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woeisme-iamwoe · 4 years ago

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an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it.

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale.

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on.

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch

two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes.

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them.

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.”

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love.

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on.

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with.

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married.

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic.

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites.

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience.

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride.

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together.

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while.

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!!

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

Routine, by snoqualmie (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly.

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso.

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read.

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit.

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it.

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful.

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong.

my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.

Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love.

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried.

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together.

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot.

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa.

Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it.

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet.

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay.

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.

we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it.

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother.

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru.

how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa tooru

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jaehyunspeachparty · 5 years ago

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3. Not so good news

"When did you have your last period?" Asked the gynecologist Chichi, looking seriously at her. "I don't know. Maybe 5 years ago?" She was embarrassed to admit it all. "I understand. When I look at your results, I, unfortunately, have to tell you that you have PCOS. This means that it will not be able to get pregnant." The doctor typed something into his PC and Chichi could only stare at him. "What?" She asked, tears pooling in her eyes. The doctor just shrugged and continued typing. But at that moment a world collapsed for her. She always wanted a family with Sunoh. Sunoh wanted children because he came from a big family. "The good thing is you don't have to use contraception anymore." The gynecologist smiled, but Chichi wasn't comfortable with the whole thing. Her eyes went almost black, but she tried to keep her composure. She just nodded and got up. The only thing she wanted was to go out and go to practice.

"Was everything okay at the gynecologist?"

Chichi had to swallow as she reads the message from Sunoh. What should she tell him? She always wanted to start a family. It was her greatest dream to become a mother, to do everything well since her mother was never there for her. And now she never had a chance to. Never!

"Tell you everything later. Must go to training now." "Okay. Love you."

Chichi sighed and wished she would just go away. How could she do that to her big love? How could she fail to never give him a child? It may sound silly to others, but she always wanted to get pregnant at least once. Have part of her and part of Sunoh. She always saw it in his parents, that's exactly what she wanted. When Chichi was in training, she could hardly concentrate. She hadn't enjoyed dancing so much for a long time. She was almost never booked for leading roles because she was too shy and it was getting harder to express herself. She was also exhausted from the training and knew that she needed to get better. However, her coaches were not happy with her and over time she knew that she was slowly failing. She just failed in everything ...

And when she was training, but at the same time, her thoughts were there that she will never give birth to a child, she wanted to cry and scream. And so she danced and danced. She was completely lost and the next moment she was on the floor. At first, she didn't know what happened. But at first, she didn't hear anything, everything was blurry, but then she realized that she couldn't get up. "Chichi? What was that?" Her teacher shouted at her and slowly she could see the contours again. "I can dance." In the meantime, she managed to line up again, but her teacher glared at her. "No, you're not focused. You leave my class immediately!" All the other students started whispering because when someone was kicked out of the class, it was serious. Chichi knew that she had no chance and she had no choice but to go home.

When Chichi sat in her room and heard the LP that Sunoh recently gave her, her tears came. When was the point where she had missed her life? She was no longer happy, neither the dancing nor her decision was good. The only good thing she hadn't missed was Sunoh, but she was afraid that she couldn't make him happy. As she sat there, she suddenly noticed that her foot was aching. She rolled up her pants and sat so that she saw that her entire ankle was blue. She held her breath for a moment and knew that it meant nothing good. She quickly took an ointment from the drawer and tried to cover everything. But every touch hurt. And when she looked at her desk and saw her mother's documents that were holding the money, she suddenly became so angry. Angry with everything, everything around her. She started screaming and throwing everything down. She had a breakdown... "Chichi? What's going on?" Yuta came to her and tried to hug her. "I hate her. She took it from me and I can't give it to anyone." Chichi looked for something in her drawer, but Yuta quickly pulled her towards her. "My angel, who is it about?" Yuta quickly hugged his daughter and tried to give her comfort. In the meantime Sana was there too, leaning against the door and feeling helpless. "My mother ... she just gave birth to me and I can't be a mother." She sobbed in her father's arms and was suddenly so small again. "Honey, what happened?" Sana now also dared to the two and stroked Chichi's back. She felt that this was also a women's issue and maybe it was a good thing that she was there too. "I was just at the gynecologist and he told me I couldn't get pregnant." Yuta looked desperately at his wife, who was also totally shocked. They both knew that this was hard for Chichi. "Have you talked to Sunoh about this yet?" Sana asked carefully, but the girl was shaking her head. "No. He wants a big family. I'll never be able to give him that." Chichi started to cry again and more tears rolled down her cheeks. "Don't say that. Talk to him about it. He loves you so much." Sana looked at her and Chichi saw that it was pointless. She had to tell Sunoh anyway. "Yeah, you're right. I'll talk to him." She nodded and tried to collect herself. Yuta kissed her forehead and got up with her.

When Chichi was calmer again, Sana drove her to the Jung's house. She thought she needed her boyfriend now. Sunoh had always managed to give her comfort. This topic was something the two had to discuss. But she was sure that Sunoh would love to meet her. But there was another reason why Sana really wanted to drive her alone. She parked in front of the house and turned to her stepdaughter. "Chichi, I don't know who your mother is ..." She took her bag and pulled an envelope out of her bag. Chichi turned to her in surprise. "But your father struggles every day. I'm sure that he has a reason why he can't tell you. But in the documents that your father has, a name always appears." Sana looked at the envelope and sighed. She had to help her, Chichi had to go through so much in the past. "Only open the letter if you are determined to find your mother. And please promise me you will never tell your father about it, okay?" Sana looked worriedly at Chichi, who stared at her stunned. "Wow, Sana. Thank you. And yes I promise." Chichi looked at her with wide eyes and Sana smiled. "Well, then... that's our secret." Sana gave her the letter and Chichi got out of the car.

Chichi gripped the letter tightly and took a deep breath. That is just too much information for one day and so she decided not to open the letter and put it in her pocket. Before she got to the front gate, Sunoh opened the door and smiled broadly. He immediately picked her up so he could kiss her. Chichi wrapped her legs around him and put her head on his shoulder. "Are you carrying me?" She looked at him with wide eyes, but her foot hurt so incredibly that she could hardly walk. "Of course, I would love to take you anywhere." Sunoh kissed her cheek and went into the house with her. "Do you want coffee?" He put her down on the kitchen counter and kissed the tip of her nose. "Yes gladly." She smiled shyly and watches Sunoh take out two cups. "How's your internship going?" She asked. Sunoh had started the internship in music production a week ago and now has a lot of work so that they could not see each other so often. "Good, but it's tiring." Sunoh smiled and turned to his girlfriend. He then went up to her, put the palm of his hand next to her thigh and leaned towards her so that their faces were very close to each other. "I hope we can find an apartment soon so we can move in together." His lips touched hers gently and they stayed in this infinite kiss for a while. But when the coffee was finished, the two were interrupted. Sunoh poured the coffee into the cup and gave Chichi one. They lingered a little, but suddenly Sunoh's phone rang. "Hi Dad," said Sunoh as he answered. Chichi was watching her boyfriend and there seemed to be some information. She waited and when Sunoh put his phone aside again, he grinned big. "What's going on?" She asked, playing with his finger. "Dad is with Miga right now and he has met her landlord. He is now converting all of the apartments into condominiums and that's why someone is moving out. The apartment would be free now, he already had a lot of requests, but because he is a fan of Miga, he would let us see the apartment first." Sunoh couldn't stop grinning. The apartment complex where Miga lives is in Gangnam and it was perfect. Sunoh also wanted to stay with his sister. And if they were neighbors, it would be perfect. "Wow, that sounds really great." Chichi smiled and was also very excited. "But we have to go immediately." "Immediately?" "Yes immediately." Sunoh took Chichi and lifted her over her shoulder and carried her to his car.

Jaehyun was waiting for them at the entrance. He smiled broadly and was also happy that the apartment was vacant. It was a good feeling for him that his children lived close to each other and could take care of themselves since he lived far from the city. "Miga and the landlord are already up in the apartment." Jaehyun opened the door and the three went into the apartment complex. "Do you already know the price?" Sunoh then asked his father. He shook his head and explained that they would clarify it later. Sunoh held his girlfriend's hand firmly and he was sure that this would become the apartment in which he will live with his big love. For some time now he has been thinking about maybe get engaged. He had already discussed this with his parents ...

"I will miss you if you no longer live here. Chichi too ..." Y/N looked sadly at her son and sighed. "Don't make him feel guilty. The two have been together for so long, they should get some privacy, too." Jaehyun kissed his wife's cheek and then looked at his son. "Yes, I think it will be a special chapter for me and Chichi. I thought maybe I would ask for her hand ..." Sunoh didn't really look up and spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "WHAT?" Jaehyun and Y/N looked at their son, startled. For the first time, Sunoh looked up and was surprised about their reaction. "Don't you think it's a little early?" Asked Jaehyun. "Yes, you are still so young," said Y/N. "I've been with Chichi for almost 6 years. How long were you together when you got married?" He crossed his arms and looked seriously at his parents. Nobody said anything and Sunoh laughed. "2 years right? And yet you two are still married." His parents sighed and knew he was right. They also knew that Chichi and Sunoh belong together, but still they didn't want them all to rush. "Sunoh, I know what you mean. Well, let's do it this way: Live together for a year and then you'll have our blessings, okay?" Y/N thought that's the best idea. Jaehyun also said that this is good. Things can still change when a couple moves in together. Sunoh thought for a moment but then agreed with his parents.

"CHICHIIII." Miga ran to the girl and hugged her. "Wow, you never greet me like that." Sunoh sighed, crossed his arms and sighed. "Hello, little brother." She punched his upper arm and grinned broadly. "I didn't mean that!", Said Sunoh but at that moment Miga was already hugging Chichi and went into the apartment with her. But he noticed that something was wrong. Chichi limped a little and that was not normal. "It would be so cool if you could move in here. Then we would be neighbors." Miga almost squeaked with joy. Chichi and Miga still had a close friendship and it was always a dream for both of them to live close to each other. Sunoh looked through the apartment with his father and both were surprised. "Okay, that's pretty big here," said Sunoh. It had two bedrooms, a bathroom a large kitchen, and a large living room. "Yes, I thought it was the same size as Miga's apartment." Jaehyun looked around and compared everything. Miga had a one-room apartment that was large but had more of a loft vibe. This apartment was already screaming for family. "I thought they were smaller too, but it's really beautiful." Sunoh and Jaehyun came into the kitchen, where everything was already set up. "Because you talked to us about your future with Chichi recently, I think you want to have a family with her soon, don't you?" Jaehyun looked seriously at his son, who nodded. "I know Dad, you and Mum are not that enthusiastic, but I also want a big family and as soon as I have a permanent job, I hope that we can start soon. I know we're young, but I want it that way." Sunoh also looked seriously at his father, who nodded. "You really come after your mother in this sense." Jaehyun laughed and patted his son on the shoulder. But then they saw Miga and Chichi coming. "Everything okay?" Sunoh then asked in a whisper as he hugged her. He saw that she was still limping. "Yeah sure." Chichi nodded and smiled gently. Her foot still hurt, however, and she hoped that everything would swell the next day. "And what do you think? How do you like the apartment?" Asked Miga excitedly. Sunoh looks at his girlfriend. "Do you like the apartment?" Chichi nodded cautiously. "Yes, but it's very big. Do you like it?" "I think it's perfect." Sunoh smiles softly and the two are completely lost in each other's eyes. "Awww the two are so cute and I'm so alone." Miga leaned her forehead against her father's shoulder. "Oh my princess, everything will be fine." Jaehyun took his daughter in his arms, but he was somehow happy that his daughter took her time. "And did you decide?" The landlord came to the four and smiled. "I think they want the apartment," said Jaehyun, laughing and looking at the couple. Chichi and Sunoh nodded with a big grin. But then the landlord said the costs and it was really high ... extremely expensive. The landlord left the four alone again and they now had to discuss the financial issues. "Since we also pay some money to Miga's apartment, we don't have the money aside, but your mother and I can also take out a loan for it." Jaehyun considered how he could help his son. "Daddy, I think I've earned enough to pay for my apartment myself. It costs a lot less than this one." Miga really wanted her little brother to move in next to her. "Hmm, I don't know if Dad has that much money ..." Chichi sighed, after all this apartment cost a fortune. "Maybe we should wait a little longer. The apartment might be a little too much," said Sunoh, smiling softly. But Chichi didn't want to give up this perfect apartment so easily. They have looked at so much and only rarely has something been released like this. "I have my mother's money. What if we pay the apartment from it?" Chichi looked at her boyfriend with wide eyes. "You didn't want to touch the money." Sunoh was worried about his girlfriend. "No, it's okay. Let's sign the contract."

After they were back, Sunoh and Chichi lay in bed and snuggled. "I can hardly believe that we finally have an apartment." Sunoh grinned and stroked her back. "Me too, the apartment is really perfect." She put her fingers on his stomach and played with the fabric of his shirt. "Is it really okay that we take your mother's money? I mean, at the beginning you had problems accepting it." Sunoh looked down at her and was a little worried because his girlfriend was absent all day. "It's for us. That's why it's okay." She tried to smile, but so many things went through her mind. "Really?" He asked again because Chichi still looked uncertain. "Yes. It's only for the apartment. I'll leave the rest." She sighed, but she was calmer now. Sunoh nodded, but something still wasn't right. But since Chichi was so peaceful in his arms, he didn't want to destroy the moment. So they continued to watch their favorite anime, but Sunoh also felt like doing something else. As Chichi looked at the screen, his gaze wandered somewhere else. And when the credits ran, his hands were quickly under her shirt. He pulled her slim figure towards him and her face turned to his. Her big eyes were on his lips, which greedily searched for hers. He groaned slightly and her back slowly pressed into the mattress so that he leaned a little over her. His desire became more and more violent, he wanted more from her and so he starts to open her jeans. But Chichi flinched and she remembered what her foot looked like. "No Sunoh," she put her hand on his and looked at him admonishingly. "I just want to celebrate with you. I just want to taste you a little." Sunoh whispered this in her ear and smiled so that his dimples appeared. "Sunoh ... please not today." She could hardly look him in the eye because she was ashamed of so many things. "Did I do something wrong?" Sunoh was surprised at her refusal and unsure, he quickly put the blanket over his lap. She shook her head and quickly straightened her shirt. But Sunoh was still unsure, he sat up and stretched his leg. However, Sunoh was much taller than his girlfriend and thus hit Chichi's ankle with his foot. Now she couldn't help it because it hurt so much and she cried out. Sunoh looked at her in astonishment and immediately bent to her foot. He pulled her jean up and saw that everything was blue. She couldn't keep it from him anymore and she just let him do it. "Chichi, we have to go to the hospital." He was totally shocked because this doesn’t look good, but she shook her head. "No, it's not that bad." "But it's swollen and blue and it looks like you're in pain." He was really worried about her now. "Sunoh, it's okay." She tried to lie to him a little more, she was afraid that she could no longer train and would fail again. "How did that happen?" He asked, still horrified. But Chichi couldn't do that anymore. She burst into tears and started to sob loudly. "I can't get pregnant." Tears and more tears rolled down her cheeks and Sunoh was totally confused. He hugged his girlfriend, but at the same time, he didn't understand the context. "Hey, calm down. Tell me everything one by one." He looked at her and stroked her back worriedly. Chichi nodded and sobbed a few more times before starting. "I went to the gynecologist today because I wanted the birth control pill, but after the exam, he said I couldn't get pregnant. Sunoh, I'm sorry." She started crying again and he pressed her closer to him. "What are you sorry about?" He was overwhelmed with all that and he still didn't know what to do. "I can never give you a family. We can never have babies." She looked at him with wide eyes but saw him only blurred from the tears. "We can still be a family. You and I are a family. And we can always adopt." He smiled gently and wiped her tears. Chichi was surprised at his reaction, he was very empathetic and she calmed down immediately. "But what does all this have to do with your foot?" He continued to stroke her cheek and continued to look worried at his everything. "I will go straight to training and I was so sad ... I was not focused and I fell." "But why didn't you tell me?" Sunoh was a little disappointed that his girlfriend hadn't turned to him. "I don't know ... I think I wanted to displace it myself." Full of shame, she bowed her head and didn't want to look at her boyfriend in the eye anymore. "I am disappointed that you are trying to keep this secret." He sat up and looked at her seriously. Chichi nodded because she understood. Both never kept a secret from each other and she broke this. "I know I understand when you're angry with me." She didn't look at him any further. She was so angry with herself. But Sunoh took his fingers and raised her chin. "You can make it up." He looked at her seriously and her dark, big eyes met his. "Let me drive you to the hospital." He was really worried about her because her foot looked so bad. "Okay," she breathed and Sunoh kissed her.

new generation masterlist

masterlist

#jaehyun #daddy jaehyun #lovestory #writting #newgenartions #nct #nct 127 #yuta

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wikiangela · 4 years ago

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my thoughts as I was watching the episode (didn't feel like doing multiple posts, felt easier to do just one lol):

awww Dean has a dog 😍

Dean trying to make his bed cracked me up ngl

actually it's funny seeing them do such ordinary things lol

this dog is so cute I can't 😩😍😍

"Pie Fest" 😂 "this is my destiny" okay 🤣 so dramatic over pie, but that doesn't surprise me 😂

Sam THANK YOU for mentioning Cas (and Jack) 😭

Idk but I'm kinda loving that Dean's trying to live his life? "If we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing" I mean that's true 🤔 (even though I'd love to see Cas back but not getting my hopes up)

pie in the face lol and Sam's laugh is so great haven't heard that in too long

(this post is gonna be long af 😂 it's been just 5 minutes hah)

"Singer and Kripke" aw cute

vamp-mimes cracks me up every time, even though I saw the sneak peak before 😂 and he's so serious when he says it hahaha

I cannot stress enough how I missed that about Dean

okaaay so vampires. cool.

is that the trenchcoat in the trunk? is it? it looks like it? IS IT? or am I just imagining things??!! I paused and I've been looking at it for like five minutes trying to figure out if it's the trenchcoat wtf (I mean would it even make sense? Cas was taken in that trenchcoat? unless he had a few? And, I mean, he had, right? it's all so blurry in my mind now, I need answers)

Sam, let Dean have fun for once, geez 🙄😂😂😂

I don't remember that girl (Jenny, was it?) (okay, I googled it, and I still don't remember her and what happened with her haha all I know is it was in season 1 so 💁‍♀️)

oh nevermind, she dead now (dead dead) so whatever

as soon as I saw the metal thingy (I'm an English major but somehow I can't remember what it's called in English or in my native language??) I knew what was gonna happen but...

NO DEAN BABY WHYYYYY 😭😭😭 he can't die like that noooooo

he's like, accepting that he's gonna die? omg I'm crying 😭😭😢

I'm literally sobbing right now and how is he dying its only been 20 minutes of the episodes what the fucking fuck how am I supposed to get through 20 more minutes

"don't leave me" omg Sammy 😭😭💔💔💔

"I can't do this alone"

"yes you can't"

"well, I don't want to"

where have I heard that before? 🤔😭😭💔

"I love you so much my baby brother" is that the first time Dean said that to Sam in the show? I'm pretty sure I don't remember him saying that before - and I am crying so hard I can barely see what I'm writing thank God for autocorrect 😅

nooo Dean 💔💔😭 my favorite character since the moment I saw him and now he's dead and I wasn't emotionally prepared for that and how am I supposed to just go about my day later this is the worst why are they doing this I hate how attached I got to this show and the characters FUCK

And my mom called me just as Sam was about to burn Dean's body and I had to pretend like I'm okay. I WANT TO GO BACK TO THIS MORNING BEFORE I DECIDED TO WATCH THE EPISODE FUCK

so Sam's alone now, with the dog

but my question is: What the hell happened to Eileen? weren't they, like, in love? didn't she come back? (I feel like we actually don't know so I'm seriously asking) why isn't she there? wtf if I don't see Cas or Destiel, at least let me see my girl Eileen at the end 😭 and Sam being happy with her

baby's grieving and I cannot stand to see him so sad SOMEONE GIVE HIM A HUG (or me, I could use a hug too 😔)

I physically cannot stand seeing Jared cry - I feel like I'm literally falling apart

WHY IS THIS SO SAD wasn't it enough that we have to say goodbye to the show? couldn't those be happy tears about a happy end? THEY DON'T DESERVE THIS

okay, "agent Bon Jovi" made me chuckle through tears, I LOVE DEAN SO MUCH

lights out in the bunker made me cry even more

DEAN'S IN HEAVEN

BOBBY

OG BOBBY

ARE YOU KIDDING

idjit 😭😭😭😭😭😭 I missed him much more than I expected omg

"that kid of yours" I. am. not. okay.

Jack setting things right, I love it ❤️ thank you for Bobby 😭😭😭

"everyone happy, everyone together" is it everyone though?🙃

"the Heaven you deserve" DAMN RIGHT HE DOES

"CAS HELPED" I CANNOT HANDLE THIS

right now I would just like to take a second to appreciate how fucking hot and handsome and beautiful Jensen is because I needed to pause and calm down a little and focus on something else

and Jensen is fucking gorgeous and Iove his fucking smile and his fucking lips - you know, when I started watching it, for about the first season I had to rewind every time Dean was talking because I couldn't focus on anything but his lips hahaha good times, wish I could forget about this show and watch it all over again and get supper annoyed at everything all over again but I still love this show more than any other even though I've been watching it only for the past 2 years haha

I think I'm good, back to watching:

I don't think I can express how I missed the og Bobby ❤️

AND BABY'S THERE OH YEAH

that smile, Dean/Jensen ugh you're killing me

"Hey Baby" ❤️❤️

CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SOOOON THERE'LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE

AND I JUST STOPPED CRYING AND NOW IT STRTED AGAIN AAGGHCHFJHSH

"love this song" me too, Dean, me too 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

(wow, too much emojis, bitch, chill)

baby Dean that's too much

and Sam seems so happy 😭😭

but who's the wife, please tell me it's Eileen, I miss her where is she that's not fair

Sam as a dad is just so precious and cute and so fucking great I can't 😭😭❤️❤️ love that for him ❤️

but why aren't there any pics of Cas and Jack? C'mon, Sam 🙄 (I mean, there surely were some pics of them, we know for a fact there was at least that one Cas picture in a cowboy hat so there should me more ugh)

"it's okay, you can go now" why are doing this to me again

I mean, I'm happy that Sam got to live his life to the end and died of natural causes or old age or whatever

brothers togheter again 😭😭

I'm a mess

also, let me just ask, WHERE'S THE ANGEL

WHERE THE FUCK IS CAS

just a cameo at the very end would be great

"and cut" this made me cry again fuck

so that's the end, huh? brothers together again, in Heaven?

well, I choose to believe that at some point they reunited with Cas, too and that's that

overall, it was not what I expected, and I didn't have much hope for destiel but I hoped for some acknowledgment of his confession by Dean or at least a cameo

I mean, he's been one of the main characters for so long and they didn't even have him in the finale? and he was mentioned literally twice?????!?? FUCK YOU WRITERS

so, I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it that much, is was meh, It wasn't a good conclusion to the show and I'll be bitter about Cas till the day I die and I didn't like how Dean died, I mean, he was literally impaled, in my opinion it wasn't "going out in the blaze of glory" like he always wanted

this is a long post, I'm not even gonna reread before posting, but those were my genuine reactions haha

if you read it, wow, I'm so sorry haha

now I need to lie down and cry before I can function again and do my homework so that's fun

I'll see y'all in your notes as I reblog every fucking thing about 15x20 😊👌

just one more thing at the end:

THIS SHOW RUINED ME AND I STILL LOVE IT WHY AM I LIKE THIS

anyway, I'm gonna go cry now hahahaha I'm not okay

I'm gonna live in denial about Cas not being there haha

I hope the rest of the spn family is holding up somehow because I'm losing it and I need some fix it destiel fics asap

okay not gonna make this longer haha

bye, have a good day 🙂👍❤️ (don't mind me, I'm losing my mind)

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starboyjxmin · 5 years ago

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Reality in Motion

Synopsis: How do you forgive the one who took the meaning of your life?

Warnings: Angst, Crying, Smut (eventually), Vulgar Language

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Mafia!Yoongi

Word Count: 2,012

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

“You’re the sun rising in the east.” The casket made a heavy clunk despite how gently the boys put it down on the wet sow.

“You’re the birds greeting the sun.” A sob tore into a grieving mother’s chest as you stood there looking at the glossy black casket cover.

“You’re safe with me,” The boys stood there with their arms crossed over their chests as the priest began to welcome everyone for coming to the celebration of the life of Eric. Everyone began to take a seat but you remained standing as the sobs of your mother in law kept filling the air, the wet suffocating air.

