afterall, Shalnark is the patient you have spent the most time with out of all of every patient you have ever taken care of. Mostly due to the fact he was in such a bad condition at first but, eventually, due to how you had grown attached to really wanting him to make a full recovery.

“He’s okay. He’s in a minimalistic conscious state so he’s very confused and unsure of what’s going on.”

“I-I need to check on him then. Sir, I’m sor—“

The director raises his hand to stop you from continuing and stands up. He quickly grabs some sheets of paper and hands them out to you, a small smile on his face. “No need to apologize. Just take these and go.”

“Thank you Sir!”

You take them and bow before the man. Quickly, not even bothering with taking the elevator, you rush over to the intensive care unit. Finally there, you catch yourself on the door of room 12, almost slipping past it and falling.

Panting, you look into the room to see Shalnark moving around frantically as male nurses try to hold him down. Sure, it wasn’t the best scene to see but it was at least a relief to finally see his eyes open and that he could move around.

You start to approach the bed causing one of the male nurses to notice and yell at you, “Doctor (l/n), I don’t think it’s a good idea! He crushed one of the nurse’s hands when he first woke up.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” You say as you finally reach the side of his bed. “Shalnark. I need you to calm down for me.”

“W-who?!” Shalnark looks around frantically but is cut off by his own wheezing. You lean over to examine his eyes and see that they are harshly dilated. So, that’s why he is hostile, he probably can’t even see.

Hesitantly, you reach over and grab the Shalnark’s hand. You squint your eyes and grit your teeth as you know what's going to happen next. You flinch as Shalnark squeezes down and breaks your hand.

Shakily, you hold up your other hand and signal the male nurses to let go of him. As soon as they let go, Shalnark frantically looks around due to being unable to see them and not knowing where they went.

“Shalnark.” You grab the man’s attention and he turns to you. You pause and take a harsh inhale as he squeezes a bit more on your hand. He might be hostile and seem angry but you can feel his hand shaking as he holds in a death grip, telling you he was confused and frightened. “Shalnark. My name is (y/n) (l/n) and the doctor that was assigned to taking care of you in the Intensive Care Unit. I apologize that I suddenly caught you off guard and touched you. You’ve been out for quite some while and had some pretty harsh injuries so I was concerned and didn’t think of the consequences. I’m not sure if you can hear or understand me but could you let go of my hand as a sign you can?”

The room goes silent as you and the other staff wait for his response. Thankfully, Shalnark hesitantly lets go of your hand.

“Thank you. Now I’m just going to put the bed into an upright position so I can examine you. I don’t want you moving your head back and forth anymore due to your injuries so I��m going to have one of the nurses bring you a cup of water so you can speak. I’m going to touch your hand, can you please squeeze it to confirm if you think you can drink some water? If not, you can take your hand away.”

You softly reach over with your non-broken hand and hold onto his. You wait for a couple of seconds before you feel Shalnark lightly squeeze down on your hand. Looking over, you nod to the nurse who grabs a cup of water and walks over.

“The nurse has a cup of water. You can’t see right?”

Shalnark squeezes your hand again.

“Ok. I’m just going to take your hand and place it on my arm. I’m going to help you drink the cup of water. Just squeeze to let me know when you have enough.”

You softly put the edge of the cup to Shalnark’s lips. You were being very careful when tilting it upwards so you don’t spill water or give him too much at once. Shalnark thankfully drinks every single last drop, though you had expected that after all it had been nearly a month since he last drank anything.

You take the empty cup away. “Can you talk, Shalnark? I don’t want to give you too much water just in case your stomach can’t handle it.”

Shalnark clears his throat a couple of times. “Y-yes… yes.”

You watch his face carefully. His speech isn't slurred and his face wasn’t lopsided, which thankfully told you the parts of his brain that deal with conversations and the movements in his face were functioning normally. You would definitely have to treat Betty to dinner for agreeing to help you by fixing his nose and taking out the scar tissue in his face and nose.

“Good. Now, I’m just going to examine you…” you trail off at the end as you are surprised. When you went to move, it caused him to lose the grip on your arm. He frantically reaches around and grabs onto your hand, thankfully not the broken one. How weird. “Are you okay?”

“Ah.” Shalnark seems embarrassed and conflicted with himself for a second, “I just can’t see. I-it’s weird and…”

“Oh. If it’s reassuring you are allowed to hold onto my hand if you want to.”

Shalnark lets out a small thank you, it’s hard to hear but you don’t press into him about it. “Well, I’m going to first test the feeling in your body. I’m going to put a little pressure on each part of your body and I want you to say if you feel any pain or not. You don’t have to move or anything, just let me know. Also, you should probably close your eyes, after all you can’t see which tells me there's a brain injury and the bright light might end up giving you a big headache later.”

Patiently, you watch as Shalnark closes his green eyes. You almost felt sad that you couldn’t see them anymore but you shake away that thought. You need to take care of him first, not worry about trivial things.

————🚨📱🚨————

“Ok so that was the last of the tests. Honestly, you’re in pretty good condition regarding your situation Shalnark.” You say as another doctor wraps your broken hand. God, Nen was always super convenient in pretty much any medical case. You didn’t even have to get stitches or surgery for your hand! Only wrapping and a warning to try to not use it too much.

“Ah I see. H-How long do you think I’ll be here for?” Shalnark says, his eyes still closed as he fidgets with your other hand. He’s been doing that for quite some time, you wondered if maybe he was nervous.

“Hmm. That’s tough to say since we don’t really have any other parts of your medical history. But, an educated guess? I would probably give you a week or two to solve the head trauma symptoms and to introduce your body back into normal food and fluids. Then, during that time and maybe a little after, I’m going to help get your arm and legs back to functioning. Finally, you will probably start some physical therapy so you can relearn how to move and make sure everything is okay. So I would say 2-3 months? Though, it might take shorter or longer depending on the way your body adapts.” You say, letting go of Shalnark’s hand to write a prescription down and handing it to the other doctor who had just finished wrapping your arm, “Derek, do you think you could run this to Mal? I’m going to need some ibuprofen for both me and him.”

“Sure thing. Need anything else?”

“Nope that’s all. Thank you.”

The door clicks lightly as Derek exits the room. You let a drag out sigh. Man, what a crazy day it was today. Almost the craziest you’ve ever had. Oh! You almost forgot. You stretch out your body like a cat from your chair to grab the papers on the counter. You completely forgot the papers that the director had given you. Let’s see…

“(Y/n)?”

You let out a humm to Shalnark to let him know you were listening.

“So, were you the one to take care of me this whole time?”

“Yep.” You flick to the next page.

“Did you happen to help me… get dressed? Bathe me?”

You turn the other page over. “Yes. Usually the nurses do it but, due to your condition, I was the only personnel trusted to do it. Don’t worry though, it’s something we do often in intensive care.”

You pause in your reading as you feel the air shift around you. You slowly look up and towards Shalnark, who for the first time since he woke up, smiled at you. A seemingly nice closed eyed smile. Though, you could tell it was anything but nice.

“You didn’t happen to see anything suspicious on my back, right?”

Ah. So that’s why. “No. I did. You're talking about the twelve legged spider tattoo, right?”

The air grows thicker around you two and you go back to looking through your papers.

“Though no one else knows, neither does it say it in your medical records. Though, I didn’t put a record for you here in the first place.”

The air suddenly stops being tense and clears up. You look up slightly from your paper before looking back down as you see Shalnark was completely blank faced. “What do you mean?”

“I didn’t put a record. You had one when you entered but I deleted it. It’s one of the many privileges you have since you have a Hunter license.”

“I know that. But, why doesn’t anyone else know? K…” Shalnark pauses for a moment, seeming to try and calm himself down, “Kortopi is dead and the police should be knocking down the door to interrogate me. Also, you know I’m part of the troupe. You should be contacting the bounty hunters and collecting the A-List bounty for my head.”

You let out a sigh and place the papers down on the bed sheet.

“Well I am a Hunter. I took the 284th Hunter’s Exam.” You cringe as you feel the room get tense again and some of Shalnark’s bloodlust leaks out. “Not that sort of Hunter. I would kill myself if I ever be came a jackpot hunter or a bounty hunter. I don’t care about money, fame or whatever.”

You take a pause and sigh again. “The Bounty Hunters or Police won’t be questioning you at all. Your friend’s tattoo was never found and I used my license to stop the police and the Hospital from thinking of questioning you or collecting any info. So, you can rest easy that you aren’t being track”

The air seems to calm down but only a little bit before it gets even tenser than before. You looked up stunned as you heard a crash and see that Shalnark had thrown something at the counter with an angry face. “Why? Huh!? Just turn me over and leave me to die! Take your reward and go! I don’t want your—“

“Will you calm down for one second!?” You yell out, breaking your composure for the first time in front of him. “If I really wanted to turn you in I would have a month ago. I don’t care for money at all! The reason…”

You trail off at the end and clench your fist. Memories of your past flashing through your thoughts. Getting all tangled with your emotions, making it harder to think. You take a deep breath and calm yourself down.

“The reason I became a Hunter is to help people, no matter who it is or what has happened. If I told anyone, and I mean anyone about who you are, that would jeopardize you getting better. I’m not turning back on a promise I made, no matter if you're part of the troupe or not, you're still my patient and I’m going to make sure you make a full recovery.”

The room goes silent and you neaten up your papers before standing up. The chair makes a harsh screech against the cold tile floors. You pause before you take a step and turn to Shalnark. His head dropped so you couldn’t see his expression. “I just read the documents my director gave me. Due to the incident with emergency care, the hospital is going to pay all of your medical bills and I’m going to have less to no patients so I can watch and take care of you during my shifts so you can make a whole recovery. It’s now the night shift so I’m officially off the clock and I’m going to go home but if you need anything you can press the button on your bed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You walk away from the bed and clutch your hand onto the cold door knob. Man, what a depressing way to end this. You usually could handle anything that was thrown at you, maybe you need a better night’s sleep. You haven’t been sleeping well lately after all.

“(Y/n).”

You pause your movements at Shalnark’s voice, the door somewhat still open. You almost don’t hear the next thing he says but your eyes widen as you do.

“Please. Please don’t go.”

It wasn’t that you hadn’t expected it. It was just that Shalnark’s voice sounded so small. So frightened. Like a kitten stuck out in the freezing rain. Something you hadn’t ever heard from a citizen of Meteor city and something you didn’t think you would ever hear from a member of the Phantom Troupe. A notorious gang of thieves. You slowly close the door and turn around to him.

You can’t see Shalnark’s face as you walk over to him. Slowly, you grab onto his face and turn him to look at you. You feel his face shaking in your hand and you see him clenching his eyes shut.

You hadn’t even thought of it before now. You hadn’t even thought of the possibility. But now it makes sense. He was easily startled, something that shouldn’t be easy for a thief or criminal. He was constantly on guard before examining him, during and after. He only smiled once and often spaced out. He got randomly and suddenly aggressive at times. And most importantly, he continually avoided the subject of what happened to him and when he finally told you, he didn’t remember important details of what happened. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before, Shalnark was showing classic signs of post traumatic stress disorder.

The problem is that you couldn’t do anything for it right now. Solutions for PTSD either need medications or therapy. And you currently can’t get him either. All you can hopefully do is find a way to calm him down and get him to sleep. You could talk to some of the other doctors and contact some therapist in the morning to help actually diagnose and help him, it was just too late at night for any of that right now.

“Shalnark.” You slowly rub your thumb soothingly up and down his face. His breathing hitches for a second before seeming to slowly begin to go back to normal. “I’m actually going to stay for the night. Is there anything, and I mean anything, I can do to help you?”

It’s silent for a couple of seconds and you stop rubbing his face.

“C-can you just keep on doing that?” Shalnark softly squeaks out.

“Of course. Anything else?”

“I’m… I’m good.”

“You sure? I’m going to be here the whole night so you can say anything.” It might seem weird to the average person to say anything again but you knew you needed to make sure. People with PTSD will commonly feel great feelings of guilt, shame or hopelessness and will close themselves off from people. So, you need to reassure at the beginning that Shalnark can ask you for anything and that he can trust you.

“Could…” Shalnark trails off, slightly fidgeting in front of you.

“It’s fine. You can say it. It won’t bother me.”

“Could. Could you like… hold me?”

You could tell based on how he was acting that asking for something like that was definitely not normal for him. Especially since he’s from Meteor City. Which from your experience don’t show most to any sign of affection or vulnerable feelings.

“Of course. I’m going to sit in the bed, okay?”

“Yeah…” Shalnark shuffles over, giving you room.

You slowly climb into the medical bed; it lightly creaking under your weight. Carefully you reach both hands, even your broken one, and hold onto him. You can feel him stiff under your touch and watch as he plays with and twitches his fingers.

“Shalnark. You are okay to hold me if you want. Just completely relax, No one is allowed to come into this room without my permission.”

Shalnark seems to finally break under your words and he uses his working arm to pull you into him. With some slight shuffling and moving, you are both finally comfortable and laying down. Shalnark was facing you, his face hidden in your neck as he held onto you like as if you were some sort of stuffed animal. You feel the man in your arms slowly begin to lull off to sleep as you run your fingers through his hair.

As you held the man in your arms in the dark room, you now knew that Shalnark’s recovery won’t take 3 months. Maybe physically but definitely not mentally.

But, you knew that as long as you stayed by Shalnark’s side and just helped him through it, it could be possible.

Slowly, you reach over and hold his hand in yours which he lightly squeezes back.

After all, all it takes is one helping hand.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hxh scenarios #shalnark #shalnark x reader #hxh shalnark

228 notes · View notes

vanaera · 5 years ago

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 | 𝟎𝟐 | 𝐣𝐣𝐤

Synopsis: A future technology allows cops to jump in the past and future to investigate crimes that have happened and prepare for those that are about to happen. A simple hit-and-run turns into something more when Captain Jeon Jungkook finds himself as the victim of a culprit who cannot be identified by the system. Especially when the culprit seems to be the same person behind the new case that’s threatening the order in the justice organization. All goes haywire when Jungkook gets involved with Y/N L/N, the clairvoyant sketch artist who may be his only help to solve the case.

Characters: Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre/AU: Sci-fi, romance, angst, mystery, action (cop!JK x artist!you), based on the movie Minority Report

Wordcount: 8.2k

Warnings: Dark themes and implied smut (in future chapters); heavy descriptions of a hit-and-run; mentions of blood from injuries (PG-16 Rating)

prev | next | series masterlist

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭

The skies were gray and the streets were damp and yet the air remains humid. The scorching heat on the pavement permeates the soles of his leather combat boots. It’s the familiar stench of Down Hill. Jungkook could already smell it when he’s just reaching the boundary between it and Middle Town.

Jungkook looks down at the scrap of paper that’s been in his pocket since the day started. Namjoon had to write the address of this Y/N L/N, lest DOJ traces his electronic trail and take him in for unnecessary questioning. Jungkook himself had to make up some petty excuse of a “hurting arm” to file a day-off. He just hopes all of this spent effort will worth him something.

Jungkook nears the 7-Eleven sitting in the fork of the streets. Namjoon wrote Y/N’s studio is cramped among the apartments around this area. He said she never really penned down a home to accommodate covert meet-ups like this. All she has is her studio.

In “Mini Palais, 23-B,” Jungkook mutters again, huffing in front of a door with cracking cadet blue paint. He finds the unit after climbing up a series of stairs at the end of the alleyway jammed between the decaying 7-Eleven and a battered motor shop. Jungkook raises his hand to knock when the door bursts open.

In front of him is a girl. Namjoon already said so and although Jungkook thinks it’s accurate enough for the girl who’s looking up at him through chopped raven bangs, it also wasn’t really enough to describe her. Because the girl in front of him was an aberrant mix of a girl and a woman. Jungkook thinks she’s around her early thirties if he were to consider Namjoon’s history of working with her for about ten years in FJO. There are faint lines around her eyes to support that. However, her relatively small height, plump cheeks, and the natural rosy hue of her lips beg to decrease ten years off that supposed age. With her youthful face, messy half-bun, and the white, floral off-shoulder dress flowing past her knees, no one will argue with Jungkook if he were to say she’s just 22.

“Who are you?”

“Oh, um,” Jungkook flashes his badge, “I’m Jungkook Jeon, a captain in the Federal Justice Organization. Precrime, Murder sector. I’m here to um, avail your…services for a case.”

The girl cocks her head to the side and gives him a once over. “I’m sorry, I don’t do services for the FJO anymore.” She moves to close the door but Jungkook was quick to block a foot between it and the wall.

“I’m a contact of Namjoon’s!” Jungkook exclaims, “He’s Lieutenant Seokjin Kim’s close subordinate.” This is a card he didn’t want to use but it looks like he has no other choice left. Jungkook clears his throat. “Actually, I’m a very close contact of Namjoon. We’re best friends. I even live with him. He’s the one who told me to, um, consult you for the case I’m handling.”

The girl opens the door an inch. Jungkook hands a folded paper to her. She spreads it open and scans through the letter. Jungkook doesn’t know what it actually says. Namjoon just thrust it into his hands on his way out and told him not to open it. It must be an effective personal request because by the time the girl reaches the end, she’s pushing her door wide open, tilting her head to the side, beckoning him to come inside. However, her face remains grim.

“I’m Y/N L/N. This is my studio. I know you already know I prefer to transact business here even for ones intended to be covert. So first off, I want to say I’m sorry you have to travel to such a place like this.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “Oh no, it’s definitely alright—”

“I kinda think it’s not when you grew up in a comfortable life. You must be quite shaken up.”

Jungkook freezes. Y/N looks at him, “Oh, I didn’t look into you or something. It’s just a hypothetical guess, seeing your,” she motions to his silver watch. “That’s expensive. No one from here will be able to afford it anytime soon.”

Jungkook’s shoulders turn lax. Y/N points to a chair next to a table in the corner. “Just wait there. I’m about to finish this piece in just a sec. Then I’m all yours.”

Jungkook nods and makes himself comfortable on the seat. Unlike its appearance on the outside, Y/N’s unit is not much of a concrete wreck. It still looks a bit rough. The ceiling has cracks all over it. A small white bulb precariously hangs on its center. It looks too weak to illuminate the whole room when the night comes. Jungkook thinks it’s a good thing that the unit has huge gaping rectangular windows to let in the natural light. The floor is cemented in gray but the work on it is unimpressive as there are numerous uneven layers, rough patches, and dents that could only be ascribed to poor mason work. The white wallpaper is torn around, some even wet at the edges—probably due to a leak during rains.

However, the flowers painted on them is vibrant enough to uplift the dreary unit. Paintings are littered around. Many are big, a few are small. Some were seated on easels, several are just laying around on the floor. Newspapers are strewn across the majority of the floor. Buckets and tin cans of paints line up the corners like a prayer circle.

All the colors present in the room can only be attributed to the paint that’s strewn across the newspapers, the paintings, and the 6’ tall canvas of an owl in flight Y/N is currently working on. The girl is standing on a small foldable ladder, painting the feathers of the bird at the top of the canvas. When the wind blows her hair to the side, Jungkook finds a mirage of colors on the scarlet spider lilies inked on her spine.

After about two minutes, Y/N steps down and dumps her brush into a rusted bucket filled with water. She turns to the man on the chair and makes her way to the stool opposite his. She fixes down her dress and finally looks at Jungkook. “So, what case do you have for me?”

“This,” Jungkook slides a couple of pictures toward her. They are the screen captures from the CCTV records that caught the black Jaguar. “There’s an unknown driver who’s doing an illegal time jump patterned to Precrime’s traveling agents. We tried to run in the license plate but it just turned to be ‘invalid.’ All we know is that the suspect is male, slim, and tall. He’s interested in the Winston Assassination, and has probably inside ties in FJO since he easily entered the Special Operations Building just ten days ago.”

“None of the traveling agents has seen this man before? Precrime or Forecrime?”

Jungkook shakes his head.

Y/N licks a finger and flips to the next picture, “What about the car?”

“None of the agents has seen a suspicious sedan sports Jaguar before. It’s the first time we have someone presumably well-to-do threatening the justice system.”

Y/N nods. Jungkook inserts his hand into his pocket and retrieves a black USB. He hands it to the girl. “Here’s more of the screenshots from the CCTVs, taken in each second. I can’t give you the CCTVs because of the protocol. I can only give you these. Just imagine they’re moving,” Jungkook purses his lips as he looks at the girl. “I want you to identify this man for me.”

Y/N tucks the USB into her dress’ pocket. She slides the pictures back to Jungkook. “This seems to be a heavy identification check then. Not that I couldn’t handle, of course. However, Namjoon must have told you that my rates are quite high—”

“Money is not a problem.”

Y/N cocks a brow, “So you did grow up a comfortable life.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw.

Y/N chuckles, “Okay, I’m not gonna dwell on it more. It’s settled then. Send your weekly payment to this account,” Y/N tears a piece from the rolls of paper by her side, scribbles on it, and hands it to him. “Every Friday, 10 AM sharp.” Jungkook looks at the paper before tucking it in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N crosses her arms, “We can start next week after you give me the downpayment.”

Jungkook zips open a duffel bag and places a stack of bills on the table.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Y/N smiles, “I like that.” She flips through the bills before deciding they’re legitimate and dumping it into a box by her feet.

Y/N turns to him. “Now, where are we? Oh—you must already know, but what I really do here is foreseeing the future for whatever cause you have. It’s not just trivial fortune-telling but a purposive one. I can accurately give you whatever you want to know.”

Jungkook nods. Y/N’s leans forward on the table. “I’ll be honest with you. I don’t really have terms and conditions with my clients. Or any contract to ensure them their protection, as what I do tend to…increase risks. Emotional security and mental stability on your part. Those two and physical toll on mine. It will be absurd to provide any contract as what I am doing is anything but guaranteeing protection. I can’t also be fully transparent about the mechanisms behind the things I will do for you. Otherwise, my gift won’t work. What I can only assure is I’ll never proceed on any memories you have set boundaries on. Should you decide to stop this negotiation anywhere in the future, I will automatically concede and keep the confidentiality of whatever that may happen. As long as on your part, you won’t consider asking for a refund.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Y/N smiles, “Now first things first. Tell me any hurting point you have.”

