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heyyyharry · 4 years ago

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Deep End - Chapter 6: Andersen’s Fairy Tales

…in which Harry teaches Ezi how to read.

Word count: 4k

AU: famous!harry, siren!mc, adult modern retelling of the little mermaid? lol, fake dating, enemies to lovers.

WARNING: MATURE THEMES

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A/N: please please let me know what you think. I can't write without motivation 😭

When Harry finally decided to answer his mother’s call, he had prepared himself for some verbal ass-whooping. He was twenty-four years old, a celebrity and a millionaire, yet still getting scolded by his mother on a daily basis. Life was good.

“Is your date okay?” The first thing his mother said to him was this. At first, Harry thought he’d misheard it. But then she repeated the question in a more urgent and concerning tone. “Harry, is Ezili okay?”

His mother had never remembered the name of any girl he’d brought home. His mother always had a lot to say about the way those girls had dressed, talked, and carried themselves. Had Ezi charmed his mother with her siren magic?

Harry shuddered at the thought. “Y-Yeah...why?”

“Dawson told me you and Bax got into a fight at the manor.”

Harry smacked his forehead. Fucking Dawson. “How did Dawson know?”

“He found Bax lying on the floor.”

Although Harry hated to recall that night because he couldn’t imagine how scared Ezi must have been, it was funny to think about how pathetic Bax must have looked when Dawson had found him. The mental image made Harry laugh. “See?” he told his mother. “It wasn’t a fight if it was one-sided. I beat him up.”

His mother exhaled sharply. Harry could imagine her with her eyes closed, shaking her head. “The only reason I will let you get away with fighting your cousin in my house is because I know what he was trying to do with Ezili. So I called to ask if she was okay.”

“She’s okay. Don’t worry. I think she also scared him.”

“She’s a woman. Any strong woman would’ve been terrified in that situation,” said Harry’s mum. “I feel bad for having let that happen. I shouldn’t have invited him.”

“It’s not your fault, Mum. He’s always been scum.”

There was a pause, and Harry knew exactly what his mother was going to say. “Bax’s parents have always hated us. They envy your father. I think they’re trying to sabotage our wine business. Maybe if you’d change your mind--”

“Mum, we’ve talked about this,” Harry sighed. “I love my career. I can’t...I’m not a businessman like Dad. Isn’t Dawson doing a good job managing our family business already?”

“He is. But I know your father would’ve wanted it to be you.” When Harry stayed quiet, his mother knew it was a sign that this topic shouldn’t be continued, so she switched to another. “You should invite Ezili to lunch at the manor.”

“Mum, that wouldn’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense! Her first time in our house and she got absolutely traumatised. I’ll make up for it. I’ll send you an invitation in the afternoon.”

“Mum, there’s no need for an in--”

But his Mum already hung up on him.

Sighing, Harry sunk back into his chair. A staff member knocked on the door and informed him that he would have to return to the set in fifteen minutes. He told them he got it and intended to call his mum again and try to talk her out of the lunch thing with Ezi. That was when he got another call.

“Don’t tell me someone’s injured. It’s only been an hour.”

“Worse!” Niall screamed. “Dawson kidnapped the girl!”

Ezili didn’t know if the bookstore was small or Harry’s house was just too big, but she liked the cosiness of it in contrast to what she’d always been used to. There were bookshelves climbing all the way up to the ceiling. The walls were covered with hundreds of books of all sizes, and there were dozens of piles on the floor in the corners as well. But seeing that most of the furniture was covered in dust, Ezili guessed they didn’t often have visitors.

She wondered why nobody wanted to come into this fascinating place. She loved books even though she couldn’t read or write. She’d found a few books in her room and some of them had pictures, but she could only guess what the stories were about. So she wanted to read, but it would be something her mother would never approve of. If she learned to read, she’d become a laughing stock for her kind for sure.

Entering the bookstore, Ezili and Dawson were greeted by an old lady with crazy chestnut hair that looked like she was wearing a fluffy dog on her head. Her eyes were huge behind those thick round glasses that gave her a psychotic kind of look that absolutely terrified Ezili.

“Hello, love birds,” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. Ezili could not take her eyes off the shiny wires attached to this lady’s teeth. They sparkled every time she opened her mouth. This woman must be rich if she wore silver on her teeth.

“Oh, we’re not birds,” Ezili said as she pulled Chilli tighter to her chest.

The crazy lady hugged her stomach and burst out laughing. “She’s a funny girl,” she told Dawson, pointing to Ezili, then her face turned serious. “But no cats allowed.”

“She’s with me. Her name is Chilli and she’s very nice--”

“She can stay here while you pick your books.” Before Ezili could protest, the lady took the black cat and put it on the counter. “So what are you looking for?”

“Thank you. We’ll just have a look around,” Dawson said with a tight smile and pulled Ezili with him. They turned into one of the aisles and heard the lady telling them she’d be here if they needed help. What kind of help would you need in a bookstore? It wasn’t like books would attack you.

“The Book of Wisdom,” Dawson said as he took out one colourful book from a higher shelf. Ezili peered over his arm as he scrutinised the front cover. He smelled like coconut and summer, which reminded her of those tropical islands she’d visited with her mother. And the fact that he was a lot taller than her made her want to bury her face into his chest to get soaked in that homely smell. But then she remembered what Harry had taught her about consent. Realising her chest was touching his arm, she stepped back and felt him relax a bit more. She hoped he didn’t think she was sexually hairdressing him. She had no idea why they called it hairdressing, and she kept forgetting to ask Harry.

“Hey, why do they call it hairdre--”

“Lesson 1: Be polite.”

Ezili jumped and hid behind Dawson’s back, her heart pounding violently. “Did the book just..talk?”

“Yeah, it’s a talking book for children,” Dawson chuckled. “I like your sense of humour.”

He flipped to a new page and the book talked again, “Remember, kids, if you accidentally raise your voice with someone, always apologise to them. It’s not nice to yell at other people.”

Ezili couldn’t decide if she was in awe or creeped out by the talking book. Maybe a little bit of both. But then her eyes zeroed in on a picture of a beautiful siren on one of the covers. She passed Dawson to try and was trying to reach for the book when his hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see him grab the book without effort and hand it to her with a smile.

“You like this? It’s the new edition of Andersen’s Fairy Tale.”

“The Little Mermaid!”

“Yes.” Dawson’s eyes squinted behind his glasses. “You’ve never read Andersen’s Fairy Tales?”

“I have,” Ezili lied, hugging the book to her chest. “I want this book.”

“Great. I’ll buy it for you. As a gift.”

Harry had told Ezili that humans couldn’t just take the things they found because they would get arrested, and apparently, they couldn’t fight and kill each other for things either. It didn’t sound fair and was kind of stupid. Why were humans so dependent on these stupid papers they called money? Ezili couldn’t understand how their inferior brains worked sometimes.

“Hey, look,” Dawson said, holding up his phone that was buzzing in his hand. “Harry’s calling.”

Ezili couldn’t care less about Harry now. She let Dawson speak to him while she flipped through the book to look at pictures. But...why was there a picture of the prince and another girl? Didn’t he marry Ariel? She tried to look for the ones that revealed the new ending, which was apparently different from what she’d seen on the telly, but the rest of the chapter was just text and no pictures. She hated this. She wished she could read.

“Yeah, she’s here with me. The bookstore is just a few blocks near your house…” Dawson finished the call with Harry and turned back to Ezili. “He’s coming to pick you up.”

She found it strange that Harry would speak about Dawson with such hatred, like the way Koa would speak about Ezili, while Dawson had always been so nice about Harry. She couldn’t recall him saying anything bad about Harry when in fact, she could go on and on for days about Harry’s bad qualities. And she’d only known him for a week!

“Why doesn’t Harry like you?”

The question seemed to have caught Dawson by surprise, but he was quick to put on a smile.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m helping his mum run the business his father left for him. But he was the one who didn’t want it. He wanted to become a singer.”

“Harry’s mother doesn’t want him to be a singer?”

“No.”

Ezili closed the book and gave an understanding nod. “My mother never lets me do things I like, either. She never thinks I’m good enough because I’m not like her.”

“I’m sure your mother loves you,” Dawson said. Ezili liked the twinkle in his eyes and tenderness in his voice when he reassured her. Maybe he had a special gift that only sirens had. The gift to charm anybody they wanted. “Every mother has their own burdens and loves us in a different way.”

“But...if they love us, should they want us to be happy?”

Ezili didn’t know where that had come from. For the last twenty years of her life, she had never once thought of this. Why now? Why now that she decided that she could have been happier if her mother hadn’t been the way she was? But sirens were all supposed to be the way her mother was. Cold and dangerous like the ocean itself. So did it mean...did it mean her mother and sister were right? That she was too weak and emotional to become Queen?

“Ezi!”

The sound of her name pulled her out of her own head. She snapped her head up to find Harry padding toward her. He looked just like that night when he’d scolded her for biting his cousin. She hated this Harry.

“Let’s go home,” he told her coldly.

Before she could reply, he took her wrist and pulled her with him. The book fell to her feet and she was too appalled to even pick it up. She was about to remind Harry that Dawson was standing right there, but then she realised Harry had intentionally ignored his cousin.

“Ezili, your book!”

Harry and Ezi stopped before they got into the car parked out front. Dawson handed her the book and beamed. “I already paid for it.”

“Thank you.”

“Very nice. Get in, Ezi.”

Dawson seemed slightly annoyed by Harry’s attitude, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he gave Ezili another gentle smile and told her he’d see her another time. Then, he went back inside the bookstore.

Ezili wished she could have stayed with him.

“Rescue mission accomplished!” said an energetic voice as Ezili got into the back of the car. A stranger she had never seen before peered around the passenger seat and smiled at her before he started speaking in a funny accent, “You’re welcome, by the way. The name’s Niall.”

Chilli was sitting on Niall’s lap, licking her own paw, which showed that she was comfortable around Niall, and Niall wasn’t an enemy. To human Ezili, of course. All humans were enemies to sirens.

“I’m Ezili,” Ezili said, then, she recognised the funny accent. “You’re Niall...Horan?”

“You know me?”

Ezili could feel her grin stretch from ear to ear. “I saw you on TikTok! You’re so funny.”

“Look, H, a fan!” Niall exclaimed as he shook Harry’s shoulder, but Harry didn’t react as he manoeuvred the car back onto the road. “I like her already.” Niall laughed. “I’m Harry’s best friend. Are you following my TikTok?”

“Yeah. I’ve watched every single one.”

“Good, good, good,” Niall said, nodding slowly. He turned to the front and back to Ezili immediately. “Also, I’m sorry about what happened to you. The accident must have been awful.”

“What?”

“Niall,” Harry growled. “Seatbelt.”

Niall flinched. “Sorry.”

Frowning, Ezili hugged her new book and sunk into her seat. She hated this Harry. He reminded her of a whale with a toothache, and even with that image in mind, she still couldn’t laugh. That was how angry she was with him. Yes, she was angry with him being angry with her. And for pulling her out of that beautiful bookstore. For making her drop her book. For holding her hostage like a prisoner. For being rude to Dawson. She hated him. She hated Harry Styles.

So when they’d arrived home and he told her to go inside and hang with Niall, she had to chase after him and let him know how much she hated him.

“Harry Styles!” She called when they reached the white stairs leading to the enormous courtyard where he’d parked his car. “Why are you upset? You have no right to be mad at me after you lied to me.”

Harry stopped halfway down the stairs; it seemed like Ezili’s words had finally hit him. He slowly spun around with a stunned expression as if she’d accused him of manslaughtering. “I didn’t lie to you,” he said, his jaw tight. “I told you to stay in your room. You were grounded.”

“You didn’t tell me that you’d leave me with your assistant and Niall!”

“But I didn’t lie to you.”

“Telling half-truths is telling lies.”

Harry held Ezili’s gaze for a long moment before he started ascending the stairs. She stiffened as he stopped right in front of her, leaned in, and stared.

“Oh, so you’re so honest, aren’t you?” he asked in a mocking tone. “You’ve never lied to me?”

“Never,” she said confidently.

Well, that was also a lie. But since when had Ezili felt bad for lying? She’d eaten men like him. Why did his presence now make her nervous?

She hated that the more she stayed human the more human she became. That thought terrified her even more than the possibility of getting caught and killed in this foreign land.

“I’ve never lied in my entire life,” she added, making Harry's eyes grow wide.

He said nothing, and when he turned to leave, she hurriedly followed him down the stairs. “Speechless by my honesty?” she asked.

“Speechless by the lies that come out of your mouth,” he said. “Is your name even Ezi?”

“No, it’s Ezili.”

Harry let out a scoff but he didn’t stop, so Ezili grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. Hard.

“Shit! How are you so strong?” he cried out, facing her again.

“Apologise.”

“What?”

Ezili folded her arms across her chest and sharpened her gaze. “Apologise right now.”

“For what?”

“For yelling at me.”

“And why should I apologise for yelling at you?”

Ezili bit her lip. The voice inside her head told her to push him down the stairs. She could just say it was an accident, and no one could prove that she’d done it. However, she needed him alive. Sucking in a breath, she said, “Because that’s what decent people do. A talking book told me that.”

“You mean those children's books you found in the bookstore,” Harry taunted, giving her a despiteful smirk.

She scowled at him even harder. “Apologise.”

“Fine,” he breathed. “I apologise for yelling at you. Now you apologise for stealing my cat.”

“I tried to save Chilli. You see, your assistant said something about the Master of the House being dead. I thought you were dead. But she was only talking about a show--”

“Yeah, famous Netflix show. It’s good. But that’s still no excuse for taking my cat.”

“Fine.” Ezili glared at him. “I’m sorry for stealing your cat.”

“And for getting into Dawson’s car.”

“And for leaving with him and liking him.”

“And for—What is your problem with Dawson?”

Instead of answering the question, Harry pulled out his phone, looked at it, and then told Ezili, “Go inside. We’ll continue this talk when I get back.”

He was just about to run when she pulled him back by his sleeve. He gave her a ‘what do you want?’ kind of look as she stammered, “When...when you get back…”

“Yeah?” He stressed out the word, an eyebrow arched impatiently.

“Can you teach me how to read?”

“What?”

“Teach me to read. Are you deaf?”

“You can’t read?”

When Ezili shook her head, Harry’s frown transformed into a smile. “That explains a lot.”

She smacked him on the arm and he gasped and leapt down two steps.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing! Why are you so aggressive?” Harry winced and backed away from her. “We’ll talk about this later. Now go inside and film a TikTok with Niall or something. I’m late for a photoshoot.”

Ezili opened her mouth to ask him what time he’d be home, but Harry had already run back to his car.

Harry got home at around 10 PM. He’d had a rough day. His manager had been furious because he had run out on a magazine photoshoot without saying a word to anyone. In his defence, he’d been in a rush, and couldn’t figure out an excuse to cover up for the fact that he’d almost let a mythical creature get loose. He shouldn’t have been so careless and left her with his assistant and Niall. That was his fault. Also, he could never think straight when he was angry. He thought about the look Ezili had given him when he’d pulled her out of the bookstore. The look Dawson had given him. Fucking Dawson. If it wasn’t for him, Harry wouldn’t have had to be mean to Ezi.

“Hey.”

“Jesus!” Harry shouted when the light switched on and he saw Ezili sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room. “Wha--Why are you on the floor? Get up.”

“This is Chilli’s favourite spot so I thought I might try to see how comfortable it is. Pretty uncomfortable, I must say.”

Harry rolled his eyes and offered Ezi a hand to help her get to her feet. “Why are you still awake?”

She pulled away from him and rushed over to the table to grab the book Dawson had given her. She shoved it at him. “You promised to teach me to read. This is a collection of fairy tales. Andersen’s Fairy Tales. I noticed that one of the details from The Little Mermaid story was different from the film, so I want to know how the story actually ends in the book.”

Harry sighed as he took the book and looked at the cover. When he glanced up, Ezi was giving him these big puppy dog’s eyes with her hands clasped together in front of her chest. “It’s late,” he said tiredly.

She shook her head. “You promised!”

“I can just tell you the ending.”

“No, I want to read!”

“Fine, fine.” He put his hands up, left palm out, the other holding the book. “I guess there’s still time to teach you the alphabet then we’ll call it a day.”

Harry could have sworn he had never seen anyone as excited about learning as Ezi was, which was quite amusing, he must admit. So they sat on the couch as he taught her the alphabet and how to put letters into words. She was a fast learner, so it didn’t take long for her to memorise everything.

“It’s been three hours and I still can’t read,” Ezili whined as she hit him with a pillow.

Shocked, Harry blinked at her. “That’s not how learning works. You need time.”

“You said my brain was more developed!”

“Yeah, but still!”

Scowling, Ezi kicked Harry’s feet. “You’re the worst teacher ever. I’ll never get to know how it ends.”

“Okay, Miss Drama Queen,” Harry scoffed. “How about I read you the story now, and when you can read on your own, you can practice by rereading it?”