“Because I’m safe with you.” The priest began to speak about Eric as you replayed every kiss, both stolen and known. Every touch, every fight, every word, every breath after, during, and before sex. You even replayed the moment you had told him, days before his death, the most secret thing you had held from him. He had agreed to keep it a secret, a beautiful secret between the two of you that he unfortunately took to the grave a few days later. You lied. You felt so much anger looking at casket containing your dear handsome husband. He lied because here you were, hearing your mother in law making a dramatic scene of crying and she had just thrown herself on the floor clinging to the side of the casket.

“My dear baby! My only son!!!” You kept it within yourself to not roll your eyes and yell at her to get up. You simply stood there as the priest continued while some people started to comfort her and tell her that it was okay.

________________________________________________________

“That was a beautiful service, Abel.” You hugged your husband’s best friend, thanking him immensely for everything.

“It was beautiful because of you, (Y/N).” He gave your body a squeeze.

Pathetically, you has let yourself be weak for once and couldn’t put yourself together to arrange anything for your husband. Everyone told you it was fine, it was expected but not from you or for you. That didn’t matter if this was a normal reaction, it was stupid. You very disappointed with yourself for that. Luckily Abel had immediately taken over for you. He assumed the position of head of household almost for you. He took care of you for the next days following the death and dealing with all the legal issues, the funeral arrangements, the embalming processing even though you insisted on cremating your husband but in his will, he has specifically put down being buried. Again, you were overruled in the relationship. Wasn’t a surprise there.

Abel let you go and held onto your hands, squeezing them tenderly as he spoke to you.

“You’re doing so well, you’re so strong.” You scoffed lightly and smiled.

“You’re too kind. I just wish this had never happened. I mean, I was on the phone with him when that car hit him. I shouldn’t have called him, it’s all my fault for distracting him.” Abel put his hands on your shoulders now and shook his head, a hidden glint in his eyes that you saw but as soon as blinked, it disappeared making you doubt you even saw such an emotion in them. All that was looking back at you was lamenting.

“It was not your fault, don’t ever say something that stupid again. You know damn well it was the other driver’s fault for blantanly ignoring the red light.” You sighed.

“(Y/N!)” You turned to see your mother in law waving you down with tears still steaming down her face. Great, now what? Could you not mourn your husband without her in your face upping it like a pain olympics of “oh it hurts me more than it hurts you because you’re not his mom.”

“I’ll let you go. Do you need anything right now?” You shook your head as Abel’s hands down down to his sides now. “Okay well you know where I am if you ever need me.” You nodded at him as you turned to talk towards your mother in law.

“Gretchen, hi.” You smiles tightly at your mother in law.

“Oh dear, you look so beautiful for such a wrong occasion. And you haven’t any tear.” You felt like your jaw would crack at any moment from how tight you had your teeth clamping down to smile.

“Thank you,” You dismissed the backhanded compliment. She kept speaking to you but you let your eyes wonder behind her head as you imagined being in bed, lights off, and crying away from everyone. But in the distance, where you didn’t even imagine to look, stood 3 men in black looking towards the ordeal. A black Cadillac behind them stood parked.

________________________________________________________

“What are you thinking?” Seokjin asked Yoongi. Yoongi shrugged as he watched the newly widowed woman holding hands with an older woman. Their face blurry due to the distance between them.

“I’m thinking of how tiresome this side of our job gets. How many funerals have we attended so far?”

“None. But watched from the distance like total creeps? 5.” Namjoon answered as he picked at some lint on his suit. He seemed deeply disinterested in the funeral.

“5 is too many.” Seokjin commented as he walked back towards the Cadillac.

“Mm.” Yoongi hummed in agreement. “Well, send some roses to the newly widowed wife, will ya, Joons?” Namjoon groaned inaudibly as he rolled his eyes.

“Same as always?” Yoongi was already turned towards the car.

“Yes, but make them even more bigger this time. Express our condolences from Bangtan.”

________________________________________________________

Yoongi’s torso was out of the window as he had an uzi in his arms as he shot back at the policecar behind them, tailgating them ever since they fled from the senator’s home.

“Stupid cops, don’t they know that this will do nothing but make their numbers weaker and ours stronger!” He laughed manically as he continued to shoot at them, breaking the windows.

“Min Yoongi! Get your stupid ass back in here you crackhead!” Seokjin grasped at his boss’ coat from the back of the neck, pulling the shorter man back into the car as the car swerved from Jin’s lack of hands controlling it, instead the car leaned towards Yoongi.

“Drive right!” Yoongi yelled as bullets swapped around towards them, some hitting the missle proof windows. Either way, he was pulled in and fell back towards Jin.

“What is the purpose of this anyways?!!!” Yoongi sat up scoffing as if they were arguing about which ice cream was clearly superiour rather than getting shot at.

“Lose them. Now.” Jin nodded and immediately shift into reverse, confusing the police cars zooming right into them. To the untrained eye, it would appear as though Min Yoongi and Kim Seokjin had just given up and were doing a suicide mission now by aimlessly swerving in reverse towards incoming traffic of police cars but as soon as the cars diverted to not crash and kill themselves by the strong impact such a collision would create, they unfortunately, hit one another due to not paying attention to their surroundings. They were only closing in on the biggest distraction which became Yoongi’s escape. As soon as they had created the diversion, Jin immediately swung around and continued on his way, zooming into a car park.

“This is why we are here.” Yoongi pulled up his shirt and a yellow large envelope was peeking out from halfway outside of his jeans.

“Dude what the fuck, gross!” Jin cringed as he looked away, turning the car off and taking the keys from the ignition. Yoongi pulled the envelope from his jeans and smacked Jin over the head with it who began to fake vomit as he opened the car and stepped out.

“You idiot, I didn’t want the papers to get fucked up.” Yoongi also stepped out of the car and they made their way towards a plain blue faded Toyota Camry, early 2000’s.

“So what’s so special in there that you need to shield with your dick?” Yoongi rolled his eyes as he got in and put on his seatbelt with the documents still in his hand.

“This is our tickets to freedom.” Jin began to slowly drive out the opposite way of the car park as police cars began to flood the entrance they came in from, unaware that the people they were looking for were no longer in the flashy car but in a generic car.

“So it specifically says, ‘Bangtan is innocent.’” Min Yoongi swore that if his friend wasn’t his best friend, he would have murdered him right then and there.

________________________________________________________

You sat on the empty bed, still not use to the space next to you. It still dipped from his back from he would sleep on it but it was just as hollow as your soul. The black hole in your chest was growing day by day. 2 days after the funeral, you received an enormous floral arrangement that took 15 people to completely bring into the condo. You cried while they brought them in, thinking it was a quequed gift your husband had left for you before his death for the celebration of your secret but as you signed the paperwork the delivery girl handed to you, she made your tears of joy mixed with sadness stop.

“Mr. Min sends his condolences.” You looked up at her in shook. She gave you a sweet knowing smile as she hurried her people to set the Kylie Jenner worthy bouquets down. White roses filled the condo, leaving you with little walk space. They excused themselves but not before the girl left you a card. You closed the door behind them, visibly shaking.

Min, who’s min? The only Min you knew was your neighbour, Mrs. Min and she was a widow. But they had said Mr. Either way, you were thankful for the roses. White, they filled your empty home with beauty. Beauty you no longer possessed or felt. But it was special, until right now that you sat on the bed and took the card out from your drawer. The smell of roses permuated the air. The front was a grievance card you get from like any drug store, it was elegant looking though, not cheap. As you opened it, you held your breath.

”Dear Mrs. Silver, we here at Bangtan regret your loss due to your feelings. However, if you must know, we do not let the spouses of murdered men go unprotected. Despite the disservice your husband did to us, that had nothing to do personally with you. Again, we share your grief and hope that time will fix this wound soon.”

What kind of sick ass joke is this?! You furiously thought as you looked at the bottom of the card. signed, min. Murdered. Unprotected. Disservice. The words swirled violently in your head as they pounded back and forth in your skull, ricocheting. You felt immediately sick to your stomach. Bile began to come up into your throat and you started to throw up on the bed. Your head began to almost split from the migraine you were starting to experience. Hands began to hold your stomach as you emptied it.

________________________________________________________

After some moments, you finally stabilised yourself. Embarrassment flushed your cheeks as you got off the wet putrid covers. “I’m so stupid.” You really were weak. How could you throw up at the sight of a stupid card with stupid words? You sighed in frustration as you pulled the covers off your bed and pulled up your vomit covered hair up. Time to get to work.

________________________________________________________

You let the hot water fall over you as you sat on the tub, arms hanging outside of it as your chin rest on the ledge. Min. The name played in your head as you thought of who this person could be and why he would say your husband did him a disservice. What the fuck did that mean? What was your husband even doing then? Did you even know him? “I’ll keep you safe.” Then why are ghosts sending you dead messages? What was the point? Was it to intimate you? Was it to truly express grief for you? You sighed and turned to slip into the warm water, submerging yourself in it. Your husband use to say you would go to your Eleven place when you’d do this to think. But right now, you needed to figure out who the hell Mr. Min was. And figure out is exactly what you were going to do.

________________________________________________________

(A.U. I know, I’m a piece of shit. Well after I think some months I’m back again? Sorry, I just graduated and now have my associates in science and I’m a licensed pharmacy technician! Also, I work full time now so I’ve been hella busy. But either way, I’ve been trying so hard to write. I write but nothing ever looks good enough. Angel is halfway done, first love needs to be started, Starboy is halfway done, and the Taehyung one i just stare at and wish that I could write good enough for it because it’s my personal favourite after this new Yoongi one I’m writing. I’m currently on my lunch break so sorry if it isn’t formatted well, I’m doing this on mobile. I get home later tonight so I’ll fix any errors and format it better. Anyways, hope you guys are doing well.)

#yoongi x reader #mafia!yoongi #yoongi au #yoongi fanfic #yoongi #suga x you #suga x reader #suga fanfic #suga bts #yoongi angst #yoongi smut

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janeofcakes · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 15

** This is a long one! But a great one. Nuff said. Enjoy. **

John falls back in his chair as if he’d been struck. His expression displays the pure shock that courses through every inch of his body. He can’t think, has no idea how to think and can’t make himself speak. There are no words to say anyway. His mind has completely shut down, the only words are Sherlock’s echoing hatefully in his brain.

“You hated me,” Sherlock continues in a panicked tone. “You kept me from you daughter and refused to see me. I forced you to help me with one last case and you despised me for it. You saved my life and then Eurus.”

Somewhere in the middle of Sherlock’s confession, John’s eyes closed and his face fell into his hands. Another pane of glass shatters and John can see it - Mary’s death. She threw herself in front of Sherlock. She saved his life after having nearly taken it. She gave him back to John. She knew. John loved him and she knew it. But John was so angry and confused and he blamed Sherlock. He tortured Sherlock.

John gasps, his breath catching in his throat loudly and he struggles to breathe for just a moment. His eyes pop open and stare at Sherlock in horror as another pane shatters.

“The morgue,” he rasps. “I beat you, kicked you. I could’ve killed you.”

“I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. No, you fucking didn’t,” John nearly shouts. “No one deserves that. I was stupid, Sherlock. Incredibly stupid.”

“I’d killed your wife!” Sherlock cuts in.

“No, you didn’t!” John cries, dropping to his knees in front of the detective. He rests his hands on Sherlock’s knees and leans into his space. “I remember, Sherlock, I remember now. She saved you because she knew I’d be lost without you. She knew I couldn’t lose you again. It wasn’t your fault and I shouldn’t have blamed you. I was just so...lost. I was a fool. I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Tears fall down the detective’s cheeks and he is shaking his head. For a moment, John is afraid he’s going to argue the point, but then he sees Sherlock’s face. Really sees it. Relief, joy, sadness, forgiveness. He swoops John into his arms in a crushing embrace and weeps on his shoulder. John envelopes his friend and holds tightly.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” he mumbles, meaning it more than ever in his life.

“I thought you’d hate me,” the detective breaks the silence after what seems like a very long time. “You hated me so much then.”

“No.”

“You kept her away from me and then I adopted her right under your nose. Gave her my name and your old room. Everything in defiance of your wishes.”

“No,” John doesn’t know whether to pull back to look him in the eye or just keep holding on. He finally elects the former and meets the detective’s blurry gaze. “You did everything right. I can’t think of anyone else I would rather have raising Rosie. You did it to honor our friendship, not destroy it. And you brought her every day to see me. You told her all about me. She probably knows more about me than I do.”

John smiles fondly and squeezes his hands where they rest on Sherlock’s hips. The detective sniffles, his red-rimmed eyes wet, but his features are more relaxed than they have been in days. John knows he shouldn’t say a word, shouldn’t spoil the peace between them, but he cannot pass up the opportunity. Sherlock could whisk out the door and bury himself in cases again. John slides his fingers from Sherlock’s body and bites his lip. The detective takes the hint and slowly begins moving his hands off John’s shoulders and down his arms.

“Why do you call her Watson?” John stares at his flatmate in surprise at the words that sprang from his mouth. It is not what he meant to say at all and now that he has, he isn’t sure what to do. Sherlock looks just as taken aback.

“I started it straight away,” the man begins before John can apologize. “From her first night in the flat. She was only a few months old and did not resemble either of you yet. It wasn’t until later that she had your hair and smile, your eyes. We visited you every day, but when we were at home and elsewhere I wanted…”

Sherlock stops and swallows hard, as though struggling with words he has kept inside for so long. He fixes John with soft eyes and squeezes his biceps just above the elbow.

“I...I missed you so much and wanted you with me always,” he breathes. “Each time I said Watson I felt closer to you. Almost like a part of you was there.”

“Sherlock,” John’s voice is light as a breeze. His hands are on his flatmate’s hips again and he leans forward to bring his lips to Sherlock’s, but the detective lurches back and stands quickly. John falls back on his ass, his back thumping against the chair. He stares up at Sherlock, astonished as the tall man declares something about tea and bounds to the kitchen.

After he has disappeared, John leans into the chair and hugs his knees to his chest. He rests his chin on the hard knot of his left kneecap and lets his eyes drift around the room. The animal skull with headphones, the beloved violin on the desk, the human skull over the fireplace, and then he sees it. He frees his legs and stands to approach the unfamiliar object. It is a 5x7 photograph in a plain black frame. In it, are himself and Sherlock standing close together. He is holding an infant Rosie in his arms and one of Sherlock’s arms is draped around his back, his fingers visible on John’s far shoulder. It must have been taken before Mary died. Perhaps she was behind the camera.

John takes it from the mantle and holds it in both hands. His eyes take in every detail of their body language and smiles. A very calm happiness settles over him and he brushes Sherlock’s face on the photo with his thumb. They look like a family. A proper family. A smile ghosts over John’s lips and his mind clears of all else. That’s the family he wants. It’s what he has always wanted. He may not remember his entire life with Sherlock, but he has remembered enough. He knows how he felt at the wedding. Like the wrong person was walking down the aisle. Like he was making a mistake. But how could he stop it right there? Then Sherlock deduced the baby. John’s first surge of excitement was for himself and Sherlock. His grin had faded the second he felt Mary squeezing his fingers in hers and his vision of the future went from tall curls to short blonde. He’d seen the same look in Sherlock’s eyes and then he disappeared, left the wedding and god, John had wanted to go after him. He had wanted to stand outside the sitting room window of 221B on the pavement below, doing one of those stupid things they do on bloody awful rom coms. Hold his mobile over his head playing “In Your Eyes” at full volume or hold up enormous notes for Sherlock to read. “I know we can never be, but to me, you are perfect.”

Perfect.

Was there ever anyone more perfect for him than Sherlock?

John closes his eyes abruptly, struck by a sudden wave of memory that pulls him under. A pane of glass shatters and he sees himself in a lab at Bart’s. The man from the park, Mike Stamford stands close by as John passes his mobile to Sherlock. For just the smallest of seconds, their fingers brush and electricity tingles through John’s whole body. And those words, smooth and silky in that beautiful baritone that has secretly tickled John’s spine ever since.

Afghanistan or Iraq?

“John?”

John’s eyes snap open and he turns to see Sherlock standing not four feet away. When had he come back in? He is looking at the photo in John’s hands.

“Oh. Um,” John fumbles for words and replaces it on the mantle. “Sorry. It caught my eye.”

The detective wears a soft smile and has a far away look in his eyes as he studies the photo.

“It was taken shortly after she was born. We were so happy,” he mutters wistfully. John watches him, unable to tear his eyes away from that face and those eyes. This man is his life, the very air he breathes, and it becomes more obvious every moment John spends with him.

Sherlock senses John’s eyes on him and clears his throat. He straightens his spine and the whole atmosphere of the room changes. Sherlock addresses him in a businesslike tone and heads for the kitchen.

“Come, John, the tea is getting cold.”

***

“Can you come to the mini-dance marathon on Friday, Daddy?” Rosie asks at dinner that evening.

“Erm. The what?” John looks up from slicing a piece of chicken. She had just told a story about she and her friends playing at recess, so it seemed a sudden change in topic. Granted, she was prone to doing that, but John was still getting used to it.

“The mini-dance marathon. I knew Papa wouldn’t tell you, but you finished those exercise visits with your doctor and can walk just fine now,” she grins at him, cup in both hands, and milk mustache on her upper lip. “You can sit down if you get tired.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I could.”

“You could dance with Papa for the slow songs!” she squeals.

“Your father may already have plans, Watson,” Sherlock pipes up suddenly, a fork full of potatoes hovering between his plate and mouth. “Perhaps with Lestrade.”

“Ha, ha, nope,” she snickers into her cup. “Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly are going to a fancy restaurant on Friday.”

“You’re going to be there?” John asks in a light tone.

“Every child must be accompanied by an adult,” he shrugs. “You’re under no obligation.”

“No, I’d love to go,” John interjects with a smile on his lips. “I’d like to see you dance. Wouldn’t you, Rosie?”

“I have!” she says proudly, putting her cup on the table and licking off her mustache.

“You have?” he leans in conspiratorially, glancing at his flatmate mischievously. “Is he any good?”

“Mmm. He’s okay.”

They grin at one another and laugh quietly. Sherlock cocks a brow and raises the fork to his mouth.

“Wait until Friday,” he grumbles almost petulantly. “We’ll see who can dance, John Watson.”

“I look forward to it,” he flashes Sherlock a brilliant smile.

***

“Good night, my angel, time to close your eyes,” John sings quietly as Rosie blinks slowly, nearly asleep already. “And save these questions for another day. I think I know what you’ve been asking me. I think you know what I’ve been trying to say.”

He hears the click of movement, bones cracking in an ankle or knee from the door. He doesn’t want to turn away from Rosie and give her any reason to employ delay tactics. Instead he continues the song. He knows Sherlock is listening. He doesn’t care. He’s done the same thing to get a sense of their routine - how many chapters, who reads to whom, whether or not songs are sung - but mostly just to see Sherlock in his element. He may be a magnificent detective, but he is an excellent father. John has never seen anything like it. Not that he knew much about fatherhood at this point, but surely Sherlock Holmes exemplifies the perfect one.

He and Rosie are so much alike and communicate on a level all their own. They do experiments together, identify countries and cities on maps, build together and keep notes on it all. There are notebooks upon notebooks of observations and test results in the bottom right drawer of Sherlock’s desk. John is sure there are more stored somewhere else too. They sometimes read things on Sherlock’s laptop together. Rosie whispers questions and Sherlock answers just as quietly. John loves to watch them read and play and cook together, even if he sometimes feels an intruder in their lives.

“I promised I would never leave you. Then you should always know wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away,” John lets his voice fade. He snugs the covers up under her chin and gently smooths back her hair. His lips curl up and he leans to kiss Rosie’s forehead.. He tip-toes out of the room and closes the door without a sound.

John pads down the stairs and finds Sherlock in the sitting room at his desk. The fireplace and the laptop screen are all that lights the room. He smiles in the detective’s direction and heads for the kitchen.

“It’s all washed up and put away,” he says. John stops to focus his gaze upon the man.

“Thank you.”

“You bathed Watson and put her to bed,” he says while rolling his shoulders, not looking at him. The doctor lingers.

“I believe I’ll have a drink,” John tells him casually. ”Would you like one? Wine maybe?”

Sherlock meets his eyes with an intense gaze and parts his lips, but pauses before answering. John can feel the heat of his stare and has the sudden urge to rush to the desk and sit in his lap.

“Red, please.”

“Of course.”

John walks into the kitchen. He opens the cupboard and removes two wine glasses. Placing them on the counter, he goes for the wine and corkscrew. He tries to clear his mind as he twists the handle and fails. It could be so perfect, the three of them, just like in the photograph. John is certain Sherlock shares his feelings, but they aren’t a couple. Sherlock said so himself. And who is this other person? Is it possible for him to love them both? Will Sherlock ever admit how he feels about John? Or maybe the proper phrasing of that question is how he felt about John.

John shakes the thought from his mind and concentrates on opening the wine. He pours and carries the glasses into the dimly lit sitting room. He saunters over to Sherlock’s desk and places one glass next to the laptop. The man’s eyes slide up to meet John’s. The gaze is wary but intrigued. The corner of John’s mouth curls. Sherlock raises a brow. John slips by and sits in his chair, leaning back comfortably. He sips from his own glass and smiles lazily at his flatmate.

Sherlock stands, gracefully picking up the glass and walking to his own chair directly across from the doctor’s. He drinks, not moving his eyes from John’s. His lips quirk up and he looks at the glass.

“This is delightful,” he remarks.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” John snorts. “I do remember a thing or two about wine, you idiot. And what it pairs with.”

“Mm. Yes, this would have gone very well with dinner,” he pouts his gorgeous lips and licks them slowly to taste the wine more thoroughly, ignorant of the effect it has on John because if he knows, he is a monster. John can physically feel his knees turn to jelly and is extremely happy he is safe in his chair and not still standing by the desk. He takes a rather sizable swallow and turns his head to watch the fire.

“I’m sorry, John,” Sherlock’s voice is near silence. When John shifts his gaze, the detective wears a most sincere expression. “These memories are...difficult. I wish I could provide more comfort instead of only painful answers.”

“S’not your fault,” John slurs. “I mean that, Sherlock. Especially about Mary. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did back then.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I do,” John cuts him off. He slides to the edge of the cushion and rests his hand on Sherlock’s knee. The detective’s intense stare returned the moment John’s fingers touched the soft fabric of his trousers, but it has a different quality and emotion behind it this time. “I hate that you had to live for the last five years with that in your mind. Thinking I despised you. I’m sorry.”

“Watson kept them at bay,” Sherlock replies in a choked voice. John smiles fondly now. He doesn’t move his hand.

“She is wonderful,” he sighs. “It’s always been the two of you against the world, hasn’t it? You’re like two peas in a pod.”

“The same has been said about you and I,” the man answers and sips the wine. He seems relaxed, but his eyes dip to John’s hand on his knee for just a fraction of a second. It’s all John needs to see to know his friend is actually ill at ease and, recalling what happened last time, he takes his hand away. He leans back into his chair again and takes a short pull.

“Tell me about a case,” he says. “What’s Greg had you working on?”

Sherlock fills him in on the double murder he closed most recently and describes a few minor cases as well. By the time he has finished, both men are in danger of dozing off right there in the sitting room. The detective yawns before he can begin another story and his doctor waves him off.

“We should go to sleep. Rosie has school tomorrow.”

“Yes. Yes, you’re right.”

John rises, picking up both of their wine glasses from the elaborate area rug. He goes to the kitchen, rinses and leaves them in the sink. Instead of leaving via the other door and heading down the hall to their bedroom, John goes back to the door he entered. He leans against the frame and watches Sherlock, who has moved back to the desk and is staring at his laptop again. The light of the screen illuminates his angular face with an eerie blue glow, the fire in mere embers now.

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” John asks. Sherlock raises a tired gaze to look at his friend.

“John,” he wets his lips and rubs his hands over his face, “you know about the wedding. You remember it. I told you all that happened after. You know we were never a couple.”

I know. I love you.

“I also know that you haven’t been sleeping,” John tells him instead, “and the easiest way to make sure you do is having you next to me.”

The detective stares and finally opens his mouth to protest.

“Sherlock, you’re exhausted. Come with me please. It’s fine. It’s all fine.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment and nods when he opens them. Standing, he closes the laptop and follows John to the bedroom. They take turns in the loo and settle in next to one another, lights off and both staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

“Sherlock,” John whispers into the silence, “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“John…”

“Please don’t. You don’t have to. No matter what I remember, I will never turn you away again,” he pauses and has to add the other reason Sherlock needs to be around the flat. The main reason. “And Rosie needs you. She misses you.”

He hears his friend swallow and then sigh. Sherlock shifts in the bed and runs his hand through his curls. John turns his head toward the man and can just make out his features.

“Yes, I know. I miss her too. I’ll stop taking so many cases. ”

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

John can see him turn his head and look at him. He also sees Sherlock smile.

“You’re welcome, John.”