Jungkook goes stiff. “Is this actually necessary?”

Y/N nods. “I know this is a tough question, but we’re talking about memories here.”

“I know but I can’t just divulge them to a stranger—"

“I think you don’t get what I’m saying.” Y/N lets out a humorless chuckle. “Look, Jungkook, when I attempt to see the future concerning this elusive driver you’re after, it is inevitable for the past to re-appear. There is no future without any past. Your past memories can clog up with the ones involved in the case because you are in the case. You’re heading it. Good or bad, memories will come up. That’s their thing. They spring up at the most inconvenient times. No matter how old they already are. No matter how long you must have already moved on from them. Memories demand to be remembered and you cannot just disregard them even if you will it to because it never gave anyone a choice to do otherwise. So, if you don’t set the boundaries on the memories you don’t want me to cross, I’ll just see everything in their utter unadulterated form.” Y/N leans forward, “And I can assure you, you don’t want that to happen.”

Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue. “Fine. I’ll give you my hurting point and that’s that. No further questions.”

“Okay.”

Jungkook digs in his back pocket for his wallet and flips it open. There’s a tattered white edge of a picture peeking through the flaps. It’s been years since he pulled it out. Its replica, now tucked in his shelf, has prevented him from doing so for so many years. Jungkook closes his eyes and slides it toward the girl. “This boy. Anything that concerns him, I don’t want you to cross or even bring up. Understand?”

“Okay.” Y/N hands back the photo to him. “We go to the second step then. You must already have your assumed suspects. Tell me their names.”

Jungkook draws back. “I can’t tell you that, that’s highly classified information. FJO’s protocol doesn’t allow it and—”

“Do you seeking my help part of the protocol?”

Jungkook looks down, “No.”

“Right. So, tell me their names. I need to know them to make a memory map.”

Jungkook’s brows meet “A what?”

“A memory map,” Y/N repeats, “It’s something I make to identify points of certain memories in time. It guides me to the memories I need to tread to reach what I’m really looking for. It’s like a demo version of Forecrime’s box trainings but except of a machine, I’m doing it manually by hand. For all we know, the real suspect must be close to these suspects.”

Jungkook’s brow quirks up.

Y/N leans forward, “So, tell me their names?”

Jungkook turns his face away from her, looking at his clasped hands. “Well, I…only have one.”

“And that is?”

“Leigh Anderson. Winston’s assassin. FJO has been after him for 17 years. He also has a number of sponsors who’s been sending him missions with promises of large sums of money. But most of all, he’s rumored to have access to time jumping technologies. Illegal of course. FJO is the only one licensed to be utilizing them.”

“That’s good,” Y/N quips. “Do you have any pictures of him?”

Jungkook turns to his duffel bag and retrieves a picture. It’s Anderson in the scene of Winston’s murder that FJO has pinned to their system. The one in the crime record Jungkook produced. He hands it to Y/N. “Is this enough?”

“More than enough,” Y/N smiles. She stands up and walks to one of her cupboards, reaching for a ceramic bowl. She pours some tap water in it and turns back to the table, a short, white candle in hand. She places the candle on the water, letting it float. She retrieves a lighter from her dress pocket and lights up the wick of the candle.

Y/N puts her palms open on the table. “Let’s start now. Do you have your clicker with you?”

Jungkook’s brows meet. “What?”

“Your time jumper,” Y/N grits.

Jungkook looks at her incredulously. “I don’t see any reason why would you need it—”

“We’re going to the past to have a tangible memory to start on my memory map.” Before Jungkook could tear himself away from the table, Y/N launches forward and snatches the small, black device hanging on the man’s belt loop. Jungkook shoots an arm out and grabs onto it.

But it’s too late. Y/N’s already pushed the button.

The air is knocked out of Jungkook’s windpipe. A numbing pain starts to settle on his chest, a migraine forming on his temple. His limbs also feel stone-heavy. Precrime traveling has always been like this and yet Jungkook can never get used to it. However, he’s not left wondering about it for long because in the next second, Jungkook’s standing in front of a dark road. Tall shrubs and trees shadowing the moon, CCTVs mounted on the lamp posts lining the concrete. It’s Somerset Road.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. Why is he here? He tries to move but his limbs are stuck by his side, unmoving as he grunts. He tries to take a step back but the effort is futile when his feet are seemingly glued onto the dark asphalt. Jungkook sighs and turns to the road in front of him again. And this time around, Jungkook’s mouth falls ajar.

Y/N is standing idly at the other side of the road, opposite of him.

“H-how did you travel here—”

A car zooms past. Jungkook turns his head to the sound. The air is punched out from his esophagus. It’s his car—the silver-gray Ford. And there at the other end of the road emerges a black sedan sports Jaguar. The Jaguar speeds on and drives into the Ford, swerving it around, tires screeching loud on the pavement. It topples down, rolling around, then round, and round. Three times, Jungkook counted. Just like the CCTV Hoseok retrieved. The Ford stops, upside down. The black Jaguar zips past it. Like the CCTVs have shown, the Jaguar reaches the other end of the street and disappears. A second passes. The body of the driver in the car drops onto the cold pavement. It lolls his head to his side, bloodied face turned towards the man standing on the pavement.

Jungkook’s facing right into his past. He isn’t reliving the memory. He is living it. There’s no anger but pain. Fresh, unadulterated pain that cannot be accounted to the lacerations on his injured arm.

The wind howls. Jungkook remains frozen in his position. Then suddenly, everything stops—the distant honking of the cars, the wind, the clatter of the crushed car pieces falling onto the ground. What the fuck is happening? Jungkook turns around, only to come face to face with the girl.

Y/N’s arm shoots forward and fists the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him down to her level. “You didn’t say this business is personal!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jungkook spits, tearing her hand off him.

“It is, Jungkook! You said you were involved. I didn’t think it was this level of involved!”

“It doesn’t change any fact that I’m still going to be involved either way! I’m still going to head this case because it’s tied with Winston. What difference does it make if I am the victim of this fucking man?!”

“A lot!” Y/N screams. Jungkook stops. Y/N sighs, “It does a lot of difference, Jungkook. We’re already risking a lot in this until it turns out you’re a focal point in this case! You’re a fucking victim of this culprit! A conflict of interest is highly possible. You will be unable disassociate yourself from this and objectively investigate this case—”

“I don’t need you telling me what I should do or not, Y/N.” Jungkook steps forward to the girl. “I know what I’m doing. And I know it when I say I can investigate this following all the legal protocols.”

Y/N tilts her head. “How can you say that when you’ve just been face-to-face with your past self?”

Before Jungkook can say anything, Y/N closes her eyes and clicks her finger. In just one second, everything around Jungkook falls beneath his feet—the trees, Somerset Road, his bloodied self. It rips themselves off from his senses until all he could see again is the dilapidated atelier, the barren ceilings, and, Y/N.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as air fills his lungs again. “H-how could you do that?”

Y/N blows off the candle. “My gift.” She glances at the man. “The accident is taking a serious toll on you. I have to take us out of the time jump.”

Jungkook sits back and glowers at her. “N-no, what I’m asking about is—how could you snatch my clicker and make a jump without any remorse? You do know that’s illegal!”

“I know. ‘FJO’s traveling agents and officials are the only ones allowed by the law to engage in time jumping activities’ yaddah yaddah bullshit.” Y/N leans on the table, face hovering the Captain’s. “But involving a then-law practitioner, much more an outsider like me, into your case is also illegal. I have my gift, yes. But I can only see the future and I won’t be able to see it accurately if I don’t have some sense of the past. Plus, I have no other pragmatic choice to start this case on the right foot. I already saw the future of our negotiation before you sat down on that stool. There’s nothing else I could say other than it didn’t end favorably for any of us.” Y/N turns back to the table she’s clearing, “Not that it’s any different now. Especially when I just learned the case you’ve showed me is more personal than you presented it to be.”

Jungkook purses his lips. He stands up, gathers his things, and wordlessly makes his way out of the atelier. He didn’t bid the girl any farewell.

“Looks like you haven’t been sleeping.”

Jungkook looks up at his friend before looking down at his crossed arms, turning his attention back to his mug of coffee.

Namjoon takes a seat cross Jungkook. “Did something happen?” He twirls the tea bag around his own mug, “Care to tell why you’ve been sporting those dark eye bags since two days ago?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing when the doctor precisely told you to have a healthy lifestyle to help your wound heal faster.”

Jungkook looks at Namjoon.

Namjoon points to his bandaged arm, “It indeed doesn’t look it’s healing fast like it’s supposed to.”

Jungkook sighs. “Fine, you caught me.” He purses his lips then looks at his friend, “I’ve been wondering. You know our clickers are designed to identify the agent it was assigned to before it could work. But, is it…possible for clickers to work on someone that doesn’t belong to FJO as long as someone from FJO is present?”

Namjoon keeps his gaze on him. A look of surprise seems to wash over his face. But it soon gets replaced by a look of recognition. Namjoon places the tea bag onto the saucer on his left. “I see you already met Y/N.”

“Y-you knew that about her?”

“I do,” Namjoon mutters over his cup of tea. “I learned it when the Bureau looked into the Linton Park serial murders. Seokjin’s team, including me, followed the memory map she made for us—a trail of memories that specifically belongs to anything related to the murders. But then, we hit a dead-end for the supposed next victim. Can’t identify her. We only had images of flashing movement—blood splattering in a barn, people running on a green field. There are just cops and a woman.”

Namjoon places down his cup, “And so, Y/N told me she needed me to help her make a time jump in the past. I pressed on the clicker and,” Namjoon shrugs, “Y/N successfully made the jump. And also successfully return with the info of the victim—a girl working on a farm. Y/N tied it to the flashing images of the field and deduced the running was not about us chasing a murderer’s accomplice. But us running after a victim before Linton could. It was hard to tell at first why the victim is running away from us. Until we learned through Y/N she was an illegal immigrant.”

Namjoon pulls his lips into a tight smile. “I think it’s an additional gift. But at the same time, it’s also a setback. A rightful one at that. Y/N’s inability to time jump in the past unless with a clicker a meter radius within her balances the power of her future-seeing gift. She still needs to rely on the system even if her gift for the future is, hypothetically, unbound from any constraints.” Namjoon takes a sip of his tea. “How ‘bout you? How did you learn this…extra ability of hers?”

“She snatched my clicker from me,” Jungkook leans back in his seat. “She said she needed a ‘tangible memory’ to start on her memory map. She ended up thrusting us back into the time of my car accident.”

Namjoon freezes. “Excuse me? Did you say ‘us’?”

Jungkook’s forehead furrows, “Yeah. We did the jump together, that’s why I’m asking you about this thing with the clickers.”

“Jungkook, she never did that before.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “What?”

Namjoon scratches his nape, face scrunched up. “When she asked me to let her jump through my clicker, she didn’t take me along with the jump. It’s only her. Like it should always be as one clicker is only for one user. It’s always been like this in all the situations she asked me for a time jump in the past.” Namjoon looks at him, “I don’t know why you got in the same loop as her.”

The night was quiet but devoid of peace. Like an ugly pause in a running film that’s just about to unwind the questions they laid at the start. Even after intaking his blue pills, Jungkook finds it difficult to close his eyes shut.

“Big brother!”

Jungkook turns around. The small boy stands on his tiptoes, small arms reaching for him. Jungkook smiles, “You want to climb on my back again, Daehyun?”

“Yes!” Daehyun giggles.

“Alright then,” Jungkook crouches in front of him and Daehyun’s squeals grow louder as he loops his stubby arms around Jungkook’s neck. Jungkook stands up, securing the boy’s short legs around his torso. “Ready for some wind, big boy?” He asks. Daehyun nods frantically and soon, Jungkook is zooming on the green field, turning the heads of the children and volunteers in the park. But all Jungkook could hear was Daehyun’s laughter filling the nice summer afternoon. It brings a huge smile on Jungkook’s face.

Then—flashing blue and red lights. Cold pavement. A lone school bus standing in the middle. Its yellowness highlighted by the police’s yellow tape surrounding the area. Reporters dot every possible space on the crossroad. “Shooter on the loose.” “Poor child.” “Blood splattered on the seats.” But all Jungkook could hear is the white noise of the chattering. And the call of “Big brother!” he’ll never hear anymore.

Jungkook jolts awake. He sighs, closing his eyes. “It’s all in the past,” he mutters repeatedly under his breath. But no matter how many times he repeats it, it doesn’t shake off the horror he’s reeling in. He’s had this dream again and again for eight years straight. He should be already accustomed to it.

Jungkook sits up straight. He turns back to his computer and sees a couple of pictures open on the desktop. It was the screenshots of the CCTVs Yoongi gave them. He looks at the top of his desk. His notes empty of anything new other than Leigh Anderson’s name webbed next to an un-filled space for sponsors. Jungkook covers his face with his palms and yawns. Just then a series of text messages come in.

Unknown: This is Y/N. I know we left on bad terms three days ago. I’m the one to blame for that for overreacting. I’m sorry. It’s been a while since I’ve done a case for FJO. I’m still kinda hung up separating personal services from investigative ones. (2:13 P.M.)

Unknown: Nevertheless, I hope you’re free this day. Meet me at Somerset Road. 3 P.M. I don’t want you to waste the money you gave me yesterday (2:13 P.M.)

Somerset Road is a thirty-minute drive from the FJO Main Headquarters. However, it didn’t feel like it when Jungkook parks his car on the side road. It seemed like hours have gone by when the sun is about to set in the alcove of trees in the distance. It’s just three in the afternoon. Jungkook steps outside and shuts the door. From his position, he could make out a girl in ripped black denim pants and black tank layered with a pink see-through mesh shirt. From the striking red of the spider lilies on the top of her spine, Jungkook could tell it was Y/N. He almost didn’t recognize her. He wouldn’t know she has an undercut had her high ponytail didn’t highlight it.

The girl turns around and looks at him. “You’re late.”

“I have to bribe the Maintenance Office first to give me this afternoon’s CCTVs when we’re done.” Jungkook strides toward her, “How did you get my number?”

“Namjoon.”

Jungkook cocks a brow.

Y/N shrugs, “he wrote it in the letter you gave me. Should you, quote-unquote, be ‘difficult to deal with.’”

Jungkook keeps his lips in a straight line.

Y/N rocks on her toes, hands in her pocket. “Let’s get straight to it then. Take your clicker out and push it.”

“What are you intending to do—”

“A time jump.”

“Of course, I know that. What other purpose do we use our time jumps for?” Jungkook spits. “What I want to know is what we’re supposed to be doing first before I follow whatever you want me to do because I cannot just blindly trust you with this—”

Y/N turns her head to him, one brow cocked up, “Didn’t I tell you before I don’t fancy How-What-Why-Whatever questions to what I do or else my gift won’t work?”

“Yes, but—”

“Look, will you just push it or do you want me to snatch it from you again?” Y/N takes a step closer to him, leveling his eyes with hers. “I already did a read for today. I know its new hiding place.”

Jungkook remains unmoving in his stance.

Y/N crosses her arms. “If it would assure you, this session won’t end taxingly fruitless like the last time. I’m positive we’ll get something by the end of today.”

“How did you know?”

“I told you, I did a read for today. I saw you with an astounded face and me with a happy and proud smile. Obviously, we must have ended up finding something.”

Jungkook is still unconvinced.

Y/N sighs, “If you don’t want to do anything of what I can offer you, you know you can just terminate our connection anytime you want. Just so you know you can’t refund the 10,000 zials you gave me for the downpayment.”

Jungkook keeps his gaze on her. A couple of seconds pass before he sighs and shakes his head as he takes out his issued clicker tucked in the breast pocket of his leather jacket.

Y/N smirks. “See? You know you’re gonna need me in the end and you still try to put up an unnecessary fight.”

Jungkook grunts. He turns the clicker’s indicator to “1-2 weeks” timeframe and pushes the button.

It was just like their previous time jump—like any other Precrime time jump. It felt like nothing yet also everything at the same time. An amalgamation of sensations and perceptions flashing in front of him in the blink of an eye as he is transported back to the night of his accident. Jungkook looks down at his feet. He’s back to where he last stood at—the left side of the road next to the corner where his car will come from. Jungkook turns to his left and he almost jumps in shock. Unlike their last jump, Y/N is no longer on the opposite side of the road, but beside him, shoulders almost bumping his. Jungkook takes a staggering step away from her.

Even if Namjoon laid everything he knows about Y/N’s skills yesterday, Jungkook still finds it hard to accept that a clairvoyant is able to look into the past with such effortless access. Aren’t they only supposed to see the future?

“What are you looking at?”

Jungkook tears his gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

“Thought so, too,” Y/N quips. “We’re here to work after all. Not ogle at each other.”

Jungkook tongues his cheek. He’s not left to his frustration for long as after a second, the burning of tires on the asphalt is heard on their side of the road. A silver-gray Ford appears and it zooms past them in a flash. A black Jaguar subsequently shows up on the other side, its form nearing them each millisecond that passes. It’s only time ‘til the two crashes and sends Jungkook’s car rolling three times on the road.

But, it didn’t happen. The howls of the wind stop. The screeching of the tires halts in awkward silence. And the cars are frozen still. The Jaguar’s bumper and Ford’s right door are separated by a mere inch. It’s the second before the accident happens. Paused in a picture-like frame as if someone hit the pause icon on a video.

Jungkook whips his head to his side. Y/N has her palm closed in a post-click of her thumb and middle fingers. Jungkook feels his throat clog up, “H-how did you do that?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Told you before, it’s because of my gift. And it’s also just seconds ago I told you I don’t like questions about how my gift works.” Y/N steps away from him and onto the road. “Follow me.”

Jungkook silently follows behind. It’s only a matter of seconds that they reach the side of the door of the silver-gray Ford. Jungkook lets his fingers touch on the coated metal. It felt cold on his flesh. Solid. Real. Jungkook can’t help but be astonished. This is no regular time jump. Totally unlike the first one he did with the woman. For this time, Jungkook doesn’t feel he’s living the film of the scene, just like any of the standard Precrime time jumping. This time, Jungkook feels he’s in the scene. Not in a film, not like the virtual reality experienced by Forecrime agents. But in real-time.

“Take your hands off your car.”

Jungkook tears his hands away from his car. He looks at the girl. Y/N gives him a pointed look, “I know this time jump doesn’t feel like the standard time jumps of Precrime so you may be astounded with,” she motions around them, “all of this. But I prefer you not to get too overwhelmed. We’re here for work.”

Jungkook nods, reluctant. Y/N walks further into the side of the road, now a foot away from the spot where the cars should crash. Jungkook quickly follows behind. When he’s by an arms-length away from her, he faces back to the scene in front of him. And then, Y/N clicks her hand.

The trees sway again. The winds continue their violent gush on the road. And the cars collide. The film is playing again.

But then, Y/N clicks her fingers. The scene stops, frozen yet again. The bumper of the Jaguar has dug into the Ford’s door, crushing the metal with its momentum. The side mirror is broken, glass shards shattering in mid-air.

“Come here,” Y/N beckons. Jungkook walks close behind as Y/N stops by the point of intersection of the two cars. From their position, Jungkook could see the past him hunched over on the wheel, seat belt digging into his torso. The window by his side is broken, a splotch of blood marring the clear glass. And on his right, Jungkook could see the driver of the black Jaguar. Non-existent.

Y/N looks at him, “So we know the man you’re after is doing an illegal time jump similar to the pattern of Precrime’s traveling agents. But what you don’t know is: he’s a professional.”

“W-what?”

“Look,” Y/N flicks her wrist and makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hand. The sound goes void again and the cars back away from each other in slow motion. Jungkook’s brows shoot up. The scene is rewinding. Y/N is turning back the time before the Jaguar collided into the Ford. And then, Y/N moves her arm horizontally to her left and clicks her fingers. The Jaguar moves forward again, but slowly this time. Jungkook could see the silhouette of the driver with arms taut on the wheel disappearing into a cloud of smoke until it turns no more but a nonexistent person on the seat as it hits the door of the Ford.

Y/N clicks her fingers and the scene pauses. “As you saw, it only took the driver,” she glances at her watch, “ten seconds before completely disappearing into his time jump. From how fast he disappeared, we could say it only took him twenty seconds in total to make the entire jump. I can only deduce this as the memories we have are short of the time we could see him in his solid form. The same way goes for the CCTVs you gathered. It only captured the last ten seconds of the whole accident. The Jaguar nonexistent in the frame from 20:23:39 and anything beyond before that time mark. The CCTVs only showed the Jaguar from 20:23:40 to exactly 20:24. The last 10 seconds, devoid of any driver.”

The girl continues, “Now, to be able to completely vanish in just 20 seconds, you must be a professional in time jumping in the past. Which can only be done if you’ve undergone training under Precrime. However, this could also be just any other outsider that’s gotten lucky doing an illegal time jump. Considering Somerset Road has a strong electromagnetic field that can help anyone do their time jumps faster and more successfully—including the risky ones that involve a huge time frame of unbounded jumps into the past. But to know that about Somerset Road, much less know how to effectively take advantage of its field during a time jump—you should be a long-time agent of Precrime.”

Y/N faces Jungkook, “The man you’re after is either a professional Precrime traveling agent or an outsider who’s fed with all the necessary information only a Precrime agent could know. It’s an inside job.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “No. It can’t be. Every time-jumping device has a permanent tracker that can never be taken out even by the best engineer. Allen McGregor designed it to be like that to ensure these devices will not be used for personal interest. Every agent is tracked of their traveling activities and logged straight into the Investigation Bureau’s files. They’re inputted in glass files similar to the crime records—void for editing, copying, and deleting. And should it be an outsider utilizing Precrime’s technology, a travel will still be tracked back to the agent whose device was used.” Jungkook looks at Y/N. “There have been no reports of anyone traveling on Somerset Road the night of my accident.”