Ezi thought for a moment, then the line between her brows eased, and she nodded once. “But you must teach me everyday until I can read.”

“Fine,” Harry breathed as he opened the book. His body stiffened when Ezi suddenly leaned on him like he was a pillow, her cheek against his arm, and he could feel every beat of her heart.

“Go on,” she urged him, giving him a nudge.

He cleared his throat and opened the book, trying to distract his naughty mind with the innocent words of a fairy tale.

Far out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower, and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could fathom it: many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed; the most singular flowers and plants grow there; the leaves and stems of which are so pliant, that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches, as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the deepest spot of all, stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long, gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells, that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl, which would be fit for the diadem of a queen...

By the time they’d finished one-third of the story, Ezi had already fallen asleep with her head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry wished he’d read this to her in bed so he wouldn’t have to carry her upstairs now. She was small and slender, but he’d had a bad day, so even the littlest inconvenience could bring down his mood. Cursing under his breath, he picked her up and carried her to the stairs as she curled against his chest like a little cat.

When her eyelids fluttered, he thought she was going to jolt awake, but then her brows knitted, and she murmured, “Mother, please...give me more time. I will bring you the heart…the heart...”

He chuckled and put her down on the bed.

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 5 years ago

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Addicted to You

Part IV: Crazy on You

Summary/Author's Note: The mission starts to go off the rails as a certain someone starts to get a taste of greed. Frankie deals with the dark parts of his soul and worries how you'll react to seeing such things. (Thank you so much for your support of me and this fic. Part I became my first fic to reach 300 notes and I cannot believe it was a Frankie fic, but he deserves the love.)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Pope's Sister!Reader Word Count: 5.3k (apparently I cannot shut up about Frankie) Warnings/Ratings: 18+ -- Stone cold murder, blood and gore, greed, language, panic attack, hurt/comfort, stress, a lot of violence--like a LOT, fucking TOM. (<<< This warning came back lmfao)

Part I * Part II * Part III

[MASTERLIST]

Frankie's hand in yours was like an anchor keeping you from giving in to the anxiety bubbling up inside your gut. They should have been wanting to leave the house, not going up another flight of stairs deeper into the mansion. The tension in the back of Frankie's shoulders was palpable and you wanted to reach out and put your hand in the middle of his back. He glanced over his shoulder at you and you tried your best to give him a reassuring smile.

"What's going on, Tom?" Frankie asked as the two of you cleared the threshold of the office and looked around.

Lorea's office was larger than any of the bedrooms had been. Expensive black oak bookshelves were on each wall and they matched the leather furniture and dark polished desk. The rain continued to pound against the windows and as a crack of thunder rattled the glass panels, you gripped Frankie's hand tightly. He turned and pulled you against his side as he leaned against one of the side tables. Your shoulders didn't relax however until you felt his nose against your hair, pressing a chaste kiss to the top of your head.

"We got nothin," Will hooked his fingers in the front of his vest. "This guy's a ghost."

"What?" Frankie looked around as Benny stormed out of the adjacent room.

"The fuck!?" He cursed as he tossed two fistfuls of limp duffle bags on the ground. "Nothing but empty bags!"

"And Lorea? Pope?" Tom said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at your brother like a disappointed father. Everyone seemed to take a moment and look at Pope as he stared blankly at the empty bags on the ground at his feet.

"He's gone. With the money." Will shrugged.

"Your girl gave us up, Pope." Frankie said as he raised his head from your hair and looked at his friend. "We gotta get the fuck out of here."

Pope took his hat off and squeezed the bill between his hands as he looked around worriedly. "No, no, no," he shook his head and ran a hand down his face before cursing. "No, no--fuck."

"Wait--" You interrupted, moving slightly away from the shelter of Frankie's body so they could hear you. "It might be still here."

"What do you mean, baby?" Frankie asked, keeping his hand in the small of your back and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Before," you swallowed hard and glanced at Tom before looking back to your brother. "Before they put me in the spare bedroom--they were painting. So much paint. All through the night."

"What does that matter?" Tom asked curtly.

Pope's eyes widened slightly as he put his hat back on backwards and pointed at you. "Shit--" he looked back at Tom. "What does that smell like to you?" His nostrils flared and he started looking around on the floor.

"Like a serious fuck up, man," Frankie bit his lip and Benny chuckled.

"No, she's right," Pope pointed to the wall nearest to him, and then to the cans of paint that were piled just outside the door. "It's fucking paint."

All of the men looked at the walls and took note for the first time of the crisp shine that lay on the fresh top coat. Parts of the room still looked wet to the naked eye, and rolls of painter's tape lay in various forgotten places on the floor and along the baseboards.

"The house is the safe," Tom whispered as he lowered his gun and moved away from where he was leaning on the desk. "The house is the fucking safe."

"The house is the safe," Pope nodded as a smile broke out on his face. He turned and crossed the few feet to you, putting his hands on the sides of your face and kissing you on the forehead. "You're a fucking genius, hermana."

Pope walked towards the closest wall and pulled out his hunting knife. He kept it sheathed and used the blunt handle to start hitting. The drywall was thin, and crumbled easily under the force in a dusting of white and chunks of paint and insulation. Just like you all had concluded each section of the wall was filled with stacks upon stacks of bundles of cash. Pope picked up a bundle and turned around slowly to show it to the others--a large grin plastered on his face.

"Holy shit," Benny moved to a wall opposite of Pope and started hitting the drywall with his elbow, over and over, until he had a wall big enough to start pulling the sheet rock down with his hands. "Will! Help me, man!"

Will joined his brother as they slid the large table to the side and took down the giant oil painting that covered most of the wall. Each of them started ripping and soon bundles of money were falling into the floor from the force of their search.

"Holy shit!" Benny said again.

Each of them laughed and cursed, hooped and hollered, as they broke down each individual wall and revealed the cash underneath. Frankie made sure you stepped back before he took out his own knife and started helping.

"We need bags," Pope called.

"I got it," Will nodded, tossing a couple of the duffles to them.

"Keep 'em coming, man!" Benny said, catching the canvas and dropping to his knees to start shoveling hundred dollar bills into the bags.

Frankie paused for a moment and looked at Pope with a serious look on his face. "What's wrong, Fish?" Pope asked.

"If the money’s still here, it means he’s still here." Frankie said, glancing back at you before back to the other man.

He was right. It made you look over your shoulder cautiously for any sign of the narcos lurking in the shadows. However, no one was in the room except the six of you.

"He's gone man!" Benny called as he toppled one of the armchairs away from the wall and got to work on an untouched part of the room. "There's more over here!"

"Back wall, too!" Will called.

"Concentrate boys," Tom snarled, shoving fistfulls of cash bundles into a bag of his own. "How much time we got??"

"Eight minutes!" The Miller brothers said in unison from the opposite side of the room.

They were all panting with the exertion of breaking the sides of the house and hustling to get as much of the stash into the duffle bags as they could, tossing them into the threshold of the office once they were zipped up and ready to go. The uneasy feeling was back in your stomach and you moved back over to Frankie's side and put your hand on his arm. "Cat--" you started to whisper but Tom yelled over you.

"Start getting this shit down to the van," he barked, tossing another bag onto the pile. "Keep your eyes open, do you hear me?"

Frankie looked at you with eyes so gentle it made your heart ache. It had been so long and yet with him standing in front of you it was as if he had spent the night in your bed just days ago. Without speaking, it was as if he understood what you were trying to tell him. You wanted to get the hell out of that mansion--money be damned.

"We'll do it," Frankie spoke up, breaking your gaze to look at Tom. "(Y/n) and I will go get the van and start loading up. We need to go."

"Good plan," Will nodded, handing his bag off to you instead of tossing it, with a reassuring smile.

"I can tell you one thing man," Pope, laughed as he and Tom continued to use both hands to shovel money onto the floor. "You can tell your girls they can stop studying, because Daddy's going to buy their way into Harvard!"

"Yeah, bitches!" Benny said with another cackle.

Frankie tossed another bag over his shoulder and made sure you were with him before moving out of the office and down the steps. Will was close on your heels as he passed Frankie and said, "I'll go get the van."

"Be careful," Frankie nodded.

The two of you made it to the breezeway that framed the driveway in place of a garage. The cool air felt good on your skin and the rain smelled refreshing as you stood in a spot that it hadn't managed to blow in on. Getting out of that house felt like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders and with the relaxation came the ache of your tired muscles. Frankie told you to stay put and he made a couple more trips as they continued to toss him bags of money down the staircase. He was not subtle in the fact that you were never out of his sight for more than a handful of seconds. Each time he came back to throw more bags onto the pile, he touched your arm as if to reassure himself that you were real.

Will backed the van up and as soon as it got into position, Frankie hit the back doors with the palm of his hand, signaling a stop. He threw open the double doors and started loading.

"You guys stay here," Will said after he hopped out of the driver's side. "Get it loaded up and Benny and I will do the running."

"Sounds good." Frankie nodded and kept moving, working methodically to get as much into the back as was possible. It was like a game of real life Tetris.

You handed him bag after bag, finally speaking up as the van started to become full to the brim. "Cat--" you started again and he paused to look at you. "We need to go. Please."

It was the 'please' that got him. The look in your eyes that said if you spent another minute in this god forsaken mansion, it would break you. You had watched your crew die, you had been manhandled, tied up, and left alone. And now that he had come to the rescue, you needed as much distance between yourself and this place as humanly possible. His eyes softened and crinkled lightly around the edges, lines that hadn't been there two years ago but that you suddenly found endearing.

"Okay," he nodded. "Okay, we're going. Come on, baby." He slammed the doors shut as he tossed the last bag in and grabbed your hand like he had before.

The two of you walked back up the stairs at a hurried pace and when you walked back into the office you weren't prepared for what you saw. Between Pope and Tom, they had gotten the entire wall torn down and from ceiling to floor, stacked within the studs that made the frame of the house, was nothing but bundles and bundles of cash. Benny had moved into the hall just outside of the office and on a hunch, started hammering at another wall.

"There's more over here!" He called back to the others.

Frankie looked in the hall, and in the bedroom you had been tied up in, noting that each wall had a fresh coat of paint just like in Lorea's office. "It's the whole fucking house--fuck--"

"What is it, Fish?"

"The van's full man," Frankie urged him, looking at the rest of the guys in the office.

"It's all good," Will nodded, stopping his task of filling another bag. "We gotta go."

"Holy shit, this is a fuck ton of money," Benny said, grabbing another full bag and starting the trek down the stairs.

"We need to go," Frankie repeated what Will announced and Pope nodded in agreement. The only one who didn't move towards the door was Tom.

"We got time a couple more loads," he mumbled as he continued to hack away at a new wall with his machete.

Frankie narrowed his gaze on the man and glared at the back of his head. "What the hell are you doing? Stop digging more out we have all this to deal with!" He gestured to the floor that was littered with already packed bags and you tightened your grip on his hand. The anger building in his voice was undeniable.

"I said, just a couple more loads!" Tom argued without turning around and even looking at the others.

You waited for Frankie to retort but Will beat him to it, kicking one of the chairs out of his way and pointing at Tom. "You know in the ten years I've been working with you Tom, you have never missed a hard out!"

"We need to go!" Benny called from the stairs and Tom whipped around in anger.

"Listen to me! I gave us a fifteen minute cushion," he gestured out the window to the driveway. "That's twelve minutes to the church, a forty minute service, and twelve minutes back. Add five minutes to load in and out of the van and we can subtract seven and beat them to the exit route." He slammed his hand against the wall and raised his voice another level. "We will be fine! Alright? God dammit, look at all this!" He waved his arms around the room and Frankie shook his head.

"Fuck this!" He snarled and gripped your hand to start walking you down the hall.

"Fish is right," Will said, working to keep his voice calm and even to counteract Tom's. "Time’s up. We gotta go."

"Wait--" Pope finally spoke up and Frankie stopped in the hall to look back at him.

"Santi--" you said, shaking your head. Surely he didn't agree with Tom.

"I want one more sweep for Lorea--," he said, looking pointedly at you. "Alright? (Y/n)?" He knew you were scared, he knew they needed to leave, but three years of hunting this bastard and if he didn't do one more search of the house, he would always wonder what if. "And then we burn it all down."

Against his better judgement, Frankie nodded in agreement and rubbed his forehead. "Fine. (Y/n) and I will get these last ones down there, and you call when you're ready to light it up. But you better fucking hustle."

Will and Tom pulled themselves away from the walls and moved down the hall to the master bedroom. Pope started to follow and you let go of Frankie to grab his arm instead.

"Don't do this. Please. We need to go, now." You begged and looked him in the eyes.

"I have to look one more time," he said as gently as he could as he gripped your arm in return. "He has killed so many people. I have never been this close before--it ends now."

"Santiago--" you said, using his full name in a tone you both knew sounded like your mother.

"Go with Frankie," he nodded to the man at your right. "Go downstairs and get ready to--"

"GET DOWN!"

Tom's voice rang out from the bedroom at the end of the hall and the doorway erupted in an ear shattering blast of automatic fire and flashing lights. Frankie slammed you up against the wall and covered you with his body, bracing his forearms over your head. You made a noise as your back hit the drywall but you knew he didn't mean it--his only goal was to protect you, even though you were the one wearing the kevlar. The action made you remember just how much bigger he was than you as your world went dark and all you felt was the solid plane of his chest and cotton button up.

There was yelling, more gunfire, you heard Pope yell rapidly in his native tongue and Will said something over the bullets before everything went silent.

"What the hell are we shooting at?!" Frankie called above your head, loud enough that his voice carried into the bedroom. He looked down at you against his chest, panting hard as his heart raced. “You okay?” he whispered and you nodded. You were so tired of the sound of gunfire.

"Target down!" Tom called back and it made Frankie move back and let you breathe once again.

The two of you hurried into the bedroom and you gasped as Frankie put his arm out to keep you safely behind him.

Pope stood in the doorway of a secret safe room that had been hidden behind a large armoire. In the entrance to the hiding space lay Lorea in a pool of his own blood, with a bullet dead center in the middle of his forehead. Call it a hunch, but you knew your brother had made that hell of a shot. Pope had his gun pointed at the unmoving body and the veins in his arms flexed as he readjusted his grip on the weapon. His body went still before he pulled the trigger again, then again, over and over, emptying the entire clip into Lorea's head. Once the narcos was nothing more than a pile of blood and brain matter the gun clicked empty and Pope lowered his arms, hitting the release on the magazine and letting it fall to the floor.

Frankie approached him slowly and moved his own rifle to one hand so he could touch his friend on the shoulder. "You got him, man."

"He's dead." Pope said flatly and Frankie nodded.

"Good."

A groan came from the other side of the room as Will dropped to one knee with a thud. Everyone turned as they watched the blonde put a hand to his side and pull it back with his own blood painted across his fingers.

"I'm hit." He grunted, tossing his rifle to the side and working on the straps of his gear.

You hurried to his side as Tom mirrored your movements and the two of you flanked the man on the ground.

"Where?" Tom said.

"Left side." Will groaned as you helped him lay flat on the ground with his head resting against his backpack.

"Help me get this off, Tom," you said firmly, pulling at the straps of his kevlar that had ridden up just enough to let the bullet go through his lower love handle. You raised up Will's shirt and inspected the wound as warm blood slid down your hand and over your wrist before dripping to the floor. The man hissed as you probbed the wound. "It went straight through."

"Thank fuck," Tom said, looking up as Pope rummaged through his bag and handed you his clot kit.

"Get it on him, and then we gotta go."

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Will nodded as Pope took Tom's place on his opposite side. Tom and Frankie aimed both of their guns at the door as they heard footsteps. "I told you this was a stupid idea." Will groaned.

"Yeah, you sure did," Pope chuckled, helping you wrap the stretchy material around his waist and apply pressure.

Benny came back in and the two guarding the door quickly aimed their guns at the ground. "Church is out--they're back...shit." His eyes got wide as he laid sight on his brother and the blood all over your hands.

"The family is here?" Frankie asked and Benny shook his head.

"No, the first shift of guards."

Once you secured the clotting cloth, Will thanked you with a grip of your arm and a smile that reached his kind, blue eyes. You stood and allowed Benny to take your spot, helping him get his kit back on and slowly make it to his feet. They hadn't brought a stretcher and they definitely couldn't carry him out of here, but the blonde kept repeating that he could make it.

"Okay, new plan," Pope looked out the window, watching the guards pull up to the house. "we each grab a backpack of cash and we go out through the jungle and around."

"No, no way," Will shook his head and groaned as he got all the way up onto his feet.

"We are getting Ironhead home safe!" Tom pointed at the blond. "Not trekking him through the jungle. And we are not leaving them any of this fucking money!"

Frankie felt his hands ball into fists as he took a step towards Tom but Pope blocked him with his arm and you took the hint to go stand by him.