***

The morning goes smoothly, as usual. It took no time at all to incorporate John once he was finished with physical therapy and “up to snuff”, as Rosie puts it. Sherlock takes her to school on his own, having an appointment with Greg to complete the police report for a recent case. Tedious, both he and Rosie declared with smiles on their faces. John bids them goodbye and does the washing up. He can’t help but think about the dance marathon coming up. Even without all of his memories, he is quite certain he has never seen Sherlock Holmes dance. He grins at the picture it paints while drying the dishes and putting them away.

When finished, John walks into the sitting room with a cup of tea and the plan to read a book. He stops in front of his chair, about to sit when he sees Sherlock’s laptop is open and on. It still displays the website the detective was reading last night, clearly a blog. John frowns. Sherlock doesn’t seem like the blog sort. Rather more like one who would consider it a waste of time, really, and that’s what makes it absolutely essential that John read this blog.

John leaves the book on his chair and goes to the desk. The site’s title has him stumbling into the desk chair instantly, his cup clinking against the table and nearly spilling. The Personal Blog of John H. Watson.

“John Watson is no longer updating this blog,” he reads aloud. The paragraph goes on to refer visitors to Sherlock’s consulting detective website. John glances through the blog titles with interest - The Mayfly Man, The Hollow Client, A Study in Pink, The Blind Banker - nearly all past cases Sherlock has told him about. Then the words ‘About Me’ catch his attention. “ ‘I am an experienced medical doctor recently returned from Afghanistan.’ Afghanistan?”

Afghanistan or Iraq?

“Oh, shit,” John breathes. That’s what they had told him. He had been invalided out of the army while touring in Afghanistan, though he still had no memory of it or any of his time in the service.

John clicks on The Mayfly Man and begins reading. He stops almost immediately and blinks in disbelief. He goes back to the beginning and reads aloud.

“ ‘We’d just returned from a quiet, civilized evening in the pub when our latest client arrived at Baker Street.’ We?”

John continues until he reaches the end of the case. He goes back to the homepage and reads case after case. He doesn’t eat when lunchtime comes and goes. He is completely enveloped in the website. He reads the tale of Sholto and his wedding to Mary, and the Hound of the Baskerville. By the time Sherlock walks in the flat’s door, John has read all but two cases. He stares at the screen unseeing, trying to remember even one of these cases. He closes his eyes and can see blackened panes of glass labeled now with case titles. He stands before them in his mind’s eye, willing rocks to appear in his hands so he can hurl them at the glass. But his hands remain empty.

“John?” the sound of Sherlock’s voice coaxes his eyes open and he stares at the detective. Sherlock looks back hesitantly, not sure what to make of his flatmate’s tense, troubled, pained expression. Suddenly he remembers what he had been reading the night before and then again this morning. Rosie had pulled him away from the laptop before he could close it. Sherlock fixes him with wide eyes. “John.”

“It’s me,” the doctor blurts. “It was me. The cases you told me about, I was your partner.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies cautiously.

“And then I wrote a fucking blog about it.”

“You did,” the detective nods once slowly, trying to ascertain John’s reaction. He is certainly in disbelief, but is he also angry? Will he be shouting soon?

“I just, I can’t believe it. What…” John’s face appears to be all astonishment.

“You read all of the cases?”

“All, but one.”

“Do you remember any of them?”

“No,” John presses his lips together and lets out a disappointed sigh. “Nothing. Why can’t I, Sherlock? It was my life for years. You were my life. You still are. There are so many things I should know about you. I should know everything! Why can’t I remember?”

“It’s all right, John,” Sherlock steps closer, wanting to calm him and wondering how to do it. “You have only been home a few weeks and only just learned of this. Give it time.”

“Damn it, Sherlock! I remember things about Molly and Greg. Why not you? How much time can it possibly take when it’s someone so important?” he snaps, his anger and frustration reaching the boiling point. He is about to start shouting when he feels a strong hand on his shoulder. John looks up at the detective. He looks more determined than John has ever seen him, and he is close. He is so close now. John can feel the heat rising from his body like a fire. He wants to touch him, create more points of contact between them.

If Sherlock can tell what is in John’s mind, he doesn’t let on. He gives him a stern but encouraging look and squeezes the shoulder beneath his fingers.

“We have all the time in the world, John,” he rumbles in that low, sexy baritone. John’s knees are as weak as they were the night before. “And we can make new memories in the meantime. We already are with Rosie. And together.”

“I know and I’m glad for that. I am,” John’s eyes slide to the laptop again. “I just wish I knew more about you. About our past.”

“It will come, John. It will all come back to you,” Sherlock smiles warmly.

“When did you get to be so patient?” he jokes. “Am I in another dimension?”

Neither able to resist, they both descend into giggles. Sherlock breaks into a loud belly laugh when John gives a little snort with his chuckles and he is struck silent. It is the most glorious, perfect sound John has ever heard. He wants to hear it again and again, for the rest of his life.

“Come with me,” Sherlock’s voice beckons as he quiets to soft chuckles.

“What?” John blinks in confusion. “Where?”

“On a case. Come with me on twelve cases. Your knowledge of medicine is vast. You could advise me like you did then.”

John’s eyes sparkle. Sherlock looks so excited and John is thrilled. Absolutely thrilled. He wants to say yes. Oh god, yes. He would love nothing more. The chance to use his skills - he is not ready to try working at a surgery again, not yet - the potential for danger - he isn’t sure why that is so appealing - spending even more time with Sherlock - god, Sherlock. Every time John lays eyes on him, he wants to touch him. Maybe more panes of glass will break if he spends more time with Sherlock doing what they used to, retracing old steps.

“I’d love to,” he replies with a grin.

“Perfect,” Sherlock’s lips quirk up. God, John wants to kiss them. “I will inform you when I have a suitable case.”

“Great. That means a lot to me, Sherlock. Thanks.”

Sherlock lifts his hand from John’s shoulder and disappears into the kitchen. John’s skin, even with his jumper on, feels the chill of not having Sherlock touch him. He wants the warmth of his flatmate’s body next to him again. John sighs and leans back comfortably in the desk chair with a wistful expression.

“John?”

He bolts upright in the chair when Sherlock’s head pops into view from the kitchen doorway.

“You haven’t had lunch?”

“Uh, no,” John shifts his eyes away from his flatmate and back again, mildly confused. How would Sherlock have even noticed that? “No, I haven’t.”

Sherlock sashays into the room, positively preening. He stands in front of the desk, pushes the laptop closed, and allows his doctor to admire the view. At least, that’s what it seems like to John.

“Let’s go to lunch,” his voice has a delightfully excited tone. “I know a cafe reasonably close to the school. We could go slowly, take our time, and pick up Watson after we’re finished. It used to be your favorite spot for lunch.”

“As if I needed more convincing,” the doctor rises with a grin. “How fast can we get there? I’m starving.”

***

When the trio arrives in the school gymnasium that evening, music is already blaring and kids of all ages are moving about the room recklessly. Rosie tugs off her coat and all but throws it at Sherlock while she scans the mass of people for her friends. John is about to comment when an excited squeal cuts through the music and a tall red-haired girl rushes up to Rosie, who responds in a similar way. They throw their arms around one another in a tight hug.

“He’s here! He’s here!” Rosie shouts. She turns toward her fathers, hand grasping her friend’s. “This is my daddy, John Watson.”

“Hi!” the girl thrusts her other hand at John and he shakes it while the big brown eyes study his face thoroughly.

“Hello,” he answers. Just when he is beginning to wonder if Sherlock has taught all of Rosie’s friends about the power of observation the girl looks back at Rosie.

“His are really just like yours!”

“I know right!”

“Watson, are you going to introduce your friend?” Sherlock prompts, folding her coat over his arm.

“Oh! Oh, sorry, Daddy. This is my friend, Annika. She’s in Mrs. Thompson’s kindergarten class. We play at recess and after school.”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Annika,” John smiles, leaning toward the two girls to better hear as the music gets louder. “What a pretty name.”

“Thanks. It’s Swedish.”

“It’s lovely.”

Annika grins unabashedly and starts jumping in place as a tall blonde woman approaches.

“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” she cries, no less excited than Rosie and John is sure they will both be hanging from the basketball hoops in a minute or two. “Look, it’s Rosie’s daddy!”

“Ah, so this is the framed John Watson,” she greets him warmly. “Rachel Reynolds. I’ve heard so much about you. From Rosie.”

She adds the mention of Rosie to ward away the uncertain expression on John’s face and they both laugh as she shakes his hand. Her’s linger when John’s fingers let go and he immediately feels wary. To say Rachel is attractive would be an understatement. If she and Annika are truly of Swedish ancestry, this woman fits the bill with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

“Have you seen Jack and Eliza?” Rosie suddenly yells over the din. John slips his hand out of Rachel’s while she is distracted by the girls.

“They’re over there,” Annika points. “I came over to get you.”

“Papa?” she looks to Sherlock expectantly.

“Yes, Watson, you can go.”

“Yay!” the two girls cheer and run away.

“John,” Rachel is suddenly at his side, nudging her nose into his personal space. The music is loud, but she needn’t be so close for him to hear her. “May I call you John?”

“Of course,” he keeps his tone even in spite of his growing discomfort. She is far too close for his liking and not just because Sherlock is standing on his other side.

“I’m so glad Annika has a friend like Rosie. They have so much in common.”

“They do seem to be very good friends,” John tilts his head away to look her in the eye. Christ, the woman is as tall as Sherlock. Her hand is suddenly on his arm and he resists the urge to pull away.

“I’d love for them to spend more time together,” a sly smile spreads over her lips. “A playdate in the park perhaps? I have a blanket you and I could sit on. We could...chat. Become better acquainted.”

Rachel whispered the last few words into John’s ear under the guise of the music being too loud. Her breath is hot on his neck and he does step away from her this time. Frankly, he is surprised he doesn’t run himself right into Sherlock. That is, until he turns to see the detective is gone. John glances around almost frantically and catches sight of him a few yards away, leaning back against the wall with a petulant grimace on his face. John looks back at Rachel and gestures in his flatmate’s direction.

“Sorry,” he gives her an apologetic smile. “Excuse me.”

He is against the wall next to Sherlock in a second, breathing a sigh of relief. The detective keeps his eyes on the dancing mob, no doubt scanning for Rosie.

“My god,” John says under his breath, leaning a bit closer to Sherlock. “I can feel her eyes still on me all the way over here.”

“Yes, Miss Reynolds doesn’t worry over subtly,” Sherlock remarks, still not looking at John. “She is both a good mother and has a healthy appetite.”

“What?”

“Sex, John,” Sherlock finally turns his head slowly and meets the doctor’s confused gaze with one of steel grey. “An appetite for sex. And her methods of flirtation are very effective.”

“Oh,” John is speechless. Sherlock searches his flatmate’s shocked countenance and turns his head away, out at the dancing throng of children.

“At least she has good taste,” he shrugs. “You have her number. I suppose you’ll want to go on the playdate.”

“No,” John says simply. “I don’t have her number and I don’t want it.”

This declaration takes the detective by surprise, more than anything has in some time. Not since the first time Rosie blew out her diaper, in fact. Messy business, that. He swivels his neck quickly and stares at John, the very picture of consternation. John, on the other hand, is very irritated. Why the fuck would he want this woman, or any woman’s number? Has the bloody brilliant man not deduced his feelings or is he denying them? In spite of the anger and frustration threatening to bubble to the surface, John chooses to ignore Sherlock’s ignorance for for the moment. This is Rosie’s event and is meant to be fun. The last thing he wants to do is disrupt it with an argument.

“Neither here nor there,” he forces a smile, pushing back his ire and affecting a casual posture. “I can’t believe she’d choose me over you anyway.”

“She’s already tried.”

“Of course she has,” John snickers, casting a glance around the large room. “I bet they have all tried. You could have any single woman in this room.”

“I don’t want any of them.”

“Neither do I,” John’s voice is steady and sure.

Sherlock’s head snaps to the side. John meets his startled grey eyes with his own deep blue and determined gaze. It’s like he can see right through into that big brain within and watch the synapses firing. He knows Sherlock has correctly interpreted his meaning, but neither says a word about it.

They talk and laugh together for the next two hours with a few interruptions from Rosie and her friends, who easily entertain themselves dancing with seemingly endless energy. John feels oddly refreshed and comfortable, even with all the activity around them and all the other parents ambling up to meet him throughout the evening. It feels like one of the best times, the best conversations he and Sherlock have ever had.

With only an hour left in the marathon, Jack tilts his bag up and lets the remainder of his popcorn tumble into his mouth. He jumps to his feet and wads up the bag in his hands.

“Ready?” he asks around the mass of popcorn.

The three girls start nodding and shovel in one more handful of popcorn. Rosie has a swig from a water bottle as all three pop up to their feet. The group looks each other over and then dives back onto the dance floor. Sherlock wears a huge smile as he watches them from across the gym. Finally taking his eyes off that brilliant smile, John glances around toward the door they came in. He places a gentle hand on his flatmate’s wrist and when Sherlock’s eyes meet his, they look worried. John smiles quickly to allay his concerns and raises his own brows in question.

“The loos?” he asks and Sherlock’s shoulders relax. John hadn’t even realized they were tense. The detective nods toward the door.

“Turn right. It’s a few feet down the hall on the left.”

“Thanks. Won’t be a tick,” John winks and walks away. This time he can feel Sherlock’s eyes on him and he grins in satisfaction. And with the buzz of excitement cracking through his body. He moves just that smidgeon faster so he can return to Sherlock’s side quickly.

Once in the hall, he heads right and finds what he’s looking for with no trouble. He sees a long bank of sinks when he walks in. An opening in the center of the opposite wall leads to a short hall with stalls and urinals on one side, and shower stalls on the other. Those must be for the older kids to use after P.E. He wonders briefly, while standing before a urinal, how they keep the younger children from drenching themselves for fun. That is certainly what he would have done as a child. John chuckles to himself as he walks to the sinks and washes his hands.

John dries his hands with a paper towel as he approaches the door. Tossing it in the rubbish bin, he pulls the door open and steps into the hall, only the sight that greets him is not what he expects. A large rectangular swimming pool lies before him.

“What the hell?” John frowns. “How did I manage this?”

He is about to turn around when he notices the music. Is the pool connected to the gymnasium? There are doors at the other end of the pool that John is betting lead right into the dance. Surely they are locked on that side to keep the mob from diving in, but would likely push right open on this side. John walks briskly along the long side of the pool, but slows to a stop half way almost without realizing. Something is shaking loose in his mind. A pane of glass, one that is darker than the others, rattles quietly. Then louder and louder, more violently until John has a hand on either side of his head to ward away the pain of it.

The glass cracks and dark, evil laughter bursts through, chipping out a piece and freeing the black ooze of fear within. John watches in horror as it falls to the floor and shatters, the black pudding landing upon it and crawling toward him with a life of its own. John is petrified and can only watch as it gets closer. The rest of the glass suddenly follows in an earth-shattering explosion that pushes John a few steps back, but he stays on his feet. He closes his eyes against the impact and hunches over as if in pain. A low, sinister laugh finds his ears and he opens his eyes, staring straight ahead. He sees a pool like this one and a man. A man in a tailored suit walking toward him with a gleam in his eye and a cruel smile on his lips.

Everything rushes back and it’s so much, so fast, too much. John falls to his knees, his hands still clutching the sides of his head. And the man gets closer, his smile getting wider until he is right in front of John. He squats before him, his lips shaping words. His voice is a menacing hiss in John’s ear.

James Moriarty

“No, no,” John says mournfully, pain filling his voice. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and presses his palms hard against his ears. He can’t shut it out. He can’t stop it from coming.

“Hello, John Watson. So nice to finally meet you,” his voice is conversational, but his eyes are black and evil. “You’ve made our great detective even sharper. I should be angry, but it’s made the game much more fun.”

“Fuck off,” John had growled. The semtex vest was already strapped to his body. His hands were tied behind his back.

“I don’t know what he sees in you, honestly. You’re so ordinary,” Moriarty had smirked, looking at his watch. “He’ll be here soon, John. Time to put on the parka and play this round.”

“No!” John cries out and it echoes around the humid room. The smell of chlorine fills his nose and mingles with the scent of Moriarty’s aftershave. It’s all so clear. Every scent, every feeling, every heartbeat, every...tiny...red….dot. Floating, floating, hovering over Sherlock’s face and his heart. Oh god! It all plays out in his mind and it won’t stop. It won’t stop! John clutches at his stomach as if in pain. He feels sick. It’s so real and it’s too much, too much.

John gasps desperately. Think! He has to think, to concentrate on something else, some way out of this. Sherlock. Sherlock! Opening his eyes, John scrabbles for his mobile and draws it from his pocket. John stares for a long moment as if he can’t move. Moriarty’s voice rings loud in his mind, laughing, cursing, mocking, making promises about the torture awaits Sherlock and how he’ll make John watch. John finally slides his thumb over the mobile slowly, pushes emergency and holds it to his ear. He closes his eyes again, but it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to see it. Or hear it. But it won’t stop

“I can stop John Watson’s heart.”

He had wanted to tell Sherlock to go, to save himself, but could say nothing. Only what Moriarty told him. Sherlock’s eyes, his face, his voice. Moriarty’s voice. They had talked and taunted. John had tried to end it when he grabbed Moriarty and held him, but the sights were on Sherlock then. One tiny red dot on his forehead and another on his throat and another on his heart.

“John?”

He doesn’t even hear Sherlock’s voice on the mobile he now holds loosely in his hand, completely lost in the memory.

“No!” John shouts. “No, no!”

“John, where are you?”

“Moriarty! He’s here. I can’t stop it.”

“John, tell me where you are!”

“Pool. There’s a pool.”

The mobile slips from John’s fingers and clatters to the ground. He clutches at his stomach again, clamoring and clawing, wanting nothing more than to make the memory stop. He falls over on his side, folding his legs in. Tears drip from his eyes and run down his face as full-blown panic sets in. Moriarty’s voice is harsh and demanding in John’s ears, reminding him of everything he said and all he did, every gut-wrenching moment. Sherlock...no, Sherlock.

John vaguely hears a door crashing open somewhere behind. Someone runs toward his body as he lies trembling at the pool’s edge. The footsteps skid to a stop and he drops to his knees next to John. It is Sherlock. His Sherlock.

“Sherlock, no,” John mumbles into the damp air. He feels small and weak. “Sherlock, run.”

“It’s all right, John, I’m here. I have you,” his hands touch John gently, help him sit up. His deep, glorious voice fills John’s ears, driving away Moriarty and his memory. John opens his eyes and looks at his flatmate desperately. He reaches for the taller man and pulls him close, unable to speak. His heart is racing, his rapids breaths incredibly shallow.

“Just breathe. Go slowly,” Sherlock’s voice is soothing and his touch warm, comforting, the best thing John has ever felt. After a few minutes, John begins to regain control. “That’s it. Good, John, good.”

“I remember,” John gasps, “a pool.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nods, “I know. It’s all right.”

He gives John more time, as much as he needs. All the while Sherlock smooths his fingers over John’s hair and brushes fingertips on his tear-stained cheeks.

“John?” his voice is quiet and gentle, “can you stand? I called for a car. It will meet us at the door to the school.”

“What? We can’t leave Rosie!”

“Mycroft will take our place at the dance. She will stay the night with him,” Sherlock assures him. “She will be fine in his care.”

“Right. Uncle Mycroft,” John says, his breathing is almost normal now. “Okay, okay. I’m...I’m good.”

As John begins to rise slowly, Sherlock tucks his arm under John’s and wraps it around his back. He helps him to his feet and they walk carefully, deliberately until they reach the school’s outer door, the same one they entered only two hours earlier. One of Mycroft’s sleek black cars is already parked in the loading zone. The back door opens as they approach and Anthea climbs out.

“Good evening, Mr Holmes. Doctor,” she greets. “Your brother will be here shortly. I will be with Rosie for the interim. Do you need anything at the flat?”

“No,” Sherlock tells her as he helps John into the car. He turns to face her. “We’ll be fine. He needs to rest now.”

“Of course. Please don’t hesitate to call,” she nods.

“I will. Thank you,” Sherlock answers and climbs in. John isn’t sure why, but he has the odd feeling that things between Sherlock and Anthea have changed dramatically over the last five years. Something suddenly cracks and he knows they were never so friendly before. Is it Anthea? Is she the person in Sherlock’s life? John rests his forehead against the cool glass the window and watches London pass by without seeing a thing. A voice in his head says ‘Of course it’s Anthea. No doubt Mycroft asked her to help as often as anything else.’ while another tamps it down and John finds himself too exhausted to think.

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch@maeliandmyself@welcometomyharddrive

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #hurt john #season 4 #S4 fix

36 notes · View notes

lambroseforlife · 6 years ago

Note

Part two of the Lambrose Murder mystery prompt? :)

Alright, here’s the conclusion continued from the first part! Enjoy!

— — —

Miss Linton was walking down the hallway of the first floor when she saw someone familiar approaching her.

“Well? How did it go, Mr Ambrose?”

He made an aggravated sound that reflected disapproval. “Not the best of experiences. Stone refuses to say anything other than that his appearance here was just a coincidence. What a complete waste of time. How about you?”

“I had the loveliest of times. Especially speaking with the receptionist, Mr Pearson. Such a charming fellow that one is.” She beamed at him with one of her dazzling smiles, as bright and artificial as a stage’s spotlight.

“I see. Don’t expect Stone to be the same, Miss Linton.”

“Don’t worry, sir. I won’t.”

Without a word of parting, she continued down the hallway until she arrived at the unused hotel room Mr Stone was being detained in for the time being.

“I’m Miss Linton, I’m working with Mr Ambrose on the case.” She told the officer standing guard.“I wish to speak with Mr Stone.”

He moved aside, opening the door. She could have sworn she heard a faintly muttered “good luck” as she passed him and he shut the door.

She nodded to another officer standing inside the room and he nodded back. Her brown eyes fell on a young man sitting at a small table that had been brought in for questioning purposes.

“Mr Edgar Stone? My name is Lillian Linton. May I sit?” She gestured to the chair opposite of his.

“Of course you may, Miss Linton.” He said, regarding her with interest. “You’re Mr Ambrose’s partner, aren’t you?”

“His apprentice,” she corrected. “How did you know I was with him?”

“Kind of hard not to. You both have been a popular topic this evening.”

“Popular?” She blinked. “With whom?”

“The officers. Many of them have been talking about the two outsider detectives brought in to deal with their case. Mostly complaining though at Mr Fitzgerald’s lack of trust in their own abilities.” He scoffed.

“Similarly, I’m guessing that a lack of trust extends from you to both me and Mr Ambrose.”

“Of course,” he drawled. “Considering that I’m the prime suspect for being the one who murdered Mrs Fitzgerald and you two have been hired by her husband to prove me guilty, you’ll have to forgive my common sense.”

“Ah. But that’s where you’re wrong.”

“I am?”

“Yes, you are wrong.” She insisted. “First of all, you’re seen as the prime suspect because no one knows exactly why you were here to begin with. Second, Mr Fitzgerald hired us specifically to find the murderer. Not to prove you guilty. Despite his staunch belief that you are the one who killed his wife.”

“What about your beliefs, Miss Linton? Do they match his? Do you think I’m the murderer?”

“No.”

His mouth parted slightly. “No?”

“No,” she snorted. “Anyone with half a brain that has actually been paying attention to this case can see you are not the murderer. But…” There was a knowing glint in her eyes. “There is still something that you’re hiding.”

He stared at her and she continued.

“You’ve been telling others that your appearance here was merely a coincidence. But there’s no way I’m buying that hogwash. Not with all the evidence to prove you wrong.”

“Is that so?” He raised his eyebrows. “Do amuse me, Miss Linton. I’ve been quite bored the entire time with everyone demanding answers from me.”

“I want more than your amusement, Mr Stone. What else do you have to bring to the table?” Her eyes bored into his without blinking.

One corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk. “A challenge, eh? You’re a very bold woman, Miss Linton.” He leaned back into his chair. “I tell you what. If you’re able to completely disprove that my involvement here was coincidental, then I will tell you everything you want to know. However, if you’re not…”

“Then you won’t tell me anything, correct? Isn’t that rather counterproductive considering it’s your innocence at stake here?”

“What can I say? I’ve always been a risk taker. Besides…” His eyes glazed over. “It’s not like I have anything left now to live for, anyway.”

She stared at him in bewilderment. His face abruptly switched back to its amused expression as if nothing had happened.

“So what’s it going to be, Miss Linton?” He smiled at her. “Do you accept my proposition?”

Her eyes narrowed, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart. “Yes.”

“Then let’s begin.”

“Um…” Her heart rate picked up its speed and her mouth felt dry as she flipped through her notes, the written letters appearing blurry.

It’s now or never, Lilly, she mentally told herself. You have all the information you need, so use it!

“Giving up so soon? I must say, I’m rather disappointed.” His smug expression said otherwise.

“Of course not,” she snapped. “I was just thinking of where to start.”

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “Alright, let’s begin with the premise of this whole case.”

“What about it?”

“Why exactly was Mrs Fitzgerald here in the first place?”

“You’re the detective, so you tell me.”