Y/N shrugs, “I’m just saying what I saw. Especially this.” Y/N makes an anti-clockwise motion of her hands and the scene rewinds again. The Jaguar is frozen back into five seconds before it hits the silver-gray Ford. Y/N walks toward the car, Jungkook close behind. The girl motions to the passenger seat and Jungkook stills. There on the leather seat is a red file case. Unprecedented murder. Precrime Murder Sector. But this is not what rendered Jungkook immobile in shock. Rather, it’s the label on the file case.

“Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

“See?” Y/N smirks, “Told you we’ll find something today.”

A click of the hand and soon, the dark night sky of Somerset Road bleeds into the burning colors of the sunset. There’s no longer the silver-gray Ford and the black Jaguar. It’s just Jungkook and Y/N alone in the road, back to where they were before.

Jungkook hunches over, coughing as he beats his chest. When he finally stabilizes his breathing back to normal, he turns to the girl. “You…Ho-how can you be so sure with all of these vi-visions?”

Y/N looks at Jungkook, an indecipherable look on her face. “This is what you paid for 10,000 zials. I’m handing you what your eyes missed on just the way they are.”

Jungkook holds in his breath as he knocks on the glass door.

“Come in.”

Jungkook pushes the door open and salutes. “Chief Nathan Spencer.”

“Captain Jeon,” the Chief of Precrime glances up at him before returning back to the stack of papers he’s signing. He motions to the chair in front of his desk, “Make yourself comfortable.”

Jungkook pulls back the black chair and sits.

“So, what brings you here?”

“This week’s report, sir—the joint investigation with DOJ on the unidentified black Jaguar.” Jungkook places a brown folder on the Chief’s desk.

The chief looks at the captain. “Still no progress in the identification?”

Jungkook shakes his head, face grim.

“That can’t be helped,” Nathan sympathetically mutters. “It’s not the first time FJO has handled a difficult case.”

“But it is the first time FJO can’t identify a suspect with its current system.”

“You’re right,” Nathan nods. He flips open the brown folder and skims the report. “How’s the auditor doing?”

Jungkook clenches his jaw. “Fine. Still…meddling with our processes.”

Nathan lets out a light scoff. “As expected of someone who’s running for a promotion. Always been a know-it-all jerk, this Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook makes a tight-lipped smile.

Nathan chuckles. “Forgive me. I’ve always had a prejudice against DOJ’s auditors. Most, if not all of them, always give us a hard time more than what’s necessary. Anyway, what else do you have for me, Jungkook?”

The captain sits up straight. “I would like to ask a favor, sir.”

Nathan clasps his hand on his desk. He leans forward. “What is it?”

“It’s for the investigation. DOJ has access to all of our files—Precrime, Forecrime, and even the Investigation Bureau. So I figured if I can also do the same since our sector seems to be their main target. If I have the same leverage on our own information as them, I can have control over this investigation and drive them away before they can even assume power over us.” Jungkook leans on the table, “We could see the problems first before they become visible to DOJ.”

Nathan raises his brow. “So what do you mean?”

“I would like to have unrestricted access in our archives. Everything that contains anything pertaining to FJO.” Jungkook leans forward, “Including the Memory Temple.”

The chief sighs, “That’s a big favor, Jungkook.”

“I know. That’s why Chief General Andrews told me to go to you.”

Nathan’s brows shoot up, “The Chief General?”

“Yes, Chief General Matthew Andrews. He said you’re good friends with Chief of the Bureau, Natasha Ryde. Chief Andrews wants to ask if you could do a favor of a friend for a friend.” Jungkook slides a white envelope underneath the folder, “Of course, not without considerable credit.”

Nathan purses his lips. A beat. He shakes his head, sighing. “Okay…I’ll try to put in a word for you. I can give you the entire archives tomorrow. But the Memory Temple could take a while. Two days or three.”

“That’s fine with me.” Jungkook smiles. He stands up and heads to the end of the room. Before he could disappear behind the door, he salutes one more time, “Thank you for the kind accommodation, Chief.”

Jungkook heads to the main elevator and hits the second floor below the Superiors’ Hall. The metal doors ding open and soon, Jungkook’s looking at a wide expanse of glass wall reflecting hundreds of shelves on the glass panes.

Jungkook heads to the entranceway and salutes at the guard, “Sally.” The guard returns the salute, smiling. Jungkook tilts his head, “Did the Bureau come by to retrieve Precrime files?”

“Not yet, sir. The Bureau’s still busy in their matters with DOJ. They halted the synching of files for now.”

“That’s good,” Jungkook quips and pushes the glass doors open.

Tall metal bookshelves snake like an accordion around the floor. The spaces between them is occasionally filled up by wooden desks that mandatorily come along with a wooden bookstand and black study lamp. It looks like a hedge maze made of old books, monochrome papers, and multi-colored files.

Jungkook heads to the leftmost aisle—Precrime’s archives. He weaves his way through the bookshelves until he stops in front of a separated room in the middle of the labyrinth. It’s made completely out of glass, just like FJO’s offices. The only difference is that this room contains five sets of desks and chairs, bookshelves, and the Archive Manager’s huge white station as the centerpiece.

And before Jungkook could finish leveling his eyes to the scanner set by the door, he could already feel the growing stare of Emily Young.

“Captain Jeon.”

“Ms. Young,” Jungkook nods to the manager.

Emily smiles, “To what do I owe your visit today?”

“Jonathan Winston’s Assassination case file.”

“As usual,” The thirty-seven-year-old manager sing-songs as she stands up and disappears into the back room. It doesn’t take long for her to retrieve what the Precrime captain is looking for.

A long expandable, red file with the label in Arial 12 print: “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Just like in Y/N’s time jump. Identically the same. Jungkook looks at the manager, “Do you have a log of anyone who looks into this file?”

Emily chuckles, “I don’t think that will bring anything new to the table, captain.” She scans the numeric code of the file and turns the monitor of her computer towards him. “There’s no one who’s been looking at this file but you.”

Jungkook peers in. Indeed, the log on Winston’s file contains nothing but his name. From August 15, 2047, the date of Winston’s assassination, to the most recent date, August 3, 2059. The day after Leigh Anderson’s suicide. The day after the Winston case was closed cold. There’s no other name in the log for 12 years other than his name.

Jungkook looks back at Emily, “Are you sure this is the complete log on this file? No one borrowed the file earlier than July 12th?”

“That’s the whole log, captain. There’s no record on August 1st because we’re closed to do an inventory check.” Emily leans back in her chair. “Everyone knows you’re busy on a case in Down Hill for the entirety of June. The Allison future murder is all over the news. Of course, with a Metropolis resident as a future victim. And with you busy on another case, this Winston’s file is devoid of any viewers.” Emily releases a chuckle. “Every cop has an obsession with a particular case. Everyone here knows Winston’s case is yours. I think I will remember if someone other than you looked into this file because I swear that day will be a miracle.”

Jungkook purses his lips, face undecipherable. Right then, his phone rings loud. He turns to his back and picks it up. “Hello?”

“Captain.” It’s Jimin.

“What is it?”

“You have to come to the sector now. There’s a file from Precrime. It’s…a blank.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon,” Jungkook ends the call. He faces Emily. “Thank you for today, Emily.” The archives manager nods with a playful salute at him. Jungkook quickly returns the salute and pushes the door open. Soon, he’s tearing past the labyrinth of shelves.

It doesn’t take Jungkook longer than ten minutes to reach the left-wing of the 2nd floor. The cold sweat from the discovery in the archives is still clinging on his nape.

As soon as he steps into Murder Sector, everyone’s eyes are set on him. Including Yoongi. Jungkook prods his cheek with his tongue as he slides in the gloves over his hands. “Jimin, give me the run-over.”

“Captain, Jeon. It’s a grayish-white file. Precrime, Property and Crime Scene Sector. Traveling agent in charge is Eric Williams. Crime record validated by traveling agents Hannah Peters and Ivan Park. Case number 3571, hit-and-run, destruction of property. Suspect is unknown. Victim’s name is…Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook whips his head towards the secretary, eyes wide.

“It’s your case, sir.” Jimin confirms, “Eric accidentally time jumped into the night of your hit-and-run while he’s traveling for a T-Bone accident in Middle Town. Property and Crime Scene figured this blank is a crucial update on your case.” He walks to the end of the glass board and slides the disk into the middle slot.

Jungkook turns to his front. The glass board lights up and a video starts playing. It’s Somerset Road and it’s almost pitch black in the grainy film. Eric stands frozen on the pavement for a second. But the seeming serenity of the scene soon dissipates as he looks down at his gear and frantically fumbles for his time jumper. Suddenly, hot blinding light fills his peripherals. Eric’s head shoots up. A car is speeding toward him. The headlights grow larger and finally, the car becomes visible. It’s the silver-gray Ford. Eric turns around and right then, a black Jaguar zooms past him, merely missing him by a hairsbreadth. But the Jaguar doesn’t stop and further increases its speed. It bulldozers right into the side of the Ford, sending it flying across the barren road. Eric picks up his feet and dashes to the cars. But his efforts are futile. The black Jaguar has already disappeared before he could even take his 12th step. And then, the record stops.

Before Jimin could even state the protocol run-through, Jungkook frantically swipes through the blank record. He slides across the frames in reverse, back and backward until he reaches the first second of the blank.

“Sir, I’m afraid we have to do the protocol first—"

Jungkook’s hand stills on the board. The frame freezes. It’s a close-up of the black Jaguar as it barely grazes Eric’s body. Jungkook zooms in. There inside the passenger seat of the car is a long, red expandable file. “Jonathan Winston Assassination; August 15, 2047; 12:30:00.”

Jungkook feels his blood run cold. It’s the same file he just had his hands on less than 15 minutes ago. It’s the same file he saw in his and Y/N’s jump. Y/N’s vision is true.

Jungkook feels his pocket vibrate and he quickly whips out his phone. However, he wasn’t able to dwell on it longer as a hard force pushes his shoulder backward, forcing Jungkook to tear his eyes off the screen.

Yoongi glares at him, “Why are you indifferent about this? You know something about this, didn’t you? Captain Jeon!”

But even with his name called out loud, Jungkook couldn’t hear anything. All that registers in his mind is one single message.

Y/N L/N: Have you ever heard of a Sooah Kim before? (11:14 A.M.)

prev | next | series masterlist

Note: This story is based on Steven Spielberg’s film adaptation of Philip K. Dick’s short story, Minority Report (2002). That being said, this series may contain spoilers for the movie so if you want to watch the movie, please do so first before reading!

A/N | Hi hons! Thank you for reading the 2nd chapter! I hope I got you guys more curious about the story hehe. Anyway, I have some announcement: I have finals for a major coming up this week so I’ll spend the next whole week studying. So, I’ll try if I can update the next chap the week after next week, on Sunday, too. But nothing is certain yet as I still have some uni stuff to do. Don’t worry, I only have 3 projects left to do to finally finish this sem. So as soon as I’m done with them, expect more frequent updates from me!

If you guys wanna get notified as soon as I post the next chapter, I’m gonna add you all in my taglist! Just hit me up down the comments of this series’ masterlist so I can better track you all! The search function of Tumblr is messing with me and my notifs in my inbox usually come late so it’s highly probable your asks and DMs may get lost ☹

Once again, thank you for reading and giving a chance to My Time! :”)

Notes: As you know, this is a mystery fic. So, it will be most appreciated if any theories pertaining to the story be kept down the comments so I can entertain them all without spoiling our future readers! Once again, thank you so much for reading this!

162 notes · View notes

damnusillygoose · 4 years ago

Text

Jerza fanfiction(fluff)

title: Periods

summary: Erza and Jellal spend an evening together in bed discussing the marvels of a female body aka periods!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13787058/1/Periods

Disclaimer: These characters are owned by Hiro Mashima.

PERIODS

‘You okay, cupcake?’

‘yep’

‘Okay, there you go’, Jellal stepped in her bedroom completely and handled over the sweets she requested him to buy.

‘Thank you! ’Erza squealed, like a baby, at the sight of her favorite strawberry sponge cake.

‘I am sorry though, we had to cancel our date abruptly. I swear I don’t get cramps on my periods usually, I- ‘

‘it’s okay Erza. You really don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t mind staying in bed and snuggling with you. Its cold outside anyways.’

‘You are so sweet’, Erza replied bashfully and sincerely smiled at him. She proceeded to divert her attention towards the package in her hand, eyeing it ravenously. Jellal chuckled at her excitement and went to the kitchen counter to fetch her a plate and a fork.

‘There’, he said as he handed her the supplies and lifted the warm quilt to make some room for himself, settling beside her.

‘ah, Erza! Your feet are so cold!’, he exclaimed when she deliberately touched her cold feet with his warm ones.

‘Mhm, you really are warm Jellal’, she snorted unapologetically, tucking herself cheekily to his side.

‘How’s the pain?’, he asked curiously.

‘its fine now. Most of it has subdued. Just a slight pain remains in my lower back.’

‘Are period cramps always this hurtful? I remember seeing Meredy cry from them. She couldn’t get up for 3 days at least. It was painful to watch her like that.’

‘Mhm, That’s pretty subjective actually. Some women have it worse. Some don’t. I, for example, don’t experience much pain except for my lower back. And sometimes in my lower abdomen as well. However, their occurrence is extremely intermittent.’

‘I see. If I remember correctly, Ultear didn’t experience much pain during her periods as well, she was mostly fine.’

Erza looked at him intently. Reminiscing about Ultear was a sensitive topic for him and Meredy. She knew he missed his friend, whom he spent seven years with, even if he wasn’t vocal about that. Ultear and Meredy were like his support unit in those years when she was absent. Erza would be eternally grateful to Ultear for that. However, she was pleased to know that Jellal felt comfortable enough to talk about Ultear in her presence.

‘She sure was a strong woman’, Erza remarked.

‘Indeed, she was.’ Jellal responded with a sad smile as he nuzzled his nose against her crown. ‘Though I am ashamed, I must admit.’

‘Why?’, she inquired as her eyebrows knitted themselves into a slight frown.

‘I am ashamed of the fact that I may have spent seven years in the accompany of two women, my knowledge regarding periods is extremely limited. Would… you tell me about it in detail, I mean I do have an idea about its mechanism but I just want to be sure, if you are okay with it?’, Jellal asked tentatively.

Erza was taken back from his proposition. She never expected him to ask her regarding periods. She was of the notion that boys generally strayed away from this topic altogether. Ah, but Jellal wasn’t exactly a boy, right? He was a man. A mature man. Who knew how to treat a woman with chivalry.

‘I don’t have a problem in telling you about periods but I am curious. Why do you want to know about them all of a sudden?’

‘So, I can treat you even better, I guess? I heard woman want to cuddle and eat chocolates during this time of the month. If you yearn for sweets, I’ll be happy to bring you some. If you experience cramps, I’ll help you apply some heat pads. Or bring you tampons if you run out of them. I mean… I just want to take care of you’, he replied timidly with a light blush on his face. She was his queen after all and he was determined to treat her like one.

Can this guy get any better? She pondered. She definitely found herself a keeper, she mused as her heart swelled with love. She leaned forward and gave him a passionate kiss exhibiting her gratefulness, cupping his face in her hands tenderly.

‘Alright but may I ask if you have any previous knowledge about periods?’, Erza asked, brimming with absolute affection for her beau.

‘mhmm, all I know is periods are painful for women.’, he answered as he curled the end of her scarlet locks within his fingers reverently.

‘uh-huh’

‘They occur once a month and are necessary for pregnancy. Women get cravings and want cuddles during this time, I guess?’

‘Well, who wouldn’t want snuggles when someone like you is offering them?’, Erza smirked as she laced her hand with his.

‘I’ll provide you all the snuggles you want’, he whispered, inclining towards her to gently touch his forehead with hers.

‘You’re so sappy’, She grinned.

She leaned back and thought pensively for a moment. She adjusted her peach-colored quilt ,adorned with some floral patterns ,around herself before replying, ‘You are correct actually, let me elaborate further.’

‘Please do’

‘Well, Every…. woman, basically experiences periods every month or every 21-35 days. Okay?’

‘Okay’

‘Woman have two ovaries and one of them releases an egg every month and this process is called ovulation.’ She explained slowly so that her words would imbibe in his mind easily. ‘Now listen closely. The uterus, in its preparation for pregnancy, forms a thickened lining, where the fertilized egg would further develop into a baby.’

‘that would be a womb, right?’, he asked.

‘Yes. That’s the womb.’ She continued, ‘When the egg fails to fertilize with sperm, the entire lining sheds, accompanied by bleeding, mucus, blood clots, etc., causing a period. That’s how this process would revolve in a female body.’

Jellal listened each of her word keenly. ‘I have a question’

‘Go ahead’

‘How long do they exactly last?’

‘Varies, it can range between 3-8 days for a normal healthy woman’

‘What about you?’

‘mhm, 4 days, I guess. 5 maximum,’

‘Do they occur at the same time in each month?’

‘No. They occur around the same date they happened during last month. They can occur a day or two before their previous date or a few days after. Timing can differ slightly.’

‘I see’

There was an imperturbable silence that followed. Neither of them spoke a word for a while as they snuggled next to each other under the warm quilt. The rain pellets that fell against her bedroom window roused her from her thoughts. Her eyes searched his. He appeared completely inscrutable. Did she creep him out with her meticulous narration?

‘Do you find it gross?’, she asked quietly.

‘What? No. Why would you say that?’

‘So, you don’t find periods gross?’

‘No. Why would someone find it gross in the first place?’

‘I heard some guys do’

‘Well, I don’t.’ he smiled in a reassuring manner. ‘You women basically harbor the ability to nurture a new life within yourself and bring them into this world, I think that’s beautiful.’

She paused for a moment to take his words in.

‘You know, women are exceptionally horny during this time, if you continue to spill such sweet words, I’ll have to jump upon you myself’

Jellal erupted into a hearty laugh as he swung his arm around her shoulders to bring her closer to his chest. He placed his chin carefully upon her fussy head and nuzzled his nose in her soft scarlet tresses. ‘I won’t mind if you do’, he whispered softly.

A/N: I apologize if anyone from the readers found this unsettling but I think every healthy couple should have an open communication with each other and talking about periods shouldn’t be considered a taboo. Also, Jellal is a total gentleman which is thoroughly depicted in the manga. Do you want me to make a part 2 version of it? Constructive criticism is appreciated. Thank you for reading!

#fairy tail #fairy tail 100 yq #jerza #jerza fanfiction #Jellal Fernandes #erza scarlet #ultear milkovich #Meredy #crime sorciere

23 notes · View notes

bobasheebaby · 5 years ago

Text

Tour-NO-ment Woes- Cordonian Ruby chapter 3

Pairing: Olivia x Bastien; Ruby Rys

Word count: 1,042

Warnings: angst, no real warnings

Summary: Ruby’s tenth birthday comes with a surprise.

A/N: A major thanks to my prereaders @sirbeepsalot and @lolablackwrites for reading it over and giving me advice.

Series warnings: character death, blood, surgical procedures done by non medical personnel, may go NSFW in the future. May contain gun violence, knife violence, threats, not sure how dark this will go. By requesting to be tagged you acknowledge you are at least 18 years of age.

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist.

Disclaimer: I only own my OC’s, the rest I’m borrowing from PB.

Ruby looked down at her birthday pancakes in thought. She still had time to convince her parents to let her compete. It wasn’t like it would be her first tournament, she couldn’t understand why they had said no this time.

She needed to compete. She was the youngest, just turning ten and already the best in her studio. All she needed was the yes, she already laid her gi and belt out on the bed, all her guards and pads including her hogu packed away in her gear bag. She just wasn’t sure how to get them to say yes.

She looked up as her mama walked into the kitchen, her nose scrunching in distaste as she looked at all three of her children eating the strawberry and chocolate filled pancakes. “I thought the birthday pancakes were only for the kid celebrating.”

Bastien chuckled as he placed a plate of pancakes in front of her. “Galen asked for them and then I couldn’t deny Lovett.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Galen only had to wait a week.”

Galen looked up with a chocolate ring around his lips. “But they are so good Mama!”

Olivia bit back a sigh. She could tell him he was too soft with the children, but the truth was she was too. After all that Ruby had lost, all the moving they all had to endure they tried to give them as much joy when they could.

“These don’t have strawberries in them do they?” She eyed the stack of golden pancakes topped with fresh strawberries.

“No mon coeur, I know how you don’t like fruit pieces in your pancakes, no chocolate chips either.”

“Mine have extra chocolate chips, and Papa added bacon too!” Ruby exclaimed before shoving another large bite into her mouth. “It’s so good!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Sorry, Mama,” Ruby replied shielding her mouth with her hand. She swallowed, leveling her mother with a hopeful stare. Now or never.

“Mama, can’t I please compete today?”

Olivia paused, her scarlet lips pulling into a thin line. She knew this was coming, Ruby didn’t understand they said no for her safety. They had no issues with her competing in tournaments, but this one was too large, too televised for her to participate.

She froze as her daughter stared at her with her father’s, Liam’s eyes. Every day she looked more and more like her parents. Her mother’s golden waves and smile, her father’s nose and sapphire eyes. It was too risky to allow her to participate in a televised event. If footage were to make its way into the wrong hands it would be nearly impossible to deny who she was.

“I’m sorry Ruby, not this time.”

“Mama!” Ruby cried.

Olivia flinched at her shrill tone. It’s for her own good.

“It’s my one thing I want to do!”

“Goose …”

Ruby’s face contorted as tears rolled down her cheeks. She failed. She didn’t want to admit defeat, she wanted to continue to argue until she was granted permission to compete. Her parents’ stern looks told her that there was no winning.

- - -

Ruby aimlessly scrolled through the search results. She was fascinated by politics ever since the subject was introduced to her at school. She could spend hours on end reading about the different countries and the types of governments they each used.

Her eyes paused on a link she’d crossed before but never checked. She couldn’t explain the sudden draw to read this page that she’s overlooked countless times before.

She waited with bated breath as the new page slowly loaded. Her eyes drifted over a diagram of the country.