"Right…" Pope said cautiously with a desperate look on his face--talking to Tom like the ticking time bomb that he was. "So, we burn it all down and go."

"There is about a hundred million dollars down there in that van," Tom pointed to the hall. "We are going out the front. We need to hunt and shoot quickly. Call out your kills--I don't want any fucking surprises!"

There was a moment of silence as the two men clearly struggled for who was calling the shots. You tried to breathe evenly as you watched the vein pop in your brother's neck as he stared down Tom. Tom had always been your least favorite of your brother's squad. His hotheaded manner and stubbornness always seemed to get him, and anyone else in his path, in more trouble than they should have. But you stayed next to Frankie and let Pope think this one out.

"We had two objectives--Lorea and (Y/n). Now, I am not putting my sister or Ironhead in more danger for some fucking narcos money."

"Both of them will be in more danger if we drag our sorry asses through that jungle," Tom stepped closer to the other man. "You brought me here to lead--now, I'm not asking, we're not taking a vote, I'm telling you...we're leaving through the front."

The two of them continued to stare at one another before Pope finally backed down with a nod and your stomach dropped to the floor. "Alright."

"Let's get it done," Will said, breathing heavily as he adjusted his rifle in his hands. "Quick and clean. Like always."

"Pope and Frankie, you take (y/n) and go out that way and down through the kitchen. Millers down the front. I'll hang back and keep an eye out--here we go fellas." Tom accentuated each order with a point and gesture of his arm and Frankie looked down at you.

"Get your gun out," he said, lowering his voice as you all started to move in the directions you were told. "Don't shoot first--unless necessary."

"Got it," you nodded, gripping the glock tighter than was needed to keep your hands from shaking.

You moved swiftly and with purpose. Taking two steps to Frankie's one as you moved down the stairs and through the living room. A short spatter of bullets sounded from the dining room and shortly after, you heard Will's voice through the com on Frankie's ear. "That's two down in the front hall."

The two of you turned the corner and Frankie squeezed the trigger, firing twice into the chest of a guard who crossed his path. "That's three."

Another round of shots and Pope's voice came next, "That's four."

"Back to the main gate. They dropped more guys out there."

Frankie clicked his com, "I'm going out through the kitchen and grabbing the van."

"The kitchen is the wrong way, what are you on about Fish?" Tom's voice came over, confused and irritated.

"I got something I gotta do." He said back and turned to you behind him. "Stay here."

"What??" You said, your voice a little higher than you would have liked it to be.

"I need you to stay here." He tried to be reassuring but your heart started hammering in your chest and the thought of being alone again in this place. The idea of him leaving you for any reason made it even worse.

"Don't leave me," you shook your head. The fear on your face must have been more evident than you thought because looking at you made him hesitate.

"You promise that no matter what happens in the next few minutes, you'll do as I say?" He asked and your fear turned increasingly into a mixture of panic.

"Frankie--"

"Promise me, (y/n)." He said flatly, he was not negotiating.

You nodded, adding in a meek voice, "I promise."

He led the way into the kitchen, his rifle was slung over his shoulder by the strap as he took out another handgun from the holster at his side. The appliances were incredibly outdated but the creamy butter-yellow walls and white cabinets easily made the kitchen the brightest room in the desolate house. You watched Frankie walk around the kitchen island, his gun sweeping the area as he moved into the heart of the room.

Two men lay on the tile floor, bound and gagged, and you knew exactly who they were. They were two of Lorea's head guards, the ones that shoved you in the van in the middle of the city, the one that hit you, tied you up--and Frankie knew it too.

He raised his gun and one of the men started to yell around the black electrical tape over his mouth, thrashing his head back and forth wildly. You felt like you were going to be sick.

"Frankie…" you said, standing next to him and touching his side.

He lowered the gun ever so slightly and looked at you. "Remember the deal? Whatever I say, right?"

Bile rose in your throat as you saw the hardened look in the eyes of one of the kindest men you have ever known. Those normally warm, coffee-colored eyes were almost black as he looked at you with a locked jaw and unwavering stance. Seeing such emotion in him and how palpable it felt around his aura hurt more than you ever thought it could. Tears burned in the back of your throat as you nodded. You weren't crying for the men on the floor, you were crying to the soul of the man you loved.

He reached his free arm out and drew you against the shelter of the side of his body. He could feel you tremble against him as you grabbed onto his shirt like the lifeline that it was.

"Close your eyes and cover your ears," he said, flatly and when he felt you let go of him to do so, he pulled the trigger.

One shot. Muzzle. Bitch. Two shots. Merchandise. Cunt.

Two clean shots, echoing in the empty kitchen, hit both of them directly in the center of the forehead. No mistake, no chance, just dead. Frankie felt you jolt against him with each bang and no matter how much he wanted the men at his feet to suffer the way you had suffered, he wouldn't risk making you feel differently about him. The idea that the rage bubbling in his gut could make you look at him in fear was enough to keep his emotions in check. He had done what he needed to do. They would never lay hands on anyone else the way they had laid hands on his girl, no one would ever suffer because of them again--for now, that was enough.

Neither you nor Frankie spoke as you left the mansion and loaded into the van. You watched in the rearview mirror as Tom squeezed the lighter fluid on every inch of the foyer and the curtains that lined the walls. He pulled out a lighter and paused for a moment before flicking it to life and tossing it down. The front of the house quickly engulfed in flames, so bright they burned blue towards the bottom where the heat was the most intense.

The wipers squeaked in a rhythmic annoyance as you sat in the van and the two of you waited for the rest of them to get the other vehicle. An SUV of guards pulled into the compound and you gripped the console as Pope and Will opened fire, busting the tinted windows and peppering everyone inside with bullets. Each man opened a door and grabbed a now lifeless guard by the shirt and pulled him out to let him slump to the ground like a ragdoll.

You watched as Tom moved up from the ditch and shot the last guard in another spray of blood that was quickly washed down the rocks by the rain.

It was suddenly too humid in the car. There was not enough air circulating as your chest felt tight and your breathing increased. It felt as if someone was sitting on top of you. Your hands shook, your eyes burned, and you wanted to claw at your throat to desperately rid yourself of whatever was stuck inside of your windpipe.

"Frankie," you managed to choke out as you started to feel around your vest for the buckles. "Frankie, I can't breathe."

"Hey, hey," he said softly, turning his body in the seat to face you. Saying your name, he reached out and put his hand over yours as you kept trying to rip at the straps of the kevlar. "Stop. (Y/n) stop."

"I can't--" you started to argue with a shake of your head and you hated how weak your voice sounded. You weren't broken. You could do this. But the silence of the car, paired with finally being in a space of solitude with Frankie, was forcing every fear and thought you had in the last three days to race to the surface.

"You can," he insisted. "We are not out of the woods yet." He took your hand in his and scooted as close to you as the center console would allow. He put your hand over his heart and made sure you locked eyes with him. "This has to stay on you. You understand? I know what you're feeling and I promise as soon as we get somewhere safe you can fall as hard as you need to and I’ll be there, okay?"

You nodded way too quickly and felt dizzy the moment the motion made your hair bounce. He squeezed the hand he had pressed against his chest and dipped his head to make sure you caught his gaze.

“I’m okay,” you said, not sounding okay in the slightest, but maybe if you said it outloud it would be true.

“I know you are,” he reassured you. “Breathe with me. In through your nose--there it is. Out through your mouth. You got it. Here.” He leaned forward and turned on the A/C, pointing the extra vents at you and breathing became easier once you felt the cool air tickle the strands of your hair. He kept hold of your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it a few times.

“Thank you,” you closed your eyes and leaned back against the headrest continuing to breathe as evenly as you could.

“No thanks needed, sweetheart,” he said quietly, looking back out the window as Pope gave him a signal to keep moving. “That’s us.”

You started to pull your hand away so he could drive but he kept his grip on it, balancing them on the gearshift as he moved his freehand to the top of the steering wheel. The unconscious action made you smile a bit. Something as simple as holding his hand over the console of the car reminded you of summer drives in his truck. With rolled down windows and a classic rock station, you could almost smell the wind in the grass and hear the frogs calling along the tree line. You held onto that memory as tightly as you held onto his hand, knowing that it was the only things that were going to get you out of this fucking jungle in one piece.

Tag List: @winters-buck @stevieharrrr @zeldasayer @rae-gar-targaryen @thebakerstboyskeeper @bookshelvesandteacups @honestlystop @seawhisperer @huliabitch @phoenixhalliwell @roxypeanut @mrsparknuts @domino-oh-damn @wickedfrsgrl @cloud-of-roses @arrowswithwifi @thinemineours @sgtpenny @xxlovingfandomsxx @scorpionsandhoney @honeybeeespeaks @lukesrighthand@irishleesh93 @ripleyafterdark @lokiaddicted @maybege @humongouspandafest @jigglemiwa @manda-but-not-lorian @skdubbs @buckstaposition @lostinwonderland314 @a-killvr-queen @seawhisperer @mrpascals @saltywintersoldat @lukesrighthand @starlite41@ms-dont-care @lustinglilac @fioccodineveautunnale @cahooter @mrscrain-x7 @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @sendhoots @badassbaker @technicallykawaiisoul @lostinwonderland314 @wherethefuckiskathmandu @colourforanamee @anevrismes @kazualdk @keeper0fthestars @sunkissed-winter @@shinyfranci @cinewhore @whiskeyslasso

Please let me know if you wish to be tagged, untagged, or if I missed you! Please, please, please. This tag list is growing and if I messed up, I promise it was not on purpose.

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #Triple Frontier #pedro pascal #pedro character fic #addicted to you

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averytiredfanfictionwriter · 4 years ago

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The Immortals- Chapter Four

Chapter four is here and I hope you guys are as excited about it as I am. I’m starting to delve into a little bit of the background information for some of the characters and give a little bit more of their history before I really get into the DSMP events because I might change them just a little bit for the direction I’m planning on taking the story, so in order to do that I feel it’s important you know more about the characters. I hope you guys enjoy. Trigger Warnings: None that I can see, but comment if you think one should be added. Ao3 link: bop. Also, if you check my Ao3, the chapter is usually posted a day ahead Chapter Three and a half | Chapter Five | Masterlist Also, for context Phil is maybe like five or Six years old. His age doesn’t really matter, all that’s important to know is that he’s a small child.

Ash wakes in an unfamiliar bed, her head pounding as she looks around the dimly lit room. It’s comfortable looking, bookshelves line the dark oak walls and a small rug covers the majority of the open floor space. A small desk and chair sits in the corner next to a window, which she has a perfect view out of from the bed. Overall, it’s nice. Too nice.

Listening carefully, she searches for any sounds in the surrounding area, any faint clicking that might indicate redstone usage. But there’s nothing. She can’t help but feel on edge though.

The last thing she remembers is being pulled up onto a horse with somebody, and the green cloak that was wrapped around her lies on the chair next to the bed. She looks over at it, the cause of the sense of familiarity right on the tip of her tongue but she's unable to actually remember it.

At least, that is until the man himself steps through the door to the bedroom, shutting it softly behind him and taking a seat in the chair after moving the cloak onto the bed at Ash's feet.

“How are you feeling?” His green eyes are still every bit as entrancing as she remembers them to be, and she shakes her head to clear herself of the intrusive thoughts that threaten to invade her mind.

“Not great, but I’ll live.” After traveling for so long, the weariness and tiredness have finally caught up to her, and she wishes for nothing more than to fall asleep for a couple hundred years.

“Ah, well. I made food. It’s downstairs, if you feel good enough to walk. I can bring it up here if not.” Dream replies, brushing the blonde hair out of his face with an air of annoyance.

“I think I can make the walk.” She replies, pushing the blanket off her legs and stepping down onto the carpet.

Dream stands and holds his hands above her arm, ready to catch her incase she falls. Slowly but surely, she makes her way across the room, wings tucked close into her body so as not to knock anything over on the way through the house.

“So what are you doing here? Last time I saw you, I thought you had died.” The memories rush back to her as she makes her way down the stairs with the man she thought she’d lost forever.

The young child starts crying yet again as Ash and Dream continue marching through the dark woods. Dream grits his teeth, his fist clenching around the handle of his sword.

“He’s going to get us killed.” The man growls, watching as Ash picks up the child and cradles him against her chest trying to comfort him.

“He’s a kid and he’s scared.” Ash says with a frown.

Dream laughs. “Yeah, and he’s going to get us killed in here. Hell, he’s the reason we’re down here anyways. It was too dangerous to take him above ground- the humans would hear him or see him and then come running after us. We came down here to keep him safe because you’re so insistent on saving him but we can’t do that if we’re dead as well!” Dream yells out, the kids cries quieting and leaving Ash silent. “We have to either get rid of him or find a way to keep him quiet.”

The last sentence is monotonous, indifferent, but it holds malicious undertones and Ash shivers at the connotations his words have.

“We’re not killing him.”

“Then make him be quiet. Or I’ll leave you both here.” He hisses out, turning and continuing down the path, green eyes scanning the shadows for enemies that might be lurking in the darkness.

“Hey, Phil, I need you to do something for me, okay.” The boy nods. “I need you to be really quiet. No matter what you see or hear, I need you to stay silent for me. Can you do that?” The boy nods again.

“Good. Now, let’s go.” Ash holds the boy in her arms and follows after Dream, the kids sniffling the only sound between them.

It’s impossible to tell the passage of time in the cave, but all Ash knows is that they’ve been walking forever, and she’s about to pass out.

“Dream… I need… to stop… for…” She tries to finish the sentence but falls to the ground, dropping her sword next to her.

Phil tugs on her shirt, the fear of being alone in the dark washing over him.

“Shit.” Dream says, dropping next to her on the ground and scanning their surroundings. To be honest, Dream hadn’t expected to walk as long as they did, the cave ended up being larger than he thought.

“C’mon Ash, you need to wake up.” He uncorks a potion from his bag, one that he hoped was a regeneration potion, the light pink liquid iridescent in the light as he pours a little into the young woman’s mouth.

Phil stands by silently, remembering the promise he made but wanting nothing more than to burst into tears at the sight of the woman- who’s pretty much become his mom in the past few weeks they’ve been together- passing out. Much to the surprise of Dream, the young boy clutches onto his arm, face buried into the cloak that he wears around himself. Their relationship is… rocky, to say the least. The constant glares thrown towards Phil haven’t exactly helped them in developing a healthy relationship. The young boy doesn’t often go to Dream for things, only when Ash is busy does Phil ask Dream for anything.

After a long few minutes, Ash wakes back up, energy somewhat restored- Dream hopes it’s enough to make it through the rest of the cave and out of it.

“Ash!” Phil cries out, grabbing onto her tightly.

“Hey Phil, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She says, looking up at Dream.

“We need to keep going. It’s not safe to sleep down here. Do you think you can make it the rest of the way or do you need more of the potion?” He asks and helps her to her feet, brushing the dust off the smooth wings on her back.

“I should be able to make it. But you’re right, we need to hurry. I don’t like the silence.” And that’s when it dawns on Dream that the forest has in fact fallen completely silent. Not even the trees rustle.

“Take Phil and fly to the exit. I’ll catch up. You need to get him out and away from here.” He mumbles.

“No. I’m not leaving you here. It’s not safe to be alone.” She protests.

“We’re immortal- but he’s not. If you want to save him, then you need to get him out of here. Not only am I a much better fighter, but you can fly him out of here. I’ll hold off whatever’s coming while you escape.” He says, sword glistening in the low light.

“I-”

“Just fucking go!” Dream yells, as one of the creatures they’ve been trying to avoid the whole time bursts out of the tree line and the group goes silent.

It towers over the trio, more than 9 feet tall. Tentacles waves off it’s chest, a huge gaping mouth in its chest. The blood drains out of Ash’s face and Phil takes one look at it before he starts wailing, screams echoing off the cave walls in all directions. The creature goes berserk, the tentacles waving all over the place and a shrill screech leaves it’s face, whether there’s a mouth there or not is yet to be determined.

Ash yanks Phil up into her arms and takes off into the air, narrowly avoiding the creatures’ long arms. Ash flies in the direction they were walking, really hoping there’s no more of those things and an exit to this horrible place. Soon, sunlight becomes visible and she flies out of the cave, breathing in deep breaths as the two land on the ground a little ways away.

“I need to go back and get him, but I can’t leave you here alone. I also can’t take you back with me.” Ash mumbles, looking between the cave exit and the crying boy in front of her.

Suddenly, a loud scream comes from the cave and then there’s silence. The air seems to stand still as the dreadful truth sets in. Dream is gone.

“Yeah, well me and you can’t die. To be honest, I thought I had as well. I only entered a deep sleep while my body recovered from the damage it took. When I woke, I was back in the first house we’d had. The mortals had burnt it down after we left, but I guess I was still tied to the house. I tried to make my way back to that cave to try and find you guys, but the two of you were long gone by the time I got back. I thought you were captured or continued on, so I started looking for the immortal children safe houses to see if you’d gone there. When I couldn’t find you, I assumed the worst and then went a little crazy after that but now you’re back here with me so neither of us have to worry anymore.” Dream explains and Ash shivers. Any monster too powerful for even Dream to defeat is not a monster she wants to face.