“See, I don’t know that part. But what I do know is that her appearance here had something to do with you.”

“Did it?”

“It did.” She declared. “Earlier, I talked to Mr Pearson, the receptionist. He said that you checked into the hotel this morning. Before coming here, I even checked the log where the guests sign their names and your name was written there.”

“How do you know that was me and not someone else? My name is a pretty common one.”

“True, but Mr Pearson himself gave you the key for the room this morning. As a receptionist, he’s held accountable for the guests. So he’s expected to have a good memory for people’s appearances and names. He remembers both your name and your face.”

“You’re correct so far, Miss Linton. But all you have proven is that my presence here was uncoincidental, not my involvement. What does me being here have anything to do with Mrs Fitzgerald?”

“Quite a lot actually. She died in the room reserved under your name, room forty-five on the third floor of this hotel.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t present when she died. She could have broken into the room or gotten someone to open the door for her.”

“Yes, she could have. If not for the fact that the room key was found in her purse. The one and only copy that Mr Pearson gave you this morning.”

“How do you know that she didn’t steal the key from me?”

“Because…” she swallowed hard. Just this last piece of evidence and he won’t be able to escape.

She continued while looking down at her notes. “From the start, I’ve had the feeling that you were more connected to this case than you seemed.”

“Why? I’m just the gardener.”

“Exactly.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “Your presence here amidst all of this is so arbitrary that either everything really is a coincidence as you insist or…”

“Or?”

“Or you’re more well acquainted with the people involved in this case than what appears at first glance. Well, one person in particular.”

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Miss Linton raised her finger.

“Allow me to finish. I had a strange hunch after talking to Mr Pearson. So before coming here, I decided to do some research. I talked to Inspector Dalgliesh, the officer overseeing this case, and sure enough he gave me the one piece of information I needed. He said that when you were first detained and searched, the officers found a note. I wasn’t allowed to bring it here with me so I decided to copy it down in my notebook for reference. In case you forgot its contents, let me give you a reminder.”

Clearing her throat, she held up her notebook to read. “‘E, meet me at the hotel room tonight, 7:30. Yours, C’”

Setting her notebook back down on the table, she gave him a look. “I also saw Mrs Fitzgerald’s handwriting on her Identification Card so I know the note was definitely from her. As you said, you’re just the gardener. But what she wrote in the note suggests that you’re more than that. Much, much more to her. In addition, according to Mr Pearson, when you heard a young lady had been found dead in the room you had reserved, you tried to storm over there yourself and had to be restrained by some of the hotel’s staff. I have enough reason to believe she was much more to you than simply being your employer’s wife.”

Silence reigned as Mr Stone kept his face devoid of any expression. Finally, he began to chuckle. It was low and without any humour, judging by the lack of mirth in his empty eyes. Miss Linton retained her solemn disposition, refusing to back down.

He clapped slowly. “Well done, Miss Linton. I must say, your deductive skills are above par. I suppose a ‘congratulations’ is in order for pointing out the obvious.”

“My reward comes first, Mr Stone. You promised me answers and I want them.”

“Very well. What do you wish to know?”

“I want you to start with your relationship with Mrs Fitzgerald. Tell me how it began.”

He sighed, digging his hands into his pockets. “Mrs Fitzge— Caroline. I didn’t meet Caroline until after she was married. My father worked for Mr Fitzgerald’s father as the estate’s gardener and when my father passed away, his position was offered to me.”

“How long have you been working as a gardener for their family?”

“Close to a decade now. Anyway three years ago, Mr Fitzgerald’s father passed away as well. His son must have felt even more lonely so he decided to marry. I saw Caroline for the first time sometime shortly after they had returned from their honeymoon. I was surprised that Mr Fitzgerald was able to marry someone as beautiful as her, given his looks— no offence intended. I saw her several times around the estate after that but never spoke to her.”

“So what changed?”

“One day last year, she greeted me. After that, we slowly started talking to each other more and more during the daytime. Her husband worked nine to six on weekdays while she didn’t. I eventually found out that her father forced her to accept Mr Fitzgerald’s marriage proposal. Their family business was struggling financially and Mr Fitzgerald had enough wealth, all inherited from his late father, to save the business. Which is exactly what he did right after he married her. She resented both her father and her husband for putting her in the position as a housewife. She told me her dream was to become a singer. Over time, one thing led to another and…” His voice trailed off.

“You started having an affair with your employer’s wife?” Miss Linton dryly finished.

He glared at her. “I could do without the judgement, Miss Linton. I loved her. I understood her better than her husband ever could had he even tried. She trusted me, confided in me above anyone else.”

“So what led to tonight?”

“We planned to run away together. She told me that she wanted to be with me. I personally wanted to wait a bit longer since lately, she had not been feeling too well health-wise. But she insisted on doing it today. So we decided that we would meet here once she left a note for her husband explaining that she was leaving him. I booked the room at this hotel and gave her the key before my shift for work started. This afternoon, I found the note that you just read to me located in the shed where she and I used to secretly meet.”

“And then?”

“And then I show up at this hotel at the appointed time only to find out that a young lady had died in my reserved room. I immediately assumed it was Caroline and tried to go see but the staff wouldn’t allow me to leave the lobby. Then the police showed up and I see that bastard who calls himself her husband descending from the elevator. He had to gall to accuse me of murdering her! As if I ever could, she was more precious to me than my own life. No, I bet that devious snake killed her himself because he found out she was leaving him and for revenge, he wanted to pin the blame on me. Consequently, I tried to throw a few punches his way and it resulted in me being detained by the police.”

“I see.” She was scribbling away in her notebook again. “Sounds like a rough night for you, Mr Stone.”

“That’s an understatement. Any more questions for me?”

“Yes, actually. I do have one.” Reaching into the deep pocket of her dress, she withdrew two small, clear resealable plastic bags. Each had a slip of paper in them. She held out a bag to him with the normal piece of paper and he hesitantly took it.

“Sniff the inside of the bag and tell me what it smells like to you.”

He shot her a strange look but complied nonetheless. “This smells exactly like the perfume Caroline used to wear.”

He handed her the bag back and she gave him the second one with the darkly stained piece of paper in it. “Smell this one as well but be careful. That one is strong.”

He pried apart the opening of the bag and recoiled, immediately resealing the bag. “Goodness! This smells exactly like the pesticide that I use on the plants. How did you get a hold of this?”

“Both of these substances were found in room forty-five. You said the second one smells like pesticide?” She pocketed both bags again.

“One hundred percent alike. There’s no mistaking that smell. It’s so strong and toxic I even have to dilute it down before I spray it on the plants.”

“How toxic is it?”

“It’s extremely corrosive if undiluted, Miss Linton. I have to wear gloves and a mask when handling it. Even when it’s very diluted, I wear gloves as a precaution when I use it. I would recommend that you don’t keep that bag on you for too long because the paper could corrode through the plastic and into your dress. I would hate to think of the possible results if it made contact with your skin.”

“Thank you for the warning. I will make sure it is disposed of soon.” She stood up. “That’s all I needed to know from you. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Stone. I will do my best to solve this case immediately.”

“I hope that you do.” His expression was solemn. “For Caroline’s sake, please.”

She nodded, about to turn and leave when she straightened.

“Wait. Before I forget.”

“Yes?”

She stared at him squarely in the face. “Mr Stone, do you happen to have a favourite alcoholic drink?”

— — —

“Well? Is there a reason you gathered all of us here, Miss Linton?”

She looked up to meet Inspector Dalgliesh’s expectant face, his blond eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes. I believe I have solved the case.”

Murmurs echoed throughout the cramped break room, the rest of the police officers flashing her wary looks. She heard one officer near her mutter, “Impossible! The forensics team hasn’t even given us the results of their findings.”

Her eyes travelled around the crowd, pausing when they landed on one person in particular. As usual, his sea-coloured eyes gave away no sentiments. But after a moment, he gave a nod, imperceptible to the rest of her distracted audience.

Reassured, she straightened her shoulders. Clearing her throat with emphasis, the rest of the people turned back to face her. A hush settled over the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your hesitance in my deciphering this case, especially given that the murder occurred merely hours ago. Not to mention, the data from the forensics team is still pending.” The officer Miss Linton had overheard earlier glanced away when she met her gaze directly.

“However when analysed,” she continued, “the many clues piece together to tell the story of what really happened. I also wanted Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone to be here because they each have shared crucial pieces of information from their statements.”

She nodded to the two men sitting at opposite ends of the room, both surrounded by officers as a precaution.

“Let’s start with a simple recap of the case, shall we?”

“Around six thirty this evening, Mr Hieronymus Pearson, the hotel’s receptionist, saw Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald enter the lobby. She went into the elevator, got off on the third floor and went inside room forty-five. Close to seven, Mr Morton Fitzgerald, Mrs Fitzgerald’s husband, entered the hotel. He knocked on the door only to receive no reply. He tried opening the door to see it was unlocked. He entered the room and saw Mrs Fitzgerald lying dead on the bed. Immediately, he left the room and started yelling for help. Miss Daphne Belleville, a cleaning maid, was nearby and heard his cries for help. She went to the room and upon seeing Mrs Fitzgerald, ran back out and called Mr Pearson using the hallway telephone. Mr Pearson went upstairs to check out the scene himself and upon seeing the room, immediately phoned the manager to call the police and returned to the lobby. Meanwhile at seven thirty, Mr Edgar Stone, the Fitzgeralds’ gardener, showed up. When Mr Pearson told him that he could not go to his room since the body of a young lady had been found, he tried to rush there and had to be stopped by the hotel staff. The police arrived on the scene and when they escorted Mr Fitzgerald back to the lobby, a fight broke out between Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone. This resulted as Mr Stone being detained as he attempted to turn the altercation physical.”

She took a deep breath. “That covers the basics. Now let’s address the elephant in the room. I’m sure every single person here is wondering who the culprit really is. Well, I’ll tell you.”

She paused, making sure that everyone’s attention was focused on her. “The person who murdered Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald is…Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald herself.”

Silence.

In the next moment, the room erupted into chaos. Confusion and outrage descended among the crowd as people questioned in protest. Both Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone bore expressions of betrayal and denial as they glared at her. They both seemed to be saying something but she could not understand them from the cacophony of other voices drowning theirs out.The dissent rose to deafening levels until finally….

“Quiet!” Inspector Dalgliesh roared.

The crowd of people instantly fell silent.

“What is this, an investigation or a pub brawl? Wait for Miss Linton to finish and behave respectfully. Anyone who cannot conduct themselves properly will immediately be dismissed from this case, understood?”

Choruses of “Yes, Inspector” reverberated throughout the room. Miss Linton sent him a look that she hoped thoroughly conveyed her gratitude. She decided to continue.

“I know that the idea sounds preposterous, but her death was completely unintentional on her part.”

“You mean like an accidental suicide?” A young officer spoke up nervously.

“Exactly. Her death was an accidental suicide. I’m sure that the results from the forensics team will correlate with the observations Mr Ambrose and I took when we investigated the crime scene ourselves.”

“One question, Miss Linton,” another officer nasally interjected. He was lanky, with long blond hair and a thin moustache. His face was twisted into a disdainful expression.

“Yes?” She had an uneasy feeling.

“If you and Mr Ambrose worked on this case together, then why are you the only one speaking?”

Before she fire back a retort, a cold voice intervened.

“Because, despite our teamwork, it was Miss Linton who obtained most of the clues. She was able to figure out what exactly happened first. Do you have any objections to her presenting, Officer Simmons?”

“N-No, Detective Inspe— Mr Ambrose.” All colour had drained from his face as narrowed icy eyes drilled into him.

“Adequate. Carry on, Miss Linton.”

“Um, yes. As I was saying, Mr Ambrose and I found a few important details in room forty-five. When we looked at Mrs Fitzgerald’s body, we noticed that her neck had been practically torn to shreds. Next to the bed was a weird-smelling glass of wine, so one might naturally assume that she had been poisoned. However, Mrs Fitzgerald was wearing red lipstick. If she had actually drunk from the glass then there would have been stains on the glass. There were none.”

“So she never drank from the glass?” Another officer from the crowd asked.

“No.”

“So how did she die?”

“The answer lies in the contents of her purse. In there were two perfume bottles. At first glance, they appeared to be identical in appearance. But when Mr Ambrose and I opened the bottles and smelled them, we noticed a stark difference. One smelled like perfume while the other smelled like…” She struggled for words. “…like chemicals from a cleaning product.”

“So someone poisoned her perfume?”

“She replaced the perfume with another substance herself. As to why she did that, it has to do with the main reason why she was in the hotel to begin with. Which is what I’m sure you’ve been wondering especially, Mr Fitzgerald.” Her head swivelled to focus on him.

“I hate to break the news to you like this but…it seems that you weren’t the only man in your wife’s life.” Her gaze was grave.

His eyes met hers in confusion until they abruptly honed in on Mr Stone. He gasped in outrage.

“Y-You cur! Filthy son of a—” His fists shook with unadulterated wrath.

“Mr Fitzgerald.” Miss Linton jumped in. “As much as I hate to interrupt you at the moment and as deserved as your ire is, we still have to get to the bottom of this case.”

“Will there be time afterwards to curse him?” He looked at her determinedly.

“Well, yes. But…” She hesitated.

“But what?”

“It all depends on how you still feel about your wife once I finish explaining everything.”

Her ominous words caught him off guard and he stared up at her with stunned eyes.

She cleared her throat. “To continue, Mrs Fitzgerald was here to meet with her lover, Mr Stone, the Fitzgeralds’ gardener. Or so it initially appeared from what Mr Stone told me. She left a note for him, telling him to meet her at seven thirty pm in the room he had reserved for them in this hotel, room forty-five.”

“Initially? What do you mean by that, Miss Linton?” This time, it was Inspector Dalgliesh that spoke.

“From what Mr Stone told me, he and Mrs Fitzgerald were planning to run away together. He informed me that she was quite unhappy with her marriage with Mr Fitzgerald and decided that they would run away together, tonight.”

“Wait a second,” Mr Fitzgerald piped up. “That doesn’t make any sense. She left me a note to meet her here too!”

“What?” Mr Stone glared at him incredulously, his mouth drawn back in a frown. “What lies are you spouting now?”

“Contrary to your belief, Mr Stone,” Miss Linton intercepted calmly, “I’m afraid that Mr Fitzgerald is speaking the truth. His wife also left him a note telling him to meet her here at seven pm, thirty minutes before your appointed time.”

He opened his mouth to throw another question but she was quicker to anticipate. “Before I spoke with you, I asked Inspector Dalgliesh to show me the notes you both received. I compared the handwriting on each note to Mrs Fitzgerald’s Identification Card in her purse. Both of them matched her handwriting.”

His brows knitted together. “Then why…?”

Miss Linton steeled herself, her voice soft. “If Mrs Fitzgerald hadn’t died here tonight, it would have been one of you two instead. That was her intention all along.”

Both men stared at her in abject horror, their expressions mirroring one another. The other officers were not much different, their faces frozen with captured attention.

“It w-would’ve b-been—” Mr Fitzgerald choked out.

“Yes. It would have been you, Mr Fitzgerald.” Her gaze switched to the man on the other end of the crowded room. “And she would have framed you for it, Mr Stone.”

“Why?” Officer Simmons demanded. “What motive did she have?”

“A simple one, actually. Mrs Fitzgerald resented being forced into marriage with her husband. Their family business was failing and her father made her accept Mr Fitzgerald’s proposal to save it. Mr Fitzgerald inherited much wealth from his late father and shortly after their marriage, he gave her family the much needed funds. But at time went on, Mrs Fitzgerald grew to hate her husband and felt trapped. It was then that she started having an affair with their gardener. When Mr Stone suggested that they run away together, she saw the opportunity and took it. She figured if she got rid of her husband and framed it on her lover, then automatically all of her husband’s wealth would have gone to her. She wouldn’t have had to worry about depending on a man ever again.”

“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it!” Mr Stone exclaimed furiously. “She wouldn’t, she would never—”

“She would have and she was about to.” Miss Linton reiterated firmly. “You know that all the evidence is there, Mr Stone. Making you book the room, having you show up later. She didn’t bring anything else with her besides her purse. If she really was planning to run away with you, shouldn’t she have also brought some form of luggage?”

He refused to meet her steady gaze, shaking his head.

“She even ordered your favourite wine and was planning to poison her husband using your pesticide. All of the evidence would have pointed to you.”

“Wine? Pesticide? What do you mean?” Mr Fitzgerald’s eyes frantically darted back and forth at the two people talking.

“On the ground, next to the bedside table with the glass of wine was the wine bottle she had ordered from room service. It was a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc which conveniently also happens to be Mr Stone’s favourite alcoholic drink. Mr Stone mentioned to me earlier that on occasion, he had drunk it with the both you and your wife. As for the pesticide, it has to do with the two bottles of perfume found in the bathroom. To prove that they were different from each other, I sprayed a bit from each bottle on a separate piece of paper. When the papers dried up, one piece looked the same while the other was covered with black splotches. The one with the stains came from the bottle that reminded me of a cleaning product. I had Mr Stone smell both papers and he said that the stained one smelled exactly like the pesticide that he uses for his job. According to him, the pesticide in undiluted form is very corrosive and can be very damaging if not handled properly.”

She held up the two bags as proof, both still completely intact.

“If that’s the case, then how come Mrs Fitzgerald died instead? You said she didn’t drink from the glass of wine that had been laced with the pesticide, right?” The questions came from another officer, the scrutiny in her eyes intense.

She gave her a wan smile. “I did say that she did not drink from the glass of wine. However, I never said that the glass had been actually laced with the pesticide. I did mention earlier that it smelled strange though. When I think about it, the glass of wine smelled almost the same as the regular bottle of perfume.”

“So the glass of wine was contaminated with perfume?”

“Yes. Mrs Fitzgerald had this premeditated murder all planned down to the last detail. However, there was one error she made and it was this fatal error that cost her her life. She had mixed up the two bottles. She ended up using the wrong bottle for the intended purpose.”

“‘For the intended purpose…’” Mr Stone murmured to himself. “Miss Linton, do you mean that she died because she had sprayed herself with the bottle that had pesticide instead of perfume?”

“That is correct, Mr Stone.”

“But how did she mix up the two bottles, Miss Linton?” Inspector Dalgliesh spoke up again. “You mentioned that they each smelled quite distinct to both you and Mr Ambrose.”

“They did, Inspector. But Mrs Fitzgerald didn’t have the same advantage that Mr Ambrose and I had. Ultimately, it was the cause of her downfall.”

“What advantage is that?”

“Good health.”

“You mean…” Mr Fitzgerald had summoned enough courage to speak again. “She couldn’t tell the difference because of her cold?”

“Yes. You yourself informed me that she had been sick for the past few days. The perfume and the pesticide appear to be the same colour but can be told apart by smelling them. Your wife’s sense of smell was impeded and so, she unknowingly switched the two bottles.”

“But if that’s the case, shouldn’t she have felt it burning her skin immediately?”

“She should have. However, it may have been slightly delayed from her disoriented and weakened physical state from her illness. By the time she realised, it was already too late. Her body showed signs that she had scratched at her throat. Most likely when her skin started burning, she struggled and flailed around the room, knocking over various decorations. Hence, the complete mess on the room’s floor.”

“I still don’t understand one thing, Miss Linton.” A familiar voice objected. “You say that Mrs Fitzgerald was planning to murder her husband the whole time and frame it on her gardener. But wouldn’t we have realised she had been there too?”

“The answer is no, Officer Simmons. Had everything gone to Mrs Fitzgerald’s plans accordingly, it would have served more in her favour. When she entered the hotel, Mr Pearson informed me that she had covered her face with a scarf and sunglasses. He had no idea who she really was until her body was found later. Also, she took more painstaking lengths to cover her tracks. Did you observe the crime scene?”

“I did.”

“Did you notice anything strange about her hands?”

He paused, trying to recall. Another officer spoke up.

“Are you referring to how she was wearing gloves?”

“I am precisely. She was wearing thick leather gloves that appeared brand new. It’s understandable if she was wearing them from the cold weather. But she had them on the entire time while she was in the warm room up until her death. She must have realised that her fingerprints would show up. So she covered her hands. I bet that the only things in the room that would contain her fingerprints would be her purse and the items that were in it.”

She swallowed. “But there is one thing that could have incriminated her. Her note to Mr Stone. However, she could have claimed that he had forged her writing. And whose word would have seemed more believable? The wife’s or his gardener’s?”

Silence.

“I believe I have proven my point. The only thing left to do now that everything has been explained is to break down the case in full detail, from start to finish. Are there any more needed clarifications before I proceed?”

Again, silence.

“Alright then, let’s begin. Around six thirty this evening, Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald entered the lobby of this hotel, The Sleeping Siren. The receptionist, Mr Hieronymus Pearson, saw her walk in but could not really tell how she looked like since she had covered her head with a silk scarf and her eyes with sunglasses. She used the elevator to enter the third floor and open room forty-five using the hotel key Mr Edgar Stone, her gardener and lover, had given her. Shortly after, she called for room service to deliver a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc along with a glass outside the door. They did and she took the items inside once no one else was present. She prepared the glass of wine and retrieving a perfume bottle filled with what she thought was pesticide, ended up pouring about half of it into the wine glass. While waiting for her husband to arrive, she decided to spray some of her usual perfume in another bottle on her neck. However because she had been sick and had a cold, she didn’t realise she had switched the two bottles. So she had instead poured perfume in the wine glass and sprayed concentrated pesticide on her neck. Sometime shortly after, her neck began to burn and she scratched at it. Her leather gloves had dug into the sensitive and chemically burned areas on her skin, coating the tips with blood. She tried to reach the bathroom sink and in her attempt, knocked over numerous items to the ground including a vase, paintings, and the bottle of wine. The ends of her gloves made contact with some of these items and her blood transferred over to them, drying on there. Already in a weakened state previously from her illness, she collapsed onto the bed, screaming. The pesticide burned through the thin skin on her neck and eventually into the bone, the chemical burn fatal to her delicate disposition.”

She flipped through her notes. “Now that explains the sequence of her death. Onto following events. Close to seven pm, Mr Morton Fitzgerald arrived at the hotel lobby. He asked Mr Pearson for directions to room forty-five, having received a mysterious note in his lunchbox from his wife telling him to meet her there at seven o’clock. He went as directed and knocked on the room door. Upon receiving no reply, he opened the door. He saw Mrs Fitzgerald’s dead body and ran out of the room to get help. Miss Daphne Belleville, a young maid nearby, heard his cries and went to him. Earlier, Miss Belleville had heard a scream but said it was so short that she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. In reality, she had heard Mrs Fitzgerald’s final scream. When Miss Belleville saw her dead body, she ran from the room and phoned for help from the hallway. After receiving her call, Mr Pearson went upstairs to investigate for himself. Upon confirming that someone had died in the room, he called the manager to phone for the police. He then returned to the lobby to continue attending to guests while Miss Belleville stayed with Mr Fitzgerald. Close to seven thirty, Mr Stone showed up from the note Mrs Fitzgerald had left for him. Mr Pearson recognised him as the person who had booked room forty-five in the morning. He told him that he couldn’t enter the room since a young lady’s body had been found there. Mr Stone assumed that it was Mrs Fitzgerald and tried to storm upstairs anyway. As a result, he had to be physically held back by the hotel staff. The police arrived at the hotel right after and escorted Mr Fitzgerald and Miss Belleville back to the lobby so they could investigate the scene for themselves. Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone saw each other and both assumed that the other had played a hand in Mrs Fitzgerald’s death. They began to argue and Mr Stone was detained when he tried to physically attack Mr Fitzgerald.”

She released a deep exhale. “That is the case in its entirety. Are there any final questions?”

Before anyone could speak up, the door swung open, startling everyone inside. An officer burst through the doorway. He halted and looked around the room when he saw that all eyes were trained on him. In his hand, he grasped a sizable folder.

“Uh, I’m sorry to interrupt but the results from the forensics team are here.”

— — —

About an hour later, Mr Ambrose went with Mr Fitzgerald to ensure that the promised payment was delivered while Miss Linton headed back to headquarters with Inspector Dalgliesh in one of the patrol cars. Her gaze was riveted towards the window as London’s bright night lights flashed by.

“Miss Linton?”

Her head turned towards the voice next to her.

“Yes, Inspector Dalgliesh?”

“On behalf of London’s police force, I wanted to thank you for your brilliant deductions tonight. Without them, the true culprit would have never been discovered.”

She flashed him a brief, tight-lipped smile. “Just doing my job and what is expected of me.”

“I hope you don’t mind my curiosity, but I’ve had a question for some time ever since I first met you.”

Her tone took on a cautious edge “What is it?”

“How did you manage to land in the employ of my former colleague?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued.

“Allow me to explain first. Now, I intend no offence here, Miss Linton. You yourself have probably witnessed firsthand some of his more noteworthy traits. I was wondering how you managed to convince someone of his…disposition to hire you.”