Cordonia- a once free and prosperous nation in the Mediterranean located near Greece. It was the last functioning monarchy in Europe until it was taken over by a neighboring country. Cordonia is now considered a region of Auvernal and is under the rule of King Bradshaw who many compare to a dictator.

Before falling to another country it was ruled by the Rys family. The royal family could be traced back more than 500 years. The country known as Cordonia was once five kingdoms before being united under the rule of Kenna Rys, the first monarch to rule all five kingdoms that would be known as Cordonia. Liam Rys was the last of the line to rule Cordonia, falling just over a year after taking the throne. King Liam, his queen, and future heir were all claimed in a fatal crash.

Ruby blinked back the forming tears. She had no connection to these people and yet she felt an overwhelming sadness as she read the words. Pull it together, people die all the time. Your parents died and you haven’t shed a single tear for them.

By the time she was six, she had noticed she didn't resemble her parents the way her friends did. Her baby brother looked more like them and he wasn’t even a year old. When her mama and papa sat down and carefully explained that she was adopted and her parents had died she hadn’t even flinched. She didn't know why, she just hadn't. So why now?

She skimmed the remaining facts, skipping over a section dedicated to the former nation's love of apples. She finally paused at an image of a man standing in full regalia. She’d never seen him before, but his wavy blond hair, strong jawline, and striking blue eyes seemed eerily familiar. King Liam at his coronation.

“What country are you reading about today Goose?”

“Cordonia,” she held up the tablet showing her father the portrait of the fallen king.

Bastien’s throat constricted and his hearing faded out as he stared down at the piercing blue eyes of the man he’d failed. He struggled to focus on his daughter’s words. Even with her love of politics they had never expected her to learn of Cordonia like this. Why didn’t they expect it?

“Isn't it sad Papa? The king, queen and their baby all died and the other country just took over. I didn’t know countries could do that.”

He struggled to stay composed, if he reacted too strongly more questions they weren’t ready to answer would surely follow. “It's very sad Goose, very sad indeed.”

Masterlist can be found in my bio.

@speedyoperarascalparty @liamxs-world @annekebbphotography @hopefulmoonobject @itsstillnotwhatyouthink @ao719 @blackwidow2721 @stopforamoment @akrenich @gardeningourmet @daniv2278 @bella-ca @gibbles82 @choiceslife @blackcoffee85 @sirbeepsalot @mrskamilxh @dcbbw @alicars @desireepow-1986 @mfackenthal @bhavf @indiacater @drakesensworld @kingliam2019 @walkerswhiskeygirl @ladyangel70 @jovialyouthmusic @edgiestwinter @rainbowsinthestorm @janezillow @sleepwalkingelite @texaskitten30 @traeumerinwitzhelden @bbrandy2002 @jared2612 @blackcatkita @darley1101 @innerpostmentality @lolablackwrites @endlessflame @fullbeaumonty @hhiggs @itsalliepg @smalltalk88 @littlegreenmoo @mynameiskaylabella @bobbersb @imma-winchester-addict @cordonianroyalty @loveellamae @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @katedrakeohd @forthebrokenheartedthings @super-secret-fandom-blog @burnsoslow @queenjilian

56 notes · View notes

higuchimon · 4 years ago

Text

[fanfic] What’s Mine Is Mine: Chapter 18

V-mon’s attention stuttered between Andromon, Hikari, and Daisuke. What his deepest heart said was to stand before Daisuke and make sure no harm came to him. But Andromon said he wouldn’t hurt him – and that he ‘belonged’ to the Kaiser. Was the Kaiser going to show up and hurt Daisuke even more?

But Hikari needed help too. Nefertimon did her best, circling over the Pagumon so they couldn’t hide with Hikari’s D-Terminal. There wasn’t much she could do against Andromon right now either. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t how their battles went! They won!

V-mon made up his mind. He knew what Daisuke would do and he knew what he could do – which unfortunately wasn’t getting that Spiral off of Andromon. If he couldn’t evolve, then he couldn’t break that thing.

But now he rushed over to where the Pagumon bounced away, all of them giggling evilly among themselves, and snatched up Hikari’s D-Terminal before they could stop him.

“Hey! Give that back!” One of the Pagumon growled at him. “Kaiser-sama said we could keep it!”

V-mon held the D-Terminal close. He could see Hikari had a message on it and quickly slammed the send button. Even if the Pagumon got it back, then the others would know something happened.

“I don’t care what he said! This isn’t his!” V-mon snapped. These he could handle even without being evolved. The Pagumon who’d spoken growled harsher and bounced at him. V-mon smacked it back, then grabbed hold of the tiny Evil Ring and yanked, breaking it.

He didn’t waste any time, but darted among the ten or so Pagumon, snapping their Rings. They were so small it took barely any effort – they could have broken them themselves if they’d hit a tree too hard.

The first Pagumon paused, scarlet light fading from the eyes, and blinked before rolling around in confusion. Then he focused once more on V-mon.

“Who are you? What’s going on?”

“The Digimon Kaiser had you under his control,” V-mon said, keeping himself back. “But I broke the Rings.”

The Pagumon murmured amongst themselves. V-mon gestured to where Hikari stood, trying to wipe that acid off of her skin. He’d never heard that Pagumon acid could reformat a Digimon so it probably wasn't going to hurt a human too much. “You hurt her, too.”

“Who is she?” One of the other Pagumon peered. “She doesn’t look like a Digimon.”

“She’s not.” Nefertimon called from above. “She’s a human – my partner human.”

Again the Pagumon whispered to each other, then one and all bounced out of sight, too quickly for V-mon to follow. He thought he heard tiny whispers of absolute fear and hoped they weren't afraid of the Chosen. But they were gone, and Hikari came over, still wiping at her arms and face.

“Thanks, V-mon,” she said as she took back her D-Terminal. Then she glanced back to where Andromon strode closer moment by moment. “We can’t leave Daisuke. I don’t care what he said.”

V-mon wasn’t going to argue that point at all. “But what can e do?”

Nefertimon landed next to them, eyes on Andromon. They were car enough away so that he had to walk to get close. V-mon knew he had ranged attacks but he wasn’t using them. Maybe he worried he’d accidentally hurt Daisuke?

“I don’t know,” Hikari admitted. Her eyes hardened. “Nefertimon, do you think you could carry Daisuke, me, and V-mon?”

Nefertimon nodded. “That won’t be a problem.”

That made sense to V-mon. The farther away they got from here the better. They weren’t going to give Daisuke to the Kaiser, they were going to find a way to save him, and they were going to win!

Hikari scrambled up onto Nefertimon’s back and helped V-mon up there with her. Together they darted past Andromon – who shot again at them and Nefertimon dodged it deftly – and headed back to where Daisuke rested.

They’d gone a little out of sight chasing down the Pagumon. V-mon hoped that when they returned they’d see Daisuke awake and cheerful and himself again. His heart sank a little when he saw that Daisuke hadn’t changed a bit, still laying far too still, just quietly breathing.

He jumped down and hurried over, taking Daisuke’s hand in his. Daisuke had always been hot to the touch – never in a bad way but like fire keeping everyone around him warm. Now it was like someone had banked those flames.

“Everything all right?”

V-mon looked up to see Patamon, Armadimon, Agumon, and Gabumon hurrying towards them, with their partners following. Patamon hurried over, landing next to him, looking as worried as V-mon felt.

“Sort of?” V-mon admitted. “And sort of not?”

He ducked down as another of Andromon’s attacks slashed through the air, and watched as Pegasumon and Armadimon joined in the battle against the Spiraled slave. Gabumon and Agumon stayed next to Daisuke with V-mon, Gabumon’s warm paw on his back.

It didn’t take long, with three of them united, to finally shatter the Evil Spiral on Andromon’s arm. Pegasumon and Nefertimon used their Sanctuary Bind to hold Andromon in one place, while Digmon moved in to shatter the Spiral itself.

Andromon slumped down, straightening up after a few moments. “Chosen Children,” he said, nodding towards them. “Thank you.”

Hikari started to say something, then broke off. V-mon could see why. Ice clamped his heart.

“The Digimon Kaiser.”

To Be Continued

Notes: Almost there! Just two more to go!

#fanfic #higuchimon writes #digimon adventure 02 #ichijouji ken #motomiya daisuke #ken x daisuke #daisuke x ken #chapters: what's mine is mine #series: danger zone

2 notes · View notes

nadacwriter · 4 years ago

Text

Natalie’s Curse/Dinogad’s Smock

When Natalie Gaine was born, they say she was cursed. As a hybrid of a human and a ghastly creature, she has some powers that may be out of her control. How will her family, specifically her Mother Marion, cope with these powers?

AN: A oneshot featuring a 6-year-old Natalie going through her first transformation. There’s a scene in this one where two characters speak Welsh to each other in the story, but I kept the written dialogue in english, I didn’t want you to have to translate for one of my silly little stories.

CW: Body Horror

Words: 2,335

The last name ‘Gaine’ carries respect with it in Delstran circles all over the world. Maybe you knew of the Gaine’s line, dating back generations; known for progressive politics, many saw them as activists and folk heroes, but others saw them as agitators and terrorists. It was hard to find a witch or wizard in their native Wales that didn’t have an opinion on the line.

Or, maybe you knew more about Marion Gaine, the world renowned duelist who married Krysta Gibson, one of the finest alchemists in the United States, bar none. If you lived in the town they called home, Edelmen, Iowa, you might have known their 8-year-old, Norah, born magically from Krysta. And their newest addition, Charice, a little infant, who had just had her blessing ceremony a month or so ago.

But if you know one thing about the Gaines, in Wales OR America, it’s this:

Natalie Gaine is cursed.

Natalie Gaine is the only child that Marion Gaine herself gave birth to, just two years after Norah was born. The story behind her conception is indeed gruesome, and you’d be hard pressed to find anyone willing to tell you the whole story. After all, hybridization with other species is often fine, but with a red wraith? A highly dangerous spirit that most people had never even SEEN before? That was something else.

It didn’t matter. Natalie didn’t look anything like her sisters. Her skin was fair, her hair was jet black, and her body was small, feeble. But that doesn’t constitute rumors of a curse. But nearly killing your mother at birth? Reddish-gray eyes, massive scars and markings all over your body, surprising magical skill, a nasty temper, an inability to sleep, and a morbid curiosity for the dark and macabre? Those were, to the locals, anyways, SURE signs that the child had been cursed. Not the Gaine family, not even necessarily Marion Gaine herself, the biological mother.

Just the child. And life was going to get much more difficult…

“MOM! MAM!” Norah called out, her eyes wide and her stance tense, “I NEED HELP!”

Krysta was busy with her child, but she could hear the concern in Norah’s voice. She took the infant Charice in her arms and walked with her, finding Norah at the top of the stairs to the third floor, “Norah? What’s the Matter?”

Marion, who had been working down on the first floor, trying to repair one of her capes, heard the call as well, and headed swiftly up the stairs, finding Krysta and putting a hand on her shoulder, looking up to Norah, “What’s all the fuss about, love?” Norah breathlessly explained, “N-Natalie! She got angry, because someone was throwing rocks at her window, and she got really mad and she started breaking and I don’t know what to do but I think she’s broken!”

Krysta handed Charice off to Marion, who took her and shushed the now antsy infant. Krysta made her way up to the top of the stairs and put her hands on Norah’s shoulders, moving her out of the way. Norah ran down to Marion, “I-Is Mom gonna be okay?” She asked, tugging on Marion’s dress.

Marion was about to tell Norah that yes, everything would be fine, she probably just cast a spell wrong and they’d need to fix it, it wouldn’t be a big deal...when all of the sudden, a scream. “MARION!”

A pause, then, “Hold her, Norah,” Marion let Norah hold Charice. She made sure Norah’s hands were firm on Charice before bolting up the stairs, nearly tripping on her dress as she made her way to Natalie’s bedroom, finding Krysta. Krysta wore a terror on her face that Marion hadn’t seen in a logn, long time.

“What’s gone wrong? What’s happened?” Marion asked, gripping Krystan’s arms and looking her in the eye, “do I need to call someone?”

“Look, look!” Krysta pointed into the room, and the pair looked upon what was inside. The room was messy, with unmade bed and books strewn about the floor, as well as a window with a small crack in it. But that wasn’t really the pair’s focal point.

Natalie had transformed. Again, when other hybrids did this, it was fine. A human looking more like a fae, or a dryad of some kind. But with a red wraith, it was different. Natalie must have gotten VERY angry to transform like this, and she was probably still angry and scared and confused. The mirror in the room was smashed to bits.

Natalie’s hair was long and greasy, hanging black at her sides. Her clothes were stretched over this new body, and her fingers had formed into long, gnarly claws, with sickly gray tips, serving as claws. Her eyes glowed a cutting scarlet, and shined in the light. But the scariest feature was the mouth. Sharp, long teeth, and there were dozens of them. And her mouth had split, as well, with deep, horrible jowls hanging down from her mouth to her chest, embedded with teeth. Her breathing was heavy and labored, and her head flitted and shook, like a bird expecting a fight.

“I-I don’t know, WHAT is going on,” Krysta began, fear apparent in her wavering voice, “but if that’s permanent, we need to call-”

Marion shook her head, “No. It isn’t permanent.” She let go of Krysta, “Hybrids do this. It’s scary, but, I know how to fix this.” Marion displayed a level of calm and collection that could make a nun look like a drill sergeant. “I’ll fix this,” she said, “I’ll be fine. Go see to Norah.”

Krsta nodded gently, and hurried off. She was an attentive and caring figure, but anyone confronted with their child being transformed into that would be caught off guard. As she went away from the room, Marion calmly entered, and shut the door.

Natalie hissed at her as the door shut, and scurried into a corner, grunting and hitting her head against the wall. Whether she was trying to escape or otherwise, it wasn’t working. As Marion went to put a hand onto Natalie’s shoulder, she recoiled into herself, and screamed out, before she began what sounded like crying. The low, rough noise choking out from her was painful for Marion to hear. But she endured it, to help her daughter.

Marion scoured the books on the floor. She was looking for one in particular, a little picture book she’d brought with her from Wales. She’d never known why she’d kept it until now. And when she found the book, she slowly went to Natalie, sitting behind her.

“It’s alright, pet...cry.” She said, “I know you’re in there, somewhere, Natalie.” Marion reached for Natalie’s shoulder again, and this time, Natalie let herself be touched. She was cold, wrinkled, and she shook. Marion then began to hum a song, as she opened the book.

Natalie responded well, as she turned to face her mam. She spotted the book as well, and hissed at it, looking at the pages intently. Marion, meanwhile, kept the humming going, before she began to sing.

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

Marion would point at the pictures in the book. A rotund man, wearing a furry smock, and carrying a club, and a spear, and holding two dogs on a rope leash. Natalie was now leaning into Marion ow, calming down from her fear and rage. Her skin was growing warm, her hair short, and her eyes more human. Marion, meanwhile, continued,

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

Natalie was looking more human, her hands retracting into fingers and palms, her legs doing the same, and even her teeth grew less sharp, her chin reforming. Marion turned the page, and pointed out pictures, containing different amounts of animals that Dinogad had hunted. Marion’s smile was gentle, as was her grip on Natalie.

“Un ,

dau,

tri,

pedwar,

pump,

chwech,

saith,

wyth…”

Natalie was back to normal. Her face was stained with tears, her voice was shaky, but she was finally calming herself down. It was Natalie who sang the next part in the book, her voice gentle and raspy.

“Pais Dinogat Vreith, Vreith…

O grwyn balaot ban wreith…

Chwit chwit chwidogeith,

Gochanwn gochenyn wythgeith…”

The pair went on, singing until the song was done and the book was closed. Marion stroked Natalie’s hair, kissing her forehead. She spoke with Natalie in Welsh, gently lifting her to the bed, and resting her own head on her own arms.

“Natalie,” She began, “Do you want to tell me what happened?” She asked, observing as her daughter turned away. She kept her eyes on her, just in case she ended up transforming again.

“Someone through a rock and my window and I got mad. Then Norah said my teeth looked funny, and I got scared. Then I heard a voice telling me to-” she paused, reluctant to go on, gripping the comforter of her bed.

“Natalie,” Marion got up and got the girl a set of less stretched clothes, “You transformed because you got too angry and too scared. Your brain didn’t want to hold back anymore.”

“But you told me I can’t control when I’m angry!” Natalie said, wrapping herself up in her blanket. She made it clear that she wasn’t budging, at least for a little while.

“Nat,” Marion sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her, “You can’t. But you can control how you deal with it.” Marion rubbed Nat’s back through the blanket, “Life will not be easy. Not for anyone. But your mother and I can help you take some of that weight. Okay?”

“…” Natalie reached out and hugged her mother tightly, squeezing her, “Thanks, Mam. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Nat. You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me, a little anger management isn’t gonna change that.”

///

Marion walked down the stairs calmly and quietly, and was greeted by Krysta, holding Charice, a worried expression on her face. “So...did you change her back?”

“Yes. Where’s Norah, is she alright?” Asked Marion, kissing Krysta gently on the cheek.

“She’s fine, I calmed her down,” she said, shaking her head and sitting in a nearby chair, “so, Natalie just transformed into a red wraith.”

“Yes.” Marion stated, matter-of-factly, as she sat next to Krysta, “It had to do with her anger. We’re gonna have to figure out a way to control it. I don’t know how.” Marion sighed, leaning forward.

Krysta bounced Charice up and down on her leg, “We’ll figure it out, Marion. I promise.” She put a hand onto of Marion’s, rubbing the back of her hand gently.

Marion smiled softly and nodded. “I know.” She said, leaning back into her chair. “Here,” She took Charice once more, rocking her gently, “I’ll keep her for now. You’ve been up a while. Rest.”

“You sure, dear? I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Ohh, I’m sure. She’s our baby, after all, should get to know her Mam.” Marion responded, nuzzling her nose into Charice’s, kissing her forehead, and letting her smile grow as Charice giggled in response.

Krysta rose from her seat and made her way down the stairs, letting Marion sit alone with Charice, and with her thoughts. Her smile faded into a frown, and her stare became vacant, as she let the little child sit in her arms, rocking back and forth in the chair. Thinking about Natalie, about how scared she looked when she’d turned, how terrified she must have felt when she turned. She thought for a while, until she heard the sound of little footsteps padding down the stairs.

Natalie was still wrapped up in her blanket, and looked to see Marion, walking over to her. “Can I sit, Mam?”

“’course, dear.” Marion replied, looking up and moving some pale hair out of her face.

Natalie sat in the chair next to Marion, and looked at Charice, wriggling a little and looking all around the room, her eyes taking in all the new sights. She kicked a little bit, and pointed at Natalie.

Natalie’s eyes widened, and she let a smile creep across her face, “can I hold her, Mam, pleeeease?”

marion looked over at the girl. Eyes red, hair black, scars and marks apparent. But her whole body was excited with the aspect of holding her little sister, of taking her into her arms. She just looked so ecstatic to hold her, and like she would die if she didn’t get to.

“Let me show you how,” Marion rose from her seat and walked over, teaching Natalie how to cradle Charice’s head in the crook of her elbow, how to support her body, instructing her to sit down when she held her. And then, she placed Charice into Natalie’s arms, and let go.

Charice kicked and wriggled, grunting and babbling, but she took well to the new person holding her. She sputtered and wriggled some more, all the while being looked at by Natalie, whose eyes were dead set on Charice the second she entered her arms.

“Mam,” She gasped, “She’s so tiny…”

“Gonna be as big as you some day, Nat, maybe even bigger!” Marion said. Marion watched as Natalie held Charice, careful with her, even while she was sitting down, and wrapped in a soft blanket. She was incredibly deliberate, as if every breath was calculated. All because she didn’t want to hurt her sister.

Marion stopped worrying about Natalie’s anger, at least, for now. She watched Natalie hold her little sister, with every ounce of care she could. And Marion knew, somewhere, that even IF Natalie was cursed, even if part of her wanted to kill those kids who were messing with her, there was a bigger part. A part that knew how important it was to be careful with a young child.

And Marion wouldn’t have it any other way.

#CW: Body Horror #Delstran #Writing

2 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 5 years ago

Text

Worth her ring – Part 6

Summary: You were Steve’s best friend and more until you chose neither Tony’s nor Steve’s side.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, former Steve x Reader, Thor Odinson, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Wong, Stephen Strange, Loki, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Jim Rhodes

Warnings: angst, fluff, light smut, comforting, explosions, fighting, injured Avengers, characters death, blood, violence

A/N: Please consider I do not follow the exact storyline of Infinity War and Endgame. Thor still has Mjolnir e. g.

Worth her ring Masterlist

The room cleared and only you, Bucky and Steve are left. Your eyes meet Steve’s and you take a deep breath. “How worse is it, Steve?”

“Honestly…” Sitting onto the table Steve shakes his head. You can see the tension in his body as he tries to find the right words. “Strange said if whoever is after the stones gets Vision’s stone and his we are lost, the earth is lost, maybe the whole universe.”

“Nice. As if we didn’t have enough shit going on. Of course, there must be a new big bad asshole trying to mess with the universe.” Bucky grumbles pacing around the room. “When will Strange arrive?”

“He’ll be here in two hours. I hope we can keep Vision safe. Taking the stone away means killing him…” Steve sighs. “I know we had our problems, no more than that but right now we need to…” Patting his shoulder you nod.

“This has nothing to do with our ‘private’ problems, Steve. We still are a team, and no one will let anything happened to vision or Strange. Will Wong be there too?” Steve nods, telling you with his eyes he’s got no clue how to handle the situation.

“That enemy is strong, stronger than anyone we tried to take down before. We need to be prepared to lose people.” Bucky stops in his tracks, cursing before he rams his metal fist into the wall.

“Stop saying stuff like that. We are still here, and two infinity stones are ours. That guy won’t get anywhere near Vision or Strange. If needed we can ask T’Challa for help.” Bucky points a finger at Steve, not giving away he’s scared too.