“So where is here, exactly?” Ash asks.

“Outside a small country I’d established with a few other immortals and hybrids, as well as some mortals that I found out I could trust. You’ll like it here.” Dream says, a small smile on his face as he pulls out a chair at the kitchen table for her to sit.

“Um, yeah. About that. Techno won’t like that. He’s not too big on, uh, governments.” She whispers, and Dream only nods.

“Well, it’s not like he can do anything about it, considering neither of you are in any state to fight against anyone right now. You especially. So, now that I’ve told you what I’ve been up to, what about you? What have you been doing the past 300 years?” Dream asks, setting the food on the table in front of her and taking a seat across from her.

“That’s a very long story.” She mumbles, taking a bite of food.

“Well, it would appear that we have all the time in the world.” Dream jokes and Ash laughs a little.

“Okay, well. After me and you had gotten separated at the cave…”

#dream smp #dream #philza #technoblade #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #technoblade x reader #dream x reader #sbi inc x reader #sbi x reader #jschlatt #lizzy write #The Immortals-dsmp #lizzy writes

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crystalstar8 · 4 years ago

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Knights of the Night (ch 9)

Chapter 9

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 2,620

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j @daechwitad-2 @zobadak

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing…

The warm weather was fleeting; Catalina spent her days studying, working, and every chance she got, hanging out with her friends. The “baseball encounter”, as she’s been calling it, has been living in the back of her mind ever since, even though it seemed her friends had forgotten about it. She never brought it up, just focusing on her college life. Namjoon took her out to fancy bookstores and coffee shops, Jungkook tried and failed to teach her how to skateboard, and Jin tried and failed to help them in French. She was kept busy and she was having fun.

All was peaceful, until a college student was reported missing in St. Briggs. Jimin cornered Catalina in dance class about it one chilly, early winter day.

They were practicing their dance to “Body”, by Megan Thee Stallion.

“One, two, three, turn, five, six, step and hit,” the teacher called out. “One, two, ba, ba, jump, Steve! What song are you dancing to, ‘cause it’s not this! Find the goddamn beat! Alright, everyone except Steve, take five.”

Catalina’s final move in the dance was on the ground, so instead of getting up, she crawled over to her dance bag and pulled out her water bottle, collapsing against the wall. Jimin joined her and said, “Have you heard the news?”

Catalina shook her head between sips.

“A student went missing,” he said. “In St. Briggs. From our college.”

“Aren’t they the second person to go missing here?” Catalina asked. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” said Jimin. “The first person was a little kid. My parents are freaking out about me walking to campus now.”

“And the police have no idea who the guy is?” asked Catalina. “I mean, they don’t know anything?”

“Not really,” said Jimin. “It’s like these people disappeared without a trace.”

“Hm,” Catalina thought about the disappearances and the mysterious “baseball encounter”. She wondered if they were connected. “You wanna do some investigating?”

“What are you-no, we’re not visiting those vampires,” said Jimin. “That’s a really bad idea. Namjoon told us to stay out of it and he definitely knows more about this stuff than we do.”

Catalina knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with Jimin. She would just have to wait until she saw Jungkook to bring it up again. She knew he’d have no qualms about going on a potentially life-threatening mission.

Her chance came that weekend when she and Jungkook worked their shift together at the souvenir shop. Business was starting to pick up since the first snow was expected to arrive any day now.

Tourists started stopping by more and more and Catalina got to see what Jungkook meant by “hot tourists”. The men and the women were beautiful, and her and Jungkook both had fun checking them out from behind the counter. But today was slow, so Catalina figured she’d take the opportunity to tell him about her plan.

“Jungkook, what do you think about stealing that business card and sneaking around a potential lair?” asked Catalina.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes. I’m in,” he said. The two of them were straightening the ceramic bear and eagle figurines, killing time between customers.

“Remember those three vampires on baseball day?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The guy gave Namjoon a business card,” said Catalina.

“Oh right! Yeah, I remember,” said Jungkook.

“I was thinking maybe we could steal it and do our own investigating. I mean, what if those guys have something to do with the missing people?” Catalina said. Jungkook looked up at her with wide eyes.

“Oh shit! Ya know, you’re probably right!” he said. “They just moved here, and then all of a sudden, a kid goes missing in this town. It makes sense.”

“Exactly,” said Catalina.

“But how will we get the business card?” asked Jungkook. “Do we sneak into his room or his office or whatever?”

“That’s what I was thinking. One of us distracts him, while the other sneaks in and finds it,” said Catalina.

“I feel like you should distract him. A classic honey pot mission,” said Jungkook.

“Do you know what that means?” Catalina asked, snickering.

“Don’t you seduce someone to complete a mission?” asked Jungkook.

“You usually have to fuck someone in a honey pot mission,” said Catalina.

“Oh, well, how bad can it be? I mean, he’s hot as fuck,” he said with a wave of his hand. Catalina’s face turned bright red.

“I’m not- we’re…” she sighed. “Jungkook, casual sex isn’t really my thing and I don’t like him that way. I don’t think he likes me that way either.”

“Are you kidding? What about all those bookstores and coffee shops? Those weren’t dates?” asked Jungkook. “What were you guys doing?”

“Looking at books!” said Catalina. “He just really likes literature, and I really like coffee.”

“Did he pay for your coffee every time?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s a date,” said Jungkook.

“We spot each other all the time. So, are you telling me it’s a date when you pay for my McDonalds or when I pay for your movie ticket?” asked Catalina.

“That’s different,” said Jungkook. Catalina threw her hands up.

“Okay, we’re getting off topic,” she said. “You distract him, I’ll get the card.”

“Casual sex also isn’t my thing though,” said Jungkook.

Catalina threw her head back laughing. “You don’t have to fuck him! Just keep him downstairs talking or something.”

“I can do that. Are we doing it tonight?” asked Jungkook.

“Sure.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

That evening, Catalina and Jungkook went to the mansion. Jungkook brought his French homework. Luckily, Namjoon was the one to answer the door.

“Oh, hey guys! Come on in,” he said. He led them to the lounge and Jungkook immediately got his homework out.

“I was wondering if you could help me with this,” said Jungkook.

“Sure, let’s see,” said Namjoon. Catalina wandered off. The upstairs was thankfully not as big as the main floor, but there were many halls and many rooms. Catalina went to Hoseok’s room, starting her search from there. The next door in the hallway was open. Catalina looked inside, flicking on the light switch. It looked like a basic, model bedroom. It didn’t look like it belonged to anyone, probably a guest room. The next room was enormous and absolutely trashed. The giant bed in the middle of the room had a mountain of blankets and clothes on it. Clothes, loose papers, and books littered the floor. Beat up, crooked antique paintings decorated the walls, along with torn calligraphy banners. The Asian style furniture looked ancient, worn and battered, but luxuriously wealthy.

Catalina moved on to the next room. This one was a bit more modern and, curiously, vaguely nautical themed. A huge window against the back wall let light shine in on the white painted wood of the furniture, the mess of easels and canvases in the corner, and the mix of paintings on the seashell wallpapered walls: realism, abstract, cubism, a few charcoal sketches of Hoseok, Yoongi, and Namjoon, and a single painting of a lighthouse looking out at a stormy sea. Catalina went to the next room.

This one was the most modern, with dark walls and mahogany furniture. It was sleek and rustic, with a twisted wood bed frame, alpaca rugs on the ground, smooth couches in the corner with a driftwood coffee table in the center, and along every free wall, bookshelves. The entire room was spotless. This must be Namjoon’s room. At least, Catalina hoped it was. She stepped inside and went to the desk tucked into one of the bookshelves. She rifled through the drawers until she found one filled with business cards.

“Shit,” she whispered. There were quite a few cards, but she got to work sorting through them. Most of them looked old and yellowed with age. She automatically set those ones aside. She couldn’t remember that vampire’s name, but she knew she’d remember it if she saw it. After sorting through what felt like hundreds of cards, she finally found one with the familiar name on it.

It was a new card, simple, with just a name, an address, and a phone number on it. The name on it was Makai La’ei. That sounded right. Catalina rearranged the rest of the cards back to how she found them and shoved this one in her pocket. She was definitely running out of time, Jungkook only had so much homework.

When she got downstairs, she went right to the lounge, but it was empty. Jungkook’s French textbook was laying open on the coffee table. Her heart skipped a beat. Namjoon wouldn’t hurt him, would he? She thought. She backed out of the lounge and looked up and down the hallway. Her heart was pounding, but before her thoughts could fully run away on her, she heard Jungkook’s voice approaching, saying, “And that’s how I went to senior prom with Dr. Dre’s daughter, Truly.”

Namjoon and Jungkook rounded the corner, both holding McDonalds bags and hot coffees in their hands.

“You guys went out?” Catalina asked.

“Yeah, we got hash browns,” said Namjoon, handing one of the bags to her.

“Isn’t this yours?” asked Catalina.

“Grease gives me a stomachache,” he said.

“I was just craving hash browns. I figured you’d want a few too,” said Jungkook. Catalina’s heart skipped a beat, but this time not out of fear.

“I love these,” she whispered, opening the greasy paper bag to see three hash browns inside. Something nudged her hand. She looked up to see Jungkook handing her his coffee as well. Namjoon wandered off, sipping at his own coffee. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t like coffee,” he said. “Take it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Did you already finish your homework?”

“Yeah, turns out Namjoon is fluent in French,” said Jungkook. “And Korean, and Chinese, and Japanese, and German. And…what was that other one?”

“Swahili,” Namjoon said from inside the lounge.

“Why?” asked Catalina.

“I was bored,” he said with a shrug. Jungkook looked at Catalina with questioning eyes. Catalina nodded.

“Well, thank you for helping me with this,” said Jungkook, gathering his textbook and notes. “I hate this class, so any help is much appreciated. Anyway, we have to get going. We have some errands to run.”

“Sure, no problem,” said Namjoon as he walked them to the door. “We’re all fluent in French here, expect for Hoseok, so feel free to ask any of us any time.”