She burst out laughing. The surprisingly girlish peal of laughter startled the officer and he wondered if Miss Linton had taken leave of her senses due to the recent case.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, she sat upright. “My apologies, Inspector. I didn’t expect such a question. I also have to correct your misguided– although valid– assumption. Mr Ambrose insisted on offering me a job actually. Not the other way around.”

“What?”

“Oh yes,” she answered with a genuine smile on her face. “He was quite adamant on hiring me the first time we met.”

“How?” His brow was furrowed in incredulity.

“Well…I suppose I should start from the beginning. I myself was doing some amateur investigating when I spotted a pickpocket stealing someone’s wallet. I chased after the thief, apprehended him and returned the wallet back to its owner. The next thing I knew, said owner introduced himself as Mr Rikkard Ambrose and gave me a business card, offering me a job as his apprentice. He told me he was a detective running his own private investigation agency and said to show up at his office sharp at nine on Monday morning. I did, but he wasn’t very pleased about it.”

“Why?”

“Hmm…how do I put this delicately? When we met, I was in disguise, so to speak.”

“Disguise?”

“I was wearing men’s clothes.” She finally stated with unruffled bluntness.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have it, Inspector. Anyway, I showed up for the position in my usual attire and he was considering on rescinding his previous offer. I questioned his integrity and asked if he was going to go back on his word, given his profession. That part seemed to get to him and he agreed to give me the job. But…”

“But?”

“It wasn’t easy. At first, he tried various ways to force me to quit. Tough tasks, being demanding, scare tactics. Claimed that such a job was too dangerous for me. But I persisted. Persevered. Proved him wrong in the end.” She frowned pensively. “I think I might have even gained his trust by now.”

“Quite the feat, if I may remark.”

“Thank you.”

“You are very welcome. Although I now have another question.”

“Ask away.”

“Why were you wearing men’s clothes in the first place?”

“Like I said, it was a disguise. I was trying to gather information on some nasty man harassing my younger sister.” She grimaced. “He was acting inappropriately, following her around and leaving her weird notes.”

“And what happened to him? Is he still bothering your sister?”

“No idea. Shortly after I started working for Mr Ambrose, he vanished suddenly. But I suppose that’s one less worry, mysterious disappearance and all.”

“Indeed.” The Inspector simply murmured, choosing to remain silent about his own suspicions.

“Inspector Dalgliesh…I also have a question too.” She glanced at him demurely.

“Yes, Miss Linton?”

“You once said that Mr Ambrose used to work with you in the police department, specifically as part of the CID.* Why did he decide to leave and start his own agency?”

“Now that, my dear,” the Inspector smirked, but the expression did not entirely reach his eyes. “That is something you’re going to have to ask him yourself. You said that he trusts you, yes?”

“I believe he does. But you don’t know why?”

“I have my suspicions. Even if I did know entirely, it still wouldn’t be my place to tell you.”

“I see.” She sighed. “Reasonable enough.”

The car pulled up to the front of the New Scotland Yard and together, they entered into the North building. They headed up to his office and she gave him a copy of her notes for the case. Afterwards, they informed the other officers what had happened. As the morning’s sunrise streamed through the windows, Miss Linton was given a cup of coffee and a croissant for an early breakfast while she waited for Mr Ambrose to return.

She was dozing off in one of the chairs near the entrance when she heard hard footsteps approach. She looked up at her boss, bleary-eyed, while he maintained his cool demeanour, appearing composed as ever.

“Let’s go, Miss Linton.” He tersely commanded.

“Was the payment received?” She enquired.

“In full. Then afterwards the usual interrogation here at the station and former colleagues being nosey as usual.” He snorted derisively and she had to suppress a smile. “Enough questions. We can speak more about this later.”

She stumbled to her feet, wobbling, and he put a strong arm around her, firmly grasping her shoulder as he steered her out of the station. His grip did not relax until he had escorted her into the taxicab waiting for them. To her own surprise, she did not protest, having found the gesture comforting— ultimately deducing that the lack of sleep had affected her rationale.

He climbed into the back of the cab from the other side, settling next to her. After he rattled off the the office’s address to the driver, Miss Linton turned to him, blinking owlishly.

“We’re not walking back to the office?”

“I deemed it inefficient given your current state.” He looked at her pointedly. “In addition, this is rather…a unique occasion.”

“Unique occasion?” She squinted at him sleepily.

“The other officers were quite impressed with your skills today. Although I can’t fathom quite fully as to why. Even another trainee could have solved this case. The Department must be really desperate to hire more people.” A noise of disapproval left his mouth. “Get some rest, Miss Linton. We’re done for today.”

She wanted to open her mouth to protest, ask him more questions but the urge to sleep grew overwhelming. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt her body slump against something hard but warm.

Mustering the last remaining traces of her depleted energy, she asked him one last question. “How did I do today, Mr Ambrose?”

Silence. Maybe she had forgotten to speak out loud.

Then a voice whispered from far away. It sounded so low that she wondered if she had imagined it.

“You did…adequately, Lillian.”

The last thing she felt was a hand stroke her cheek softly as she slipped into unconsciousness, smiling.

— — —

She stirred as she felt warmth. Too much of it.

She opened her eyes and was met with the sight of a drab white ceiling with dim lighting. Sitting up, she rubbed the drowsiness out of her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She was lying on a plain bed, one that creaked loudly with her every movement. She saw that she was covered by a thick black coat, one that she recognised as belonging to her employer’s. She realised that it was the cause of the heat and set it down next to her. She threw her legs over the springy mattress and stood up, yawning as she slowly stretched her sore limbs.

“Miss Linton?” A familiar, muffled voice trickled through a door to her left. “I know you’re awake. Stop dawdling and come out here at once.”

She cautiously tiptoed to the door and slowly opened it, looking down at the back of Mr Ambrose’s head, his seated profile leaned over the papers on his desk. She could feel the displeasure emanating from him, despite being unable to see his expression.

“My, my.” She smirked. “I was wondering what this door behind your desk was for.”

“Now you know,” he dryly remarked. “Since you’re up, there’s no need to waste office resources. This is a place for productive work, not a shelter for layabouts. If all you’re going to do is sleep, then you might as well go home.”

His back was still facing her, position unchanged, so she stepped out and shut the door behind her, manoeuvring herself around to stand in front of the lengthy wood table.

She frowned as she stared at his chiseled, impassive face. “Why didn’t you wake me earlier?”

“I…” A muscle twitched in his jaw as he glanced up at her. “You were sleeping so deeply that it would have been more work on my part to do so. Efficiency is important, Miss Linton. After all, time is—”

“—knowledge is power is money. I know.” She rolled her eyes, having heard the phrase at least a thousand times. She was unable to comprehend how rousing her from slumber and making her walk up the stairs to the office was easier than…

He must have carried her back inside from the car, she realised suddenly. For some reason, the thought did not irk her as much as it would have before. Warmth tinged her cheeks and her heartbeat sped up.

“Is everything alright, Miss Linton? Your face appears flushed.” Sea-coloured eyes observed her intently.

“Um, y-yes, of course. It was just hot in the back room, is all. Why is that there anyway?”

“In case I need to stay overnight and work. The cases won’t solve themselves, you know.” He raised a dark brow. “Any other questions before you head home?”

“I do have a ques— wait, you’re sending me home early?” Her eyes bulged out. The last time he had done so was sometime during the start of her employment, as one of his attempts to make her quit. Indignation welled up, threatening to spill over. She had thought that they were past this and that he had accepted her as his apprentice.

He seemed to sense her agitation. “You misunderstand me, Miss Linton. Last night you worked overtime, unplanned. Considering the lack of foresight for yesterday’s circumstances, I am giving you the rest of the day off. The case was a taxing one for the both of us and there is nothing left to do besides writing the report which I am currently working on right now. Consider it a rare opportunity given from me.”

She searched his expression for sincerity, giving up when she could not detect anything from his stoic demeanour. She might as well have been staring at a rock. Miss Linton decided that she would have to take his word for it.

“Very well, Mr Ambrose.” She nodded curtly.

She turned to head over to her desk and collect her things when he spoke up again.

“What was the other question you had before?”

She paused and spun back to look at him. She averted her gaze to the floor, scratching her neck awkwardly.

“Well, I’m not sure it’s something professional that I can ask…”

“An irrelevant point considering that regardless, you still brought awareness to it. Unless you want your pay deducted for wasting my time?”

She gasped in outrage, glaring at him.

“Tell me,” he ordered, brooking no room for argument.

“Fine.” She recalled her earlier conversation with Inspector Dalgliesh when returning to the station. “I was wondering…why did you quit your job as an officer and decide to open your own agency?”

The room became deathly quiet. She waited in apprehension as the air dropped to arctic temperatures.

The freezing atmosphere persisted for a few minutes. Miss Linton finally gave up, sighing to break the silence.

“Never mind. Forget I asked anything, Mr Ambrose.”

“You’re right.” He raised his gaze from the paper he had been staring over ever since she had asked her question, meeting a pair of anxious brown eyes. “That is not a professional question. Not at all.”

“Well, yes.” She softly agreed, crossing her arms. “But…not much about our situation has been professional from the start.”

More silence. His gaze turned thoughtful as he stared at the bold young woman standing in front of him.

“Indeed. I suppose you’re also right about that, Miss Linton.”

“So…what now then?”

“We appear to be at an impasse.” He rubbed at his chin in contemplation.

“Any ideas to change that?”

“I do have one. Since you proposed an unprofessional question, why don’t I answer it in an unprofessional setting?”

“What? I-I’m sorry, Mr Ambrose, but could you elaborate? I don’t quite understand what you mean.”

His mouth flattened. “It’s rather simple, Miss Linton. You asked a question unsuitable for work. From your demonstrated persistency and stubbornness during numerous past occasions, you probably won’t give up completely until you have received a suitable answer. Therefore, I am proposing to give you one when we are not at work.”

“So…we meet outside of work to discuss this then?”

“It would seem that is the best course of action.”

Miss Linton had to exert considerable effort to maintain a straight face despite her mouth’s rebellious desire to drop to the cold, solid floor.

“So…”

“So?”

“When do we meet to discuss this?”

“I will leave that to you to decide, Miss Linton. It is your question. So it depends on when you want the answer.”

Again, she had to strain to keep her jaw clamped. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Mr Ambrose actually wanting to give her an answer to her question let alone allowing her to decide when they could meet? It seemed that miracles really could happen.

“Since you’re letting me go home today…” She began. “…and tomorrow is Saturday, my weekly day off, why don’t we meet tomorrow in the evening?”

His eyebrows rose about a millimetre but other than that, he displayed no other visible reaction. “That can be arranged. Where do we meet?”

“Outside my apartment building. Five pm sharp.” Her mouth curved into a mischievous smirk.

From the way his eyes glowered at her, she could tell he was already regretting his decision. Her smirk deepened.

“Very well.” She turned to leave when he called after her again. “Miss Linton?”

“Yes, Mr Ambrose?”

“Don’t forget. This is strictly a professional meeting.”

“A professional meeting at an unprofessional location for an unprofessional discussion?”

“Yes.”

“Noted.”

“One last thing before you leave, Miss Linton.”

“Yes, Mr Ambrose?”

“Don’t even think that you’re getting paid overtime for this!” He icily glared at her. “We are meeting for a discussion and nothing more. Is that clear?”

She smiled innocently at her employer.

“I would never dream of anything more.”

— — —

Well, I hope you all enjoyed reading this. Were you able to figure out the culprit? I tried to make it as obvious as I could. This prompt was a lot of fun for me to write and that’s why it ended up so long oops. I plan to continue this AU in another oneshot suggestion that was sent to me which you all will see later on. I’m very rusty on the mystery genre so if there’s anything I could improve on, do leave me the feedback (I’m pretty sure there were a bunch of inaccuracies in this haha). I would appreciate it very much!

Glossary:

CID- Criminal Investigation Department

#kinda an ask #answered #storm and silence #lilly linton #rikkard ambrose #daniel dalgliesh #fanfiction #oneshot #writing prompt #prompt 3 #part 2 #knowledgeispoweristimeismoney

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chocobroing · 7 years ago

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Poison and Wine Chapter 7: Wait For It~Regis/OFC SFW

Tagging: @itshaejinju, @dirtyffxvconfession, @lady-asuka, @cupnoodle-queen, @theimmortalbae

Content Warning: Death

Chapter 7: Wait For It

“Death does not discriminate,

Between the sinners and the saints,

It takes and it takes and it takes...”

Calliope knew what was to come at the treaty signing. She had known for a long time. She knew that everyone was going to die. Aria, Darius, Clarus, Regis, herself. They were all going to die to ensure that Noctis would find his place in this world and defeat the darkness that was coming. Years ago, Calliope would have been a mess. She would have cried, begged, and pleaded to stay alive, but when Noctis left the Crown City, she felt nothing. She felt unafraid. She was determined. Maybe, somehow, miraculously, she would survive and tell her stepson of the real plan Regis had, so she could clear his father’s name of ridicule and scorn.

She hadn’t felt fear or anger in the days leading up to the signing. She stood by Regis’s side when he watched the Niflheim nobility arrive to the Citadel. Her face was blank and stony, not revealing her emotions. Only Regis knew she was scared to death. Her big blue eyes were always expressive no matter how hard she tried to stay cold. When he looked back at her, he could see the conflict in her eyes and took her hand in his. She cuddled up to his side and rested her head on his chest, trying not to break down the wall she had up for weeks.

“I know what’s coming,” she said to him, her voice echoing in the hall even though she was whispering. “I am not afraid to die for you, for our boy. I will stay here and fight.”

Regis said nothing but held her tight. He bent down and kissed her deeply on the lips, trying to convey what he felt for her in that single action. Calliope clung to him and returned the kiss with equal passion and fervor. They spent the last night making love and being with each other, knowing that they were going to die the next day. They didn’t sleep much but they never felt so alive in that moment. Regis ran his fingers through his wife’s blonde hair and just felt her. He could smell her sweet perfume and smiled against her lips. Despite all the odds, he was happier than he had ever been.

“I love you, Calliope,” he said after they detached from the kiss.

“I love you too, Regis,” she replied, tears swimming in her eyes while she peered up at him.

And that was that. About an hour later, the Niflheim nobility and the Lucian nobility sat opposite of each other as the emperor and king stood over the treaty papers. Calliope’s eyes scanned the room and she saw that every member of the Niflheim nobility looked like skilled fighters. Aldercapt planned an attack from the start, she realized as she listened to Regis and the emperor talk in faux kindness. She felt like they made a mistake by sending all the glaives away. She knew that Lunafreya had to be rescued, but Regis sent his protective detail to recover her. If fighting broke out, there would be no guarantees of survival.

It all happened so fast. As soon as the sounds of the bombs went off, both sides of the nobility had their weapons out. Calliope looked over and saw that Regis summoned his swords to combat against Aldercapt, who had a gun pulled out. Age did nothing to Calliope’s combat skills. With her sword in hand, she went face to face and toe to toe with the men from Niflheim. Because everything was happening so fast, she didn’t see how her fellow council members were falling. It became clear to her that she had to get to Regis as fast as she could.

When she struck down her latest obstacle, she saw that Regis and Clarus were back to back in battle. She immediately joined them and fought alongside them. In the back of her mind, she knew the Wall had been disintegrated. She could hear ships landing in the city. But, they couldn’t worry about that now. They had to focus on getting the main problem: Aldercapt and his stooges. With all of the Niflheim nobility there, they could deal a major blow to the Empire. That was the plan, until someone else arrived and it all went to hell.

A large man in armor burst into the grand hall and everyone knew who he was. It was General Glauca, the man who murdered the Queen of Tenebrae and burnt down the town of Tenebrae itself. He was always a huge problem whenever they fought the Empire. He was a formidable foe and has killed many of the Lucian soldiers. Calliope’s mouth went dry when the armored man brandished his sword. Not you, she thought frantically. Please, not you…

“General Glauca,” gasped Regis, almost in recognition.

The remaining council members and Calliope ran to stand in front of Regis protectively to build a wall between him and Glauca. They wouldn’t let their king be harmed by the man who sought to destroy Lucis. Calliope let out a big exhale and held her sword aloft, ready to fight. Clarus lifted his sword once more and brandished it in a threatening manner.

“It’s been a long time since I fought at your side, old friend,” he said calmly, unafraid of the genocidal murderer in front of them.

“Yes,” acknowledged Regis, steadying his blade, “but this time, it is not your fight. If you wish to leave, go now.”

“And abandon my king?” remarked Clarus, sounding appalled with the idea. “I think not. Besides, our magic is bound to you. If you fall, Lucis falls.”

That was true, Calliope remembered. If the king fell, then the magic fell as well. The wall would come and all hell would break loose. The city would be destroyed and the civilians killed. That was why it was important to protect Regis. He was tied to the protection of Insomnia and Lucis itself, which was why he had to live. Countless of innocent people would die if he did.

Regis allowed a smile to grace his face when he saw there was no arguing with his oldest friend and shield. “Then, let us once more into the fray, old friend,” he said fondly, ready to fight.

Then, it started in a flash. The armored man dashed forward and Calliope was sent flying, hitting her head on the some debris. Through blurred eyes, she saw Regis and Clarus fight the man. Clarus dashed at the man and slashed at him with finesse that had long since become a muscle memory. As Clarus kept Glauca occupied, Regis stayed back and attacked from afar by using his magic to hit the armored man with lightning. Glauca was knocked back a few paces with a grunt while Clarus charged and slashed at him again. Suddenly, the armored man evaded the attack and threw Clarus aside. Calliope wasn’t sure how it happened because everything was blurry and muffled, like bad reception on a TV.

Glauca leapt up into the air and lunged at Regis, who summoned about four swords to protect him. Calliope smiled slightly because she didn’t know he could still do that. They were all certain Regis lost the ability to summon weapons. It took a lot of willpower to hold Glauca back, she observed as she tried to get up. Her head was pounding and she was certain she broke her ankle by the way it was screaming in pain. She could only watch as Clarus attacked at Glauca from behind, but the armored man anticipated that. He grabbed Clarus by the collar and threw him as easily as it was throwing a ball.

Suddenly, the world seemed to move in slow motion as Clarus soared through the air and landed against the wall. Calliope could only watch helplessly as Glauca grabbed Clarus’s sword and impale the said man with it, nailing him to the wall. Clarus let out a pain-filled cry and his body sagged against the wall, dying instantly. Calliope’s throat burned and she knew she was screaming in terror. She couldn’t breathe. Her world seemed to spiral as she watched Clarus, her friend, her sometime lover, and her ally, die.

“Clarus!” shouted Regis in utter fear as he turned to helplessly gaze at his dead friend.

Calliope’s breathing came too fast and her vision started to darken. She knew that she was passing out. It had happened before in battle. As she drifted off into darkness, she wondered what would happen and what would become of the future.

…

Calliope awoke when she felt herself being jostled about in someone’s arms. She looked up and saw herself being carried by Nyx Ulric, who was running with Regis and the Princess Lunafreya. She saw that Luna was pulling Regis along to run and noticed that Regis had his left hand bandaged up with a bit of Luna’s skirt. Blood was soaking through the material and Calliope knew that the ring of Lucii was cut off his hand. As her consciousness came back, she batted at Nyx’s chest and the glaive looked down at her.

“I’m awake,” she remarked absently. “Thank you, Nyx, but put me down. I can walk.”

The glaive let out a chuckle but set her down anyway. She staggered a bit but regained her footing and was able to limp alongside the group. Her head still hurt a bit. However, she was able stay up. Her leg hurt like the devil but she refused to be helpless. If worse came to pass, she knew she’d have to fight. She fell back and walked alongside Regis, who was staggering because of the pain in his leg.

“What did I miss?” she asked him, tugging at his cloak. “How long was I out?”

“For about forty-five minutes,” replied Nyx, not looking back as he dashed ahead. “Short summary: While you were out, the king got his hand sliced and the ring got cut off his finger. The princess’s brother took the ring and tried it on, which wasn’t a good idea. It turned his arm extra crispy. We got it back, though. It’s in good hands.”

“Okay,” replied Calliope, nodding but not totally getting it. “Regis, are you okay?”

“I’m alright enough,” he answered, patting her on the arm.

Nyx noticed the movement. “Hey, I always wanted to know,” he said as they ran. “There were rumors that you and the king are intimate. Is that true?”

“Can we talk about this later?” Calliope’s voice was deadpan and dry. She didn't want to talk about this. Now wasn't the time.

Before Nyx could respond, Regis released Luna’s hand and fell back as she ran up towards the glaive. Suddenly, everyone stopped and looked back at Regis, who smiled in a heartbroken fashion. Calliope knew what he was going to do. She knew him long enough to know what he was going to do, even though it would kill her to see him do it. He lifted his hand and created a barrier, trapping himself behind it and keeping Luna, Nyx, and Calliope on the other side. The princess ran forward and gazed at the king imploringly.

“No, please!” cried Luna desperately, placing her hands on the barrier. “Stop!”

“Regis!” cried Calliope fearfully, joining her in placing her hands on the barrier. “Don’t!” She beat her hands against the barrier but it was too thick to penetrate.

“Get back!” shouted Nyx, grabbing both women by the elbows and pulling them back.

“Please!” Luna continued begging, tears swimming in her bright blue eyes. “Don’t leave us!”

Regis was unwavering and steadfast, ready to face his fate with dignity. “I know your mother would wish the same as me,” he said calmly, not dropping his hand. “That you and Noctis live happily. All those years captive because I failed you. Not again. Locked doors will seal your fate no longer.”

Calliope knew exactly what he was talking about. He never forgave himself for leaving Tenebrae at the mercy of the Empire. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She broke free from Nyx’s hold and placed her hands on the barrier again, sobbing. She barely heard Luna say Regis’s name and the king’s next words.

“Our hope goes with you now, Nyx Ulric,” he said resolutely. “Godspeed.”

With that being said, Nyx pulled Luna away to keep her safe, but Calliope refused to leave. She would not abandon her king and husband. Not ever. She promised to be with him until death parted them. She would not leave him in his most desperate hour. She may have lost her sword, but she was prepared to make any sacrifice to save her husband and son.

The elevator shaft broke and in came Glauca, sword in hand. The armored man stood in front of Regis and bowed in a mocking manner. For a brief moment, Regis stared at the man and then tossed his cane aside. Glauca straightened immediately and held his sword aloft, charging towards the king. Regis reacted fast and shot a bolt of lightning at the armored man, blowing the man back, and Glauca hit the wall with a grunt. The armor prevented him from being injured by the cement debris and he got to his feet. As he moved towards Regis, the king launched another bolt of lightning, but Glauca deflected it with his blade.

“Behold the King of Lucis,” sneered the armored man, moving closer and closer despite the lightning, “who hoarded tranquility within his precious walls. Where is your tranquility now, king?” The lightning started to crack the armor, but the man kept moving towards to king, intent to kill him. “Here is your peace, by steel’s swift descent.”

It all happened so fast. Regis’s arm was batted back and he spun from the impact, his back to the murderous man. To Calliope and Luna’s shared horror, Regis was impaled from behind. The blade that pierced him was dripping with his blood and a trickle of blood dripped from the king’s mouth, staining his white beard. Luna let out a terrified gasp and recoiled back, unable to watch the brutality that just took place, and Nyx grabbed her by the shoulder as if to shield her from the vision.

Calliope couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her blue eyes were wide with fear as she watched her husband slump down on the sword. Tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks as a horrified scream came from her. She felt numb with utter shock and pain. Her beloved husband, her king, her partner, was dying. She hit at the barrier that kept her separated from her king and started screaming and sobbing like a little girl. She felt just as helpless as she did when Tenebrae burned.

“NO!” she screamed out, slamming her hands on the barrier. “NO!” She felt Nyx try to pull her away, but she shook him off, refusing to move.

“Go…” gasped out Regis, staring at the three he protected. His green eyes landed on Calliope, who was trembling with sobs. “I love you, Calliope…” Those were his last words before he slumped over and breathed his last.

It was as if the world came crashing down for Calliope. In one last show of disrespect, Glauca carelessly kicked Regis’s body off his sword and the dead king fell to floor next to a pool of his own blood. Calliope heard Luna say something to Nyx but didn’t register it. The despair Calliope felt quickly turned to anger and vengeance. She burned with rage as she stared upon her husband’s murderer. She wanted to kill this armored monster. She wanted him to die at her hands. She wanted revenge.

She heard Luna and Nyx begin to retreat but didn’t follow them. She felt a hand on her arm and turned to see the princess staring at her with fearful blue eyes. The older woman’s heart softened for the poor girl because she had to witness all this brutality in her young life. Calliope knew that Luna was a captive of the Empire. They abused and tried to break the young Oracle, but Luna proved to be stronger. Nevertheless, she couldn’t heed the princess now. She had her own mission.

“We must go,” she said shakily, tugging at Calliope’s arm. “It is what your king would have wanted.”