“I contacted T’Challa, informed him about the situation and he offered help and shelter for Vision and Strange. Stephen refused, he’s too busy telling me he can handle the situation. Wanda wanted to go right away…”

Your heart is heavy, knowing this could be the end so you grab Bucky’s hand to squeeze it tightly. Not wanting to lose him after you just found him.

“Whatever happens, we will stand united one last time.” His eyes shine as he wraps his arms around you, ignoring Steve’s sad eyes.

“Tony set the tower on the highest security level. Strange and Wong will be here soon and stay if needed. Peter will come here too. I know he’s young but…” Steve hates involving Peter but these are desperate times.

“I got it. That boy can kick asses for sure, Steve. I bet he’s proud to be a part of the Avengers. Let’s prepare for the worst and hope the best.” While you leave the room with Bucky your former lover doesn’t take his eyes off you.

“I’ll do anything to protect you…” He whispers before he looks at the file on the table one last time. “This is it…”

----

“I don’t want to miss my chance with you, Buck…please…” Whimpering you cup the back of his neck to bring him down for a kiss.

Between kisses, touches and love confessions you get rid of your clothes. Slow, sensual and without hurry you peel each other out of your layers.

Bucky takes his time, worships your body as promised. He kisses, licks and nips your skin, making you gasp with every gentle swipe of his thumb.

Your fingertips dig into this back when he finally sinks into you, crying out your name as he savors the moment he can feel your warmth around him.

Face buried in your neck he moans your name with every thrust while you close your eyes to forget everything else than the feeling of the man you love holding you in his arms.

“Buck…”

“I know, doll…I know. Just forget everything else. Just look at me, Y/N. I will not let anyone hurt you. I love you…”

Panting you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely as if it’s the last time you can be close to Bucky.

“I love you too…love you…” Your body gives in and you let the pleasure wash over you as Bucky presses his lips to every inch of skin he can reach.

“You and me, Y/N…you and me…”

----

The explosion hits while Stephen tries to explain who got hold of two infinity stones, about his dreams or rather visions and the time stone he has around his neck.

“What the…” Tony jumps up looking out of the window in terror. Strange creatures are trying to enter the tower and knows he will have no other choice. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. activate shut down protocol and start the first quin jet. I’m afraid they are here, Doctor.”

“I’m afraid so too.” Stephen is silent for a moment before he motions Wong to follow him. “We will try to stop them, get Vision out of here.”

“No.” You stop Stephen, motioning Wong to bring him away. “Two safe infinity stones are better than one, Stephen. We’ve got this.” Wong grabs Stephen’s arm, not letting him break out of his grip.

“Right. Tony, Peter escort Vision and Stephen to the first quin jet. Wong, we count on you to tame the Doctor. Don’t let them try to enter the fight, no matter what…” Steve orders already grabbing his shield, nodding at Bucky.

While you run out of the room to follow Steve and Bucky you feel the adrenaline rush through your veins.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., tell Wanda and Natasha to provide back-up.” You run toward the hallway, dropping your jacket. “Thor, Loki. We need your strength. Do not let them get to the quin jet or Vision and our Doctor. If we fail, you need to take over…”

Loki smirks, snapping his fingers to change into his favorite outfit to fight. “I’m not giving them the chance to run us over. How about you brother?”

“A great day for a fight, brother. Let’s smash some skulls, break bones and defend the stones with all we’ve got. No one defeats us…” Thor booms as he tightens the grip on his hammer.

You can see his eyes start to sparkles, as energy runs through his body.

“We need to take them down fast and give the others time to escape. Good thing Tony sent all recruits and the rest of the employees away this morning.” Steve orders and you stand in line with Captain America, one last time.

“Ready if you are Steve…” Bucky looks at his friend, pointing at you. “At all cost…”

“At all cost, Buck…” Shield aimed Steve doesn’t flinch when the front door bursts open or strange creatures storm toward him. His only thought is to defend you…nothing else.

----

“I can help…” Bruce protests but Tony pushes him toward the quin jet.

“We need you, just in case. You are the strongest of all of us, Bruce. Now quit moping and let’s make the best out of this shitty situation. T’Challa sent a jet too, let’s make it to him before these creatures get hold of Vision and the stones.” Tony pants shooting a creature trying to get close to the quin jet.

“Tony, you can’t stay behind…” Stephen tries but the ramp closes and Tony smirks as he tells F.R.I.D.A.Y. not to open it.

“I can…” Ramming his fist into his attacker’s face Tony orders F.R.I.D.A.Y. to start the jet. “I’ll take care of our guests, get the fuck out of here…”

While Bruce takes over the jet and leaves the rooftop he sees at least twenty creatures’ storm toward Tony. His friend fights the monsters off with all his strength but there are too many.

“I got to…” Bruce wants to land the jet, but Thor slams his hammer onto the rooftop and a shockwave pushes them off the roof. “Thor got this…”

----

“My friend, are you alright?” Thor asks as more creatures crawl up the building, slowly surrounding the men. “Ready if you are, my Asgardian friend.” Tony laughs, checking his energy level.

“Fifty-eight, not bad, but not good either. F.R.I.D.A.Y. send another suit, the special one to the other roof, start the second jet and tell the others to move their asses to the other side of the tower.” Ordering his AI around Tony fires at any enemy getting too close to Thor and him.

“Any suggestions?” Thor let his hammer hit one of the monsters, smashing its skull.

“One you will not like for sure. How far can you get with that hammer of yours?” Thor blinks a few times, smirking.

“Anywhere I have to go…”

“Good, I count to three, make sure you are ready to leave the rooftop…” Tony starts the countdown and Thor rises into the air, using Mjolnir to reach the other building as Tony leaves the suit.

“Tony!” Thor calls his friends name as he jumps off the building, falling fast.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., a suit would be nice and please activate self-destruction for red wings…” Tony smirks, waving at Thor as his golden suit catches his fall, letting him rise before he can touch the ground.

----

“Wanda, Nat…retreat…” You call for your friends, using your powers to smash another monster into the wall. “Too many and Tony said…” Explosions let the tower shake and you look at Bucky with wide eyes. “Shit…”

“Steve, we need to fall back and leave the tower. For now, we can’t defeat them. Soon we are outnumbered…” Bucky calls for his friend as Wanda sends a shockwave toward more enemies.

Two of them are unimpressed, smirking as they step closer. “Where are the stones? Give them to us and we will let you live.” One of them offers. “I’m Proxima, Thanos sent us to get the stones.”

“Shitty name…” You chuckle as Bucky laughs at your comment, panting heavily.

“I’m Corvus, give us the stones…”

“I got no clue what you are talking about, punk. Get the fuck out of our tower.” Bucky wants to attack the intruders, but you hold him back.

“These are more powerful. I can feel it…” Wanda warns, and you step back, just like Bucky.

“Steve…retreat?” Glancing at your leader you gasp as Sam swoops in to kick Proxima across the room and through the wall. Swooping around, he fires on Corvus.

“About time you show up, Wilson,” Natasha smirks as she fires her last bullets at Corvus to help Sam.

Scarlet Witch moves protectively in front of Natasha as her friend is bleeding, ready to attack the enemies she builds power in her hands.

Steve rams his shield into Corvus, picking the weapon Proxima dropped up to throw it at her. “Stay down…” He calls out before he runs toward Natasha to pick her up. “Retreat! Everyone!”

“I had so much fun out there…” Loki chuckles as he stabs another monster, helping the others to fend off more creatures to use the back entrance to reach the other building…

----

“There you are…” Tony exclaims, firing at some enemies trying to get close to the jet while Thor let thunder crash down the monsters.

“Sorry, we had to pick up Falcon first…” Natasha laughs as Rhodey starts the jet. “Get in here…” He points at the monsters. “We can’t take them all down…”

“Right…” Running toward the building you hear someone scream and then you see a spear piercing through Loki’s chest before he drops to the floor, bleeding heavily.

“No!” Thor rams his hammer into Proxima’s face, breaking her neck, not caring his hammer dropped to the floor. “Brother…”

“I…” Coughing Loki looks up at his brother, smiling. “I fell in a battle as I wanted to, brother. Take these monsters down and show them…” Thor’s scream makes your heart clench.

Thunder strikes the monsters around and you can smell the burned flesh, but even worse you can feel Thor’s pain, all of it as he cradles his brother's face. A single tear rolls down his cheek as you touch his shoulder.

“We need to get away from here, Thor…please… They are too many, we can’t lose you too, my friend.”

Your friend nods, hiding his pain as he picks his dead brother up to carry him toward the quin jet. Looking at his friends, his fellow Avengers he raises his voice.

“They will die…all of them…”

All works Tags

@yolobloggers, @meganywinchester, @shikshinkwon, @miraclesoflove , @mogaruke, @shatteredabby, @soryuwifeyxx, @letsdisneythings, @i-love-superhero, @psychicforest, @thevelvetseries, @deanmonandnegansbitch, @sabascio, @goodgodimaweirdperson, @that-place-called-middle-earth, @the-broken-angel-13, @trumpettay

Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore, @notyourtypicalrose, @voltage-my2dlove, @thedoctorscamanion, @officialmarvelwhore, @randomgirlkensy, @juniorhuntersam, @lumar014, @doctorswife221b, @sister-winchesters99, @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog, @the-soulofdevil, @chonisberonica , @redroomproperty, @natura1phenomenon, @chaoticfiretaconerd, @heartislubbingdubbing, @hhiggs, @sea040561 , @midnightsilver16830

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@roonyxx, @stylesismyhubs, @multisuperfandom, @mrspeacem1nusone, @shadowcatsworld , @fallenoutofrose, @rynabarnesrogers, @denisemarieangelina, @gabifernandessn

Bucky Barnes/Sebastian Stan Tags

@rynabarnesrogers, @marshyrebelcloud, @buchanan-lover

Worth her ring Tags

@evanstush, @mischiefsthings, @rororo06, @sebbystan-owns-my-mind-body-soul, @hphmincorrectquotes, @classyunknownlover, @soryuwifeyxx, @thatgirl1456

#marvel fanfiction #marvel masterlist #marvel #marvel tag #worth her ring masterlist #light smut #former steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #james barnes x reader #thor odinson #tony stark #angst #characters death

134 notes · View notes

seriouslyhooked · 5 years ago

Text

Feels Like This (Part 2)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Oh my god, guys, I am not going to lie, I am having so much fun writing this fic! I have missed having new stories to explore so much, and I am so eternally grateful for all of you who kept pushing me to do another Royal AU. I didn’t realize how much I was going to love doing this again until I started, and now I have so much I want to explore, and so much fluff and cuteness in my head I can’t wait to share with you all. I hope you will enjoy this chapter. Keep in mind, I know it’s been a slower burn so far, but I promise the pay off will be perfect. In the meantime, you’ll see where Killian is in this fic, and the people in his life who will become important characters to the rest of the story. Some are based on the show, some are added additions as you’ll see. For example, I always name Killian’s mom ‘Meera’ in my fics, I know it kind of sounds like Milah, but they’re not the same and I chose that name originally because of its meaning and because of a poem I read long ago – the sounds was coincidence. Anyway, that being said, I hope you will enjoy, and thank you so much for reading!

“Well, mates, we’ve finally done it. Our twelve-month stint is complete and all our sorry asses are heading home. Never thought I’d see the day.”

The words from Will Scarlet hung between Killian and his friends where they sat in the cargo hold of a military aircraft flying over the last piece of the sea that separated them all from home. They had just finished their active deployment in a classified location, and it had been immersive and seemingly unending. With limited contact to the outside world, and a constant goal of getting their mission done, these officers and their subordinates had worked hard to serve their country and its citizens. It had been trying times, and the task at hand was hard, but this was what they trained for. The Montenarro elite naval force was as selective as it was distinguished, and every man and woman serving in it was considered a national hero. But Killian hated that term, and he hated it more than anything when it was used in conjunction with his other loathed title – prince.

“You nearly didn’t make it, Scar-boy. If you hadn’t had Hook watching your back, you’d be dead ten times over.”

Killian smirked at the bit of teasing from Robin. That nickname for Scarlet was classic and well earned, given how many near misses he’d had with a tragic, awful death. But the boy part was bestowed thanks to Scarlet’s enduring childishness. His old friend always brought a laugh, and he could sober up when things got serious, but he couldn’t apply that sense of military discipline or responsibility to the rest of his life. He was a man child: unruly and a bit manic, but now that they were coming home, Killian hoped Will might figure things out. Meanwhile, Killian’s nickname, Hook, had at one time been a huge resentment for him. He’d earned the moniker in a notorious fight off base years ago just upon entering the royal command. The man he laid out with a single punch was a right jack ass, who’d made a show of harassing women and spewing all kinds of ignorant crap the whole bloody night, but the headline of the moment was that the ‘rebel prince’ had struck again. His superiors were furious, and he was punished accordingly, but it was his brother, the King, who had dealt the harshest blow.

“You set one more foot out of line and I will bring you back home. If you’re going to make a spectacle of yourself, you’ll damn well do it somewhere our mother doesn’t have to worry about your safety.”

That was enough to set Killian to rights, because despite the seemingly charmed nature of his life, home was synonymous with hardship and discomfort. Being royalty was a constant burden of saving face and proper manners. He loved his brother, his mother, and his Gran, but they fit into that world with ease and a natural charm he didn’t possess. They loved shaking hands and kissing babies, took great pride in parades and national addresses, and knew how to ‘operate society.’ Killian, on the other hand, couldn’t stand it. He never blended well, never trusted easy. He’d met one too many snakes in Montenarro’s royal court and he didn’t need any more lessons on the hidden intentions people carried. It would sound mad to the average person, but there was a similar sense of dread he shared on deployment and at home, and on the good days, when he and his men were all safe with a job well done, he was vastly happier in his profession than in his personal life at home. At least he felt like he was serving something, and participating in a duty that was bigger than hollow gestures and picture perfect moments.

“The most important thing is no one’s dead,” Tink murmured from her spot on the other side of the hold. She was damn right about that. “We made it through another tour and I, for one, am out of here.”

“Olive will be glad to have you home, love,” Graham stated, patting their friend on the arm a few times in a signal to her extra sacrifice made these long months.

The mention of Tink’s daughter made her smile and in any other person tears no doubt would have shown in their eyes at the mention of such a reunion, but not Tink. This woman might be the smallest of their platoon but she was the fiercest and honestly the smartest. She was also brave as could be and composed at every moment. He’d asked her once how she could manage that, given everything that they saw and went through. Every one of them had moments of grave impact, where the stress or straight out fear crept in and took root, but not Tink. Her response was simply stated though it seemed impossible to comprehend:

‘When you have a reason to get home, a part of you that needs you, you don’t have the luxury of breaking down. Everything I have needs to go towards one thing – surviving. I have to get back for her and she matters more than everything else. No matter what I see here, she’s my beacon home.”

“The day I left, I promised her that this was my last tour,” Tink said, surprising everyone except for Killian with the revelation. She’d confided in him about her plan to leave their unit a few months back, and when the paperwork needed to get to higher ups to unenlist from front-line duty he helped her, knowing she was owed that after years of faithful service to the crown. “I didn’t want to mention it because I knew exactly what you’d all say.”

“You’re leaving us?” Will asked and the tone in his voice was like someone had kicked him in the gut. For someone so full of bluster, he caved in quick, and while Graham and Robin didn’t sound quite so stricken, they too were surprised.

“I took a land command. You’re looking at the royal navy’s newest pencil pusher,” she said with a huge grin. “Six years ago I’d have laughed in your face if you told me how happy that would make me.”

“But that was before,” Killian said, understanding her instinct to be with her daughter and the change she needed to make her family whole again.

“You always get it, Cap. But what about you – you think you’ve got another tour left in you?”

Ah shit. Here was the moment of truth. He couldn’t lie when faced with Tink’s question, but he had been denying the inevitable even to himself for so long. Every tour his brother told him this would be the last one, but every time he waivered when Killian returned and asked to leave once more. Killian had been serving for more than fifteen years now, a decorated Captain who had earned his own way and proven his merit. He knew he was well respected and highly capable, but that would stop meaning anything to Liam soon. No matter how good a Captain Killian was, his duty, as Liam saw it, was to be the prince and the second in line. He had obligations at home, and as loathed as that life was, Killian considered himself lucky. His family had given him the freedom of finding something more like normal all these years. Here, with his crew, he was normal. He wasn’t a monarch, but a man, part of a team even if he was a leader, and there was no bull shit muss or fuss. Now that would likely end, but despite wishing he could come back, Killian was grateful for what he’d been able to do and the friends he’d been able to meet.

“I serve at the pleasure of the King,” Killian hedged. “But I think it likely my assignments will be changing this go around.”

“What he means to say is he’ll be dodging the ladies at court and fending off those investment cats always vying for access to the royal purse,” Graham joked. Killian only shrugged, not able to contradict the man, as he was probably dead on.

“I’d take the desert twice over before I took that shit,” Will said, and for once, Killian had to agree with him, but it didn’t matter either way.

Soon enough the plane that was flying them back to base was prepared to land. Their descent was easy, but the feelings that Killian grappled with were not. There was relief of course when the doors opened and they were back on land. They’d been serving in dangerous places, running on borrowed time with too many close calls. Even the plain façade of their base near the capital couldn’t hide the beauty of Montenarro. Many people called this country too small to notice, but what it lacked for in size, it made up for in location. Nestled on the Mediterranean, with a range of coastlines and mountain range, this nation lived in a world that was warm and where the sun shone brightly and often. Today, the coast was clear and glorious, but the mountains weren’t far and the foot hills were lush this time of year. The greenery around them was a luxury compared to the barren wastelands they’d been encamped in, but beyond the walls of this military compound lay his real life. When he left this place, he stopped being Hook, or Cap, or even Killian. He had to be someone else, and the weight of that shifted the peace within him to something frenzied and on guard.

With a swift but genuine regard he bid all his brothers and sister in arms goodbye, and handed in his papers and his weapons with the higher-ups. By the time he made it outside, headed to his personal barracks where he needed to collect some personal items, a royal enclave was ready for him and their head of security, Jefferson, was already waiting.

“Your things have been gathered, Your Highness. We’re ready to ship out.”

“So help me Jefferson if you start that Highness crap already -,”

“Sorry, sir.”

Killian sighed at the lingering formality but it was a small improvement and it wasn’t actually Jefferson’s fault. If the man waivered from formal titles surely Liam would hear of it, and his elder brother was no fan of abandoning tradition. Why he’d even let Killian serve all these years was beyond him, but Killian expected Liam knew that without an outlet and a feeling of normalcy, Killian would have lost himself long ago.

The ride through the city’s center was long, but Killian barely took it in despite looking out his window. He’d seen this route a million times, and it might be lovely, but it was a signal of returning to a state he didn’t like. The only part of the drive he found favor in was seeing the people around them, and from all looks and appearance, the citizens of their small nation were happy and well. People were out and about, children were playing, families were gathered and enjoying the spring day. Everyone was partaking in this first sweet taste of summer and their worlds seemed calm and bright. As a ruler that was the only thing a King could wish for, and Killian felt that call too even as Prince. Their roles meant nothing if the people were not served – but under Liam’s watchful and ever attentive eye, it made sense that they would be happy. They were surely headed towards another prosperous year, and, as Killian had always known, the nation had never been in better, more capable hands.

By the time they reached the city’s far edge and the golden gates of his family’s castle rose before them, Killian was at war with himself. On the one hand he was edgy from what was yet to come, but he was also glad to be back, to see his mother and grandmother, and even his brother. At the end of the day he loved his family, he knew that they worried for him every day he’d been away, and he’d be glad that coming home could bring them comfort. He mindfully made the choice to choose their happiness over his own for the time being, and as he exited the limousine, he schooled his features in a smile which widened at the sight of who was waiting at the door.

“Oh, my little Killy. You’re home at last.”

To the rest of the world, his grandmother was the dowager Queen and a force to be reckoned with. She was a high society lady, the former ruler of this nation, and a fierce advocate for the throne, but to Killian she was just his Gran, a charming, insightful, sometimes crafty older woman with too much love in her heart to ever perish. She was pushing 90 years old but here she was, the first to greet him and moving about like she was thirty years younger. She came straight to Killian, ignoring his polite bow and instead pulling him in for a warm embrace. How a woman so tiny could still possess such strength, he’d never know, but he had a fleeting though that she and Tink would get along before his grandmother pulled back with a mist of tears in her eyes.

“Did you miss me that much, Gran?” he teased, fending off his own wayward emotion at being reunited with one of his favorite people. “I thought I was just a load of trouble wrapped up in a charming giftwrap.”

“Oh hush. I said that to you one time – one time! And you never let me forget it. I mean truly, my dear, what was I supposed to say? You got into your cousin Sienna’s wedding cake and ate damn near half on your own before the reception could even start. Chef nearly perished at the sight of it.”

“I was a kid, Gran.”

“You were old enough to know better. But you could see what a menace that foolish Count was, no doubt. Can’t say I blame you for your actions now, given everything.”

Everything in this case was a huge scandal strewn across the tabloids. Sienna, who was actually quite a distant cousin, but still of royal lineage, was a rather stand-offish woman who had married more for status than for love. Unfortunately that status was tarnished less than ten years later when her now ex-husband was revealed as a philanderer and not a cautious one. It was a mess of paparazzi fodder, but to Killian it wasn’t all that bad, not after what they’d gone through with his father.

“Honestly I just wanted cake,” Killian admitted, shaking off thoughts of the man who’d wronged them long ago and his Gran grinned, none the wiser.

“Well there will be plenty of it now that you’re home. Your mother has planned a whole host of events, and before you get all stodgy and upset, you remember what every day has been like since you were last home. Poor Meera’s been fussing with that rosary damn near twenty times a day.”

Killian felt a pang of guilt hearing that, but his grandmother ignored his stricken look, pulling him inside. Immediately in the entryway he found his mother and Liam and the rest of the household staff set to greet them. He saw the joy in his mother’s eyes, and a clear sense of relief in Liam’s and he knew, even without words or actions, that he was truly missed and very much loved. Still he glanced back at his Gran, quirking up a brow to silently ask her why she wasn’t part of the precession.