“Thank you,” Catalina said as she pulled her shoes on.

~~~~~~~~~~

“That was too easy,” said Jungkook as they were getting into his car.

“Not really!” said Catalina. “He had a whole drawer full of business cards. I had to sort through all of them.”

“I was talking about the homework,” said Jungkook. He pulled out of the driveway and began the drive down the mountain. “He gave me all the answers. But that explains why you were gone for so long.”

“Yeah, and I saw the other rooms,” said Catalina. “I think Tae’s room is nautical themed.”

“Why?” Jungkook asked. Catalina shrugged. “Well, whatever. Does that card have an address on it?”

“Yeah,” Catalina pulled the card out of her pocket and typed the address into her maps app. It gave her a route to a location in the middle of the town. She let Siri lead them as she plugged in her phone and looked up spy music on iTunes. She found a playlist and put it on shuffle, letting the groovy guitar of “Secret Agent Man” blast through the car.

By the time they arrived, they were well into “Hawaii Five-O”. The GPS had led them to what looked like an abandoned hospital. Jungkook drove a block past it so they could walk the rest of the way. As they walked, they reviewed the plan.

“So, we can’t get caught, obviously,” said Jungkook. “We’re just sneaking in, taking a quick look, maybe some pictures, then getting out.”

“Right,” said Catalina. “Quick and fast.”

They snuck in and found a basement stairwell, which they took. The rest of the hospital was empty. They could hear voices coming from the basement, so as quietly as they could, they snuck down the stairs, which led them to a cement tunnel with a metal grated floor. The tunnel gave Catalina a sense of Déjà vu, but she couldn’t figure out why. Faint voices echoed from the end of the tunnel. They reached the end and peaked around the corner. What they saw made their jaws drop. A huge, cavernous cement room with some furniture in the middle. Doors lined the walls, some open, some closed. Catalina could see from where she was that there were people in the rooms with open doors. People sitting or laying on the ground, tubes attached to their arms connecting to IV stands, blood bags hanging from the hooks.

Jungkook was snapping rapid fire pictures of as much of the room as they could see.

The voices, which were coming from a part of the room they couldn’t see, stopped talking.

“Bernard, go check the tunnel and stairs. I thought I heard something.”

Before Bernard even had a chance to move, Catalina and Jungkook booked it back down the tunnel and up the stairs. Jungkook led the way, and he was fast, so Catalina struggled to keep up with him. Once they were at the top of the stairs, they looked around for an open room. A bit down the hall, there was an open doorframe with a missing door. They darted for it, Jungkook pulling her inside and crowding her against the wall, hidden in the shadows.

Catalina was scared they’d be caught, but now she freaking out about something entirely different, namely, Jungkook’s chest and arms caging her against the wall. He was so close that Catalina could feel the heat coming off him. Her blush made its way down her neck into her chest, her breath quickening.

“He’s coming,” Jungkook whispered, his wide eyes glued to the doorway. Sure enough, Catalina could hear heavy boots crunching through the debris in the hallway, getting closer to where they were. “Do you trust me?”

“What?” Catalina asked.

“Do you trust me?” Jungkook asked again. “I saw this in a TV show. It works every time.”

Before Catalina could ask for clarification, several things happened at once: the man, presumably Bernard, began entering the room, Jungkook pressed even closer, a hand on her waist, the other finding its way to her hair, and his lips crashed against hers. She let out a squeak of surprise but quickly caught on, gripping his shirt and leaning into the kiss.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” a man’s voice said from the doorway. They broke apart and looked at him. “This is private property, guys. Get lost.”

“Sorry,” Jungkook said, flashing a sheepish smile. Bernard stepped aside to let them past, waving them in the direction of the exit. Even though her heart was still pounding out of her chest and her head was still spinning, Catalina made a point to check Bernard’s eyes. They were red.

On their way out, they heard the crackle of a walkie talkie and Bernard saying, “It was just some kids making out upstairs. This happens way too often, boss. We gotta start putting signs up or something.”

On their way to the car, Jungkook said, “That was a close one.”

“Was that just an excuse to kiss me?” Catalina joked, not sure she wanted to know the answer.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Jungkook said with a wink. Catalina blushed and shoved him.

“Shut up,” she said.

24 notes · View notes

orionwhispers · 5 years ago

Text

Fools Gold // Tommy Shelby

(A/N - ok. i started this imagine in december but then life happened and here we are almost in march. this took a really long time to write and im honestly kind of iffy about it but i hope you guys like it. also side note - tommy is a MASSIVE dick in this and do not let a boy/girl/anyone treat you like this - this is purely fiction and irl if someone uses you like this then they are trash. also second side note im mean to grace in this but I have a lot of feelings ok. LOVE U GUYS)

Thomas Shelby needed a distraction.

His mind was hazy, like looking through a cloud of smoke. He saw Grace everywhere. Sunshine coloured hair reflecting on the grey puddles in the street, sapphire blue eyes watching him from the bluebells sitting on Polly’s desk, her soft laughter in his ears whenever he heard a bell chime. He wanted a distraction. He wanted a quick fix, something soft and warm that would fill the emptiness of his bed and the hole in his heart, but he never imagined just what that would cost.

The first time he saw you was on a Wednesday. The clouds were silver and the air was cold, and London was a welcome change in scenery. He was visiting Ada, in the city for business but wanting to see the kind face of his sister, some softness in his world of sharp. It was late at night, the moon round and full and the library almost empty, and he nodded at his sister in greeting as she filed away the last of the novels.

“Tommy.” She smiled, with rosy cheeks and tousled hair. “Let me just grab my coat and we’ll be off.”

She turned to speak to someone, and Tommy impatiently tapped his clipped fingernails along the edge of a desk, his brain always working, mentally relieving business deals in his head as he waited. He listened to the low hum of the roads outside and the incessant flickering of a street lamp through the window, turning slowly at the sound of footsteps approaching.

His breath hitched in his throat.

Standing beside his sister, all kind eyed and ink stained and sweet as strawberry ice cream was a girl. A girl that for the first time in a long time, made the memories in his brain curl off and vanish like wisps of smoke.

A girl that could be the perfect distraction.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright closing up? I’m sorry to rush off like this.” He didn’t register his sisters voice, his ocean blue eyes trained on you, with your cherry bitten lips and pink polished fingernails.

“Oh Ada, I’m fine. Have a lovely time.” You replied, voice just as honeyed as the rest of you. You gave Tommy a soft smile, wringing your hands together, slightly uncomfortable with the attention you had accidentally drawn to yourself.

He stepped forward without a second thought, his palm outstretched. You blinked back at him, like a deer caught in headlights. Ada had spoken about her brother; how he could sweet talk the devil, and how he was destined to rule the world with his golden mind and silver tongue. You had been intimidated by her words, and standing before him you felt utterly, hopelessly, mortal.

You tried to hide your nerves as you shook his hand, his large fingers engulfing yours and sending sparks down your spine. His blue eyes reminded you of the ocean, like a stormy sea and the smell of salt, and you were worried you might just drown. He wasn’t handsome. He was beautiful.

“My apologies for stealing my sister away.” He said, his voice even and still, warm like a summer breeze. “I’m Tommy.”

“(Y/N).” You replied, trying not to falter under his unwavering stare.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N).”

You held his gaze for as long as you could, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks and your neck grow hot. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was what unsettled you the most. You had never been in the presence of someone so powerful and striking, and you felt so small next to him.

After a moment you pulled away, biting your lip gently and motioning to the overflowing bookshelves around you. “I should get back, it was nice to meet you. Have a nice night, Ada.” You smiled at your friend, before turning on your heel and walking away, feeling eyes bore into your back.

Tommy watched as you left, entranced by the swish of your skirt and the soft footsteps you took, and-the dizzying length of your tight clad legs. Ada tightened her scarf around her throat, a smirk on her face as she made her way to the door.

“Don’t even think about it Tommy.”

——————————————————-

It was hard for him not to.

That night, as he drove back to Birmingham, he pictured your pretty face, your teeth chewing on those rose coloured lips, the slight tremor in your words as you spoke. In the quiet of his bedroom, the moon watching him from high above, it was usually Grace who disrupted his nightly reflection. But for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t her voice soothing him to sleep.

He knew he wasn’t going to fall in love. Grace might have been on the other side of the Atlantic with a husband that didn’t deserve her, but Tommy was a romantic, and he truly thought that one day they would reunite. Lizzie was a good fuck, but she was temporary. Now she was hired as his secretary he didn’t want to blur the lines of their relationship, and he could already feel her growing too close for comfort. He didn’t need a girlfriend, especially when he knew that no one could compare to Grace, he didn’t need another person to worry about and he certainly didn’t need another broken heart. But what he did need was something to fill the void.

It was easy to find you, even with just your first name. He spoke to one of his informants in London, under the guise of ‘looking for a new assistant’ and the following day he had a stack of papers sitting on his desk.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N). You worked at the library two days a week, and spent the other three training as a nurse. There were no previous addresses or references from past jobs, just your current flat and the hospital where you worked part time. There was nothing personal, no mention of family or relatives nearby, just a slightly faded photograph of you taken before the war. You weren’t looking at the camera, your eyes occupied elsewhere, almost as if you were shying away from the photographer. You looked younger, but just as beautiful and Tommy thumbed the worn print between his fingers; careful not to smudge your face, a fingertip trailing along your lips.

———————————————————-

The flowers came three days after you had met.

You had been at the hospital learning how to properly stitch wounds, and your head was numb from processing so much information. You were exhausted, droplets of rain splattering across your collar and down the back of your blouse, and you were desperate for the warmth of your bed. You toyed with the keys in your pocket, finger running across the ridges so that you could get in as quickly as possible, but you fumbled when you noticed a spark of crimson on your doormat.

It must have cost at least a hundred pounds. Rich, ruby red roses all neatly clipped and arranged, their petals healthy and as soft as butter, and the gold foil writing on the box was of a store on the other side of London, one you had been too intimidated to even step foot in. You assumed that it was for Mrs Kim upstairs, or perhaps a gift from Ron to Mark after they had one of their colossal rows, but as you reached for the label, you felt your brow furrow.

“It really was a pleasure to meet you, (Y/N). Regards, Tommy Shelby.”

You left them in your kitchen, squashed into the only vase you owned, clipping them practically to the wick to get them all to fit. You ignored them as you ate dinner, the radio nothing but noise in the background. You tried not to think of them as you sank into a scalding hot bath, or as you clambered into bed, and it worked - because what you thought of as you drifted off to sleep wasn’t ruby red roses, but ocean blue eyes.

——————————————————————

Two more bouquets came in two weeks. Both just as lavish and extravagant as the first, and both sitting in the biggest drinking glasses you owned. Your flat smelt like a florists’, and pollen lingered on your clothes all day, a constant reminder of the man who had sent them. You busied yourself with work, letting the day to day distractions of the injured occupy your mind. The hospital had needed an extra pair of hands and you needed experience, but when you finally returned to the library, you cornered Ada as she restocked the shelves.

“Oh (Y/N)!” She smiled, as pure and fresh as new snow. “It’s not been the same without you.”

“I don’t want a boyfriend.”You blurted out, eyes wide.

You had hoped to say something more eloquent, but Ada’s jet black hair and similarity to her brother made you fall pathetically at the last hurdle. Her eyebrows shot up, and you inhaled deeply. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Please tell Tommy, thank you for the flowers, but I’m not really looking for something right now.”

“Tommy sent you flowers?” There was curiosity evident in her voice as she stepped forward, heeled boot clicking against the floor.

“Well, more like three bouquets.”

“Wow.” Her brows almost reached the pendant light dangling from the ceiling.

“I thought you knew - I mean, I thought you gave him my address.”

She shook her head, a small smirk dancing in her face. “Nope. But that’s never stopped Tommy before.”

You exhaled, looking up at her and chewing on the bottom of your lip. “You know that I - I can’t. I don’t think I’m ready, you know, after everything...”

Ada was your closest friend, she had been since she arrived in London. Beautiful and intelligent, with her young son and quick wit - you remembered meeting her on her first day at the library, feeling nervous and intimidated by such a confident and clever woman, but barely a week passed and it felt as though you had known her your entire life. As the months flew by, the two of you would often go for drinks or dinner by the river, staying out till midnight and laughing until your ribs felt tough. She trusted you enough to let you babysit Karl, the little boy calling you his Auntie and making your insides swell with pride. And finally, on a warm summer night, with her cherry red lips and coal black eyeliner, the two of you watching the sun set from the balcony of her expansive house, she opened up to you.

As the sky darkened and you shared champagne and strawberries in the open air, she told you about her family and her past. Her voice was smaller than you had ever heard it, such a powerful woman almost seeming meek as she bore her soul to you. She told you about Freddie, the headstrong and golden hearted man she had fallen for, and you intertwined your fingers when she spoke about his death. She told you about her reasons for arriving in London, cautiously speaking about a gang that roamed the streets back home, you listened intently, eyes wide when she revealed that the main members were of her own blood.

She trusted you inexplicably, telling you things that she had burrowed away for years and that meant the world to you. So under the moonlight, you tipped your head back and emptied your glass, blinking back tears as you explained your own past, the one you had been running from.

Now though, she pressed a kind hand to your shoulder, her eyes softening ever so slightly and it broke you away from your thoughts.“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’ll tell Tommy to keep his cock in his pants.” She winked at you, making you let out the breath that you had been holding, a relieved chuckle escaping from your throat.

She tugged your sleeve gently, motioning to the overflowing pile of dog eared novels by her feet. “Come and help me sort all this out.” She said “And let me fill you in on my date yesterday.”

Ada phoned Tommy as soon as she arrived home. He answered on the third ring, his voice tired and thick with smoke, his exhaustion evident through the speaker. One mention of you however, and he perked up like he had downed three shots of espresso. Work had been fucking awful, and imaging you and those rosebud lips was a pleasant distraction from the ache in his skull.

Ada told him to back off, and he could practically feel his sisters stern expression despite being 100 miles away from her. “She’s too nice for you Tommy, and not interested. Besides aren’t there enough girls in Birmingham? Why do you have to come after the one I’ve actually made friends with?”

Tommy had rolled his eyes. He loved his sister, but he didn’t feel like explaining his reasoning to her. He knew that she would never approve, never really understand him.

“You know I want you to find someone, especially after...” She inhaled sharply, choosing her words carefully. “Look, Tommy, you’ll find someone, but just not (Y/N), yeah? She’s been through a lot.”

He hummed, not voicing his real thoughts, always liking to keep his cards close to his chest. He said his goodbyes and hung up, Ada’s words lingering in his brain. His spine had stiffened at the implication of Grace, he hated being reminded of the past, especially memories he was trying so hard to forget. But it wasn’t just that, there was something about the words she had chosen that had sparked a fire in his gut.

“She’s been through a lot.”

He wasn’t quite sure what she was insinuating, but to him, it made you all the more alluring. He would never pursue a woman who truly wanted nothing to do with him. He might not have been the textbook definition of a ‘good man’ but he respected those who turned him down - although it was very much a rarity. But there was something about you, something about the way that you had held his stare, the innocence in your eyes and the attractiveness that hung around you like sugar water.

He loved the chase, especially when the reward was as sweet as you.

—————————————————————-

He waited outside your flat, hands in his pockets and peaked cap low on his head. It was almost six and he knew that you would be returning from the hospital soon, so he crossed his legs, leaning on the doorframe with a cigarette between his lips, secondhand smoke curling in the air.

He heard you before he saw you; the hiss of the cold air as you fought with the heavy door, the clunk of your patent loafers across the concrete and the jangle of your keys in your palm. He smiled to himself. Watching as you walked up the stairs, rifling through papers in your hands and then looking up suddenly, your eyes widening with shock.

“Tommy.” You said, filled with genuine surprise, clutching your handbag tightly, sure that you would drop it otherwise.

He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue.

He reached forward, steadying your wobbling hands and collecting the papers before they could scatter down the hallway. You stiffened at the contact, but he held you secure.

“Is Ada alright?” You asked quickly, hoping his impromptu visit didn’t come with bad news. He looked down and felt his stomach twist at the sight of your long lashes and shining wide eyes.

He shook his head. “My sisters fine. I actually came here for you.”

“Me?”

“Ada rang me, and I wanted to apologise for being so forward. It wasn’t my intention.”

You straightened, pulling slightly away from his hands. “You could have called, or written a letter.” The words came out slightly sharper than you had hoped, but you felt bristled by his sudden appearance.

He smiled. A half tug that looked boyish and cheeky, almost a smirk, and you hated the way that it made your heart flutter. “Well, yes, but that would have meant not seeing you in person.”

You fought back your own embarrassed grin, feeling blush rise from your throat to the plump of your cheeks. A flicker of humour sparked in his eyes, feeling triumphant at getting even the smallest of responses from you. The heat around your collar was turning such a delicious shade of red, like a honeycrisp apple, and it was hard for him to look away.

“Let me take you to dinner.”

You shifted on one foot, trying not to look into his milky blue eyes, knowing that if you did he would have you hook, line and sinker. “Tommy... I don’t know.”

“Just one dinner and I’ll be out of your hair.”

You exhaled, feeling yourself starting to cave. “Okay. One dinner. And nowhere fancy.”

Five minutes later and you were out the door. You had slipped off your work uniform and stepped into a lavender beaded dress and a pair of modest kitten heels. You hated the way you double checked your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the stray hairs by your forehead, placing a cool hand to your chest to try and level your breathing. You didn’t put on any makeup, you weren’t trying to give Tommy the wrong idea.

You reminded yourself that you were just going to dinner, as friends. Nothing more.

Tommy watched you under the shimmering lights of the club. The rhythmic clash of the jazz band echoed all around him, beautiful women laughed and swayed on the dance floor, and the air was thick with smoke and bitter whisky, but his attention was solely cast at you.

Your head was down, and you were picking at the food on your plate. The expensive bottle of red wine sat opened in the middle of you both, your glass untouched and his filled halfway.The owner had recognised him immediately and sent over the gift, and he didn’t miss the caution that flashed on your face at the gesture.

“Are you sure you don’t want a glass?” He asked, voice smooth like silk.

You looked up at him. “No, thank you though. I have an early shift in the morning.”

He nodded, cutting through his steak, a sliver of blood on his knife. “How long have you been a nurse?”

He already knew, but he wanted to hear your answer.

“Well, I’m technically not a nurse - not yet. I’m still training, but I only have a few months to go.” You smiled, and he watched as your whole face lit up as you talked about your passion. “I’ve always wanted to do it. Now I finally am.”

“Well, I think that’s very admirable.”

“And what do you do?”

“Oh. I’m a bad man.” He said, as if it was the most causal thing in the world. His cobalt eyes flickered from his plate to you, holding you hostage in his gaze.“But I’m sure Ada’s told you all about that.”

You inhaled. “I try not to judge people based on rumours.”

“Even if they hold some truth in them?”

You didn’t say anything. You swirled around the spaghetti on your plate, spearing your fork through a pea. After a moment you cleared your throat, daring to look up at him.

“I think the world has changed. Times have moved on, and sometimes it requires a firmer hand to get where you want to be.”