The older woman shook her head and turned to glare at Glauca once more, her eyes burning with hatred. “I’m gonna hold him off,” she growled in a furious tone, quivering with barely suppressed rage. “You two, go. I know what I’m doing. Go. I’ll be fine.”

“You were married to him,” gasped Luna, realizing what Regis meant in his last words. “You weren’t just his old friend. You were his wife. I’m so sorry, Queen Calliope.”

Calliope started with alarm when she heard Luna say those last words. No one, except Clarus and Cor, called her queen. Regis called her that when they were in bed together, but no one outside of Cor, Clarus, Noctis, and his friends knew her as Regis’s wife or queen. They were all sworn to secrecy because Calliope didn’t want to be in the spotlight. She just wanted Regis. She didn’t want to replace the memory of the former queen, but now it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter who knew now.

“It doesn’t matter now,” snapped Calliope, shaking her head. “Just go, Luna. You’re wasting time.”

The princess looked like she was going to argue but Nyx pulled her away and they ran out of the room, leaving the vengeful widow with her husband’s murderer. The barrier disintegrated because the king’s magic no longer worked. If the king was dead, there was no magic. However, Calliope didn’t need magic. She trained with her brother in the Crownsguard before joining Regis’s council and was by no means weak. She moved like a lioness preparing to go in for the kill and glared at the armored man.

“Murderer!” she screamed furiously as she lunged at the man with a swift kick.

Glauca caught her by the leg and threw her back like a ragdoll. She landed on the marble floor with a sickening crack, but she refused to give up. She charged at him again and ambushed him with hits. Her vision went red and her mind could only yearn for revenge. She knew she was hopelessly and hilariously outmaneuvered by the armored man. However, she had to hold him back so Luna and Nyx could escape with the ring. The Crystal was already stolen. They had to keep the key from the lock. If the Empire got their hands on the ring, all would be lost.

Even though Calliope put up a fight, she was no match for Glauca. She had no sword or armor to combat him. It didn’t surprise her that he would stab her when he did. She didn’t know she was stabbed until she looked down and saw his sword piercing her stomach. Against her will, she smiled and started laughing. She imagined that death would be more painful than this. Sure, there was a slight sting, but there was nothing more. The blood started pooling around the puncture wound and began dropping off the sword. Her brain started to get fuzzy and she felt sluggish. She looked up at the armored man and noticed that he was taller than when she usually saw him.

Over his shoulder, she saw the other side. It looked so beautiful and peaceful, like a place she could stay in forever. She saw Aulea and Regis on the other side. She saw all the men and women who fought and died to save Lucis from Niflheim. She saw Clarus and his wife smiling at her from the other side. She saw her mother and father and they had proud looks on their faces. She saw the glaive woman, Crowe, on the other side and the younger woman looked happy and carefree. All the people she loved were on the other side, but she didn’t know how to say goodbye. Briefly, she wondered how people would write her in the history books. Would Cor tell their story? Would she be known as a brave woman who fought for her home, or a harlot who bedded and married the king without the populace knowing? Would the future generations tell their story? Right now, it didn’t matter. Only Noctis and the future mattered to her.

“Noctis…” she gasped out, feeling very weary. “I love you, my son…Ignis, Gladio, Prompto, I leave the rest to you…Keep him safe…Regis, I love you…” With that said, she closed her eyes and felt her body slump over, going to sleep forevermore.

...

When Calliope opened her eyes, she was surrounded by a heavenly realm that looked just like Insomnia, except it was empty. There was no noise, no wind, no melody. As she walked through the empty city, she noticed that she felt lighter, like all her worries and fears were gone. She didn’t feel any pain. All of her wounds were gone and she was young and beautiful again. She smiled as she moved closer to the Citadel, knowing her king and queen would be there. The mere thought gave her unspeakable joy and she broke into a run, intent on getting there. She had to see them. She had to see everyone again.

She didn’t feel tired or exerted when she ran up the steps of the Citadel. With no hesitation, she threw the doors open and saw everyone she loved standing there—Mors, Regis, Aulea, Clarus, his wife Jacinta, Crowe, her parents, Nyx, and the glaives and soldiers who fought against Niflheim. Tears ran down Calliope’s cheeks as she dashed into the room and engulfed Regis, who looked young and healthy again, in a tight embrace. He looked how he did before the Crystal started taking its toll on him. He was always handsome to her. She had loved him for many years.

“I love you, Regis,” she wept joyfully, burying her face into his shoulder and smelling his scent.

She heard him chuckle and felt him stroke her soft blonde hair. “I love you too, Calliope,” he replied, holding her tightly.

“Do you think they’ll tell our story?” she whispered, barely audible because her face was still buried in his shoulder.

“Maybe one day, they will,” answered her love, his voice full of love and joy.

Calliope felt content with the answer and she felt herself dozing off as she inhaled the musky, sweet cologne that Regis always wore. She was at peace. She was with her family and loved ones. This was her final fantasy—a peaceful world where everyone was happy and beautiful—and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

#regis lucis caelum #original female character #regis/ofc #ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #death #poison and wine

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lonelyandgone · 7 years ago

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Previous Chapters: Teaser/Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Unexpected – Chapter 8

He’s two thirds through a dream consisting of Taylor and Diane Lane when he hears it. A thud, probably louder in the silence than it actually is, followed by a distinctive “Ow.” He opens one eye, his face hard against the pillow, his mind struggling to adjust to the disruption. Everything is a haze.

His body refuses to move, the effects of tequila and Taylor in full force and the vision in his lone open eye is blurry. So blurry that it takes him a good 30 seconds to see the ghostly figure in the far corner of the darkened room.

“Taylor,” he squeaks out, his voice raw and dry.

He sees the figure jerk at his word, turning toward him. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “ignore that I’m here.”

“Pretty hard to do when you are here.” He tries to chuckle, his voice hitching in his throat and lodging there like a softball. He has to cough to dislodge it, forcing the laughter out in a distorted sound. “Are you still drunk? And lost?”

“No,” she starts to laugh but then cuts herself off. He knows she’s reacting to the silence, that she feels she still needs to be quiet even though he’s the only other person in the house and he is obviously awake.

He turns his body, rustling loudly as he sits up in the bed. He hears her sigh but the darkness still veils her face, leaving her features and expressions hidden to him. “Taylor . . . what are you doing?”

“I’m trying to get a blanket,” she says softly before he hears the sound of something fall to the floor, the noise a stark contrast to the quiet surrounding them, “obviously I’m failing at that but I’m trying.”

Cocking his head to the side, he narrows his eyes, trying to get a better view of her. It doesn’t work. “And why exactly are you getting a blanket,” he asks, his voice still ragged.

She huffs, leaning down he assumes to pick up whatever crashed to the floor. “Because this is where I keep the extra blankets and I need one so I can sleep on the couch.”

“Still not following you . . . ,” he tries to laugh, his body still struggling to adjust to his awakened state.

He finally catches a glimpse of her face when she stands back up, the light from the moon outside caressing her cheeks, illuminating her porcelain skin even more. His body reacts immediately, his mind going back to the night before and the dream he was enjoying when she woke him. He should be used to the physical response she provokes in him but he’s not.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” she sighs, “and when I went back to bed, Dodger and Olivia had made themselves pretty comfortable across my pillows. They look so precious that I can’t bring myself to wake them up. So, I’m going to go downstairs and sleep or watch a movie or something.”

He can feel the smirk inching across his lips as he watches her latch her hands onto her hips, her eyes now fully on him. “So, you’re giving up your warm and cozy bed for my dog and your cat?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re not still drunk?”

She snickers at his words, shaking her head. “No. You just didn’t see how precious they look. You wouldn’t be able to wake them either.”

“Yeah, I probably would,” he groans, watching as she smiles and then turns back around, rummaging again in the closet.

“Go back to sleep, Chris. I promise I’m leaving in two seconds.”

He grins when he hears her words and hum’s briefly before spitting out. “One . . Two.” And then chuckling loudly.

He can still barely see her but he hears her huff and notices the outline of her face as she turns toward him. She holds nothing in her hands. “Fine, Captain America, I will let you get back to your beauty sleep and I’ll see if maybe the two divas in my bed will at least let me have the comforter.”

She’s taken maybe five steps toward the door when he leans his body over in the bed, reaching his arm into the darkened space she is in and grasping her arm. He feels her jerk at his touch but he doesn’t loosen his grasp on her.

“C’mon Mrs. Captain America, there is a bed and a blanket right here . . . and while I can’t see the television at this moment I’m sure there is one if you want to watch it.”

Should he have called her Mrs. Captain America? Probably not. But he likes the way those words come off of his tongue, the way they make his heart twinge and shutter, even if he’s only referring to her as a fictitious wife to his fictitious character and using the name she revealed the kids at Leo’s party had called her yesterday..

His hand is still resting on her arm when he realizes she isn’t moving. He tugs gently. “C’mon.”

It’s at that moment when the light sifting through the window moves ever so slightly and rests upon her face. She’s staring at him, her expression light, her eyes soft. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking but damn, he wishes he did. He knows her well enough to know something is going on behind those amazing blue eyes.

It takes her a few seconds to register the warm glow now on her and he watches as she shakes her head and forces a smile. “You want me to sleep with you,” she says before catching herself as she figuratively stumbles over her words, “I mean . . .”

He grins, enjoying this moment far more than he knows he should. “I know what you mean,” he laughs, “And, yes I do. After all, the sex is better with me.” He winks and she lunges forward, grabbing a pillow from the bed and tossing it at his head. He releases her arm just in time to catch it.

“You’re deplorable,” she hisses through her laugh.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He holds his hands up in the air to signify his truce. “How was I not supposed to say something like that when you gave me the perfect opening.” She lowers her head, grinning, and he savors the lightness in the room. “Really Swift, this is your bed. I’m just borrowing it. And since my dog has apparently taken up residence in your other bed, the least I can do is give you this one back.”

“Your dog is a negative influence,” she says as she shifts her body enough to sit on the edge of the bed, “you must have taught him well.”

“Ouch,” Chris cackles, grabbing his heart and feigning hurt.

His grin widens when he sees her kick her feet onto the bed, stretching her long legs out along it. He rakes his eyes along her body, up the length of her exquisite legs to her shorts and then to his Captain America t-shirt. But it’s when he gets to her face, her head now resting back against the headboard, her gaze titled towards him, that he stops. She . . . .well she smirks.

He knows she’s caught him giving her the once over but she doesn’t say anything. Instead she simply smiles softly and then shifts her eyes away. “If I watch tv, will it bother you?”

“No,” he stutters, shifting his own position in the bed, “I sleep with a tv on at home anyway. Dodger likes to watch it through the night.”

“And I thought I spoiled my cats,” she laughs heartily.

He just shakes his head as he watches Taylor reach over and find the remote control on the table beside of her. He closes his eyes briefly when she switches it on, giving himself a moment to adjust to the invasive light. She’s flipping through channels when he opens them back up.

And then it clicks. The gravity of the moment and what it looks like, what it feels like. At least to him. Taylor, beside him in bed, dressed in his t-shirt. It’s that perfectly normal moment, the perfectly right one. And he wishes more than anything that it was his to keep. That it was his to do more with than just gaze upon from the outside.

His eyes flutter shut once more, the headache that was gnawing at him before starting to make itself known again. “You ok,” he hears Taylor asks but he doesn’t open his eyes.

He nods. “Yeah. I just forgot how much tequila makes my head hurt.” He could add that she does too but he doesn’t. That’s not a revelation for now.

Lying his head back, he lifts his chin. His eyes remain closed. “I think maybe I should leave you alone,” she says again, “I can get you some medicine and go downstairs.”

He hears her click the television off and he reaches blindly across the bed to grab her wrist. “Taylor, please don’t.”

“You need sleep and meds,” she starts as she pulls her wrist back.

“No, I need you,” he responds absentmindedly, “I mean. . . . fuck.” He opens his eyes, finding her moonlit gaze upon him. “Just stay, Taylor. Watch your movie. I’m fine. Delirious and unable to speak coherently, maybe, but fine.”

He expects her to press, to perhaps ask what he means by needing her but she doesn’t. She winks instead. “Still drunk?”

He lowers his chin as he chuckles. “No.”

“I beg to differ,” she laughs and he reaches across the bed, swiftly maneuvering his body until he is to her side, his arm across her midsection.

His eyes latch onto hers and he can see the shock simmering in her blue orbs. From the bottom of his vision, he can see her chest rising and falling rapidly, the same happening to his own.

He holds her gaze for one second. Two. Three. “Completely sober,” he says heavily, moving his hand to grab the remote from beside of her and then propelling his body back to its seated position.

Was that dramatic? Yep. Does he care? Not at all.

He raises the remote and starts flipping through the channels, ignoring the pierce of Taylor’s gaze on him. It stays there for a few moments as he continues to surf through infomercials and shopping networks, until he feels her turn away.

He passes over commercials with puppies, old episodes of Forensic Files and The Simpsons before he hears Taylor mutter, “Stop. Go back.”

He flips back, stopping when he realizes what she’s wanting to see. Him. Specifically, him in Before You Go. He shakes his head, the word “fuck” roaming through his head more times than he can count. He almost says it aloud but settles for, “Really Taylor? C’mon.”

“I like this movie,” she proclaims, “I told you that before.”

She did. On the plane to Paris. Her words about his film one of the reasons he decided to ask her to explore the city with him in the first place. Her words leading to so many other words, so many other moments.

To this one.

“I uhh,” he stammers, “I really don’t like watching myself.”

Her blue eyes are gentle on him as she moves her gaze. “It’s a wonderful movie, Chris. You are a wonderful actor. Don’t be ashamed of how amazing you are.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not ashamed, it’s just weird for me. And honestly watching it with you . . .”

Her eyes narrow, her lips pierced briefly before she exhales. “This movie in particular or any movie?”

It’s a valid question. He knows. Completely and totally valid and probably even innocent. But what is he supposed to say to her? That this movie has far too many moments that remind him of her. That he probably could have played this role 100 times better now that she’s showed him exactly what that kind of love and longing feels like.

“Any movie,” he lies, “with anybody.” He lies more.

He knows she doesn’t accept his answer. He can see it written all over her face. But she turns her attention back to the movie, settling her shoulders into the back of the bed. “You can turn it,” she says after a few seconds.

He doesn’t. He settles himself into the bed, placing the remote between them. And he watches himself on screen.

They are ten minutes in when she speaks up again, this time her question surprising him. “You dated her, right?”

He glares at her, but she doesn’t turn, keeping her eyes glued only on the television, her face expressionless. “How’d you know that?”

When she finally does turn to him, she smirks. “I know how to google someone.”

Raising an eyebrow, he opens his mouth in surprise. “You googled me?”

She shrugs, laughing. “Oh c’mon, you haven’t looked me up?”

His mind instantly sifts back to him looking at pictures of her with Tom, of pictures of Tom arriving to see her. He nods. “I might have.”

Her smile broadens and she shakes her head. “And you knew that I dated at least Calvin, even if you didn’t know his real name. But really, she’s beautiful. Why didn’t it work? Did you meet Jenny when you were with her?”

He hesitates briefly, lowering his eyes as he thinks about her question. “Alice is gorgeous. That’s obvious. And we clicked when we were filming but when filming stopped, it was like everything slipped away. I think we got wrapped up in it all because we were pretty much the only people in the movie so we were together all of the time.”

“So, you were lonely,” Taylor presses, causing him to pause. He knows her words. It’s ones they both used to describe their night of passion in Boston. Even if he knows, at least for him, it wasn’t true.

“I guess in some ways. I think on some level we all have the primal desire for intimacy so we consciously and subconsciously seek it out constantly. I liked Alice, she liked me. We connected on a variety of levels but in the end, not on the ones that mattered.”

He watches her as her eyes move to the television and then back down before finally settling back to him. “And what are your levels that matter?”

He’s sure this probably isn’t a conversation for 3:30 in the morning. Probably isn’t one he should be having with his friend’s girlfriend, with the woman he silently loves. But yet he’s drawn to answer.

“The level where you think about them all the time. That you can’t picture your life with anyone else. That you feel like you can talk to them about anything and everything. That even those normal everyday conversations are special to you. That you want to sit on that porch swing at 80 holding their hand.”

“That they are your perfect river,” she interjects, causing his mind to go back to their conversation in Boston. The one that happened just minutes before they ended up wrapped up in each other. The one they later chalked up to being for reasons that they actually weren’t.

“Yeah,” he says, watching as she continues to keep her gaze from him.

She’s quiet for a few minutes, the only movement from her being an occasional clenching and unclenching of her jaw. And then he sees her shake her head, lowering it slightly before she turns her head toward him, a slow, sly smile engaging on her lips.

“You date an awful lot of your costars,” she says before whipping her head back laughing.

And there it is, the wicked sense of humor emerging in the middle of what had been a serious conversation. He’s learning this about her. He’s noticed it several times before. It arriving most when she’s uncomfortable, when she feels she needs to lighten whatever seriousness is going on.

And when the smirk takes over his face, he has to stop himself from saying the words in his head. So does Tom Hiddleston. He knows those aren’t welcome words at the moment and, quite honestly, he can’t fathom seeing the hurt on her face that he would know he caused. So, he keeps that tidbit to himself.

He licks at his bottom lip and then bites it before he responds, waiting long enough for her to finally move her eyes back to his. “What can I say,” he quips, “I love love, even if it turns out not to be love. And I love women. I really love women.” He winks.

Reaching across the space between them, she smacks at his arm.

He holds his hands up in the air, a mischievous grin on his face. “Hey, you’re the one with the player reputation, not me. Tay can’t make em stay.”

He throws his head back in a maniacal laugh when he sees her eyes widen and her mouth fall open.

“Not funny,” she says in between snickers, “just go back to watching yourself on TV. Watching your ex too.”

Lowering his chin, he winks at her again. “Ok, then after this we will watch a Jake Gyllenhaal movie. Do you prefer Brokeback Mountain or Southpaw?”

She winks right back at him just before she answers, “Actually, I prefer Love and Other Drugs.” She winks once more. “Nice to see you have done your research on my love life though.”

He can’t win, he knows this, so he settles for a laugh and then returns his view to the television once Taylor does.

They watch the remainder of the movie without chides, Taylor looking at him once to tell him that it reminded her of their time in Paris. The mere mention of the night bringing forth an assault of images and memories, senses and feelings. And then prompting yet another revisit to their conversations there. But as he thinks and reminisces, she silences, and he occasionally notices her gaze fall to the blanket covering her legs or less occasionally, to him.

When the credits start to roll, she turns her body slightly, shrugging when his eyes meet hers. “I should probably go see if I have a pillow now.”

“Are you sleepy,” he asks.

She shakes her head slowly. “No.”

“Then I have a better idea,” he smiles and then pushes himself out of the bed. He takes her hand and pulls her up when he reaches her side, nodding toward the door when he does. “Get some pants on.”

Her nose crinkles up as she narrows her eyes on him. But she smiles. “Why?”

Placing his hands on his hips, he licks at his bottom lip. “Do you trust me?” She nods but says nothing. “Then go get some pants on.”

They pull into his driveway thirty-five minutes later. After ten questions from Taylor about where they are going at this time of the morning and a five-minute conversation with Taylor emphatically proclaiming that Dodger didn’t need to be woke and brought with them, that he was sleeping far too peacefully in her bed.

“You brought me to your house,” she says when she realizes where they are, her voice more amused than irritated.

“We aren’t going in,” he responds before pushing the door open and slipping out. He’s halfway around the car to open her door when she beats him to the punch and steps out.

She glares at him, hands on hips, looking far more adorable than anyone should with a partial hangover and virtually no sleep. He shakes the thought from his head the second it enters it. “So . . . . you brought me to your house to not go in and to . . . . help me out here, Chris.”

He can only laugh at her question, at the confusion that sets in on her beautiful features. Before she can question him further, he turns around, pressing a button on the garage door opener he brought from the car.

“Oh, so we’re gonna hang out in your garage,” she says behind him, amused.

Shaking his head, he chuckles, “No.” He takes a few steps toward the opening, stopping just outside the space and turning to her, holding his hand out to the side as he does. “We’re just changing modes of transportation.”

She gets it then, he quizzing blue eyes roving behind him until they stop suddenly. He smiles when he sees the look of confusion grow on her face.

“A motorcycle,” she says, tapering her gaze.

He nods, glancing back at the black bike he rides not nearly enough parked behind him. “Yeah.”

He’s still looking there when he hears her speak again. “Why?”

“Because,” he starts, taking a long, deep breath, “Because you said it . . . . . In Paris. It was one of your wishes.”

He keeps his view from her, keeps it focused on the bike, though his mind is nowhere near it. He believes if he listens close enough, he can hear his words processing in Taylor’s head.

“You remember that,” she asks after a few long seconds pass, her voice so delicate now that he feels it could break in the gentle blowing breeze.

He turns to her then, his own baby blues meeting hers and settling there for a few moments. He can see the questions beneath the soft sheen. When he doesn’t immediately say anything, she narrows her gaze on him and he nods. “Taylor,” he says softly, his voice wavering more than he wants, “You said you wanted to ride a motorcycle. Not fake rides like you’ve done in videos.” He hesitates once more, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair before he rests his view on her and huffs. “I remember everything about every conversation we’ve had. Your words are stuck in my head and I can’t get them out. Sometimes I wish I could.” He turns then, not wanting to give her more, not wanting to reveal more. Like that he remembers the exact way her lips start to curve when she’s giving him the smile he knows is meant just for him. How when she’s held his hand, he’s noticed how she tightens her fingers around his and then loosens them, like the smallest of hugs. He could tell her that he thinks he’s memorized the rhythm of her heartbeat, as cheesy and corny as he knows it sounds. He could tell her a lot more but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a few more steps into the garage, grabs a helmet sitting on a shelf and turns around to reach it out to her.

She lingers briefly, her expression muddled, and then slowly steps forward, taking the helmet from him.

He expects her to ask more questions about why he’s doing this or, at the very least, where they are going but she doesn’t. She simply follows his lead when he gets on the motorcycle, positioning her body behind him with her hands on his waist.

There is a hint of coolness in the California air as they ride off into the darkness and he can occasionally feel her body shudder behind him, what he’s unsure of is if it the chill or him that is causing it. He tells himself that it’s definitely not the latter. That friends don’t elicit responses like that from friends even though he’s well aware that most friendships aren’t like his and Taylor’s. Not even close.

They ride along the narrow streets from his house, onto the wider lanes around the city until they eventually reach the PCH. She nestles in closer to his back when they do and he can vaguely hear her whisper the word “beautiful” as the waves of the Pacific Ocean crash against the pristine beaches under a blanket of sparkling diamonds and the bright luminescence of the moon.

This is how he chooses to love California. In the darkened quiet, void of smog and cars, honking horns and incessant chatter. He discovered years ago that at this time of the morning, before the earth awakens again, that the PCH is virtually vacant, the beach empty, the atmosphere perfect. On nights where sleep doesn’t find him, he sometimes does just this. Rides his motorcycle along the perfectly paved roads of the pacific coast highway to the place where he is taking Taylor now. Sometimes he leaves the motorcycle at home, letting Dodger ride shotgun as they enjoy the night and morning.

Eventually they make it to the small dirt road he’s driven down several times before. He feels Taylor tense up behind him when they start their descent down the narrow path, descending for a few minutes before they reach a gate. Knocking the kickstand down, he moves his body off his cycle and then glances at Taylor, holding up his finger. “One second.”

Walking a few feet, he punches in a code on the gate, swings it open and then gets back on the bike. He drives 50 yards in before he stops again and cuts the engine off, the stark contrast of the rumbling of the motorcycle against the utter silence of the land around them immediately settling in, causing a slight murmuring in his ears. He pulls his helmet off before he swings his leg over and reaches for Taylor’s hand. She takes it without hesitation and he pulls her closer to him, placing his fingers under her chin to slip off the strap of the helmet and pull it gently from her head.

“Did you enjoy the ride,” he asks as he places her helmet on the handlebar of the motorcycle.

She smiles freely, her answer widely evident across her face. “It was beautiful,” she whispers before moving her gaze behind him, to part of the reason he brought her here, “this is beautiful.” He follows her gaze, to the moonlit beach and the long dock jetting into the ocean, it’s expanse darkened by the night sky, the light from the moon barely gracing it.

She finds him again, whipping her body around to lay her eyes on him. “How do you know about this place?”

He shrugs, stepping forward to stand beside of her as he looks out at the view before him. He can hear the waves crashing against the shore, see them sparkling under their moonlit illumination. It’s a dreamlike sight.

“I learned about this place the first year I lived in LA.” He glances at her and then turns back to the ocean. “It wasn’t a good year. I had struggled to make ends meet, hated the three roommates I had and wasn’t getting nearly the work I had hoped to get. Or at least the quality work I had hoped to get. I spent most of my down time at clubs or bars and that didn’t help. One night I ended up at this bar in West Hollywood and was drinking my sorrows away. I started talking to this older man, probably in his 60’s who had sat down beside me. I told him that I hated LA. I hated California. That all there was here was temptation and sin.” He chuckles at the memory. “Yes, I told him sin. And he listened patiently to me whine and moan and then he told me that if all I ever looked for was temptation and sin, that’s all I would ever find. I wasn’t drunk enough to not understand what he meant.”