“When you get to be my age, my dear, the formalities start to seem rather pointless. I wasn’t waiting an extra second to see my grandson, and your brother has the good sense to let me be.”

“Anyone who lacked that sense risks a fate worse than death, I’m sure,” Liam said dryly, but he spared a smile for their Gran all the same and allowed the old woman to swat at his arm like he was a pesky fly instead of the reigning monarch. “It’s good to see you home, brother.”

“It’s good to be with you all again,” Killian said, choosing his words carefully. He was not interested in lying to his family. They had enough to grapple with from the world around them, the least they owed each other was transparency. His mother certainly seemed to agree, and the tears she’d no doubt held in for months streamed down her still lovely face as she pulled him in close and hugged him far tighter than a royal mother should. Here was his mother in truth, not the part she played in public spaces, and despite their appearance in front of the staff, she doted on him like any good Mum should.

“You’re okay, darling? No bad scrapes this time?” Her tone grew warbly and Killian again felt the tug of guilt for what he put his family through in doing what he loved. He couldn’t regret his choice to serve and stake his own path, but he knew what a toll it took on his mother, and that was regrettable. On one of his first deployments he’d been injured pretty badly and he bore the scars along his back and side to prove it, but nothing vital had been hit, thank god, and as soon as he was healed he’d been ready to go out again. It almost broke his mother, but she was a strong woman, stronger than any he had ever known.

“A few nicks, Mum. Nothing serious.”

“Oh thank God. And now you’re home for good at last.”

Killian looked to Liam for confirmation and his brother shook his head. “Let’s not go there yet.” Liam pulled him in for a hug of his own, one of a special design they’d shared since he was but a boy and again Killian felt the true affection of his brother. They may be men of very different stripes, but Liam was a part of him and who he was. He was his elder brother and the closest thing Killian had to a father figure. His love meant the world to him, and so too did his approval.

“So, Gran mentioned some festivities. Have I time before the circus, or will it descend immediately?”

“Circus?” His mother asked, clearly confused before looking at her mother-in-law with amusement. “I think your grandmother is up to her old tricks. We don’t have anything planned. It’s just us and your favorite dinner. Just how you like it.”

Thank God for that, Killian thought to himself before turning to his grandmother who looked like a spoiled tyke at Christmas. She was so pleased with her little fake-out, she actually clasped her hands together.

“The Americans call it ‘punking’ someone. Such a garish word, but it does have its merits.”

“Still no hobbies to be found, Gran?” Killian asked, knowing that his grandmother was a busy body, and she needed a lot of occupation or she risked being… well, like this.

“Who needs the bloody things?” Gran said, swearing so brashly it made Killian choke on his drink and his mother gasp. “I do what is needed. You needed a good joke upon arriving home so I did what I could to provide one.”

“Gran’s taken to jokes of late,” Liam explained and Killian suddenly wanted very much to know what the old bird had been up to. From his brother’s expression, she’d gotten him good, and Killian would pay to see that.

“I tried to get it on tape, but that blasted Jefferson took my phone spouting all sorts of nonsense about royal protocol,” his Gran said, reading his mind. “But regardless, your dear brother knows perfectly well that I have plenty of occupation with the foundation. So much work that needs doing there. It must be constantly tended to, just like your mother’s roses.”

“I don’t remember it being so much,” Killian remarked, not even really remembering that the family had a foundation at all. It was more an endowment, a way to give the vastness of their wealth to worthy causes. But writing checks surely couldn’t take such effort.

“Well I’ve had to change it, haven’t I? If I was going to build something worthy of your attention, it had to do real good. It’s much more hands on now, you see. I might be in my twilight years, but I can still get my hands dirty.”

And there it was. He was wondering what the plan would be. He assumed he’d be added to Liam’s counsels and propped up as a family focal piece, the returning hero back home at last. But even without fully understanding the intention, Killian could see an earnest excitement in his grandmother’s eyes. Whatever the foundation had become, she was trying to build something for him, and if he could have a purpose beyond the face of a royal family, he’d be eternally grateful.

“So I really am home for good then?” Killian asked, broaching the uncomfortable topic once more as Liam considered him from the other end of the table. After a beat of quiet, Liam replied.

“I’ve spoken with our heads of command. The conflicts we’re involved in are winding down and while the Americans continue their crusade in the Middle East, our time of service there is drawing to a close. We’re shifting back to more diplomatic measures, and what’s left to fight can be handled by your fellow soldiers I think.”

“The country is in good hands,” Killian agreed and though it hurt to think that he was truly finished with his service, he was prepared for such an outcome. Liam would not demand that Killian leave. He was never so authoritarian, but this suggestion spoke volumes and Killian, much as he might be tempted, would not go against his brothers wishes.

“If they’ve been trained by you then it certainly is,” his mother agreed fiercely and Killian laughed. Her statement was not at all based in first-hand knowledge. She had never seen him in the field, rarely even seen him in his military context at all, but she still staunchly believed in him. It was appreciated, but comical all the same.

“And the foundation? What exactly is it doing these days?”

“Well by god, what aren’t we doing? There’s so much to do you see. We’ve been funding all sorts of new energies so we can be ‘green and clean,’” His Gran chirped happily. “We’ve expanded our species protection efforts with the ministry of parks and wildlife. I went on a whale watch with the Duchess of Mandrey. It was just marvelous. We wore, oh what, do they call them…? Oh right, ponchos! We’re working with the ministry of health to create community gardens not just to teach the children but to feed the people. You should see what we’ve done in the cities, Killy. We’ve built these centers with the soil and the supplies. The little ones love it -,”

“Clearly there’s quite a few balls in the air as it were,” Killian’s mother said, gently interrupting his grandmother’s exuberant storytelling. “But we were thinking, I mean if it works for you, that whenever you’re settled back in you might look at one particular part of the organization. Get a more hands on feel for something and truly learn the workings of the charity.”

“Did you have an idea of which one?”

“The Montenarro Children’s Sanctuary,” his Gran replied with total assuredness, and to his amazement, she produced a pamphlet (would wonders ever cease?) from somewhere under the table to hand to him. “Got that from the front desk last week. It’s all in there, dear, and the children are just precious. You’ve always loved the little ones, so it’s a perfect fit.”

“Have I?” Killian asked, not sure if he’d ever shown that predisposition. He always liked interacting with the children in the extended family when they came for holidays and events, but that was hardly a background in working with kids.

“Of course you have. You have such a way with them, and these children, well my dear, they just need someone like you so much. It’s a wonderful opportunity to make a difference.”

Killian knew she must be right, and he felt, despite his hesitations and the urge to reject someone else planning out his life, that this may indeed be a good fit for him for now. He never would have chosen such a charity first, thinking himself a bit understudied in the ways of children, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to give it a try, and his family was right, he needed something to do, something that actually felt like it mattered. After living for years with a purpose he couldn’t waste his time doing things he felt were frivolous. If he did he might go mad.

“I’ll go on one condition,” Killian said and they all considered him, clearly surprised he would accept at all and that he was handling his military retirement so well. “No one at that organization is calling me Prince Killian, Your Highness or any of that. I’ll go by Killian. That’s it.”

“But dear that’s -,”

“Before you say it’s not possible, Mum, just think for a minute about the work they do there and the kids in that scenario. This is a home for orphans and children who can’t be cared for in traditional means. They don’t have present families, they don’t have anything to call their own. They might know I am prince, but I don’t want them to feel the difference between us. You want me to help somehow? I don’t know how to truly help people when we’re separate or unequal. I never mastered that. It’s not how I work.”

“It’s just a title, Killy,” his Gran said sadly but he was holding firm. He wanted this for the kids and for himself. He’d dedicate himself to helping in this way, but he wanted at least a feeling of something normal, something that was his and not the crown’s. He looked to Liam, awaiting his brother’s verdict, and after a brief consideration his brother nodded.

“It seems reasonable enough. But only at the foundation. To the rest of the world you are, and always will be, Prince.”

“Fair enough,” Killian agreed. “Now, any chance we’ve got some cake?”

At the joke, everyone laughed, but low and behold there was cake to be had. And though his life was shifting radically, and he might not be on the most solid of ground right now, Killian felt hopeful that things might just work out in the end. Soon enough he’d be a part of something again, and he hoped quite sincerely to make a difference and make a change for the people he served, and in truth, for himself as well.

…………………..

Hours after their meal, and long after her son had headed up to his wing of the palace, Queen Meera looked out her large antique window to the full moon out tonight. She thanked the heavens that her son was back home safe. After so many years of fighting, and being in the thick of too many international skirmishes, he was finally back and all in one piece. Every night she’d prayed for his safety and for his health. She prayed he would be protected and smart out there doing God knows what. But she also prayed that he would feel peace, when she knew peace was a luxury for her youngest boy he wasn’t usually graced with. Recently she’d added a few more prayers as well, ones that would keep him open to the changes coming in all of their lives. She was grateful at dinner that he was receptive to the prospect put before him of working for the family foundation. So far the plan was working, and she sent up another prayer that the rest would fall into place too.

Perhaps it would be strange to some that she was doing this, trying to craft a future for her beloved son when he was a fully-grown man, but she knew down in her soul that Killian needed the guidance. He was a good man, a strong man, a man bound by honor and compassion, but her son was always closed off, especially when it came to matters of the heart. There were many reasons for that, a few near-misses in love, and all the attention that their family brought forward, but the real reason underneath it all stemmed from the sins of his father, a man Meera once felt love for, who blessed her with two children and promptly threw the life they built together all away.

Prince Brennan had always been notorious. A party boy, a man of mischief. He never met trouble he didn’t like the look of, but his people and his family still believed him to be fundamentally good if a bit lacking in maturity. He was set to inherit the throne as the only child of the King and Queen, and through a twist of fate Meera and him had met and fallen in love. Meera was a common girl, with no connections, and no wealth to speak of, but it hadn’t mattered to Brennan. In fact, in hindsight, he probably wanted her even more because of it. They stole away as many moments as they could, and then one day he told her they were getting married. He never asked, he just informed her, and she went along with it, knowing she loved him even if she was scared of trying to be part of his world. She thought he’d bring her home to meet his family, thought he’d seek their approval, but Brennan had a mind of his own, and that night they eloped.

Only when they were legally man and wife did he bring her home and the fall out had been immense. His father, King Rupert, was furious, but the ire never was directed at her. It was Brennan who the King and Queen were mad at, and Meera couldn’t understand why. If King Rupert and Queen Eleanor truly liked her, why be so angry? Why chastise him as they did? Only a year later, after the birth of her eldest son, Liam, did she realize why; Brennan was flighty and irresponsible. He couldn’t commit to things, he never devoted himself to anything forever. He was bad at making decisions, at paying attention, and he had a total disregard for his impending role as ruler of Montenarro. If someone even hinted at his impending responsibility to the people of this country he went running as fast and as far as he could. Still Meera believed he loved her and that even if he couldn’t give all of himself to his duty, he could be there for her and their children. After trying for seven more years to give Liam some siblings, they were blessed to have Killian, and only after her second son’s birth did the truth fully come into focus. Marriage hadn’t actually meant to Brennan what it meant to her. In her eyes, they were meant to be partners, meant to love each other, and honor each other, but he couldn’t do it. He grew resentful and unruly, and ultimately, unfaithful.

It was an awful time, to be sure, and for Killian, it ended up being all he knew of his father. She kept everything she could from both of her sons, but somehow things always got out. The media had a field day at each and every instance, and then, when it got so bad and so brutal, Meera decided she must go. She and her sons could stay here no longer. Not with Brennan here. Shockingly, when she told Eleanor and Rupert of her plans they told her it was not her place to leave. It was Brennan who must make a choice – shape up and make amends to his wife and to his family, or leave, forsaking his thrown, his power, and all inheritance as he did. Brennan knew in an instant what he wanted, and so he left, but not before Killian and Liam heard him yelling and carrying on. At only six years of age Killian watched his father leave them all, with nothing like regret, and then, a few days later they found that Brennan had died in an accident, the product of reckless choices finally catching up with him.

Explaining to her sons how their father’s actions had no influence on who they were was so hard. Liam seemed to know this, but he channeled his pain into being the perfect heir. He put so much pressure on himself to be a wonderful king and a wonderful son. She worried about that and she was trying every day to help manage that as best she could. But Killian was far more sensitive. He was sweet and thoughtful and bold all at once. He had the biggest heart and he wanted so badly to wear it on his sleeve. But he didn’t. He closed himself off, and then he’d gone into the royal navy and Meera was devastated. She was always worried sick for her son, but what could she say? She saw in him a burst of that vitality and that light in his eyes when he was away. Even in the midst of chaos, Killian was at peace. Why? Because he could be himself. He’d found a place he felt safe, in some of the most unsafe places around the world. Now, though, he was coming back and this was not a place he felt that freedom. With them of course he had trust, but with everyone else she knew his walls would come right back up, steadfast as ever and impenetrable to most.

That was why she was doing this. She wanted a chance to open Killian up to more, to prompt her son towards something he deserved but had always run from: love. She knew he’d be hesitant, and only the perfect kind of woman could bring him to a place where he could be himself, so she’d been looking. It was practically her job to meet people all the time, to come into contact with royals and commoners alike, but she never had much hope. No one felt right, no one seemed perfect until a few weeks ago. Eleanor had returned from one of her outings with the foundation, from the children’s sanctuary, and slapped down a folder with a simple statement.

“I found the girl. Killian’s sweetheart. I know she’s the one.”

Meera was so excited, and she opened the folder without second thought. Sure enough the woman in the file was beautiful, and surprising. She was an American and pretty as could be, clearly smart as she was here on a fellowship grant from the local University. And she had a son. There were all sorts of details about how the school had made arrangements for them because she was such a promising fellow. She was gifted with children and had her own experience with being an orphan as well. Meera planned to go the next day with Eleanor to see for herself, but Eleanor said she wasn’t there. When Meera realized Eleanor never even seen the girl she was horrified. It was one thing to be looking for potential suitors for her son, but people they’d never even met? That seemed like a bridge too far.

“She’ll be here in two weeks. The Sanctuary director couldn’t stop talking about how excited they were for this year’s candidate and one thing lead to another… but that’s the way these things go sometimes.”

It was not the way things usually went, and Meera knew that, but she had never regretted following Eleanor’s instincts before. If her mother-in-law believed in this, then she felt that she should too. And besides, their goal here was a good one – all they wanted was two worthy people to fall in love, after all. What was really the harm in that? Meera just didn’t know, and that was the problem which had been keeping her up for more than a few nights now.

“You are worrying too much, Meera. It will all turn out exactly as it’s meant to,” Eleanor said, having walked into the room with such silence Meera never once detected her.

“You really think it’ll happen?” Meera asked, not even bothering to hide her anxiety.

“Think it’ll happen? My love, he’s as handsome as can be, a Captain of the navy, a hero of war, and has a heart of gold. Any woman worth her salt is going to take one look at him and fall straight in love. Meanwhile he’s going to take one look at this Swan girl and you know what he’s going to do? He’s going to see forever in an instant. His heart will beat for her, and love will stake a claim from the very first moment. Cupid will have quite a simple task of it, you mark my words.”

“You make it all sound so…”

“Romantic? Blissful?”

“I was going to say theatrical.”

“Love at first sight has long been slandered, but still it exists. People find it every day, and many times when they know, they just know.”

“I just want him to be happy,” Meera admitted looking down at her hands. That was all she ever wanted as a mother, for her sons to be well and whole and good.

“And he will be,” Eleanor said, grasping Meera’s hand in a sign of comfort. “He will be happy. He will find exactly what he’s missing. You just have to trust and believe, my dear. It’s all any of us can do.”

Meera nodded, deciding to believe that this would work, and to accept the older woman’s sage counsel, despite its fairytale influence. She wished that with this tiny little push in the right direction, her son would find his happiness with a woman of substance, and good will, and heart. From what they’d discovered, Meera truly believed such a love could be found with this one special woman, Emma Swan, and she only hoped that Killian and Emma were ready and willing to take a chance. But alas, nothing but time would tell, and now all they could do was wait and see…

Post-Note: So there we have it. It was a lot of background I know, about Killian and his family and his past. But I hope you’ll see a bit more of the world I’m building and that it will eventually add to the meeting CS will have coming in the next chapter. As for Killian’s meddling Mom and Gran… what can I say? I missed having some meddlers in my AUs. I have lots still left in store for this story, and as always I can’t wait to see what you guys think. Thanks again so much for reading, and I hope you all have a lovely rest of your day!

28 notes · View notes

wongiemei · 5 years ago

Text

2. Fear

a/n: aNgST wHO?

The Underworld was, ironically, above water.

Situated on the vast Pacific, a large island, about twice the size of the United States of America, is known as the Capital. With spells and magic, all of the Coven kingdoms were hidden in plain sight with one being in the Atlantic, some scattered near Antarctica and one at the Indian Ocean.

One of the famous ones that humans might recognize is the Bermuda triangle.

There are 3 kingdoms at the Atlantic Ocean: House Inure, House Languo, House Vermille.

House Languo is situated right at the middle of the Triangle, luring many pilots and shipmen to become their next meal.

This is why House Languo is one of the richest houses as they are the known sellers of authentic blood and would even send you a drugged human, bounded and ready to be eaten. The profits kept coming in and they were it so fast that humans started to suspect and created the legend of the Bermuda, calling it a cursed and a haunted part of the world.

In truth, it’s just a part of the Underworld but with frequent unwanted visitors.

But the 2 biggest kingdoms, Kalon and Orenda, rest on the Pacific Ocean with the Capital on top of the Ring of Fire, known in the Underworld as the Entrance to Hell.

Some say it’s unlucky to have a vampire kingdom so near the thing that could kill them but some say the reason they’re so respected is that they are so near it and could withstand it.

But who really knows the answer.

Waking up from the bright sunlight, you squirmed and accidentally rolled out of bed, dragging the sheets and covers. At this point, you were so tired that you were willing to fall asleep again but as you settled on your back, your eyes snapped open and you blinked, surprised, when you saw a head of blonde hair peer over the edge of the bed.

“And you call yourself a queen.”

His smirk after the insult made a growl escape your lips and you sprang back up to the bed, sitting on his bare torso and pinning his arms beside his head. Jaemin smirked up at you and unknowingly licked his lips at your bare chest with the sight of purple and red colors left from last night.

You scoffed slightly at the look on his face until you noticed his line of sight and shook your head, disappointed at your perverted husband. Releasing his arms and leaning back to place your butt on his lower abdomen, you quickly shifted away, feeling it poke your back.

With an irritated look, your eyebrows knitted together, “As if you didn’t use me enough last night, you still want more. How much more do you still want me from, Orendian?”

Jaemin smugly placed his left arm beneath his head and his right hand drifted to softly grab your chin, “We were married for an alliance and children symbolize that it is official, don’t you think?”

“I will not become your birth factory. As much as you don’t want to, I intend to rule beside you and I will voice out my opinion if it’s needed. I will not hesitate to put you in your place, king or not.”

Thinking that your statement would make him angry, instead it made his grin wider. His right hand wandered down to your waist and his left arm left its spot from his head to place it to the other side of your waist. You looked at him curiously, guarded and not knowing of what his true intentions were. Through half-lidded eyes, Jaemin looked up at you and his grin turned lazy.

“You are quite bold, woman. Aren’t you afraid that one day, you say the wrong word and I rip out your tongue from your mouth?”

With a defiant glare, you responded, “What I said last night still remains true today and for eternity. You will never scare me, Na Jaemin. For you are only a puny prince whose future will bring the Underworld farther than Hell itself.”

Although his smile remained, Jaemin’s eyes visibly hardened and with all of his strength, he forcibly pinned you to the bed, red eyes glazing over your face. Lingering on odd places like your cheeks or your neck, Jaemin blinked slowly at you, anger radiating from his form.

“A puny prince, huh? My wife, my queen, seems to think that I am not capable of leading our country for the better. Should I teach her a lesson? Should I fuck her until her legs are shaking and mark her dry until all the blood is gone from her body? Or should I just hand her over to my men and let her experience a second without her title,” he sneered.

Fear bubbled inside you but you forced it down and you cursed the weakness of your mind.

Even though vampires were mostly indestructible on the outside with cement-like skin, they were very prone and vulnerable to normal emotions. The absence of the heart meant nothing as the blood of humans carried something that fueled their existence and it traveled inside. But normal emotions was normal and could easily be felt, vampire or not.

A small but cold laugh escaped your lips, “My bloodline runs all over the kingdoms. If you should even do that, they are obligated to ruin Orenda due to their association with me. So try it, my king. For it will be the last time you’ll ever see your country and your family, alive.”

The threat clearly affected the boy but you were taken aback by his response. A pair of cold lips smashed to your own and you responded just as harsh, biting his lips and drawing his blood.

But when his lips left yours to bite on your flesh, a soft whimper filled the room as the razor sharp teeth roughly attached themselves on you and the abuse was something familiar yet unfamiliar to you. The fear of being trapped and so helpless that you couldn’t even push him away because you were weak.

He was taking his anger out, on you.

And there was nothing you could do to defend yourself.

You cried on the tub that day.

Paris was unusually cold during the summer month of June.

You bundled up in a beige trench coat with a black baker boy hat and a pair of vintage oval sunglasses from the 60s. The sunlight did little to nothing as it was still near 40 degrees and it didn’t warm the air. However, the sun’s fiery rays were still felt by sensitive beings like you and vampires were very prone to being cautious and try to stay away from hot things like those.

“Dear cousin, I take your honeymoon with the prince did not satisfy you as you are here shopping with me in Paris when you could be busy making love to your new husband.”

“Jaehyun, do watch your mouth. As much as I could care less for him, insulting his manhood is enough to cause that wretched temper of his into launching a seige to Metanoia and I do love you and Uncle and Aunt but your kingdom is far smaller and weaker than his army. You are one of my favorites and I’d rather love to watch Hoseok for his coronation to his kingdom that is still there.”