Tommy paused, genuinely taken aback by your reply. You had been so timid and placid before, but now there was an intensity to your words, one that he found particularly alluring.

“It doesn’t mean that I agree, but - ” You sighed. “A few years ago, I was turned down by a nursing school; they said I was too young and too inexperienced and... it really shattered my confidence. I was going to give up completely, but instead I decided to keep studying, and I was working three jobs to just make ends meet. When I applied again I made sure that there was no way they would reject me.”

Your eyes flickered up momentarily as you chewed on your upper lip. “All I’m saying is, sometimes you have to work hard to get what you want.”

Tommy mulled over your words, tongue running over his teeth. He picked up the stem of his wine glass and held it towards you in a toast. His eyes caught yours and his stare was unwavering, the edge of his lips unturned in a boyish smirk.

“To getting what we want.”

———————————————————-

You really, truly, honestly, didn’t want to enjoy your dinner with Tommy - but you did. The night was so easy, after a while you managed to find a comfortable niche and the conversation flowed like running water. As time passed you found yourself giving into habits that you thought you had left behind, like tucking a loose curl behind your ear, or giggling into your hands, a warm shade of pink staining your skin. Tommy watched you, the anchor on his chest lifting slightly, the way it always did when he found himself getting his way.

He walked you home with his suit jacket draped over your shoulders; despite your protests, leaving you smelling like whisky sours and cigarettes. He could feel your apprehension as you stood under the archway of your apartment building. The wind had picked up and rain was drizzling onto the both of you, and his stomach tightened when you looked up at him with raindrops coating your eyelashes. He was waiting for you to speak first. If he had his way, he would be joining you in your flat, pressing you up against the wall and kissing your lips until they were swollen. He wanted to untangle the braid in your hair, unlace the dress that made you look ethereal and feel you breathless under him, but he remained patient.

The truth was that even though you had only spent one evening alone, the constant buzz of work and life in his brain had faded into static. (There was only one woman who had ever made it fully fade, but now he knew now to take whatever he could get). He had genuinely enjoyed the night, even without the guarantee of ending it in your bed. It was pleasant to spend a few hours talking about something other than business deals or brutality, to fill silences with stories about films you had seen or your misbehaving patients.

He would be satisfied with a goodnight kiss, to taste the sweetness of your lips and feel the curve of your waist under his palm. He liked the way that the nerves you had started the night with were flittering under your skin once again; it made him feel good, it made him feel wanted, it made him feel powerful. It would be enough to sate him over until the next time you met up - because believe him, there would be a next time - but even he couldn’t stop the flare of surprise that splashed over his face when you simply handed him back his jacket and darted up the stairs.

“Thank you for dinner, Tommy. Have a good night.”

Underneath the broken bulb in your hallway, with his expensive patent shoes slowly filling with water, he let out a loud, genuine, chuckle.

—————————————

A few days passed, and whilst your evening with Tommy still lingered in your mind, work was much too hectic for you to be wrapped up in distractions. There were no more surprise bouquets or unannounced visits, and no phone calls at the end of your shifts either, you knew you should have been relieved, but you couldn’t ignore the tiny flicker of disappointment. You decided to tell Ada, mentioning your dinner casually the next time that you saw her, dropping it into conversation as though it wasn’t a monumental piece of gossip.

“You did what?” Her voice echoed around the expansive library and you playfully shushed her, pointing to the people reading on the floor below.

“It’s not that big of a deal!”

“Psh! Easy for you to say!” She huffed, elbowing you in the ribs as she meticulously rearranged the books on the shelf in front of her. “I thought you were... you know...” She waved her hand like she was wafting smoke from her face, a clear indication of what she thought you were going to do to her brother.

You sighed, wiping the dust from a hardcover. “I know, I know. But he’s... charming.”

“Yeah, like a fox.”

You laughed at her blunt tone. She turned away and continued working, her shoulders shrugging with her movements. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will, mum.” You tugged on the bottom of her hair like a child, making her meet your line of sight. “Honestly, Ada, it was a nice night, but it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. I have no plans to see him again - ever.”

Your intentions were shattered as you left the hospital one evening, stopping dead in your tracks when you recognised the distinct peaked cap and felt the unmistakable domineering aura all around you. You tried to bite back the smile threatening to take over your entire face when you saw him leaning against a red brick wall, tall and cool, the kind of man that would have a million songs made about him.

You couldn’t deny the twist in your gut when he smiled at you, so cheeky yet smooth like rich dark chocolate. You felt the envious glances of the other nurses leaving their shifts around you, bubbling with jealousy and curiosity. You didn’t even care that you would be the main topic of discussion at the next tea break on Monday, as much as you hated to admit it, you felt like the world around you was blurring, leaving nothing but the two of you.

“Is this a social call, Tommy? Or should I get the first aid kit.” You called out under the noise of the streets around you, your voice deceivingly controlled.

He flipped his leather notebook closed, one you hadn’t even noticed he was so engrossed in, sliding it into his pocket and uncrossing his legs, his eyes shining with humour.

“No, not tonight. Although I’ll know where to come if I ever need it.”

You came to a stop just before him, not trusting yourself to get too close.“What can I do for you, Thomas?”

He didn't comment on the space you had left between you, but you knew that he had noticed it. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his wallet, nimble fingers rifling through until he pulled out two stubs of paper.

“I have tickets for the play tonight.”

You felt your eyes widen as he showed you the passes. You had made an offhand comment at dinner about wanting to see this particular play, one that you didn’t think he had even noticed, but he was obviously more observant than you had given him credit for.

“Wow. That’s great.” You smiled, “Well, I hope you have a lovely night.” You winked at him, turning on your heel but he grabbed the edge of your sleeve, pulling you back towards him.

“I think it’ll be a little rude of me if I show up alone, and besides, a lot of these things tend to go over my head, I think I might need somebody to help me understand everything.”

You wanted to resist. You wanted to tell him no. You wanted to be strong and admit that the fortress you had built around yourself wasn’t ready to start crumbling down, not just yet.

But you couldn’t.

You knew that this could all be a mistake. Letting people in wasn’t something you were used to, especially not someone as charming and handsome as Tommy. But you found yourself liking him, as though he had some kind of magnetic hold over you, pulling you closer even when you wanted to run.

“Tommy I - It’s kind of you, but I don’t think it’ll be wise.”

“Please.” He said, and hearing such a vulnerable word coming from his mouth made your throat constrict. “I know that I’m being forward and feel free to tell me to piss off, but honestly, I had such a wonderful dinner with you and I would love to take you out again. And besides, you’re my only friend here in London.”

“What about your sister?”

“Oh we’re really not that close.” He teased.

You laughed, chewing on your lip so harshly you thought you might draw blood. Despite the protests in your brain you reached out and took a ticket, looking up at him with those big eyes that made his toes curl.

“Fine.”

The theatre was beautiful. It was wide and open, with red velvet seats and high ceilings. It was the prefect escape, laughing and gasping with the audience as the actors fought and danced on stage, magnificent hand painted back drops making you feel like you were no longer in London. You ate truffle coated popcorn and drank glasses of champagne, all sent over by the ushers that recognised Tommy instantly, practically bowing to him when you both arrived.

But Tommy truly couldn’t care less for whatever was happening in front of you both, because he was completely captivated by you. He liked when you tipped your head back when you laughed, he liked the way your eyes lit up and followed the characters on stage, as though you were in a trance. He followed the curve of your nose and the pout of your lip under the cream coloured lights, unable to fight back the smile when you noticed him, blush rising up your neck like a tidal wave.

He walked you home that night, just like he had before, his jacket slung over your shoulders and his hand ghosting against yours. You seemed more open, your anecdotes a little more personal and your laugh a little louder, and he really felt like he might be getting somewhere. He liked making you giggle and the way you tucked into his side when a car raced by a little too fast, and he wasn’t even disappointed when you simply handed back his coat at the end of the night, a ghost of a smile on your lips - if anything it made him want you more.

The morning after the play, with eyes blurred from sleep and a migraine brewing behind your eyes, you found a still warm lemon loaf and a container of expensive coffee on your doorstep. You smiled as you tied your hair up messily with a powder pink ribbon you had around your wrist, placing the coffee inside by the kettle and half of the sickly sweet treat in your handbag, knowing you would need it to soften up Ada when you inevitably told her about the evening you had shared.

She had rolled her eyes and scolded you; reminding you to be cautious. And you wanted to be, really, but there was something about him that made you ignore the warning signs hammering in your chest, and before you knew it you were back under his arm when he next showed up on your doorstep.

He took you to a horse show on the other side of London, telling you that he needed another pair of eyes and a consultant for helping him choose a new mare. You had told him you knew nothing about horses, and yet he persisted, pulling you in with that damned smile and those ocean blue eyes. You had managed to get one over on him though, meeting him at his car the next day, dressed in a blood red gown that made his breath get caught in his throat. You looked beautiful, ethereal even, with your curled hair and shy eyes. And that colour red, the colour of sin against such a gentle soul made the fire in the pit of his belly reignite whenever he looked at you, but worst of all, was the way that colour reminded him of her.

He didn’t want to be wallowing in the past. So he allowed himself to get sucked into you, allowed the smell of your perfume and the sound of your voice and the warmth of your body distract himself from the blonde beauty that was clawing back into his mind.

He was waiting for you in his matte black car on his last night in London, and you tried to ignore the thump of your heart when you realised that he wanted to spend his final day in the city with you. He drove to Hyde Park, the sun was high and the sky was the cloudless, a long stretch of blue that seemed to go on forever. You walked across the grass, keeping your hands laced together so you wouldn’t risk brushing your fingertips against his, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to hide the goosebumps that would rise on your skin.You watched him smoke, inhaling and exhaling smoothly, blowing out nicotine like it was water, and he smiled when he caught your eye.

“Why did you bring me here today?” You asked finally, when the two of you came to a stop by the edge of the pond, watching the ducks and swans swim between the reeds.

“I like appreciating beautiful things.” He said, tilting his head so he was looking you in the eye.

You sighed, watching the sun reflect diamonds from the water. “I don’t understand you, Tommy, and that makes me nervous.” He didn’t know what to say, and so he let you continue. “How much has Ada told you about me?”

“Nothing. She’s a good friend.”

“She’s my best friend.” You murmured, and he watched the way your eyes glossed over, like you were replaying a million memories in your head. “You know, she told me to stay away from you.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I don’t know why you’re pursuing me.” Your voice was small, like the ripples that lapped over the top of the pond.

The truth is he didn't either. He knew it was wrong, using you as a way to get over Grace, but he’s never been known for having the most ethical methods. Doesn’t he deserve this? For everything he does, for the money he makes and the lives he’s built for his family, doesn’t he deserve something kind and pretty and gentle? Doesn’t he deserve a distraction from all the noise?

You reached into your handbag, rummaging around through the loose lipsticks and many receipts that you’ve shoved inside. He peered as you pulled out a small coin purse, rose coloured and no bigger than your palm. You unclasped the two little pearls at the top, and he noticed your fingers shaking ever so slightly, like a leaf in the wind.

You pulled out a picture and handed it to him, dog eared and greying but unmistakably you, laughing into the cheek of a young man, his arms slung over your shoulder. Tommy looked over at you, but you were watching the water, jaw clenched ever so slightly.

“Who is he?”

“Steven.” You cleared the lump residing in your throat, the one that always surfaced when you spoke about him. “We lived next door to each other, he was my first kiss, my first love, my first - everything.”

Tommy felt a pang in his gut like a sucker punch, he could hear the hurt in your words, he knows it too well, because it’s the same that echoes around his skull whenever he thinks about Grace.

You continued, “We were together since primary school, and all through secondary. I really thought we were going to be with each other forever.” You sniffled, and Tommy knows what you’ll say before you’ve even formed the words, because he’d been through the horrors himself. “He was a few years older than me though, and then he... and then he got drafted.”

“He was never made for the war. No one is, not really, but he was special. He was so kind and gentle and funny, and it wasn’t fair. We got married the day before he was sailing to France. I wore my mothers dress, it was too big and a few buttons were broken, but it was perfect. We were just kids in love.”

The silence that followed told Tommy everything he needed to know, and his gut felt heavy, like it was filled with lead. He wanted to reach out and touch you, the sadness radiating off of you like perfume, but he kept his hands to himself.

“How did it happen?” Tommy asked after a moment, knowing that you might not be able to bring up the subject unless he did.

“Second battle of Somme. Front line. They said he took the bullet instead of his comrade, jumped in the way to save him. They said he died quickly, that he wasn’t in much pain.”

“He died a hero.”

“He shouldn’t have died at all.”

Tommy agreed with that.

“The war took too many good men.” His voice was growing as sullen as his eyes, thinking back to a time that always sucked the life from him, his mind growing hazy with thoughts of the trenches and mud on his feet, sticky blood staining his hands.

“And destroyed those left behind.”

He inched closer to you. He was so tall and stoic, eyes focused on the water in front of you yet you felt completely seen, something about him making you feel content. Above you, the clouds were darkening, a chill whipping around you both. He brushed his shoulder against yours, the fabric making you shiver slightly, and he grabbed your wrist gently, intertwining your fingers with his, making the first move because he knew you couldn’t.

“Come on,” He said, voice raspy and thick like billowing smoke. “We don’t want to get stuck in the storm.”

The rain was torrential. It was almost comical how quickly the clouds gathered and darkened, spitting droplets from above that trickled down and splattered the both of you. You giggled as you ran to the car, Tommy holding his jacket above the two of you, your heels splashing through puddles. It felt like a weight had lifted from your chest, when you opened the car door and bolted inside, breathless and wild. It had always been hard to talk about Steven, the words getting stuck in your throat like thick honey, but the relief of having it out in the open was enormous. You didn’t realise just how much of the past you were holding onto.

Raindrops were scattered along Tommy’s fine leather seats, the bottom of your dress painted with a faint layer of mud. His windshield wipers squealed as the cleared away the water, the car thick with tension and heat rising from your damp bodies. It was late by the time you made it back to the centre of the city, the rain still cascading down loudly onto the pavement around you. You could hear your blood rushing to your ears, the kind of constant hum that made you feel as though you were being held underwater.

Your whole body was bubbling with apprehension, you could feel Tommy moving behind you, the edge of his jacket brushing against your arm. You couldn’t find your keys inside your handbag, struggling from adrenaline and the icy chill of the air. Wet hair clung to your forehead, and you were certain your mascara was halfway down your cheeks, and you turned to Tommy to apologise for your clumsiness, but he was already gazing at you.

You were looking up at him, so innocent and so gentle and so beautiful under the soft glow of the navy sky and the twinkling stars and all he really wanted was to kiss you senseless - so he did.

He tasted like sweet mint and nicotine, and you tasted like woodsmoke and wisteria. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it wasn’t like stealing kisses in the alley when you were sixteen, or clumsy kisses in the bed you shared with Steven, this was intense and passionate and all consuming. Tommy allowed you to devour him, the smell of you overpowering his senses and he buried his soft aching hands in your messy hair.

His body was pressed against you, thick and hard against the velvet of your figure. You pulled away slowly, lips puffy and swollen and baby pink. You were blushing, red hot from nerves and exhilaration and you laughed sweetly against the crook of his neck, eyelashes fluttering against his flesh.

“Do you want to come inside?”

His fingertips were the paint coated brushes and your body was the perfect canvas. You reacted to his touch like it was everything you craved. Your kisses were open mouthed and messy, and he had to bite his tongue to stop the cascade of groans threatening to spill from his lips. Your pulses were synced, the low light of your bedroom made you look like a creature from a fairytale, and he touched you like you were made from glass. His hands were soft yet rough, you let him run his fingers through his hair and then leave bruises on your hip bones. He shuddered into your neck, sweat dripping onto your skin, whines leaving your mouth that he wanted to drill into his brain and remember for the rest of his life.

He was breathless. He closed his eyes as he laid down next to you, the sky outside black like coal. You had been perfect. He couldn’t hear the shovels. The usual constant battle in his brain was replaced by the salty memory of your skin, your hot breath against his ear, your legs tangling with his. He felt you next to him, curling into him slightly, your body still recovering and your toes twitching.

The bedroom was quiet, nothing but the creak of the wind against the window and the occasional pattern of rain against the glass. He felt his ears twitch when you opened your mouth, muffled and sleepy, a pang of sadness in your voice.

“Please don’t break my heart.”

He pretended to be asleep.

————————————————————-

He was gone when you woke up. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting, but cracking your eyes open to the lazy sunrise and the emptiness of your bed was as painful as a bullet in your spine. You felt embarrassed, looking down at the marks of your skin as you scrubbed away the night in the bath, running a warm flannel over your skin so many times that your flesh turned red. You felt ashamed; ashamed that you hadn’t listened to your best friend and ashamed that you had put your trust in someone that you knew would hurt you.

But deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you couldn’t deny that you still liked him, still wished that he was with you. You knew it was wrong but you forgave him. You knew he had to leave early; perhaps he hadn’t slipped out the way you had thought, perhaps he had truly wanted to stay. You felt foolish and young and weak, but you missed the feeling of his lips and his skin, the weight of his hips against yours.

Two full weeks passed by until he showed up again. There were no calls, no surprise bouquets or impromptu visits, just the lingering feeling of shame on your body. You didn’t say anything to Ada, too mortified to admit that you had slept with her brother and he had run out before you had woken up. You knew that he was the one in the wrong, he was the one who deserved to feel like shit for treating you that way, but that didn’t stop the pounding of your own insecurities.

Rich raspberry wine and candied cherries, these were the remedy for a broken heart. You were sitting cross legged on the sofa, the radio crackling behind you, soft jazz lulling you into a relaxed daze. You were sewing the hem of one of your dresses, threading the needle and watching the stitches close. You had already downed two glasses of wine, loving the taste and the burn in your belly, and you groaned when you heard two sharp raps on the front door.

“Ron, did you forget your keys again?” You huffed, expecting to see your forgetful neighbour waiting for you, but almost catching your fingers in the door when you realised who it was instead.

“Hi.”

Piercing blue eyes and a jawline that could slice your palm, two things that you simultaneously adored and loathed. His hand curled around the door as you tried to slam it shut, pushing against you so it couldn’t be closed.

“Fuck off.”

“Please. Please. (Y/N).”

“No Tommy - Thomas. Fuck!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t give a shit.” You lied.

“Please just let me explain.” He said and you huffed, trying your hardest to not look at him for too long, it was like looking directly into the sun: painful and disappointing.

“I - No.”

“Please.”

Fuck him and that fucking voice.