“And,” she prompts, springing his gaze back to hers. She nods, urging him on.

“And before he left that night, he got a pen from the bartender and he wrote some things on a napkin. It was notes on how to get here, complete with a drawing of where the little dirt road was and asterisks telling me that if I saw Jordan’s Crab Shack, I had gone too far. He added some numbers at the bottom for the gate and a message saying I hope you enjoy my own little piece of heaven.” He takes a deep breath before he continues on. “Anyway, it took me four hours the next night to actually find it. But I’m pretty glad I did. Because had I not, I probably would have never stayed in LA and who knows what I’d be doing now.”

He glances at her and then takes her hand in his, “C’mon, I want to show you something.” He moves her through the sand and onto the dock, listening as the old wooden boards creak as they make their way across them, listening to the gentle nuances of the ocean as it rakes against the structure. It’s a sound that soothes him, one that he relishes.

When they reach the end, he stops, releasing her hand and stuffing his own into his pockets. He stares out at the ocean that is surrounding them now. “This place gives me perspective,” he says, “it makes me realize how small I am in this world, how insignificant the problems I’ve blown up in my head really are. I sat here that night and realized I had been looking at the world so wrong for so long. It wasn’t full of temptation and sin, only my life was because I had let it in. What I hadn’t let in was this . . . . the serene, the peace, the realization that I’m one tiny spec on this planet and how if I was going to get the most out of my time here, I was going to have to let go of how important my life was and embrace how important living is. So, I changed my life and stopped focusing on the little things, stopped fretting over things that didn’t matter and started enjoying myself more. And when I feel myself starting to get overwhelmed, starting to fall back into the negativity, I come here and I watch the ocean and I stare at the stars in the sky and I find my balance again.”

His words fall between them, sifting through the salty ocean breeze. He knows she’s thinking. It’s one of the things he’s noticed and loves about her. How she takes every syllable he says and considers it, attaching it to his life as well as her own.

“I’m sorry I lost my perspective yesterday,” she says softly after a few minutes, her eyes on the water, “and that I drug you into my unbalanced world when I let myself become overcome by the negativity.”

“We’re human, Taylor. It’s impossible not to falter sometimes. You just have to realize that no matter what this world throws at you, you are amazing and you have to realize that no matter what happens, you have to continue living. So, isn’t it better to continue to live life on the positive side and enjoy it rather than on a negative slope and fall into an abyss?’”

He moves his body to the side, hitting his arm against hers. “Besides, you stumbled briefly but you didn’t fall. I’ve done my google homework, I know that you never fall Ms. Swift.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “If only that were true. But maybe now if I feel like I might fall, I’ll come here.” Her eyes move to him, her smile widening. “If I could actually find it again. . . . and get in the gate.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, his own grin falling from his cheeks, “if you ever feel like you are going to fall, or that you need perspective or that you need anything, call me. I’ll bring you here or give you a shoulder or a pep talk.”

“Or tequila and ice cream,” she gleams.

He shrugs, his smile returning. “Or that too.”

Growing quiet again, she waits a few moments before her soft voice settles back between them. “Thank you,” she says, “for bringing me here. For giving me all your words of wisdom. For being my friend.”

Friend, he thinks, the word jabbing into his stomach and heart. He never thought he’d ever consider the word to be hurtful. “I’ll be whatever you need me to be, Taylor,” he returns painfully, hoping his voice doesn’t show it, and then he plants his eyes on the rustling ocean.

A few minutes pass before he glances behind him and recognizes the soft orange hue starting to tinge the sky above the bluffs. He reaches for her then, placing his hands on her arms and turning her body completely around.

“Sit down,” he says, moving his own body to a sitting position on the dock. When Taylor follows suit, he places his arms around her shoulders. “Lean back.”

Without any question, she does what he asks, falling back onto his arm as he guides them both to lay on the dock. “A different perspective,” he says softly, nodding toward the sun just starting to rise over the land.

They watch the sunrise over the bluffs in silence, both seemingly content in the moment, in the quiet and solitude stretching between them. Both enraptured in their moment. Their moment. She mutters an occasional “wow” and then “beautiful” and he watches as her lips rise and fall in grins and smiles.

Once the sun is set slightly farther in the sky and its light starts to caress the ocean like a blanket, he hears her delicate voice. “My mom always calls sunrises new beginnings. She never calls them sunrises. When I was growing up and going to school, she’d get me up right as the sun was coming up. She’d dance into my bedroom singing some song about good morning sunshine and she’d open the curtains, killing my eyes, and she’d say today’s a new beginning Taylor, a new opportunity. She’s always been such an optimist. I love that about her.”

He grins at her admission. “I like hearing your stories. Learning about the Taylor before I met you.”

She smiles, turning her head toward him on the dock. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to Mama E’s stories too. I’m sure she has some good ones.”

“She does,” he snickers before allowing the noise to fall off, finding himself once again mesmerized by the sunrise taking place, the majesty of it all.

“Is this going to be our thing,” she says after a few more minutes, her words catching him off guard. He glances toward her but she doesn’t return his gaze. Instead, she raises up into a sitting position on the dock. “Sunrises,” she says again, “Paris. Here. You keep giving me these. Each one beautiful but different.”

“Yeah,” he nods to himself before pushing his body up to sit beside of her.

“I’ve seen the sun rise so many times in Rhode Island, sitting on the terrace and feeling it’s warmth as it makes itself known. This is the first time I’ve ever seen it rise like this.”

He stares at her, surprised at her words. “You have a house this close and you’ve never seen a Malibu sunrise?”

She shakes her head, not removing her eyes from the slowly emerging sun. “No. I’ve never seen a California sunrise.”

“Adam never brought you?” He’s not sure where the question comes from, likely from knowing her most committed relationship in the past had been with him and that he had been the reason she had stayed in LA as long as she had. Or perhaps from the knowledge that had he ever been in his shoes and knew of her love for sunrises, he would have brought her to see it as often as he could.

She shakes her head again. “No.”

“Do you want this to be our thing,” he asks, his mind roving back to her question moments before.

She looks at him then, her eyes light, her expression tranquil. He can tell that she’s thinking, that her mind is roaming and roving and processing. Her tongue jets from her mouth, running along her bottom lip before she tugs at it one time.

And then she moves, carefully moving her body forward until she reaches him and her lips caress onto his. It’s so unexpected that he doesn’t react, his body rigid from shock. She pulls back almost as soon as it happens, turning away from him and moving her hand to press a strand of hair behind her ear.

He knows she’s about to apologize and he knows that’s the last thing he wants her to do so before any syllables can escape her mouth, he tugs onto her arm, bringing her against him again. “This can be our thing,” he murmurs against her forehead, “kisses at sunrise.” He tucks his chin, pressing his lips to hers again, this time allowing his body to relax, his arms to envelope her.

She responds instantaneously, slipping her tongue between his lips to deepen the kiss, moving her body to position herself fully against him. His hands slide around her waist and onto her back and he tightens his grasp, lifting her and moving her until she is sitting in his lap, her legs around his torso.

“Is this another condition of our friendship,” she asks breathlessly, removing her mouth from his only to replace it again. And then again.

He smiles against her lips. “I like this condition. So yes.”

Before he knows it, his hands are in her hair, hers discovering the muscles of his back. And then almost as quickly, a picture of Tom flashes in his mind. A hard reminder of where he is who he is with.

“Fuck,” he says as he pulls back, pushing her shoulders away ever so slightly. He studies her face, her swollen lips and wide eyes, the breath going in and out of her lips feverishly. “Fuck Taylor, one of these days I’m not going to be able to stop kissing you. I’m not going to be able to pull back,” he admits.

As if she finally realizes what he’s saying, realizes what they’ve been doing, she nods her head emphatically and then pulls her legs up, lifting off him briskly. She’s up from the floor of the dock and walking away from him within milliseconds, before he can even register her movements.

“Why do we keep doing this,” she says hastily, her back to him, her legs moving quickly. He pushes himself up, taking a few steps along the dock to get closer to her. “Why do we keep kissing and touching and placing conditions on our friendship? Why do you keep remembering our conversations and my wishes and making them happen? You’re too perfect to me. What are you doing? What are we doing?”

“We’re living, Taylor,” he says impulsively, tossing his hands into the air just in time for her to turn and see them.

“Maybe. But it’s not right when we’re hurting other people. Or no, we aren’t even hurting other people, we’re just betraying them.” Her frantic gaze softens a hint, resting fully on him. “Friends don’t kiss each other like that.”

“I’ll stop kissing you,” he says, not knowing how to deal with the situation between them.

She shakes her head. “I kissed you.”

Nodding, he shrugs. “Then you’ll stop kissing me.”

She moves her head from one side to the other, a look of pain taking over her features and then just as she’s about to say something else, a noise pierces through the air between them.

His phone.

He wants to ignore it, wants to more than anything, but he’s also well aware that it’s very early in the morning and there is no way this is anything but an important call. No one would call him at this time if it wasn’t.

She turns away when he pulls the phone from his pocket, glancing down to see his managers name upon it.

“Yeah,” he says, rushed, as he puts the phone to his ear.

He listens to him speak, hears what he has to say, but he never removes his eyes from Taylor standing a few feet away, just off of the dock now. She doesn’t turn to look at him until he says goodbye.

“Is everything ok,” she asks, her voice raw and shaky, an obvious result of their indiscretion and words just minutes before.

He nods and then slowly shakes his head. “Not really. Uh, I was supposed to fly to South Africa in a week but apparently I’m flying today.”

“Oh, ok,” she stutters, her expression unreadable, “so I guess we need to go.” Her voice is shaky. Off.

Placing the phone back in his pocket, he nods, his mind now filling with tasks and chores required before he can leave, adding to the mess already there. “Yeah. I’ll need to pack and get some financial things in order before I go. And find a kennel for Dodger since I won’t have time to get him to my mom or sisters.” He places his fingers to pinch his nose and closes his eyes, his head starting to pound yet again. He rubs there for a few moments and then finds Taylor when he opens his eyes again. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting this.”

She leans her head, directing it toward the motorcycle. “Ok,” she stammers, “Let’s go.”

He nods. “Ok. We will go to my house first so I can get the car. I’ll need it to bring Dodger back.” He’s talking primarily to himself, creating a checklist in his head of things he has to do before his flight in a few hours.

She places her hand on his arm them, stopping his movement just before he is about to get on the motorcycle. “Just drop me off. Brandon can bring Dodger to you after. Let you get some things done before you have to deal with that.”

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “You sure?”

Nodding, she puts her helmet on and follows him onto the motorcycle.

The next few minutes pass by in a blur as they head off back down the PCH toward her house, his mind racing as he thinks of more and more things he needs to do, more items to add to his checklist. They are about halfway there when he feels something different. Her head is now resting against his back, her body pressed completely against his, her hands on his stomach. It’s completely different from the ride to Malibu where she felt tense and pensive, her hands never leaving his sides. It makes him instantly forget about checklists and tasks.

As if on instinct, he releases one hand from the handlebar and brings it to his waist, rubbing it against Taylor’s delicate skin until he reaches her hand. When he squeezes it, he believes he feels her move even closer to his back.

They continue this way, her feeling as if she is simply an extension of him, the remainder of the trip back. And when he kicks the stand down on the bike and turns it off, she doesn’t immediately move. Neither does he. Instead, he leans his head back, nestling it against the cheek she has resting on his shoulder. He moves his hand along her arm again until it rests just above hers and he laces their fingers together.

He closes his eyes, taking in the closeness, the feel of the moment, the warmth of her body against his.

He knows how taboo this is, knows how wrong. He knows she’s aware too. She’s already expressed to him how they are hurting other people. And he knows she’s referring primarily to Tom, even if he’s also aware that she still thinks he’s hurting Jenny. But if she’s giving him this, he’s not going to stop her. There’s no way he ever could.

It’s only Dodger’s barking at the front door a couple minutes later that separates them. The invasion seeming to snap Taylor back to her senses as she pulls away from him and slips off the motorcycle. He half expects her to look upset but she doesn’t. She looks . . . . blank.

“I, uh,” she stumbles, her eyes roaming around his but not settling there, “I was thinking that maybe Dodger can stay here. If you want. If you don’t, that’s fine too but I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m going to be gone for at least two months, Taylor,” he says softly, surprised by her question but his heart also warming at the thought of her wanting to take care of his most prized responsibility.

She furrows her eyebrows, pulling her lip into a bite. “That’s a long time,” she laughs slightly, “but I’m still ok with it. But only if you are.”

He moves his eyes to look toward her front door, Dodger still barking behind it. “What about your cats?”

Her shrug is visible from the corner of his eye. “They will be fine with him, they love my mom and brother’s dogs. Or at least Olivia does, Mer just does what she wants but doesn’t bother them.”

“And what about you? I know you have tons of things to do over the next two months? Won’t having a dog to tote around hinder that?” He wants to ask if it will hinder seeing Tom. He doesn’t though.

“Does it hinder you,” she questions, snickering softly, “Dodger is obviously ok with travelling so he can go with me. I just plan to work. I don’t have any elaborate vacations planned and if I go anywhere, it will be brief and he can either go with me or stay with whoever keeps Olivia and Meredith. But really, it’s just an offer, Chris . . . . so, if you don’t want me to keep him, it won’t hurt my feelings.”

She places her hand on his arm and squeezes it before she starts walking toward the front door. She turns around, continuing her backward movement, “But . . .” She reaches the front door, pulling it open and allowing Dodger to sprint out. Much to his surprise, and possible chagrin, Dodger immediately jumps to Taylor, not to him. She kneels down as he does, raking her hand across the dog’s head. When she places her arm around his neck, she turns to face him. “I think perhaps Dodger agrees that I should keep him.” And with that, they both provide him with their best puppy dog faces, Taylor’s tugging at his heart more than he can ever care to admit.

“Ok,” he relents, tossing his hands up in defeat, “ok, you win. Dodger can stay with you.”

His dog leaps at him then, causing him to fall to his knees as he’s covered with wet licks and dog love. His laughter is joined by Taylor’s.

“Ok buddy. . . . it looks like you get to have fun with the cats for a while longer.” He rubs heavily atop Dodger’s head and then raises up, finding Taylor staring at the scene he’s putting on. “I just have to run upstairs and get my watch from the guest bedroom. I forgot it this morning. And when I get to the house, I’ll get Dodger’s stuff together to send over here. If I can’t find someone to bring it though, I’ll call you to see if maybe Brandon or someone can pick it up. I doubt I’ll have time before I leave.”

She nods, her smile fading slightly. “Ok.”

He doesn’t allow himself time to think about her expression or how his stomach drops telling her he’s leaving, forcing himself to push past her into the house and sprint up the stairs toward the bedroom. But when he gets to the top, he doesn’t move toward the guest room, like he knows he should. For some reason, he’s pulled the other way, toward the open door of Taylor’s room. He stops just outside the door to the room, laughing when he sees Meredith and Olivia sprawled across the pillows, the blanket strewn haphazardly, a result he has no doubt is due to Dodger. He notices something then that he hadn’t thought of during the entire time they’ve been together that morning. Her phone, still sitting on the dresser along the right wall, still plugged in from being charged overnight. It’s the first time he allows himself to remember the text message he sent her hours ago, before he fell into his short sleep. A text message that he now realizes she hasn’t seen yet.

He steps inside, briefly considering picking her phone up and deleting the message. Not giving a thought to the fact that she likely has a security code on it. He’s not really sure what he’s doing. Why he continues to walk inside. But he does.

He glances at her phone, it’s screen blank and dark, to the cats on the bed and then back to the phone. Beside of it, he notices something else. A book.

He runs his fingers along the cover. Q&A A Day: 5-Year Journal. He flips open the cover, his eyes latching on a handwritten note upon the first page.

Life and love are a journey. To the woman I love who has an amazing way with words, may this journal capture 5 years of that magic. – Tom

His heart hurts as he reads his friend’s note to Taylor, his gaze focusing over and over again on the words “to the woman I love.” The woman he loves.

He reads the note again, whispering “I know how you feel” over Tom’s declaration as he does. But what he doesn’t know, he realizes, is how it feels to have that love returned. Tom does. Tom knows because he’s the one on the journey of love with her. Love is their journey.

He, he thinks, is just a minor part of her life journey. A friend to her, as fucked up and confusing as their relationship is, she’s never bestowed any word but friend to that relationship.

His fingers strum along the pages of the book, stopping a few pages in, his eyes scanning over the question there, dated in August 2016. What can you smell right now? He can’t help but chuckle a little at the strangeness of the question.

Below it, in handwriting he recognizes as just like the writing on the back of the painting she did for him, is her answer.

Tom, his scent still lingering on my bed though he’s not in it. The woodsy musk feeling as if it’s suffocating me because he is gone. It’s a rag over my mouth. A sensory attack to my soul. He’s gone but he’s not. His smell assaults me.

He squints at the words, his heart confused as to their meaning. But he doesn’t want to think about it. He absolutely doesn’t. So, he flips some more, his fingers stopping on another page with her handwriting upon it, this one dated in November 2016.

If you could go on vacation tomorrow, where would you go?

Block Island. To the little cottage I went to when I was 18, on my first vacation alone. I would enjoy the solitude, the exquisite beauty of complete and utter silence. I would sit in the swing on the front porch and write songs and poems. I would turn my cell phone off as I paint and bake. Then in the evening, I would take a walk along the beach, stopping to collect seashells and watch seagulls. Just like I did before. Just like I loved before.

He smiles as he reads over her words again, imagining her doing just as she says. A picture of Taylor, hair pulled up in a ponytail, a light sweater covering her frame, vividly painted in his mind.

He flips a couple more times, stopping on questions dated January 27, 2017 and April 3, 2017 and reading over her answers. He smiles as he does, taking each tidbit of information she provides about her thoughts and feelings and planting them in the back of his mind.

Flipping one more time, he stops on a page closer to the bookmark she has tucked inside.

If you could use one sentence to describe how you feel right now, what would it be?

Her response stops his breath, trapping it in his chest like a prison. He recognizes the words. Recognizes them well because he’s the one who said them. It’s a line from Before You Go.

If you’re committed to someone, you don’t allow yourself to find perfection in anyone else.

His eyes fall shut the moment he reads her answer, his head and his heart swirling. She had told him she liked the movie. She had on the airplane going to Paris even before tonight. That’s one thing. But that line, that line . . . .that’s the one he equates to her. Not because he was committed to Jenny and found perfection in Taylor, which he did, but because since he’s met her, he can’t find anything near perfection in anyone else. How in the world could he? Not when comparing them to her.

But that’s him, not her. What was Taylor referring to when she wrote those words, that line? Who was she talking about? Why did she choose that quote to describe how she was feeling at that moment?

He opens his eyes to the top of the page, his chest heaving heavily as he reads the date. June 24, 2017. June 24th, he repeats to himself, the date lodging into his mind like a dagger. It’s the date he left Watch Hill. The date Tom arrived there.

He closes the book, his heart surging in his chest. And he closes his eyes again, confusion raking all through his mind and body.

One. Two. Three. Breathe. One. Two. Three. He counts silently in his head and then jumps when he hears Dodger bark downstairs.

He’s already forgotten what he came up here for and he runs a hand down his face while he thinks. Watch, he tells himself, to get his watch. And get yourself together, he adds silently, you don’t even know what any of it means. And it likely means nothing to you.

He heads out of her bedroom, grabs his watch in the guest room and then bounds back down the stairs, stepping inside the living room to find Taylor presenting Dodger with what appears to be a new cat toy. She glances up at him. “I know it’s probably not his cup of tea but it will do until later.” Chris watches as Dodger snatches the small plastic mouse out of her hand and runs off.

His mind is still shaking, rattling with thoughts and emotions he can’t explain or even being to comprehend. He knows though that he can’t show her that.

“So, two months,” she says, teetering back and forth on her feet, “you think he will prefer me to you by then?”

“Probably,” he forces out, struggling to find his voice, “I think he kinda already does.” Not that he blames him, he thinks, not that he blames him at all.

She smiles, removing her eyes from his. “And uh, any costars I should be concerned about?” She clenches her eyes closed, shaking her head and laughing hastily, “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it to be a joke.” She huffs. “But I do know that Michiel Huisman is hot . . . . but married.” Her wicked sense of humor arriving as a distraction once again.

He grins at her, the tiniest bit of clarity sifting through him. “I see you’ve googled my new movie.”

She shifts her head, her smile and laugh more genuine. “Guilty. I can’t be trusted with a cell phone on nights that I can’t sleep.”

A cell phone, he thinks. Glancing behind him toward the stairs before looking back to Taylor, a sudden barrage of memories from the night before invading his mind. “Listen, I sent you a text last night,” he flinches, “I know you haven’t seen it and I know that you don’t want to talk about what was said during our game and probably not what was done and said today, but I want you to know that what I said in that text is true.”

Her expression eases, the smile on her lips diminishing a touch. She’s considering his admission but she’s not asking about it. “Ok,” she responds with a slow nod.

Dodger bounds back into the room then, coming to a skating stop just beside of his legs. He chuckles as he looks down at his best friend. “I’m gonna miss you buddy but I have a feeling you’re gonna have more fun than me.” He throws a quick glance toward Taylor. “You be good for her, ok.” Dodger barks. “And play nice with Meredith and Olivia.” He howls then, prompting both of them to laugh, settling a hint of ease between them.

“I guess I should go,” he says softly, raising his head so that his eyes meet Taylor’s.

She nods, “Then I guess this is goodbye.”

Taking a few steps, she walks into the foyer and then opens the front door. Chris and Dodger follow behind. At the bottom of the steps, she stops. “Be careful,” she says as she turns to him, “stay safe. Have fun. Don’t forget about your dog.”

“Or you,” he adds with a tentative laugh, his mouth betraying him yet again.

If it makes her uneasy, she doesn’t show it. “Well since I’m taking care of your dog, yes me.” She leans forward then, leaning into him and wrapping her arms loosely around his. He doesn’t hesitate to accept her embrace, sulking into her and clutching her tightly. Her arms move to his neck and she squeezes.

“Bye, Chris,” she whispers, her voice tickling his ear and sending a shiver down his body.

Before he can stop himself, he plants a kiss on her temple. “Bye Taylor.” He wants to take it further, to kiss her the way he did earlier, but he knows he can’t. That he shouldn’t, at least. Not after he promised to stop kissing her.

So, he turns, rustling his hand on Dodger’s head one more time before he heads toward his motorcycle and puts his helmet on. He starts it, slowly starts his movement and then throws one final glance behind him, to Taylor and Dodger standing on the steps, watching him as he leaves.

His heart hurts more than he ever imagined it ever could.

He doesn’t remember the actual ride to his house. Doesn’t remember parking his motorcycle in the garage or using his key to open the front door.

He doesn’t remember packing one suitcase, much less three. Nor does he recall calling his business manager to make sure that everything is squared away with his accounts before he has to leave.

He does recall gathering Dodger’s things. His food, toys and favorite pillow. And then texting Scott to see if he would be around to take them to Taylor. His brother, fairly typically, said he had plans but could do it the next day if he needed him to. He responded with a simple he’d take care of it.

He’s about to call Taylor and see if Brandon can come by and pick it up when he hears the knock on his front door followed by a familiar voice calling his name down the hallway.

“You do realize that you left your door open,” Jeremy says as he enters the kitchen, “Not that I’m concerned about your safety or anything but I don’t think that’s the best of things to do. Have you ever garnered a look online at the craziness of your own fans?”

On a normal day, he would have seriously laughed at that question because he has and he knows his friend is right. But not today. Not with all of the thoughts rummaging through his mind incessantly.

He notices Jeremy’s eyes shifting around the room. To the pile of things for Dodger and the suitcases lining the wall. “You kill somebody and going on the run?”

He fakes a laugh. “No.”

“Well then what’s going on? I thought we had made plans a few days ago to play golf today. I just bought some new clubs.”

He’s right. They had. And Chris, well he had forgotten all about it between everything with Taylor and the news that he needed to be on a flight in, he glances at the clock, in a little over an hour.

“I’m sorry. I forgot about it and I found out this morning that they want me in South Africa earlier than I had anticipated.”

He can feel Jeremy’s eyes narrow on him and then sees him place his hands on his hips. “Is that why you seem so frazzled? Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve had to bail on plans with me and I don’t recall you ever being this messed up about it before. And the last I heard, you were excited about going to South Africa so you should love getting to go earlier than you thought.”

He shakes his head, planting his hands on the counter in front of him. “I am looking forward to it, kinda, and I’m not really concerned about bailing on you. Sorry. I just got a lot on my mind and I’m trying to get everything organized to go.” Turning around, he glances at the bags along the wall and then to Dodger’s things. “Speaking of which, since I’ve ruined your plans for the day. Do you think there is any chance that you can drop these things off at Taylor’s for Dodger?”