Jaehyun watched you with an amused look as your answer was said as you flicked through the coat racks full of Louis Vuitton coats, joining you with the inspection of the clothing. You were so nonchalant over the whole thing and he can really see the amount of training your parents have put you through to prepare you for your marriage to Jaemin.

“You know, sometimes I forget that you were the same girl who cried because I wouldn’t let her put a flower crown on my head,” he chuckled causing you look at him with a nostalgic look on your face.

“Oh, yes. I was quite naive back then.”

Jaehyun sighed as his eyes continued to look up and down on this particular honey mustard coat, “I remember you being scared of the most childish things. Johnny surprised you by the garden and you cried your little eyes out until your mother threatened to beat you. I guess that’s why you’re not really scared of anything now, huh?” He turned to look at you with a boyish smile, implying your easy agreement to the marriage.

“But the difference was, everything was perfect back then. We were young and we didn’t have anything to fear except for bath time. Now, we worry over who we’re expected to be and who we ought to marry for alliances.” Jaehyun’s fingers froze and he looked off into the wall. “Our lives have slowly become purely our parents and it fucking scares me that one day, we will be like them too. That’s my fear, Jaehyun. My one fear.”

Turning away from the horridly bright colors of the clothing, Jaehyun looked back at you and he felt sadness swelling up inside at the sight before him.

You’ve managed to fool everyone with your bravery and courage for your parents’ favor. However, there was a time where it wasn’t all an act and that you really were ready to risk it all just because they asked you to.

A naive little girl.

But now that you’ve been exposed to everything and anything, Jaehyun saw the little girl crying behind those scarlet orbs, not because of his strong refusal of the orchid covered crown, but with fear of the world and no one to defend her for what’s to come.

a/n: oof sorry for making jaemin look like an asshole but hey, we need a plot line!

might start updating once or twice a week, usually monday. i have about 2 chapters written out just not fully written out, yknow? hard to explain but here’s your update!! so sorry for making yall wait without a schedule 🥺 ayo, send a few of yall names so i can use your name for an oc in this series. i feel kinda bad bc y/n’s friends needs some names

last also. if yall didn’t get it, jaehyun’s birthday is valentines day and she’s in paris and paris is known to be the city of love so paris is a part of metanoia, which is jaehyun’s kingdom, and Hoseok, J-Hope, is with the last name of Jung so I made him jaehyun’s older brother. a lot more characters will show up in the next chapter so don’t worry!!!

here’s a taglist, (just tell me if you want to be added!):

@bobohu-s-ane-yeobo

62 notes · View notes

puffwriter1998 · 4 years ago

Text

The Things We Let Go Ch.3

Summary: Addison’s experience at the 422nd Quidditch World cup.

Character Pairings: Fred Weasley X OC (not really in this chapter)

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This is a shorter chapter, but I really enjoyed writing it. If you’ve been following along: thank you so much! I can’t wait to let the rest of this story unfold. I have so much written. Some dialog in this chapter comes from the original works.

As the day wore on, the excitement amongst the ever-growing crowd of wizards around me multiplied. When the sun began to go down, it boiled over and all pretense of a muggle façade was dropped. Merchants for both teams were Apparating here and there, carrying armloads of hats with dancing shamrocks and red scarves with lions that really roared. Children flew through the rows on toy brooms that only rose a few feet off the ground. Surely the ministry would be modifying a few memories before it was all said and done.

The Weasley bunch left us a little early with Harry and Hermione in tow, to be able to make their way up to the Top Box to sit with the Minister of Magic and a few other top officials who organized the Cup. Harry looked about as excited as I felt, gazing around at the scene in wonder as they walked away through the crowd.

It soon came time for us to head into the woods towards what I assumed would be a pretty large stadium. Mr. Abbott led Hannah, Charlie and me onto a trail that was magnificently lit with floating lanterns. The excitement of the thousands of people, all walking through the trees, was contagious. A smile had spread across my face from ear to ear and there was no chance of losing it. There were chants supporting both teams, laughter, and from a little further off, a lighthearted song in favor of the Irish.

We walked like this for a few minutes before I began to be able to pick out glimpses of a gargantuan stadium through the trees ahead. As we grew closer, I got a sense of just how big it was.

“Mr. Abbot,” I called to him, a few feet ahead of me, “Just how many people does this stadium hold?”

“A hundred thousand!” he replied gleefully.

A hundred thousand. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that there were a hundred thousand magical people on the globe, let alone at one event. Magical communities were so few and far between in Britain, and there were so few students at Hogwarts, that I had assumed we had relatively small numbers.

The golden walls surrounding the field rose higher and higher in front of me as we approached. A stream of wizards narrowed into one of the nearest entrances in front of us. A ministry witch at the gate peered down at the tickets Mr. Abbott handed her.

“Not too bad, not too bad. Straight up the stairs, about halfway up, there’ll be someone there to show you to your seats,” she said and waved us through.

We began our climb upwards on the carpeted stairs amongst the tight crowd of people. People exited through doors at various levels and filed into the stands. About half way up the height of the stadium, Mr. Abbott said “Ah, here we are,” and led us through a doorway. He handed another Ministry worker our tickets, and we were pointed into a long row of folding seats.

As we sat, I looked out over the field and marveled at the sight of a hundred thousand wizards all taking their seats around me. The entire stadium seemed to be bathed in a marvelous golden light. The field was a smooth green lake below us, and the stands rose like a fortress above us. We were seated about halfway up, and halfway between the towering golden goalposts. Beautiful gold script danced across a huge blackboard at the top of the stadium on the side across from us that flashed various advertisements for magical goods and services.

I was in absolute awe. I tried to remember why I ever felt guilty for loving this life, and I couldn’t. The scene in front of me was almost too good to be true. The excitement radiating through the stands was tangible. My cheeks were aching from smiling so widely, but I knew they’d be getting no relief anytime soon.

Before I knew it, the voice of Ludo Bagman was audible over the roaring of the crowd, “Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!” The crowd exploded in response and Bagman waited for the noise level to go back down before continuing. “Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

Flags of green and scarlet waved all around the stadium as fans clapped and cheered. The blackboard across the stadium was wiped clean of the golden advertisements and they were replaced with BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0.

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…” Mr.Bagman’s voice shouted, “the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

The Bulgaria side, an endless sea of scarlet, erupted in excitement. At that moment, a least a hundred beautiful women strutted out onto the field.

“Their mascots are women?” I leaned in and asked Charlie.

“They’re Veela! Look closer!” She shouted back over the deafening crowd.

I started to ask her what Veela were, but I was immediately distracted by the perfection of the creatures on the field. Charlie, was right, they definitely weren’t regular women. Their skin looked like porcelain that was reflected in a most beautiful moonlight. The platinum, white-gold hair that hung down their backs splayed out behind them like they were walking in front of a wind-machine. I had never seen such dazzling creatures.

And then they started to dance. They twisted their bodies and moved across the field as if their feet weren’t touching the ground. It was such a wonderful display of beauty that I couldn’t tear my eyes away. That was, until Charlie’s voice cut into the blissful emptiness that had overcome my mind.

“Dad? Dad, what’re you doing?” she asked.

“Huh?” Mr. Abbott had risen from his seat and looked like he was about to swan dive off the edge of the wall in front of him. He blinked like he had just woken up from an incredibly confusing dream. He cleared his throat, “Goodness, forgive me. Those Veela, they’re really something aren’t they?”

His face flushed red with embarrassment, but as I gazed around the stadium, it seems that he had no reason to. About every man in the stadium had risen from their seats and were in varying states of trying to climb down the rows in front of them to get to the field. The Veela dance came to an end, and all around me, people began to wake up the way Mr. Abbott did.

“And now,” Ludo roared over the crowd, “kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

As the words left his mouth, a great ball of gold and green light burst into the stadium. It did one full lap around the perimeter and then broke off into two smaller orbs and shot towards the goalposts on the ends. Then, just as suddenly as the balls of light had appeared, a magnificent rainbow arced down and connected the two. Hannah, Charlie, and I gazed in amazement, along with the rest of the crowd.

The rainbow faded and was replaced by a giant shimmering shamrock, that rose high into the sky and began doing laps over the stands. A beautiful golden rain seemed to be falling from beneath it as it flew. When it soared over us, I realized they were Galleons, the biggest and most valuable of the wizard currency.

“Goodness!” I exclaimed as I ducked out of the way of the heavy gold coins.

“You won’t want to pick any of that up,” yelled Mr. Abbott to me over the girls’ heads. “That’s fools gold!”

“Fools gold?” I hollered back and squinted up at the shamrock.

“They’re leprechauns!” As soon as he said it, I realized that the entire shape was made up of hundreds and hundreds of tiny bearded men, all holding a small lamp of gold or green. Many people around the stadium were scrambling around, and it looked like a few fights had even broken out over the gold.

“It’ll disappear before the night is out,” said Charlie, “That’s why it’s fool’s gold, only a fool would think they’d rain down millions of real Galleons at the World Cup.”

The giant shamrock finished its parade, and the leprechauns put out their lanterns to drift down onto the opposite side of the field as the Veela.

Ludo Bagman then welcomed the Bulgarian and Irish players to the field, but my eyes never left Krum. His thick black hair shone in the golden light that I still hadn’t found the source of. He looked much too big to be able to control his broom with such precision. He didn’t even look nervous, he looked like the whole thing was beneath him.

The match began as flashes of scarlet and green raced around the field. Bagman tried to keep up with quaffle, but they played at such speed that he only had time to say the player’s names. “It’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

I had never seen such a display of skill and athleticism. The speed of the players was so great that my eyes were having trouble following them. Ireland scored three times within the first ten minutes of the match, and I could see why. They worked flawlessly as a unit, rather than individual players. It was simply amazing.

A while later, Ireland was pummeling Bulgaria. They were up 170 to 10, with no intention of going easy on the players in red. Krum had just had his nose smashed by taking a bludger square in the face. The official had been distracted by a Veela who had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom ablaze. Blood sprayed out from behind Krum has he flew through the air.

Suddenly, Lynch, the Irish seeker had gone into a dive. It mimicked the Wronski Feint that Krum had used earlier in the game to get Lynch to crash into the field, but this dive had much more purpose to it.

“Look, Lynch is after the snitch!” I cried and pointed towards the streak of green rushing down at the field. Irish supporters, including the Abbotts screamed in support of their seeker. However, Krum was right behind him. Blood covered his face, and I wondered how he had any earthly idea what direction the snitch was in. He was catching up to Lynch though, every milisecond that passed gaining another few feet. As they drew level, they were hurtling towards the ground at an impossible speed, and I sensed a second crash coming.

I was at least partly right, as Lynch collided with the ground with a thud that I swore I could hear over the roaring crowd. A mob of vicious Veela, so different from the beautiful creatures they were when they took the field, surrounded Lynch and blocked him from view.

Krum rose slowly into the air, blood still pouring from his nose like a faucet someone forgot to turn off. The tiny golden snitch was clasped between his fingers in a raised fist. My eyes flashed up to the scoreboard and my heart dropped; BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170.

The Ireland supporters slowly began to realize what had happened and a deafening roar came from the green in the crowd.

“IRELAND WINS!” Exclaimed the voice of Ludo Bagman, obviously surprised by the sudden end to such an exciting match. “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WINS – good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

The Abbotts next to me began jumping up and down and cheering with the rest of the people dressed in green.

“Blimey!” yelled Charlie. “Wonder what he did that for?”

I knew exactly why Krum caught the snitch when the Bulgarians were 160 points behind. He saw that they were being destroyed by the Irish, and he wanted to end it himself, before it got any more messy.

“What a match, eh Addison?” called Mr. Abbott from over Charlie’s head, “bet you didn’t expect that one. That Krum is a wonder though, I’ll admit.”

I felt slightly deflated, a feeling that usually came to me after we lost our own quidditch match at school. I had really been hoping for Bulgaria to win, but seeing Krum beat Lynch to the snitch almost made up for it.

Suddenly it dawned on me that Fred and George had won their bet. Against all odds, Ireland had won, but Krum caught the snitch. They’d probably be rich after they got done with Bagman. A small grin spread across my face as I realized this is the outcome I should have preferred.

The Irish supporters were already beginning to celebrate as we made our way back down the purple carpeted stairs. I’d have to congratulate Fred and George on their win. I’m sure the high they were riding right then was on a whole different level than the rest of the fans. The joyous energy pouring from the sea of green in front of me was infectious. The night was still young, and I couldn’t help but have the feeling that the most exciting part of my world cup experience was yet to come.

#harry potter fanfiction #fred weasley fic #fred weasley #harry potter #fanfic #fred #hp fanfic #hp #harry potter and the goblet of fire #goblet of fire #fuck jkr tho #fanfiction

3 notes · View notes

vanaera · 6 years ago

Text

You Will Feel A Flash of Red

Synopsis | Seokjin colors your life with his outrageous ideas and unnecessarily wild adventures, along with his stupid mission to always scare you whenever you run into each other. Against your better judgment, you’ve already started to entertain foreign feelings in your heart concerning the certain boy. And it doesn’t help you already get scared easily without him adding his shenanigans in the mix. You just want Seokjin to stop…making you feel too much all at once. Genre | Fluff, semi-crack Characters | Seokjin x Reader (College!AU bc I’m soft and my uni life is mundane af) Wordcount | 2.7k A/N | Hi hons, this is something short and fluffy I came up with while I’m resting from my recent 21k-wordsmash-work Daffodil Rings. Hope you like this!

Everything can be colorful if you will them enough to. Grocery shoppings can be filled with oranges and greens that warm you up as you push past the cold airconditioned mart. Laundry days can be cooled with the tranquility of blues and whites that coax your eyes to relax from such a fast-paced week. You learned to make this your coping mechanism ever since you started associating colors for everything that lived in your grey, mundane life.

Your study table and work station are your usual pliant canvases to your color imageries. However, your biggest coloring book has to be the people that surround you. For instance, your bestfriend, Park Jimin, is a golden drizzle of yellow for his unfailing optimism whether it be finals week or rush hour dashes. Meanwhile, your other friend, Kim Namjoon, is an inky indigo for his strange concurrent displays of placidity and chaos wherever he goes. Your roommate, Wendy Seon, is an easy magenta for her innateness to attract attention wherever she goes. Unlike her, Min Yoongi, your batch representative, was a hard-to-determine cream white for his introvertedness and tough-bitch acts. But among these people you have met, there is one who stands out like a sore thumb: Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin is a friend of Namjoon and you only knew about it when you shared a general education film class with him in sophomore year. He was easy to say…a different story from anyone you’ve met.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

Your eyes flit to your left to meet the eyes of the boy seated next to you and you nodded slowly. How did he know you? Much more your name? You’re sure you’ve never met him before and you’re much surer you’re someone everyone can easily miss.

“Namjoon told me your name when I asked him about you. I’m Kim Seokjin,” he offers a hand. You shook it slowly, your head tilted to the side, still bewildered as to how he knew you. Unfazed by your questioning stare, Seokjin grins. “I didn’t know you’re also taking this class.”

“I…I like films so yeah,” you shrug.

“Me too!” Seokjin chuckles. He leans closer to your seat. “You’re in the biochemistry program right?”

Your forehead furrows. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I am in the biology program and I saw you going out of the lab when our class was about to start in the same lab. Your blue scrunchie gave you away.”

Your hand deftly reached up to your ponytail and Seokjin laughs. “Don’t worry, you look cute with it,” he waves off and the furrows on your forehead only grow deeper. What is this man spouting about? Is he outright hitting on you–

The door swings open and the professor barks the usual morning greeting. Your thoughts were immediately halted. A few minutes is all it takes for everything to settledown into a metronome of students whispering across each other and pens scribbling notes. You wouldn’t have found yourself bothered again by the strange man sitting beside you if Seokjin didn’t just open his mouth to say the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life when the professor asked everyone what names they would like to be called in class.

“Señorita. Call me señorita.”

Needless to say, the class erupted into a hysterics and you’re left wondering for days (and oddly irritated) why everyone finds it so funny to bring that scenario up again and again until the next two weeks.

Such small timeframe is also enough for you to say Seokjin’s a mess. But oh, everyone will disagree. They will say “Oh my God, how can Seokjin be a mess? He’s like the university crush and he has damn good grades and have you seen him wearing those goggles during lab hours?! He’s the only one handsome enough to pull it off as a fashion statement! ” in their wistfully annoying voice. First of all, you don’t care whether he’s good in what he does or he has a really good-looking face. What else but a mess will be someone who’s all-over-the-place?

Some days, Seokjin is a calm sky blue you can actually have fun with talking about film what-ifs and chemistry memes.

“Yo Y/N, imagine if The Princess and The Frog was remade and instead of a frog, the prince is a pterodactyl.”

“I don’t want to imagine that.”

“The solution of the plot will still work though. You can’t kiss pterodactyls though, but guess what?”

“I don’t want to guess.”

“C’mon, just play along!”

“Fine, what?”

“They will peck you!”

“Have you ever wondered what Australia will be called if it suddenly finds itself abundant of silver.”

“No. Leave Australia alone.”

Seokjin doesn’t hear you and bursts out “Agstralia!” He guffaws at his own joke and you can’t help but snicker at his priceless face and laugh at yourself in pity for finding it even remotely funny.

When his laughter dies down, Seokjin goes again, “Then what if it’s filled with copper?”

You don’t want to answer him, already biting your lip in silent laughter.

“Custralia!”

Most of the days, Seokjin’s a fiery orange of fireworks who drags you into the wildest rides of your life with his ever loud, but oddly inviting, “Yo, Y/N!” Like that one Monday afternoon he coaxed you (in some goddamn way you dumbly agreed to) to scavenge for some specimen of Bermuda grass to see it under the microscope and check if it has any semblance to the Bermuda Triangle (of course it has none). You accomplished nothing that day but run around like cockroaches with no heads when an old woman chased you for trampling on her “garden” which is just a plain expanse of grass. Or that one Wednesday morning he asked you to accompany him in his dorm just in case he managed to summon a demon when he tries to cook using an old Latin cookbook he found in some thrift store. You didn’t summon anything that day but you ended up with you two getting summoned by the condominium’s landlord because Seokjin accidentally set off the unit’s fire alarm.

There are also times when Seokjin’s an endearing bloom of pink. Like those days when his hand casually brushes against yours as you walk side by side to your film class and he’ll send you one of his goofy smiles. Or those weekends where he’ll accompany you to study in the library, helping you make flash cards for your upcoming long quizzes. Seokjin makes you feel warm at the slightest of stares and lingering gazes. Especially in those nights where he lays his head on your shoulder as you watch required films, and he’ll stare at you while doing kissy faces when you tell him his head is too heavy. You never knew you would be able to fill something, no someone, in such a delicate color you know you have already started to reflect on your cheeks just at the sight of him.

But all of that gets ruined because Seokjin always, always, makes you see blazing scarlet everytime he carries on his life mission to scare you whenever you meet. It started when your professor assigned your class to watch The Shining for a horror genre essay and you, like the scaredy cat you are, begged Seokjin to watch it with you. Of course you didn’t tell him you’re not too fond of horror films, afraid of being called out. Obviously, it only takes one stare at your curled up form for Seokjin to put two and two together and realize you’re such a…coward. And of course, like the obnoxious boy he is, Seokjin takes advantage of such knowledge and decides you need a little spice in your life–a spice you didn’t really need, nor will ever need in your entire life.

Whenever you’ll meet him on the corridors of your film class, Seokjin is now nowhere to be found. Instead, he’ll demand you to answer a quick survey first, a condition for him to show up, and you, like the exasperated idiot you are, answer it just to get on and over with it. Like always, you end up screaming at a scary video mid-answering the questions and you never learn your lesson. Everytime you’ll pass by each other in hallways, Seokjin bellows a loud “Boo!” with a thunderous clap of his huge ass hands and you always jump in shock like a cat on her hackles. You never knew how to expect the shits he pull up because Seokjin always changes his patterns. One day, he even pulled up a Scream mask by your locker just right after you closed it shut, making you scream as you fall on your bum.

At the end of the day, Seokjin always makes sure to apologize and assure you that it’s just his way to bond with you. “I just can’t get enough of your priceless face” he snickers and you start to chuckle too at his attempts – because even if you’re scared, his shenanigans actually helped you, in some way, get less scared of horror film jump scares.

However today–today is a different straw.

It was nine o'clock in the evening and you just got out of your building after an org meeting. The campus gate you usually take in your commute home was already locked closed at eight so you have no choice but to take the other gate–the one on the far left boundary of the campus. All would have been fine about that gate if you hadn't read the Facebook freedom wall post concerning it yesterday. Apparently, some student was jogging around the route towards the gate every night before he goes back to his dorm. In the entirety of his jog, he hears footsteps behind him that he didn't mind at first– until he passes by a guard who greets him and asks him what's he's doing alone so late. When he glances to the left, there was actually no one following him.

At the thought of the Facebook post, you grab the straps of your bagpack tighter. All is well. You just have about twenty meters to go before the gate and after that, you'll get on a bus. Just a little bit more and–

Step. Step. Step.

Jesus fucking Christ. You bit your lip and walked faster. Your steps are frantic and you could feel cold perspiration start to form on your nape. You could feel yourself tripping on your shoes anytime soon but the only thought running in your mind now is outrunning the thing behind you.

However, the steps behind you also quickened its pace.

Fucking shit. You break into a run. You don't care about social conventions nor how ridiculous you probably look right now with your eyes teary, mouth dry, and hair frazzled. All you know is that you have to get OUT of there.

But your effort is not enough because just five steps in, a hand shoots out behind you and you have nothing to do but scream. Scream, drop down, and cry.

“Leave me a-alone please. Just let m-me go home. I'm to-too young to die!”

“Yo Y/N. It's me, Seokjin.”

You cried harder.

In the next second, you feel him squat down and gesture toward your arms, tightly corded around your knees with your head still buried between them. But you didn't move. You can't move. Your fingers are still shaking, and your heart won't stop pounding too fast. And you feel like any second right now, you're about to explode.