You opened the door a crack, enough for him to slip through and into your flat. He looked so dark amongst the bright colours of your crockery and the yellow tulips planted on your windowsill. You moved backwards, trying to make yourself as small as possible, ignoring the ache growing inside of you, the ache to run into his arms and forgive him.

“I’m sorry for the way I left.” He scratched his forehead and cleared his throat, the sound echoing around the room. “There’s no excuse.”

“You made me look like a twat, Tommy.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” You said, but you weren’t sure if you meant it, liking the vulnerability in his words, the tenderness of his voice soothing you despite your inner anger.

He lifted his palm to run through his hair, jet black coat cloaking over him like a shadow. You saw it then, under the light of the blue moon, a gash tearing through the skin on his wrist.

“You’re bleeding.” You stated, and you saw his eyes widen slightly, looking at the wound on his arm as if he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Huh.”

“God, Tommy.” You inhaled, sucking air through your teeth, “Let me clean it, it looks like it needs stitches.” You hated yourself for giving in, knowing that the cut wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t like he was going to be leaving your flat in a stretcher, but you still cared for him, despite everything.

The smell of antiseptic wipes and the tangy metallic taste of blood filled your bathroom. You pressed on him a little too hard, smiling as he winced slightly. Neither of you spoke, letting the silence hang between the both of you, almost tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, those fucking sparkling eyes following the curve of your nose and the wave of your hair, lingering a little too long on your lips.

“I really am sorry.”

“Yeah, you said that.” You bit through the gauze, measuring it against his skin, anything to not meet his line of sight.

“I have a habit of ruining good things.”

You scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to fall for that line?”

“I thought you might hit me if apologised again.”

Against your better judgment, you laughed. “Yeah, I might have.”

His palm, warm and heavy and reminding you of the pressure of his body on top of yours, clasped over your own, making you still.

“Have I fucked everything up?” He asked. You didn’t say anything, not trusting your own voice. You felt the roughness of his fingertips circling your skin, languid like waves lapping across the shore. He inched closer towards you, smelling like fresh crisp apples and old cigarette butts, managing to always be the perfect mix of chaos and control. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

You should have pushed him away, but you didn’t. You gave into the darkness of his blue eyes, the ring of lust forming around his pupils and the desire stirring in your belly like bubbling water. He tasted so sinful yet sweet and you were the perfect remedy for the terrible day he had, so receptive and angelic under his touch.

“If you rip your stitches, you’ll have to redo them yourself.”

He laughed into the soft, buttery flesh below your jugular, kissing your collarbones as his hands dragged you impossibly closer, lips crashing onto yours.

You fell asleep first. Hair cascading on your silk pillowcase, and he connected the freckles on your back like they were constellations. He could hear the gentle drip of the tap in the bathroom, and

the hum of the city around you. The noise in his head had stopped, but it still remained like a dull static in the back of his mind. He pushed it away though, focusing on the calming energy of your body and the tenderness of your touch.

He would be gone tomorrow.

He’ll let you wake up to him, he’ll drink the coffee in your kitchen and fuck you under the golden sunlight, open mouthed kisses shared in the confines of your apartment. But then he’ll leave again, giving you just enough to allow him to come back. He craved you, but it was medicinal, like a hit of opium when the shovels got too loud, not something he could afford to indulge in.

He looked over at you, fast asleep, your nose twitching slightly. He can’t give you what you want or what you deserve, but just for the night, in the quiet of your bedroom, with his hands on the curve of your hips, he’ll be the man that you want him to be.

—————————————————————-

His visits were sporadic and unpredictable. He would show up out of the blue, lurking around the back streets like a nomad, knocking on your door just before midnight, his hands covered in blood. On those nights you would clean him up, neither of you would speak as you washed away the crimson from his skin, rubbing ointment on the growing purple bruises on his knuckles. He would kiss you feverishly and wildly, desperate to feel your body so soft and pliant under his. Those nights he craved control, and you were the only person who would give it completely to him.

Sometimes he would show during the day, with a wide smile and an expensive suit, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. He would take you to dinner or for walks down the canal, you might sit curled in his lap at the pictures or perhaps drive to a new city, his hand in yours, allowing you to pretend that you weren’t just the girl he came to when he wanted to feel something.

He would take you gently, almost romantically. In the back of his car or at a hotel that cost more for one night than your months rent, moulding your body under his like clay. He’d make you moan for him, the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, and he’ll relish in the attention you’ll give him. You’ll be the one thing that calms him after a hard days work, it’ll be your body and touch that unclench his fists and help calm his mind. He uses you like snow, strong, hard hits that leave him gasping for breath.

He’d always be gone before the sunrises. He’d wait for you to be asleep, hair around your head like a halo, lips puffy and swollen from clashing with his, fingertip shaped bruises across your hips. He’d never stay long enough to hear the disappointment in your voice, see the gloss that coats your eyes, the hurt pounding in your chest.

It stings like alcohol on a wound even when you’re expecting it. When you wake up and your bed is cold and empty, and your body is missing the warmth of his. You’ll give yourself a few moments to cry, take a scalding hot bath and scrub his smell from your flesh, tell yourself over and over that this is the last time. Never again. But you know as you make your way home, with a clouded head and aching legs, that the next time he shows up, you’ll let him stay.

———————————————————-

It had been almost a month.

A month of complete silence. You felt stupid but not surprised, the sadness nothing more than a dull pain in your chest now. You felt like you were just existing, not living. Constantly waiting for him to show up at your door and make your world start spinning again. You tried to distract yourself with work, but hearing the ladies gossip in the cafeteria about their loving boyfriends and amazing dates made the hole in your heart throb.

You hadn’t told Ada what had been going on, but she was your best friend, and you were certain she had already sussed it. You’d been skipping shifts at the library, spending more of your time cooped up in your flat or the hospital, opting for overnight shifts, anything to distract you from the loneliness of your bed.

Your cupboards were bare, cups of tea gone cold dotted all over your flat, and cobwebs starting to appear in the corners of your walls. You needed to go to the grocer and buy something that wasn’t bread or wine or chocolate. You were rooting through your purse, hands smelling like copper when you heard the shrill ring of your doorbell. Your heart stopped, but you didn’t get your hopes up; you were done waiting around for him like a bloody border collie.

You could see her silhouette behind the door, raven coloured ringlets and red lipstick. You sighed, running your fingers over the creases in your jumper before you opened the door, expensive french perfume wafting into your flat.

“You’re avoiding me.” She said sharply, waltzing inside, thick fur jacket brushing past you.

“No I’m not, Ada.”

“Yes you bloody are!”

You watched as she rummaged through your cupboards, pulling out two glasses and then flopping down on your sofa and patting the seat next to her. She grabbed a bottle of vodka from inside her handbag, almost bigger than your head, and she started to pour.

“Tell me everything.”

So you did. It was embarrassing and awkward, but damn did it feel good to get off your chest. Ada sat watching intently, pursing her lips and sighing when appropriate, burgundy nails tapping on your table when she got particularly annoyed. She threw her head back and finished her second glass, faint cherry red staining the rim.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a shit friend.” You apologised, gulping the remaining droplets of your own drink. “I just - God, I had no idea what to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything.” Her voice was ernest and for the first time in a long time you actually felt like you could breathe, Ada always had that effect on you. She had a way of making people feel comfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” You sighed, cradling your knees to your chest. “I was too embarrassed.”

“It’s not your fault, babe, Tommy’s a dickhead!” She shoved you lightly and you smiled halfheartedly. “And I would tell him that in person! Not that I’ve seen him since Grace came back.”

You felt your spine go rigid.

“Grace?”

Annoyance painted Ada’s face, and she pursued her lips like she was sucking on a lemon.“He didn’t tell you about her? That she came back?”

Not explicitly, but she had always been there. Ada had once told you about her brothers lover, the beautiful blonde vixen who had turned his world on its axis. That was partly why you were so hesitant, knowing you couldn’t compare to a woman like her, but Tommy had made you trust him, and look how that turned out.

Now you were slapped with the cold, hard truth, and it hurt.

She was the woman always on the tip of his tongue, the one that he saw when he closed his eyes. You were the body he used, the temporary buzz and the hit of pain relief, but she was the one he really wanted, the woman he pretended you were.

“No. Must have slipped his mind.” You laughed falsely, feeling tears build behind your eyes. You inhaled, your voice quiet. “But Grace - she was the one wasn’t she? You know, the one who...”

The one who broke his heart. The woman he loved, the woman he really wanted.

She hesitated, but then nodded sadly. “Yes.”

“God I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry baby.” Ada pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her chest like she was comforting her son. You let the tears fall, felt them cascading down your cheeks like a waterfall. Ada stroked your hair and pulled you close, and you closed your eyes, finally giving into the sadness.

———————————————————-

It was slow - the healing process. Falling back into a routine of work and chores, and eventually starting to laugh and smile again. You passed your final exam with flying colours, finally becoming a registered nurse. Ada was there with Karl, cheering you on when you left the hall with papers in your hands. You continued working at the library, hiding behind the bookshelves at the back with Ada, clutching your stomach from laughing so hard, your knees weak. You made new friends with the ladies at work, visiting clubs and bars on the weekends, trips to the pictures after a long day on the job. You even got asked out on a date, with a handsome doctor called Dennis who always made you a cup of coffee in the morning and saved you the donut with pink sprinkles he knew you liked.

It took time, but you were finally starting to feel the wound scab over, but of course, a hurricane in the form of a smart mouthed gangster was just enough to blow down everything you had worked so hard in repairing.

Three months of no contact had passed.

It was late. Hot water billowed around you as you stirred your tea bag, inhaling the sweet smell of cinnamon and lemon. You pulled your satin robe tight against your skin, admiring the soft blush pink colour and shuffling towards the bedroom in your matching slippers. You hummed as you turned down your bed, longing for the sweet embrace of your covers, but you were pulled from your daydream by pounding on your front door. You sighed, ignoring it and continuing to fluff your pillows, but when it didn’t stop, you frowned and stormed towards the assailant.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You muttered, swinging the door wide open, but the words evaporated like ocean spray when you came face to face with the man you least wanted to see. It was such a cruel sense of deja vu, and you could feel your face growing red hot with anger.

“Get the fuck away from me.”

He ignored you, stepping over the threshold and back into your life. You held your hands up, defensively and aggressively, your brain not knowing whether to fight or fly. You inhaled loudly, you didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you upset.

“Please, Tommy. Just go.”

“I needed to see you.” His words were quick, raspy and urgent, but you brushed them off like they were nothing.

“You’ve seen me, now leave.”

“Not without speaking to you. Let me explain.”

“Was she busy?” You spat. “Is that why you’re here? She’s away so you think you’ll just come and see me and I’ll let you in? Let you touch me? Fuck you, Tommy.”

His eyes were wild, frustration painting his features. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like that?” You spat. “Not that you were using me as a tool to get over another woman? After everything I told you - ” You stopped, not wanting to think about your past. It was too painful.

He came closer, walking towards you so cautiously and softly you might have laughed. “Just hear me out.”

“Why the bloody hell should I listen to you?”

He shrugged exasperatedly, your words striking his skin like a branding, because you were right. He had no moral high ground or proper explanation for the way he had treated you.

“I’m fucked up. Too fucked up for you.” And he’s telling the truth. You’re so pretty and honest and kind, even when you’re crazy with rage, your whole body is practically buzzing with anger and you’re still so beautiful and light and he knows that he ruined you. You trusted him, you confided in him, and he still left.

“I can’t believe I was falling so such a goddamn righteous asshole!” You seethe, raking a hand through your hair. His eyes widened but you merely scoffed, if looks could kill he would have been swallowing dirt. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. Don’t act like you have no idea what I was feeling for you.”

He didn’t know what to say, and he could his stone cold heart breaking.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You sniffed. “This is the last time I want to see you.”

“Just let me stay, let me make it up to you.”

He moves closer, wanting to feel your hair between his fingers, the soft embrace of your touch and the sweetness of your lips. Things had been going wrong all day, the business struggling and the cops getting suspicious and all he could think about was holding you. He wanted to try, he needed to feel you, he needed to feel something real. He wanted to apologise, pull you under him and make the both of you forget. For one more night he didn’t want to be Tommy Shelby, he just wanted to be the man who got to hold you.

You inhaled. “I’m seeing someone else.”

He felt a knife slice through his abdomen. He had no right to feel the shock and jealousy prickling through his skin, not after what he had done, but he still felt the raging green envy bubbling inside of him. He was being completely unreasonable and cruel, but a part of him had really hoped you would wait for him, but it’s that unfair mentality that had cost him.

“What?”

“I’m seeing someone - someone from work.” You said, finally gaining the nerve to stand up for yourself, wanting to wash away six months of your life you had given to him. “We’ve been going out for the past few weeks.”

“Who is he?” His tone was more demanding than he meant it to be, the shock and twinge of insecurity he felt from your announcement was making his words sharper.

“You don’t get to ask me that.”

He needed to take back control of the conversation, he needed to explain. He knew just how much he had fucked up, he’d been gone for too long this time, and his own selfishness might have cost him the best thing he had going for him. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, you just never meant for me to find out.”

“That’s not true, (Y/N). Listen to me, I - ”

“I have a busy day tomorrow, Thomas.” You said firmly, putting your foot down and refusing to let him try to right his wrongs - you had worked too hard on moving on. The hidden meaning in your words made Tommy’s jaw clench, his hands reflexively flinching at his sides. “So, please, just... just go.”

You were crying, but trying so hard to hide it. He could see the gloss coating your eyes and the flush rising from your chest, as though your body was leaking sadness from every pore. He felt his heart pound against his ribs. He was so used to getting what he wanted, in business and in private, and yet he felt like he might have just lost it all. So he turned and left, shutting your front door and trying to tune out the sound of your sobs, feeling even more empty inside then when he had arrived.

—————————————————————

He finally got what he wanted.

Grace was sitting opposite to him, her knees brushing against his, her smell so familiar and dizzying, but yet it didn’t feel right. She was a vision in a sea foam dress, with her sunshine coloured hair and perfect features, her eyes filled with a million stars that he could once spend hours getting lost in, but not anymore.

It felt so fake, so forced. The conversation didn’t flow, his words were stagnant, getting caught in his throat. She was looking right at him, the same way she did when they would wake up tangled in one another, at a time in his life that he used to think he was the happiest.

But maybe that had changed.

He was finding pieces of you in her. He knew that Grace only drank red wine, but out of habit he almost poured her a glass of bourbon; because that was what you liked. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the same way you did. How the shawl draped over her shoulders would look perfect on you.

He was sitting across from the woman of his dreams, but none of it felt right, because she wasn’t you.

Perhaps his dreams had changed.

He tuned out Grace as she spoke, her voice not calming him as it once had. All he could think about was what he had lost. He had been a prick, he knew that for certain. He hadn’t meant to not call you, to leave you in the lurch like he did, he just didn’t like anyone getting too close.

When he was in Birmingham he was the leader of the Blinders. He was smart and strong and thought things through so nobody else had to. He was the kingpin, the man who ruled with an iron fist and got exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it. But with you, in London, he had allowed himself a sliver of peace. He let himself sleep next to you, peach coloured moon dancing over your bodies, curtains blowing in the wind. After a long day he found himself driving to see you. Wanting to see that shy smile that would make his knees buckle, feeling like a teenager even when he had beat a man half to death mere hours before.

You were a forest fire. Just a small spark, the smell of your hair, the velvet of your skin, the sound of your laugh, and his entire world was alight. He remembered taking you out, the feel of your small hand against his, genuinely wanting to know how your day had been. He remembered the sound of your laugh, when he had you pressed up against the window of his car, in between ticket stubs and cigarette butts and road maps, unable to stop the grin making its way onto his own face.

Even in the months he was gone; when Campbell came back and turned his world back to shit, in the quiet of his office, his mind always wandered back to you. He thought about you whenever he saw fog rolling over the hills or he felt rain patter across his shoulders, he would lose himself for a moment and his brain would conjure up a picture of you. When he saw John and Esme at the Garrison, soft gentle touches reserved for one another, that stupid dopey grin on his brothers face, he thought of you.

It was more than just sex and he was a fool for thinking that that was all it had been.

“Tommy? What’s the matter?”

It was Grace. Her voice like ripe berries and warm milk, but entirely wrong. He blinked, remembering where he was, feeling the velvet of the sofa under his suit. She smiled when she realised she had captured his attention, slightly smug and self assured, and she continued her story of the joys of living in New York.

Tommy looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since they had met up. Here they were, in a five star hotel room outside of Birmingham, with champagne and caviar and imported chocolates. But she’s married, to somebody else. And yet, she had rang him and expected him to drop everything and join her.

He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.

Grace was like the first sunshine after being caught in a storm, but perhaps he’d grown to like the rain. He’d been chasing her for too long, like a fucking puppy, and now she was sitting centimetres apart from him, and he realised that she didn’t look all that magical. He thought about the anguish he felt when she left, the pure heartache that almost split him in two when he found out she had married another man, the pain of sleeping alone once more - and it makes him falter, because that’s exactly the same way he’d treated you, and you deserved so much more.

He knew Grace wanted. She wanted to fuck. She wanted to feel something other than her pathetic new husband, she craved the feel of power and the memory of what it’s like to run around with the devil. Her hand moved from the stem of her wine glass to the top of his thigh, a gentle, almost timid touch, testing the waters before she fully submerged. This is what he’d wanted since the very minute she boarded that train, to be back with the woman he loved, but now her soft caress feels like a slap. She didn’t notice his internal struggle, wine drunk and ready to fall back into his arms, but all he could picture was you with another man, his hand resting on the silk of your skirt.

He felt the familiar tick in his jaw, the way his knuckles flexed unconsciously, he knew he had no right but jealousy was eating away at him. How fucking stupid had he been? And now another man would have the pleasure of taking you out, making you laugh and blush under diamond chandeliers. Another man would get to walk you home, listen to your voice and then kiss you under the silver moon. He couldn’t even bear to think of the next part, the mere thought making flames ignite around his pupils.

“Tommy?” Grace asked, her eyes big and round like saucers, lips parted and just waiting to be pressed against his. She watched as he stood up, his knees clashing against the bar cart, far more flustered than she had ever seen him before.

“I have to go.”

———————————————————-