Jeremy’s eyebrow cocks up instantly, a gleam noticeable in his eyes. “Taylor? As in Taylor Swift?”

Shaking his head, he hopes to ward off where he knows the conversation is veering. “Yes. All of this was so sudden and she offered to keep him and I agreed.”

Jeremy scoffs, throwing his head back laughing. “You agreed? I have to say I’m a bit surprised. You are so unbelievably protective of that dog. You normally only leave him with family or with Jenny. Not with the girlfriend of your friend.”

He ignores the thought that pops into his head. That Jeremy has obviously seen something that has told him that Taylor and Tom are back together. Instead, he throws a look towards him and a slight, forced smile. “She’s my friend. You know that. You were in Boston.”

Jeremy simply smiles, a crooked and probably knowing smile that irritates the shit out of him. “Ok,” he laughs, “and sure. I like the idea of visiting Ms. Swift at her house anyway.”

He can feel the hotness flare up in his cheeks, his gaze narrowing on his friend, his jaw locking. Without hesitation, Jeremy notices. “Woah, there buddy,” he cackles, wiggling his eyebrows, “you have a thing for her, don’t you? I mean I thought so in Boston but you looked like you were two seconds from ripping my head off right there and you know I’m only playing.”

He rubs one hand along his tired eyes before he leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter and his head in his opened hands. He knows that right now, he doesn’t have the time or energy to combat Jeremy’s words.

“It’s more than a thing,” he huffs, “I actually really wish it was just a thing. My life would be a whole lot simpler right now if it was.”

Across the counter, Jeremy pulls up a stool. His expression softens. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head within his hands and then raises up, moving his palms to the counter and pressing into them. He lowers his eyes to stare at Dodger’s things. “I just left them at Taylor’s house and I turn around and look one last time and she’s there with Dodger standing beside of her. Now that image is stuck in my head. And you know what really sucks?”

“What,” Jeremy questions.

“That for the first time in my entire career, I’m not excited to leave and start filming. It felt like a mistake walking away from them. Even though she’s not even mine.” He laughs at himself, at the ridiculousness of his words and feelings. “For the first time, I felt something stronger telling me I should stay here. And I know I’m crazy to even think that.”

Jeremy’s quiet for a few seconds and then clears his throat. “What’s crazy about loving someone and wanting more out of your life?”

“It’s crazy when I can’t even have her. I can’t have that life that I’ve now got stuck in my head.”

“Because of Tom Hiddleston,” Jeremy asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Because she’s in love with someone else,” he says, not wanting to say Tom’s name.

He raises his view, settling on his friend across the way. He watches as Jeremy’s jaw tightens once and then he loosens it. “Have you told her how you feel about her?”

He shakes his head, scoffing, “Of course not.”

“Well then how do you know she’s not in love with you too?” Jeremy smiles.

He won’t allow Jeremy’s words to settle in his mind, won’t allow himself to even consider them. He knows he can’t. For his own sanity. For his own heart. He can’t. Because the thought of allowing him to think she may love him too only for her to choose Tom breaks his heart more than thinking she doesn’t love him at all.

“Listen. . . I’d love to sit and chat with you about this and about how fucked up my head is right now but I have a plane that I’m going to miss if I don’t haul ass to LAX,” Chris retorts, swinging his head back and forth and then turning to move closer to his bags. He raises with one in his hand, turning back toward Jeremy. “Can you please take this stuff to Taylor later?”

Jeremy grins. “You give me her address and I’d be happy to drop by.”

Chris raises his finger on his free hand, turning it toward his friend. “Do not try to hit on her or, better yet, do not try to get information from her. Give her Dodger’s stuff and leave.”

“Aye, aye Captain America,” Jeremy cackles, raising his hand to his head and saluting Chris.

He grabs another suitcase, shakes his head, and walks toward the door.

He lands in South Africa hours later, his head still hurting. It’s not tequila to blame at all this time. It’s totally Taylor and the confusion and confliction that she constantly brings to his head.

He spent his time on the airplane revisiting every detail of the previous 48 hours. Their revelations, their kisses, the book, the words.

He figured nothing out. If anything, he feels even farther from figuring anything out.

He’s in the car on his way to the hotel when he remembers to turn his phone on, it beeping instantly when it loads.

He clicks through texts from his mom and Carly, ignoring Jeremy’s when he sees one from Taylor. His heart warms when he taps on it.

A picture of Dodger sleeping, his head on her lap. The caption?

I wish I had met Dodger first. A heart emoji follows it followed then by a heartbreak emoji.

He smiles, completely envious of his lucky bastard of a dog.

He knows now, without question, this is gonna be the longest two months of his life.

Typing a message into the box, he hits send. It’s a message back to Taylor.

The heart emoji followed by the heartbreak emoji.

His life in two icons.

Two fucking icons.

His head and his heart hurting once again.

#taylor swift fanfiction #chris evans fanfiction #unexpected #chapter 8

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btsreactionsandtexts · 7 years ago

Text

Baby Girl/Boy

And if you were my little girl I'd do whatever I could do I'd run away and hide with you I love that you got daddy issues

NOTE: I’m going to leave a [TRIGGER WARNING] here, just in case others may have daddy issues or have also fallen victim to domestic violence or child abuse. I left very subtle hints of it in this little thingum, but I just want to make sure you know ahead of time just in case.

I got a little inspiration from Daddy Issues by The Neighborhood, which basically expresses why the daddy/baby girl kink hurts/triggers me.

Also; honorable mention to the anon we got once upon a time

This one is for you.

In fact, this is for everyone out there with #DaddyIssues. I know it hurts.

- Admin Dayna

Even with this padded coat, hoodie overhead, and layers of cotton, the rain still stung as it hit your burning skin.

Your head stayed bowed as it pours, staring at your feet with a quivering frown, chewing on your bottom lip. How cliché would it be if you cried right here on the pavement in the middle of the rain? You rocked on the heels and ball of your feet, impatient as the lights of passing cars flashed, disrupting the street puddles, soaking your shoes and socks. You hadn’t cared much about them now but knew it’ll worsen your mood further along the night.

How long does it take for him to get here?

It felt like you’ve been standing on the sidewalk for years. The strands of hair sticking on the back of your neck was getting uncomfortable… and you weren’t too sure how much longer your will power could hold back your need to lash out and scream.

You shoved your trembling hands in the pockets of your thick bomber, raising your head just enough to see down the winding path of the sidewalk, in hopes of finding a familiar silhouette. But there was only a couple down the street holding hands, sharing an umbrella. Suppose crying now wouldn’t be as cliché as them…

A hand rested on your shoulder, weighing it down heavy. You flinch, yanking it away and turning around to meet the face of whomever chose to touch you out of the blue.

Taehyung apologetically stood there, his guilty hand in the air, brows furrowed in concern. “Sorry.” You shake your head, not wanting him to feel bad. You were on edge anyways. He offers the umbrella at hand to you, holding it over your head, letting the rain catch him instead. You take hold of the handle, just above his own hand, stepping closer to him. You two were better of sharing. Didn’t want Armys to have your head for getting their oppa sick, now, do you? The two of you stepped forward, heading the direction of the nearest convenience store around the block. “…so?”

You kept your gaze forward as you crossed the street with him. You already knew what he was going to ask. You already knew how his face would twist and contort when you began to explain. There was no point in reliving the awkwardness that came to situations like this. So instead, you nod, humming a simple, “Mhmm.” Which got a disappointed sigh from Taehyung in response.

Nights like this was becoming frequent.

“I’m sorry, [y/n].”

“You didn’t do anything.” You say too casually. A chilling response to Tae who had gotten far too comfortable with your warmer side. You could feel his deep brown eyes watching your every move in hopes of finding a proper response. He could never find one.

“I want to do something.” Taehyung finally says, reaching out a hand as you both approached the convenience store entrance. You shrug, muttering a thank you as you stepped into the corner store and threw off your hoodie. Tae follows behind you protectively after closing and shaking off the umbrella upon entering. You reach out for your usual comfort snack – a bag of shrimp seasoned chips and a can of grape soda – and waited for him to join you at the checkout counter. Taehyung grabbed himself a small pack of strawberry jellies and approached you, however, he grabbed your hand as you reach for money to pay the cashier, and insisted on paying himself. You were reluctant to let him have his way.

The two of you now sit across one another around a tiny table inside the store. You kept your head bowed, avoiding eye contact at all cost as you struggled to open your bag of chips. He bit his bottom lip, taking the snack from your hand and opening it for you. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” You respond in almost a whisper, popping a chip in your mouth and chewing slowly.

“Did you guys fight at all?”

You nod slowly, slumping over at the memory.

“What was the fight about?” He pressed on, but you gave him no response. You instead awkwardly shift in your seat, staring at your hands as you played with your chips. “At lease look at me.” He whined, slumping over himself. You heaved an exasperated exhale, looking up at him with an attempt to a poker face, but Taehyung’s frown proven it a fail. He reached out with a gentle hand, combing back strands of wet hair from your face. “Have you been crying?”

“No.”

“Hard to believe. You look defeated.”

“Everyone loves to hear that.”

Taehyung groaned in disapproval of your comment. You mutter an apology to which he accepts with a weary smile. “You know what bothers me?” You practically hold your breath hearing him begin. “How someone can do these sorts of things to their own family.” You let out a shaky sigh. “He’s blood –“

“Taehyung –“

“ – and his job is to protect you – his own child – and protect his wife –“

“Chill out –“

“ – but he keeps hurting you, and your mother? God, how could you mom even stay with him –“

“Listen, I –“

“ – and you’ve gotten so use to it that you don’t even cry over it anymore –“

“Seriously –“

“ – you gotta let it out som –“

“Stop!” You snapped, tossing aside your chips. Taehyung sat up straight and wide eyed, surprised by your outburst. You look away huffing, making eye contact with the store clerk who stared at you both. You slump back in your chair and let yourself sink in it as you apologized with a bowed head at the cashier who eventually tore their gaze away.

“I’m sorry, jagi.”

“I know you are.” You croak, hating the feeling of the tears that threatened to fall. God, you hated crying over your father like this. You hated the vulnerability and the weakness tears stood for. You clenched your jaw, blinking them back, still averting eye contact with Taehyung who sat across of you with a nervous expression on his face.

“I just hate getting calls like this at night.”

“Yeah… should probably stop then.”

“Don’t!” He replied quickly, frantically shaking his head, “Don’t stop! Call! Always call. I want you to call me. I just… I just wish these… these sort of calls… didn’t come so often…? You know what I mean, right?” You nod with a frown.

You knew exactly what he meant. You wished just as much as he did that these sorts of calls didn’t happen. Any at all. You never knew what you wanted or expected from them anyways. Neither did Taehyung. He’d always try to talk about it, but you never wanted to. He’d always try to get you to express it somehow, but it always came out as lashing out and violence –

And you didn’t want that.

No more violence.

You dealt with that at home.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I wish I could take you with me.” He replied. You raise a brow, finally looking his way. His head was bowed for a minute until finally raised to meet gazes. “You know what your mother went through. If you were my little girl/boy, I’d do whatever I could do. I’d run away and hide with you.”

“I’d never have daddy issues.” You rub the back of your neck with a nervous chuckle.

“You wouldn’t. I’d be good to you.”

“Number one dad.”

Taehyung’s serious face broke into his infamous boxy smile. “I’d be the number one dad.” Your lips curl into a quivering smile. “One day, I’ll take you with me, I promise, Jagi. I’d take you and your brother and your mother with me. And we’d all live together. I promise. One day I’ll –“ His voice cut off. A drop of water fell on the back of your hand. You look down at it, confused as to where it came from. “Oh… oh no, [y/n]…” You glance up at Tae with blurry vision and burning eyes as he approached and began to wipe away tears on your cheek.

You hadn’t noticed you’ve been crying.

You raised your hand to wipe the tears on your own, but Taehyung grasped them instead. Intertwining his fingers with yours as he kneeled beside the chair you sat on. You watched him, your mental disordered and emotions muddled. But Tae smiled despite how heavy the atmosphere felt around you both.

“Go ahead and cry, baby girl/boy. Nobody works as hard as you. I know how much it matters to you. You had to let it out soon, go ahead and let it out.”

#bts #bts taehyung #bts v #taehyung #kim taehyung #bts scenario #bts v scenario #taehyung scenarios #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #bts drabble #taehyung drabble

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nocturna131 · 8 years ago

Text

The Iron King (Part 7)

Fanfiction.net

Rated M

Summary:The former warrior prince has claimed the throne and rules his kingdom in peace. But the neighboring King Natsu rubs in his face that Gajeel remains unwed poses a frustrating question. What is a King without his Queen? Natsu’s wife Queen Lucy brings a certain blue friend along with her to the duel between Kings. What will happen when he lays eyes on Lucys friend Lady McGarden?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Thoughts are expressed in this format.

Support My Writing on my Koi-fi account!

What is gong on?! Feeling tears run down her face as questions raced through her head. She struggled to stay on the horse as it galloped down the path.

Her hair was a mess as the black headband slipped off at one point.

Knuckles turning white as she gripped the reins tighter feeling a sob escape her. Why did this have to happen? The castle gates came into her blurry view.

Almost there.

Karma Demon neighed loudly at the guards who started to rush towards her at sight of Gajeel’s horse galloping towards them.

Slowing down quickly as possible on the cobblestone before the guards, trying compose herself.

“What happened my Lady? Where is the King?” A guard questioned as they ran up to Levy.

“These two men…they just appeared saying someone wanted him dead!” Her voice nearly cracking from the distress. “He just jumped off the horse and told me to go.”

“Please we need to help him!”

The guard nodding before telling the guard next to him to get some men to join on horse back.

Looking back the path they took earlier with worry still etched on her face.

Levy wiped her eyes and looked at the guard who gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry our King wouldn’t go down easily.

“Boze we have the men getting ready!” The guard rushed back over to them leading a white horse by the reins handing them to Boze.

“Just give us a few more minutes Lady McGarden.” Red haired guard stated before bowing and running back to the stables.

Levy taking a deep breath to calm down giving her a clear head and loosening her grip slightly on the reins.

Climbing up onto his own horse and riding up next to her with his own horse who was slightly dwarfed in size.

Several uneasy minutes passed by with Demon shifting his weight under her wanting to get back to its master.

Stroking the horse and feeling herself calm down after the shock from the events. “Do you know who would want him dead?”

Her reddish eyes looking at Boze who shook his head. “No….”

Looking at her and pushing back his glasses. “I really wish I had an answer. But many would love to had the Kings head.”

Hearing the rest of the men and their horses trotting over to Levy she looked at Boze who nodded. “Looks like we are ready.”

Gripping the reins again and slightly to face the men. Straightening up in the saddle with a determine look in her eyes. “Let go!”

Karma Demon neighed before turning back towards the path breaking out into a gallop with Boze next to her with the rest of the men behind them.

Gajeel I hope you are ok…..

Grunting as he pushed back the archer who blocked the sword with his bow but the force of the push cracked the bow damaging it heavily.

The green haired man stumbling back with a curse and throwing the now useless bow to the ground. He then pulled out his own sword charging towards Gajeel.

Bracing as he blocked the blow, Gajeel could felt his muscles tense up before he overpowered the other man sending him stumbling back. “Who sent you?”

Listening as the green haired man crackled again. “What’s the point?” Watching as man lifting his sword up. “Not like the dead talk anyway.”

Gajeel smirking at the man and cockily dropped his sword down slightly while mocking him. “Alright you better start talking then.”

His red eyes watched in amusement as the man screamed at him before charging wildly at him. Paring with his own sword and disarming him as he sidestepped.

Grabbing the shoulder and roughly pinning him into the ground with knee in the man’s back feeling the satisfaction of the man howling in pain as he put more weight into it.

“Talk!” Gajeel growled at the man pointing his sword at the neck.

“Screw you!” The man hissed at him before letting another pained cry as Gajeel gripped at the shoulder harder feeling the claws sinking through the fabric and into the flesh.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blond haired man flying through the air and into a tree before sliding limply down onto the ground. Good job Lily.

Smirking down at the pinned man. “Looks like your buddy wasn’t so lucky with Lily there so I’d start talking now.”

Feeling the man labored breathing he knew it wasn’t much longer before he would cave in from the pain and fear. The man nodded weakly not making eye contact.

“Good. Now who sent you?” Gajeel demanded while not moving his sword away.

“Jose….”

Gritting his teeth and hissing at the man. “What?!”

The man squirmed in pain as Gajeel involuntary gripped again at the name mentioned. “He wants you dead.” Cried out in agony.

“Where is he?” Easing up on his grip slightly so the man would not pass out from pain. “He’s here.” The man grunted out.

“You rat show yourself!” Gajeel yelled out. Knocking the man out and standing up as blood dripped from the claws.

He locked his eyes on the slim figure that stepped out from behind the large tree.

Jose cackled at him. “Seems this trash here couldn’t even put a scratch on you, how disappointing.

Lily running over to him. “Gajeel stop.” Clamping a hand on his friends shoulder he could see his eyes filled with furry.

Yanking his shoulder away from the hand and snapping. “You know what he has done Lily!”

“And you will be killed if you rush into like this.” Lily pleaded at him.

“Yes just like your father was killed Gajeel.” Jose sadistically taunted at him as he walked toward him.

“You seem to have changed since the last time I saw you my King.” Jose sneering the title. “Letting yourself have a soft spot for a blue haired women how careless of you.”

Cocking his head to the side. “Be a shame if she was your undoing.”

Gajeel’s eye widened. No! “What are you planning?”

Unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Gajeel. “First I kill you and then take your Kingdom from you.”

Jose’s face twisting into a screwed up smile. “Now I would need a Queen wouldn’t I and that pretty little women of yours would be perfect.”

Gajeel could not contain the anger he felt towards the man as his body shook in rage.

“GAJEEL STOP!” Lily shouted as he watched him rush at Jose letting out a roar of bloody murder.

“DON”T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!” Gajeel shouted at Jose as he clashed with him only feeling his rage growing as Jose just sickeningly smiled at him.

“Does that bother you? Seems I’ve hit a sore spot.” Laughing at him as Gajeel shoved him back before aiming for his neck.

Missing as only enraged him further but his own experience kicking in and quickly putting space between them as he knew his emotions was affecting his aim.

Shoulders still tense as he breathed deeply while they circled each other. “You have no honor do you.”

Gripping at the sword as the memory flashed through his head. “Targeting me to get to my father.”

Metalicana rested under the shade of the tree as he watched Gajeel sparing with Lily. Practicing in the mountains was preferred by him and trained his own son the same way.

The wind blowing through his short silver hair as dark clouds moved in blocking the sun. Laughing slightly as he watched his son try to take Lily down with some frustration.

Wrinkles around his eyes crinkling as he grinned when Gajeel knocked back Lily sending the sword flying.

Standing up before walking over to him and slapping Gajeel on the back. “Good job. You might just have a chance to finally beat me in a duel.”

Rolling his eyes and turning to face his father with his own grin. “Yeah yeah whatever you say old man.”

“Lets get back home.” Metalicana turning to walk back to the horses with his back towards him. “Wendy must be wondering where we are.”

Gajeel nodding. “Alright, she must be worried..” his sentence being cut off as he was slammed into the ground harshly by someone.

His head was spinning as he tried to figure out what just happened, he could faintly hear his father calling out his name as he was struck with a hard object.

Blood dripping from his head as whatever slammed him down was thrown to the side and large paws lifted him back up.

“Gajeel are you ok?” Lily asked as he moved in-between him and the attacker.

Stumbling to the side slightly as looked past Lily to the tall figure. “Head took a hard blow but I will be fine.” he grunted out.

“Who the heck is he?”

Trying his best to focus on the man who’s face twisted into sickening smile as he clutched his dagger. “Well I didn’t expect it to be so easy knock you down.”

Metalicana approached the attacker, eye’s narrowing as he noted that Gajeel was lucky to be standing from that blow to the head, a blooded rock not that far from them.

“Lily take him back.” Puling out his sword and stepping in front of them. “This man is not meant to be taken lightly.” Metalicana circled the man cursing his luck by not being prepared for a fight.

Gajeel struggling as Lily dragged him back towards the horses. “I can still fight!”

Snapping back at Gajeel. “No this man is Jose the Phantom Mercenary.” Feeling the chainmail shift as he moved. “You are in no position to help especially against him.”

Jose rushed at Metalicana who parried his attack before slipping past him to target Gajeel who freed himself from Lily’s grip.

Gajeel grunting as the pain from the blow was intensified as he moved refusing to let his father fight alone.

Jose aiming for his gut he twisted his body away from the dagger before knocking it from his grip before Gajeel’s footing failing him as he leaving himself open for an attack.

Metalicana grabbed Gajeel by his tunic turning to the side throwing him to the ground as Jose pulled another dagger aiming for his back.

Landing on his back Gajeel watched in horror as the blade pierced the chainmail and into Metalicana’s back. Seeing his father slump forward and hit the ground hard.

“FATHER!” He cried out feeling Lily helping him up to his feet again looking as stunned as he was. “He needs to die Lily.” Gritting his teeth while pulling out his own dagger.

Running forward towards Jose who was gloating in his victory stabbing him in the shoulder. Only feeling some satisfaction as Jose cursed at the pain.

His small victory was short lived as Jose punched him in the head forcing him to step back allowing him to escape.

Lily was trying his best to slow down the bleeding as Gajeel ran over to his father. “Is he?…..” he hesitated asking holding his own head.

Laying the body back to the ground knowing his efforts were in vain and nodding. “Yes he’s gone…”

Gajeel falling to his knees as tear’s flowed freely clenching his teeth. “If I only saw Jose coming then…” Feeling himself shake as the loss hit him hard. “None of this would have happened.”

“Gajeel we need to get him back.” Lily urged him. “Word will spread that Metalicana is gone and other Kingdoms might try to invade…we need to be prepared.”

“The Kingdom might be in danger now.”

An eerie silence fell between them as Gajeel stood up with a dark look on his face as he looked down his hand covered in blood.

“His head it's mine.” Gripping his hand and looking back at Lily. “and I will not let anyone get in my way.”

Jose made the first move. “Who cares about honor.” Clashing again with Gajeel who stood his ground. “Your father is dead and I’m still here.

The blades scraping together as both of them tried to overpower each other.

Dodging to the side as Gajeel let his blade down causing Jose to fall forward.

Kicking him in the back sending Jose to the ground he aimed his blade between plates of armor.

Jose’s face twisting in pain as Gajeel twisted his blade though the back. “This is the pain he had to go through!”

Ignoring Lily’s shouts as he lifted his sword up over his head. “This is for Metalicana!” He shouted before swinging it down.

Splatter of blood covered Gajeel’s face as he watch the head roll from the now limp body. The sword falling to the ground as he let go breathing heavily as the adrenaline wore off.

It’s finally done. Turning around to face Lily he was caught off guard to instead see Levy standing a short distance away.

“Levy…why? I told you to go away.” Taking a step back in shock not wanting to look at her.

“I couldn’t leave you…” Levy softly speaking to not upset him walking towards him.

The armor never felt as heavy as it did now, looking at his hands noticing the dried blood on it. “You saw me kill him didn’t you?”

Nodding her head. “Yes…” She could see him flinch slightly at her answer as she stood in front of him.

“I’m a monster, can’t you see that?” Hands shaking as he tried to regain control nearly jumping out his skin as a delicate pair of hands grasped them.

“Levy don’t…” Gajeel began before being cut off. “No listen to me. You did want you had to do to protect me.”

Eyeing the beheaded man quickly before looking up at Gajeel. “Boze told me who that man was when we rode up.”

Blood still covered his feared filled face knowing she had witnessed what he had done. “He’s the one that killed your father right?” Her hand reaching up to wipe the blood from his cheek.

Nodding his head numbly before falling to his knees holding her close to him in his lap. “I had to do it.” His voice muffled against her.

Levy feeling his body shake against hers she slipped her arms around his neck as Gajeel rested his face against her shoulder.

“Its alright.” Stroking his hair as his arms tightened around her waist all she could do was place a kiss on his head. “I doesn’t change the fact that I still want you Gajeel.”

His head snapping up looking shocked. “Why? I don’t deserve you.”

Resting her forehead against his and smiling softly. “Yes you do and I’m not leaving.” Kissing him lightly and nipping at his lips playfully before pulling back seeing his face break into a grin.

“Let go back home Gajeel.”

“Gihi. Yes.” Closing the space between them and kissing her deeply.

I have to ask her to be my Queen.

Author notes:

Don’t worry there is still more to come, this was just a little longer to write. I’m just happy I was able to include Boze and Sue from the Phantom Lord Arc being anime only characters in this story.

#the iron king #the iron king part 7 #fanfic #fanfiction #gajeel redfox #levy mcgarden #gajevy #fairy tail

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