“Y/N, I'm sorry I scared you. I just saw you going out and I have something to say to you before you go home.”

You couldn't hold it in. You pin Seokjin with the meanest glare you can muster. “WHY DO YOU HAVE TO COME AT ME LIKE THAT THEN?!”

“I was just running after you! You were walking too fast and you didn't see me so I–”

“I thought you were a ghost! Jesus Christ!”

“A ghost?” Jin sputters before breaking out into a loud guffaw. “I'm so handsome to be a ghost. Seriously, Y/N–”

“It's not funny anymore you know,” you whisper. Seokjin's chuckles immediately die down. “Can you just stop,” you hiccup, “scaring me everytime we meet? It's not good for my heart.”

“I...I didn't know you felt like that,” Seokjin mumbles and he looks down, rubbing his nape. “I...I thought you were also having fun because you always laugh after it.”

“It was fun,” you admit, “but it's also scary. I'm a coward you know. I have my limits.”

“I'm sorry,” Seokjin mumbles. But before you can reply that it's alright as long as he doesn't do this shit again, he has already cupped your face in his hands, leaving you no choice but to look at him. Look at him in all your snotty glory.

Seokjin however, doesn't seem to care. “I'm sorry I scared you that bad. I would not have started doing this scaring thing if I knew it will end up with you breaking down. I'm sorry I didn't know you get scared this bad. I don't like...making you cry.” At this, you feel his thumbs pressing on your cheeks and wiping away the tears that have streaked down in your panic. You can't move, this time for a different reason. You can't feel anything but the presence of the boy in front of you. His warm, beautiful eyes that only look like that when they meet your eyes; his much warmer hand that feels too big on your face–big and secure enough for your hand to hold with an assurance he’ll never let go. His cheeks are rosy, just like his ears and you feel oddly elated it has grown pinker just in five more seconds of staring at his eyes. And his lips–pink and plump and looking so soft–fills your senses into sensory overload that you honestly feel you're heating up like a boiling kettle by now.

Good for you, Seokjin doesn't question your frozen stance and silently helps you up on your feet. “Sorry’s not enough. I'll make up for what I did. C'mon.”

Before you knew it, he's already steering you away from the gate and back into the campus. And now at ten thirty, you find yourself munching on a strawberry ice cream cone with Seokjin beside you, your knees bumping into each other.

“Why do you do it anyway?”

“What do I do?”

“Scaring me,” You answer, wiping your lips.

“Are you...still angry about it? I'm sorr–”

“No,” you wave off, “I'm just...curious, yeah. I've never had someone doing that to me and you're probably the only one crazy enough to do that. I'm just curious why you do it in the first place.”

“Well, you already said it," Seokjin chuckles. “No one has ever done it to you yet. So I did.”

Your brows raise, your forehead furrows. "Wh-why?”

“Because I want to be different when it comes to you. I've seen you goofing off with Jimin on hallways and–I don't know why, I just get this feeling that I have to be unique when it comes to you.”

“Why? I mean," you sputter, "I don't require you to be…different to be my friend.”

“I just want to. It feels good that I get to be the wild adventure of your life. It feels good that I get you to look only at me like that–begrudging but curious, skeptical but willing, and," he smiles, "cute. Especially when I get you to laugh.”

You look at him, mouth agape, but Seokjin just laughs and gestures you to eat your ice cream because it's starting to melt. You oblige, but you can't help but let your eyes linger on the boy next to you. The boy you didn’t know was like the biggest hotshot of your batch but was the one to actually remember you from the crowd just by your favorite scrunchie. The boy who used to be your greatest dilemma but now the best highlight of your life. The boy that annoys you to no end but oddly makes your heart flutter at the same time. Seokjin, the boy you can now begrudgingly admit you're definitely crushing on. Because you know there's no other answer to the overwhelming, warm flash of soft red you feel on your chest whenever you're with him.

You know you're right because after that night, you start to associate Seokjin mostly with red. Fresh roses, picnic dates, heart-shaped promises, sweet laughter, cherry kisses–a plethora of everything your heart started to long for.

A/N | HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEST GIRL @sophrosinn!!! Thank you for being a stable shoulder I can lean on in times of problems, for being a great listener to everything I rant about, and for being one of my bestest friends who never failed to support me in my dreams. (Thank you for also comforting me when I broke down in our live news presentation in our media literacy class. I’ll never forget that). I never imagined you’ll be one of my few friends I get to keep ‘til now since it’s only two years ago we got to really, really talk with each other. Remember how we just used to pass by and greet each other in our freshman until 11thgrade year in high school? Such a great plot twist. Time sure flies fast when you’re with the best people. Meeting you is surely a blessing. I wish you more amazing years ahead of you and may you accomplish all your endeavors. I love you!

P.S. I hope you liked this fluffy fic hehe this idea started to bother me ever since your birthday started to near. And yeah, I HAVE to include the pterodactyl joke because it’s your and Jin’s trademark uwu

#kwritersworldnet #bangtan bookclub #btsguild #bangtanarmynet #btswritingcafe #seokjin scenarios #bts scenarios #bts fluff #seokjin fluff #bts x you #seokjin x you #AHHHHH IT'S HERE #FINALLY SOMETHING NEW

211 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years ago

Text

Jigsaw // Red: Part One

Valhalla

A/N: Picking up right where we left off with Blue (which you can find on the Billy Russo page of my masterlist). Billy’s on the run and needs to find a place to hide out while he comes up with a plan.

Warnings: character death

Word Count: 3,730

Left. He hit the sidewalk and immediately turned, shifting himself sideways to disappear down the alley. Go, go, go. Legs turning over with perfect form, he ran between the buildings, a blur of red brick on one side, pale gray concrete on the other. The sound of his breathing drowned out everything but the voice in his head telling him where to turn. Right. Coming through to the next street, he spun, socked feet splashing through a puddle of condensation from the A.C. unit in the window above. Alley, now. A trash bag lay across the opening of the narrow space. Jump it. Right leg extended, he vaulted over the garbage heap, springing off his coiled left calf and landing in stride, continuing to run without missing a beat. An aluminum chain link fence greeted him at the end of the alley, and he quickly calculated the necessary motion to climb it. Wait! Back pressed against the grime covered wall, he held his breath in the shadows as two police cruisers flew by, sirens wailing. He counted to ten, waiting to see if any more were in pursuit. He could hear more sirens joining in from other parts of the city, but for now the way was clear. Go, up and over. Securing the folder inside his zipped sweatshirt, he jumped and gripped the fence with both hands, fingers curling through the wire diamonds. He pulled himself up with ease, throwing one leg and then the other over the top and landing hard on the soles of his feet.

Keep fuckin’ going. Listening to the commanding voice in his head, Billy immediately took off running again. His lungs were on fire and he had a cramp in his gut but just like in an active warzone, he knew that he couldn’t rest until he’d reached the checkpoint. Not that he had one in mind when he broke free, but as he scaled the fence he realized that his legs were taking him to a specific location- an abandoned warehouse in Red Hook. Of course. He coughed, wheezing slightly as he pushed himself to follow his feet as fast as he could. Of course that’s where I’m goin’. He reverted back to auto pilot, following the commands to make turns and slip through alleys, allowing his thoughts to traverse the labyrinth in his brain like a mouse in a maze, desperate for the cheese. With a wince and a jerk of his head, a memory tumbled to the frontlines as he got closer to his destination.

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

‘S’just an idea I had,” Billy shrugged and shoved his burger haphazardly into his mouth, filling it with food so he’d have an excuse not to elaborate too much. You watched him from across the retro red table, tapping your thumbnail against the grooved aluminum edge.

“It’s a great idea, Billy,” you’d said encouragingly, French fry suspended over your plate, a dollop of ketchup plopping off the end of it.

He chewed around a small smile, keeping his eyes on you as he reached for the pebbled plastic soda glass in front of him. He swallowed the bite he’d taken and chased it down with a few loud slurps of his drink before setting what was left of his lunch back on his plate. “I dunno about great,” he said with a minute shift of his shoulders. “Still got a lot of work to do. Gonna need investors and warehouse space and-“

You stopped tapping at the aluminum trim and stretched your hand across the small two top booth to grip his, giving a light squeeze. “Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Yeah, you got a lot of work to do. But the idea is a good one, and a lot of good people will benefit from it.”

She gets it. He cleared his throat and sniffed, nose wrinkling up. “Yeah, I mean… just thinkin’ about guys like me’n Frankie. Guys that gave decades of their lives to the military. Guys that need to have somethin’ to fall back on when they get home… what kinda jobs are gonna hire 38 year olds with no experience, ya know?” He was talking mainly about Frank, but he wasn’t far behind his friend in terms of age or the things he was willing to risk as that number went up.“Give ‘em a chance to use the skills they have instead’a tryin’ to scramble to fit in to some 9-5…” Let ‘em be with guys who understand…

“So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?” You’d pushed your plate aside to give him your full attention, one hand still linked with his over the scarlet and silver boomerang patterned laminate.

He’d hesitated to tell you about his idea of starting his own private security company, because saying it out loud meant that it was real. Telling you about it was essentially sealing a promise to himself...and to you, that he’d make it work, and he wasn’t sure that he could. But the way that you asked those questions, with nothing but clarity and belief in your tone, the way your hand never left his, it made him feel like maybe it wasn’t so crazy. Maybe I can. “Well, I gotta figure out how much I need to get started. Equipment, endorsements, facilities,” He ticked those off on the fingers of his free hand before his tongue came out to lick his lips. “I...actually, I looked into this one warehouse in Brooklyn already. Not that I’m expectin’ it to still be available when I’m ready to pull the trigger but… I wanted to look into the numbers.”

“Will you show it to me?” The excitement on your face pulled his cheeks up slowly, almost making him laugh.

“What?” He shook his head looking down at your hands. “Nah, you don’t wanna,” he looked back up to find that you hadn’t so much as blinked. “I only got two days left, you wanna waste one of ‘em in a dirty old building?” But even as he tried to talk you out of it, Billy realized that he did want to take you there.

The server came over then, coffee pot in one hand and stress written all over her tired face despite the fact that there were only three other occupied tables in the joint. “Get you two anything else?” The way she asked the question dictated what she hoped the answer would be.

Without missing a beat you turned to respond to the woman. “Nope, we’ll take the-” she dropped the puffy black check presenter on the table where it clapped together with a soft thud. “-check, thanks!” You pulled your hand from Billy’s and let him inspect the bill before he dug his wallet out, tucking some cash behind the curled thermal paper and then placing it on top of the dented silver napkin holder.

When he had returned his wallet to the back pocket of his dark jeans, you tilted your head and cocked one eyebrow. “What?” He asked, to which you’d only changed the angle of your chin. “Really?” Your smirk answered and he felt a swelling in his chest at your stubborn faith in him. “You’re serious.” That one wasn’t a question.

You stood from the booth and wrapped your scarf around your neck before slipping your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. Billy did the same, following your lead. When you’d both donned your outerwear, you pulled your hair up and over the thick cable knit loops of your neck covering and bounced up on the balls of your feet to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I am, Russo.” Motioning toward the door and lacing your fingers with his, you licked your candy apple lips. “Lead the way, Billy.”

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

His breathing picked up, uneven and ragged, fingers shaking as they clutched the rusty gate, swinging it open. The chase was over and his body reacted accordingly, heightened senses returning to normal levels, the adrenaline slowly draining from his blood. The greedy gulps of air he was taking would make him sick. He knew that, but there was nothing he could do. His survival instincts got him as far as they needed to before vanishing into the abyss, leaving him alone. Closing the gate behind him, Billy staggered through the fenced in loading dock of the abandoned warehouse, shoeless feet tripping on the cracks in the pavement where stubborn weeds were pushing through the concrete. Broken glass littered the ground as he got closer to the building, an entire pane having fallen from the third story, nothing but a few jagged spears remaining in the window frame.

The crunching, crashing sound of glass shattering echoed in his ears, forcing a wince and a pitiful hissing sound that was a mixture of pain and fear. Tearing his eyes from the fragments, he gripped the top of his head and shook it hard, jogging the sound and the visions that came with it from his mind. The blare of a bus horn from a few blocks away brought him back to the moment. Chest heaving, Billy gripped the folder that he’d tucked under his sweatshirt, confirming for the tenth time since his escape that he hadn’t lost it. What little relief was left for him trickled through his body as he finally reached the door and found it unlocked.

Tugging the handle he pulled it open, flakes of rust falling from the hinges as they creaked and screeched their disuse. The bottom of the door dragged over the concrete, scraping a crescent shape into the ground. He stumbled inside and yanked the door shut behind him, giving three hard pulls to close the stubborn portal. He kept moving, using the sunlight that filtered in through the thick, clouded windows to seek out the staircase on the near side of the vast and empty space. It had been over a year since he’d last been there, but he was confident that the steps hadn’t decayed past the point of use. Testing his weight on the bottom few he saw that he was right. He gripped the oxidized rails, the peeling metal rough against his palms as he climbed to the second floor, footsteps echoing in the vast, empty space.

This wasn’t Anvil’s home, but it might have been, almost was. There was more graffiti than there was the last time he’d set foot inside, depleted spray paint cans littering the ground and coming into view as he took the last few steps. The word Valhalla was scrawled across the bricks in the loft, accented with flames and shadows, a few broken, lumpy chairs and mattresses spread beneath the mural. The room had clearly been used as some kind of illegal den for drugs or other illicit activity, and simply hadn’t been cleaned out when the inhabitants had been dispatched. A rat scurried out from under one of the dilapidated pieces of furniture and found refuge inside of a potato chip bag in the corner. Billy stood before the painted wall. Valhalla. What a crock of shit. He recalled the way that he and his brothers in arms had often compared themselves to the Vikings, to the Gods of War, talking about valor and the glory that was waiting for them back home. There’s no glory left, no good death for me. He tore his eyes from the lettering and sank down onto one of the badly torn couches, a broken sound coming from his throat as he pulled the folder from where it was tucked beneath the zipper of his sweatshirt, letting it fall to the ripped cushion beside him, his head falling to hang between his hands.

Outside, the clouds shifted in the sky letting hazy afternoon light find its way through the damaged windows. It created a spotlight effect that drew his gaze to a hastily sprayed “X” on the floor in the center of the room, the splotchy ruby red paint scuffed from where careless boot soles had stepped over it. His mouth fell open, an incredulous breath bursting forth as he dragged his palms over the close cropped hair on top of his head, fingers curling around the helix of his ears and memory hurtling back to the last time that he’d been in that building.

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

You reached the door before he did, both hands gripping the chunky steel door handle, eagerly trying to tug it open but struggling to do so. He watched your shoulders hunch up as you tried to pull harder before you turned to look back at him. The excitement on your face would have been more suited to opening the door to a luxury suite in a gilded mansion than a rundown old paint factory with more broken panes of glass on the floor than existed in the window frames, but he knew it was there and it was real. Because she loves me. That simple, overwhelming thought was the hardest thing he’d ever wrapped his head around. He shook his head as his lips parted, one side quirking upwards involuntarily. “Easy there killer, lemme do that.” Billy reached passed you and grabbed the handle, a flush of warmth flooding his veins as you leaned back into his chest, your fingers falling away from the door as he gave a hard pull to pry it open, the bottom scraping the ground. “Still can’t believe this is what you wanna-“

You turned quickly and pressed two fingers, skin chilled from the early spring air, against his lips to silence him. “Believe it. This is where I wanna be. Nowhere else. Now,” You winked at him and turned back towards the darkened entry that he’d just wrenched opened. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Russo, but you were going to take me on the tour of your new facility, were you not?” You started to take a step through the door when his arms quickly circled around your waist, stopping you. They flexed, tightening his hold and forcing a bubbly laugh to spill from your soul.

“Yeah,” he brought his lips to your ear, pressing them to the flesh behind it. “Right this way, ma’am.” He unwound his arms and took your hand, carefully leading you into the building. The heavy door swung shut with a thud and you jumped slightly. “I got ya,” he said, squeezing your hand as the metallic sound of the door echoed throughout the cavernous space. You squeezed back and threw a smile in his direction.

Late afternoon light was streaming in through the remaining glass panels, showing off an iron staircase that lead to a lofted office area, and behind it an enormous room with concrete flooring. “So down here we’d build this out for training purposes,” he motioned to the space with the hand that wasn’t holding yours. “Put up walls, build rooms for guys to run tactical drills in. S’enough square footage to run two teams through drills at once.” He cleared his throat and nodded. “I uh, I looked into that, too.”

He’d looked into more than he let on at the diner, already researching contractors that might be willing to work with a US Marine vet when it came to budget. He watched you take in the room, blinking slowly in the dim light, breathing quietly in the musty air. “It’s perfect, Billy.”

He shrugged but allowed his cheek to twitch up towards his eye in a one sided grin. “It’s not. But it doesn’t haveta be. Just has to be big.”

You dislodged your hand from his to explore the space some more, wandering between the support poles that ran from cracked floor to vaulted ceiling. Swinging around one of them, your hair fell like a curtain over your face and you pushed it back. “Well it’s definitely big. So check that off the list.” You came back towards him as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “What else?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to the staircase, yours following until they came back to meet. “Up there is where the offices would be.” Tongue flicking out to lick his lips and teeth flashing behind them, he said, “Where my office would be.”

Your grin turned mischievous. “Oh yeah?” He nodded. “Just up those stairs?” Another nod. “Well this I gotta see,” you said, taking off in the direction of the loft.

“Hang on, wait,” he shot his arm out, catching you by the wrist and wrapping his fingers around it. “Lemme… I dunno if the stairs are…” you let him go ahead of you, testing his weight on the rickety staircase. Satisfied with their structural integrity, he looked back at you. “Okay, c’mon up.” He gave you his hand again and you took it, the familiar weight of it grounding him.

The top floor boasted an exposed brick wall to the right and a huge half circle window high up near the ceiling to the left, long narrow windows running down beneath it. A series of smaller offices overlooking the first floor could be seen down a short hall. A few stray papers and paint cans were strewn about, and a pigeon cooed as it fluttered from rafter to rafter over your heads. You spun in a slow 360 degrees, directly in the center of the beam of light filtering in through the lead glass semi-circle. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it is perfect. “So what do you think?”

“I think your desk should go right over there,” you pointed out a spot in the middle of the large brick wall. “You close this off,” you moved your arms to indicate the area around where his phantom desk stood. “Your secretary can sit-“ you looked over your shoulder at him, devilish grin climbing your lips to change the color of your eyes to a darker shade. “She’s not gonna like me, I can tell. But she can sit over there,” again you moved your arms to indicate where walls would be. “Outside your office. More privacy that way.” You’d come back to stand in front of him, slipping your arms beneath his and pressing yourself tightly against him.

Billy looked down through his lashes at you as you reached up to fix a stray lock of his hair that had fallen in front of his eye, tucking it back in order before trailing your fingertips down the stubble on his face. “S’not what I-“

“I know.” You gripped the back of his neck and flexed your fingers. “I know that’s not what you were asking. You wanna know what I think, Billy?”

His hands came up to either side of your face then, eyes searching yours. “Yours is the only opinion that matters,” he said. “So yeah, I wanna know what you think.”

You looked around the space again, hand dropping from behind him as his fell away from your cheeks. Finding what you were looking for, you smiled and took a few steps into the corner, bending down to pick up an aluminum can with a bright red plastic top. You shook it like a maraca, the liquid inside sloshing around to tell you that it wasn’t empty. Popping the top off, you walked over towards the area you’d cordoned off for his office, finger resting atop the depressor.

“What are you…” his sentence fell apart as you stooped down and sprayed a big “x” on the ground, dropping the can and letting it clatter by your feet.

“There,” you said, wiping your hands together and then brushing them off on your jeans. “X marks the spot, Billy. That’s what I think. I think now you have two things to come home to, lieutenant.”

He shook his head and moved closer to you. “That’s not even… ‘course I’m coming home to you, that’s not-”

“Yeah, you better.” You stood on the wet X, not caring about getting paint on your shoes. “But this? This place, this goal? I think there’s no way in Hell you don’t make this happen, Billy.”

He reached for you then, pulling you off the X and into his body, wrapping you up as tightly as he could. “X marks the spot,” he said, lips covering yours, glad that this was how you’d ended up spending the rest of the day.

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

He stooped down to run his fingers over what was left of the red mark, the patterns from the soles of your shoes faintly visible in the splotchy paint. She should be here. She should be here and she’s not. Tears pooled in his eyes and spilled fat and heavy onto the floor as rage roiled in his blood. Frank did this. Frank and… and Madani. He stood then, shuffling back over to the folder in the couch. There’s gotta be… He knew needed to get their attention. Gotta be some way to flush ‘em out, to…

He flipped through the file, the photos of the two of you from the park socking him hard. Military records, session notes, accomplishments, crimes, details from every aspect of his life typed out neatly in 12 point double spaced font. One name caught his eye as he turned the pages, one name that he’d only ever shared with three people in his adult life: Frank, Madani, and you.

“So what do you have to do then, Billy? How do you make this happen?”

Your voice filled his ears then, and he knew what he had to do to make Frank take notice.

Thoroughly exhausted from the events of the day, from the pieces he’d put into place and the staggering realizations he’d come to, Billy took the photo from the folder and fell into the broken couch. Outside, the sun had started setting, darkness slowly swallowing the world and ending the day. They took her from me. Slow, shaky breaths puffed through his nostrils as he crossed his arms over his chest, aching to hold you one more time. They took her from me and they’re gonna pay.

Though it felt like his anguish would keep him from sleep, his eyes slipped closed and he drifted off, holding your picture and repeating an address over and over, like counting sheep; an address he couldn’t believe he remembered after all these years.

They’re all gonna pay.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @lexxierave @songforhema @thesumofmychoices @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget @obscurilicious @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @nananananananananananabatman

please let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#jigsaw #jigsaw // red #valhalla #billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x reader #the punisher #the punisher au #frank castle #dinah madani #they're all gonna pay

62 notes · View notes