The club was loud, the bands instruments following you everywhere you went. The room was painted red and gold, shimmering lights and glowing pink shades reflecting from every surface. You were in a booth in the corner, nursing a glass of bourbon and eating sweet green olives, vinegar and alcohol on your tongue. Dennis was sat opposite, clad in a fine suit with a fresh haircut and laughing at his own anecdote, his hands gesturing wildly as he retold a story you had already forgotten.

You liked him, you did. He was nice and funny and handsome, - but he didn’t make sparks dance on your skin when he touched you, and he didn’t occupy your mind every second you were apart. Maybe that was for the best, maybe you needed to be sensible and date with your head, not your heart, because that was why you always got hurt.

You mind had been muddled since Tommy came back. All of your hard work had crumbled to pieces when he had knocked on your door. It was beyond frustrating, the way that he managed to crawl back inside your conscience with just a few words. You tried to blink away everything that happened, focusing on Dennis sitting on the other side of the booth, losing yourself in his kind smile and bright eyes.

He reached out and patted your hand with his, and you noticed how smooth his fingers were, not like the rough calloused pads that you could remember digging into your thigh and - you stopped, determined not to let your mind wander. You weren’t being fair to Dennis, he deserved someone who would give him their undivided attention, and didn’t spend the evening think of another man.

You let Dennis order another round of drinks, the conversation coming back round to the hospital - the only thing you seemed to have in common. You were just about to ask after a patient who you had heard wasn’t fairing very well, when you heard a commotion coming from the main hall. You raised your eyebrows and twisted around, trying to get a better view but you were blocked mostly by the sea of bodies. You turned to look at Dennis, but watched his own gentle brown eyes fill with shock.

“I need to talk to you.”

Fucking hell.

You felt flames licking your skin and ice cold water on your head at the same time. That stupid brummie accent that made your toes curl even after all the shit he had put you through. You saw surprise flash across Dennis’ face, his brows knitted at the stranger who had approached your booth. You didn’t want to turn around and face him, but you didn’t want the situation to get out of hand. You risked it. Swivelling in your seat so you could see him fully, your eyes flittering over the curls in his hair and the dammed sea blue colour of his irises.

“Tommy.” You kept your voice as level as you could, but it was proving hard. “Tommy, what the hell are you doing here?”

“We need to talk, come outside with me.”

His stare was so heated that it almost made you feel uncomfortable, and his hair was tousled, the way it always got when he ran his hands through it repeatedly. You could tell he was jealous, not missing the way his eyes had darted to Dennis’ hand covering your own. You could see the clench of his jaw and the tension in his forehead and it made you feel good, it was about time he had a taste of his own medicine.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you.” Dennis said, rising from his chair so he could meet Tommy’s line of sight. You reached out and squeezed his wrist slightly, willing him not to get involved, not for your sake, but for his own.

“I’ve had a a really fucking long day and I think that it’s best if you don’t piss me off.” Tommy spat, his voice husky and exasperated, pointing a finger across the table. Coming face to face with you and your new lover was enough to tear the strings that were holding him together, he wasn’t a patient man and all he wanted was to explain himself, but it was hard when he was in such a jealous haze. His mind and his mouth weren’t working as one, he was losing his composure, and quickly.

“Stop it.” Your voice was stern, cold enough to turn him to stone. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, watching you all like you were performing at a play, mouths agape and eyes wild with anticipation. You blinked up at Tommy and you could see him soften, the hurt evident in your features enough to make him want to tear out his hair, furious at himself for how he always fucks things up.

You turned to Dennis, heart clenching as he held his ground despite being much smaller and a million times less intimidating then the gangster behind you. You gave him an apologetic look, knowing that the only way to diffuse the bomb that was Thomas Shelby was to speak to him alone.

“Thank you for everything, Dennis.” You said, shaking your head at the insanity of it all. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me for how this evening has turned out.”

He brushed off your words, as gentlemanly as ever, shooting a harsh look at Tommy. “Are you sure you’re alright going with him?”

You could see Tommy open his mouth to spit back something, his hands clenched at his sides, but you pushed him roughly in the torso and stormed past, heading for the back doors.

Your face was hot and red with shame, you could still taste alcohol on your tongue, but it had turned bitter and sour. You could hear him behind you, his expensive shoes clattering on the cobbled streets, his heavy exhales in the dark. He reached out, his touch timid and reserved despite the scene he had just created. At the feel of his fingers on your upper arm you pushed him off, walking further away into the alley.

“(Y/N)!) He called, but you ignored him, wiping away your tears before swirling on your heel, voice laced with venom.”

“It wasn’t enough for you to break me back at my flat?” You shouted, hearing your heart shatter with every syllable. “You had to come and do it in public too? What the fuck is wrong with you Tommy?”

“I know. I know.” He came towards you but you stumbled back, holding up a finger to keep him away from you. “I shouldn’t have made a scene.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone?” You cried, it was hard enough to even try to get over him, but now he was making it impossible and you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“I’m in love with you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears now. It was the words you had been begging him to say, the words that you had wanted to hear since you had first met, but they just made you weep harder. His face was so ernest, more honest than you had ever seen it, but it was so goddamn hard to believe him.

“You’re not in love with me, Tommy.” You murmured, swallowing the thickness in your throat. “You just want me because you saw me with another man.”

He shook his head, reaching out to touch you under the yellow glare of the streetlights. The feeling of you in his arms was so right to him, so familiar and warm that it felt like coming home. The tear streaks on your cheeks shone like the stars above the two of you, so beautiful and so heartbreaking and he needed to let you know how he felt.

“I’m in love with you.” His voice was firm, and even though you wanted to you couldn’t look away from him, trapped in his gaze. “It’s always been you. And I should have told you sooner.”

You stopped, everything you had wanted to say evaporated like ocean spray around the two of you, the water crashing so loud you could hear it in your ears. You were tired, and confused, half of you wanted to slap him and the other half wanted to fall into his arms. Instead, you sat down on the curb, feet planted in the gutter, dropping your head in your hands.

“I need a cigarette.”

Tommy smiled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his packet and a lighter, giving you a smoke before lighting the end, watching the flame flicker in your eyes. You took three long drags, trying hard to control your breathing and rivalling emotions before you spoke again.

“How did you find me?”

He inhaled, puffing on his own cigarette. “I’ve had men watching you since the first time we met.”

You snapped around to face him. “You’ve fucking what?”

“You really think I was going to let you go around the city without protection?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

The silence was deafening and you hated how you instinctively wanted to move by his side, press your body up against his for warmth. Instead you looked up at the navy coloured sky, counting the stars and pretending you couldn’t feel him watching you.

“I fucked up.” He spoke. “ I used you and I hurt you.”

You bit your lip to try and stop the tears from falling once again.

“I was heartbroken because of Grace, and I needed a distraction.”

“A distraction.” You repeated.

“I’m sorry. It’s redundant now, I know. But I am. I fucked everything up and I’m sorry.”

The tension between you was almost palpable, like the nicotine that was surrounding you both. You could feel the sincerity in his tone, but you also knew that he could talk a man out of his house if he really wanted to.

“Did she turn you down?” You countered, facing him. “Is that why you’re here with me?”

He shook his head, tongue running over his teeth, wisps of smoke leaving his lips. “I saw her for the first time tonight.” He said, honestly. “I sat across from her and I realised that she meant nothing to me, not anymore.” You felt him beside you, the pressure of his thigh digging into yours, desperate to get you to look at him.

“It was just sex.” You muttered, looking for some kind of safety net to stop you from making the same mistake, no matter how badly your heart is pleading you to fall onto him.

“Don’t fucking say that. Don’t lie to me.” He stammered, as though your words had truly hurt him.

“You treated me like shit, Tommy. How can I ever trust you?”

“I can’t promise I won’t fuck something up. I’m a bad man and I do bad things, but I swear, right, on my fucking life - that I will never do anything to hurt you.”

He was so close to you. The strong man so weak as he brushed his nose against yours. He felt years younger, and felt the overwhelming ache to drag you into his arms and kiss you senseless.“I need you with me. I can’t do any of this without you - And will spend every day proving to you just how much you fucking mean to me.” He whispered, words trailing off into the

crown of your hair.

You couldn’t stop it. All of the warning bells in your head extinguished like candles, and all you could think about was him. He had hurt you, dug a knife into your rib cage and left you to bleed, and perhaps a better woman would have left him sitting in the gutter, but you knew that the two of you were bound together - just as beautiful and broken as one another.

You shook your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes, the man who had turned your life upside down. You didn’t want to think anymore - so you didn’t, instead you smashed your lips onto his, making his head spin wildly, losing himself in you.He’s always had a high tolerance, but somehow, just one touch, just the brush of your lips against his, the heat of your breath on his skin, has him utterly, completely, wasted

“Please don’t break my heart.” You said, reminiscent of the first time you had slept together, pressing your forehead against his. He breathed you in, the smell of violets and salt, warm coffee and vanilla, the scents that he wished he could bottle. He pressed his lips to yours, claiming you as his as much as proving he was yours. He relished the taste of you, his kisses greedy and passionate, making sure that you were still there and knowing that he would never let you go again.

“I won’t.”

And it’s a promise he’ll keep.

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby oneshot #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders oneshot #fic #orion writes

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five-hxrgreeves · 4 years ago

Text

I Won’t Back Down - Five Hargreeves x OC

Word Count: 3,597

You can stand me up at the gates of hell But I won't back down I'm gonna stand my ground Won't be turned around And I'll keep this world from dragging me down

1 | 2 |

Pt. 1- 10 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019

Lola Gimbel was a very peculiar child and it wasn’t because she was one of the forty-three children born on that fateful day in 1989. Instead, she was strange because at the ripe young age of fifteen, she had already started her autobiography. It wasn’t that she was famous and needed her life written down, or that she was planning on dying anytime soon; on the contrary, she planned to live a long and fruitful life.

(One must be careful with what they wish for.)

Instead, her inspiration came from an eleven-year-old girl who’d lived over seventy years ago in a fictional work called The Book Thief. Lola admired Liesel’s perseverance and survival skills during war-torn times and the romantic part of her wanted someone like Rudy to stay by her side. This created the urge to pen down her own life story, first by asking her family members about the early years beyond memory until she could rely on her own.

Then, she spent many, many nights hidden in her basement writing by the aid of flickering candlelight. Of course, she didn’t need to use such old-fashioned ways, but the atmosphere helped set the mood and was a replica of how her book-hero wrote. Unfortunately, Lola didn’t think she had anything interesting to write even in the two and a half notebooks and counting. So far, she had:

My name is Lola Gimbel and I was born August 1, 2004. My family consists of my mother, Diana Gimbel, my father, Edmund Gimbel and my uncle, Edward Gimbel. I go to the local public high school in downtown Toronto, Canada. My father and uncle own a department store downtown called Gimbel’s Brothers. (An original name, I know. Don’t tell them I said that.) This is where I spend most of my free time after school. My mother works long hours as a nurse and apparently, I can’t be trusted enough to stay home alone after burning eggs one morning.

I’m getting ahead of myself; I was born in Toronto General Hospital at 9:15 a.m. According to my birth certificate, I weighed five pounds, five ounces. Tiny, I know! My mother was in labor for almost nine hours and when I finally arrived, she named me Delores. I hate my name because it sounds so old fashioned and it means sadness. I’d like to think I was a gift to my parents, but maybe not? and I know they love me, so instead of telling them that, I call myself Lola, which is better. It’s still a derivative of Delores, after all. As for appearances, I have shoulder-length brown hair with mid-length bangs and blue eyes.

The writing continued on for pages and pages, detailing everything she could- and couldn’t-remember from her life. There was one thing that she did not include, however, as it would give her parents a heart attack: the mansion the next block over, home of the long-forgotten Umbrella Academy, housed the biggest library she’d ever seen, and she stole books from it.

Three Years Ago

It had really been a coincidence that she’d taken any interest in the building at all. While it was the biggest thing in the city practically, the old man who lived there was an eccentric recluse who never left the house. And, despite it’s past grandeur, the once-grand entrance had faded with time and memory. Even those who’d grown up in the golden years of The Umbrella Academy had let their passions for the group of crime-fighting children go by the wayside as they grew up, leaving the large house to sit without audience for years on end.

Still, that didn’t stop some interested passers-by from peering in occasionally and Lola was among them. One night, she’d been passing by on her way home from a late-night walk and had travelled by the house on her way home. She’d passed by the house hundreds of times before, but that night she’d seen something. Or, someone. A slightly stooped figure had lingered in the window until they’d sensed they were being watched and had disappeared.

Since then, curiosity had plagued her to go check it out. Maybe, just maybe, she’d have something interesting to add to her life’s story. Her mother would cluck her tongue and say curiosity killed the cat, but her Uncle Edward would wink at her and chime in with but satisfaction brought it back. So the next night, Lola didn’t hide in the basement. Instead, she donned all-black clothes and crept to the house.

She’d never broken in anywhere but she had an inventive, quick mind and could almost always come up with a solution. The first-floor windows and doors had been locked and secure but after a few, terrifying minutes of climbing- luckily, the old stone had great places to cling on to- she’d reached the second level. Despite the ache in her fingers from grasping the side of the building, Lola had pressed on, hoping for luck, which arrived in the form of a second-story window being unlocked.

The brunette pushed it open carefully and dropped in, keeping low. A young girl would hardly trigger any alarms, but she wanted to be cautious anyway. The room she’d landed in was dark and with only the faint filter of light from the street lamps, she made her way into the hallway. A part of her hoped to find the figure she’d seen, but the other part- the larger part- hoped she wouldn’t meet anyone.

Despite the age of the house, the floorboards were in excellent condition and made no sound as she walked down the hallway. After trying a few doors to find them all barred, Lola hesitated at the back staircase. She should really stay on the floor with the escape, but something was encouraging her exploration upward, so she climbed.

There, at the end of the hallway, stood two large, double doors. Her anticipation heightened and it took everything in her not to sprint towards them. Instead, Lola continued at the same pace and, with bated breath, tried the handle. To her surprise, the door swung open immediately. The room was dark but her eyes had gotten used to the lack of light by now and she could make out towering, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. She gave a squeak of excitement. Books! Now she could really be like Liesel Meminger!

Sure, there were libraries, but this was so much better. Her feet moved quickly, closing the distance between the door and the books. She ran her hands enthusiastically along the spines of the volumes, unable to read their titles due to the dim light. Which one should she take first?

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Someone was outside the door. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but the air suddenly felt… charged.

Quickly, she pulled one volume off the shelf and close to her chest. At the same time, a shadow appeared in the open crack of the door.

Oh no, oh no, oh no- Lola shook her head furiously, clutching the book. Panicking wouldn’t help. The room was dark enough that whoever it was probably hadn’t seen her, so she could still get away. Her eyes darted around the mostly open space.

There was a couch with side tables, a working desk, library nick-nacks and- aha! she thought triumphantly, soundlessly making her way to the window.

The figure in the door entered the room, peering cautiously around before backing out again, closing the door with a sharp click!

Lola, from her hiding place in the curtain, let out a relieved breath. She took this as her queue to leave, exiting with her prize out the same window she’d come in. While she was triumphant in her first heist, her mind was whirring. The figure had been obscured by darkness, but the outline had been clearer than when she’d seen them in the window- that, she was sure of- and it seemed like the person wasn’t actually a person at all, but a- monkey.

9 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019

After school hours usually found Lola en route to her father’s department store where she would spend time until closing working on homework or hanging out with the staff that was on break. While the back room wasn’t the most ideal place for studying, she’d become used to the constant comings and goings and the noise that came with the workers.

Now, she was sitting at a table in the cluttered space at the back of the store working on her math homework while the daily news played on a small, old-fashioned TV hung up in the corner of the large room. Three of the staff members, Sam, Eric and Brittany were sitting at the table with her. The first of the workers’ attention was fixed on the small TV while the second two where scrolling through an app on their phones looking as bored as Lola felt as she completed her assignment.

With a loud sigh, she looked up at the trio hopefully, “do you guys want to see a magic trick?”

Brittany rolled her dark eyes, “what, are you gonna pull a quarter from my ear?”

Lola grinned, “nope!” she said cheerfully, shifting slightly in her seat to pull out a deck of cards from the back pocket of her jeans.

Sam huffed, “are you going to do the ‘pick a card, any card?’ schtick?”

“You guys have no faith in me,” the brunette complained, pulling the cards from the container and proceeding to shuffle them, “I’ve been practicing.”

Eric sighed, “fine, I’ll bite. Hold ‘em out.”

Discreetly, the brunette flipped the bottom card of the deck over and then fanned them out to the other teen, careful not to let the different card show, “alright, pick a card, any card,” she said this part sarcastically with an eye roll towards Sam.

The blonde boy reached forward and pulled out the card he wanted.

“Show it to everyone but not me,” she commanded, “make sure you remember it.”

“Aye aye, Cap,” Eric said, flipping the card to reveal his choice.

While he did so, she flipped the deck casually in her hands, feigning nonchalance. She took it back from him, placing it carefully in the middle of the deck, “now, I’m going to find your card without looking.”

Lola hid the deck behind her back, flipping the top card over. At this point, even Brittany had put away her phone to watch. She revealed them again showing a face-up deck and carefully shuffled through the cards to reach the only face-down card.

Flipping it over, she showed the eight of hearts, “is this your card?”

Eric let out a low whistle, “well, I’ll be damned. You have been practicing.”

The dark-haired girl beamed happily, pleased that she’d pulled it off. The first time she’d tried this with her uncle, she’d accidentally revealed the workings of the trick as the deck slipped out of her hands.

“That’s definitely better than a quarter,” Brittany said begrudgingly.

Before anyone else could say something though, the jingle of the breaking news broke through the work room.

“This just in! Moments ago, police reported the death of the eccentric billionaire, Reginald Hargreeves. More on this story after the break.”

Sam’s head snapped towards the TV, “Hargreeves- that name sounds familiar.”

“That’s because he ran that Umbrella thing, idiot,” Brittany said with an eye roll, “they were all the rage during the early 2000s. My brother went nuts over them.”

“The Umbrella thing?” Lola questioned, curious.

“Oh yeah,” the older girl said, “there was this group of crime-fighting children that was run by Hargreeves. They became famous after stopping a bank robbery but they went downhill after one of their members went missing. Tommy was heartbroken.”

“Went missing?” Lola asked, “as in kidnapped?”

Brittany shrugged, “no one knows what happened to him. Hargreeves isn’t exactly an open book, either. There were several unsolved documentaries but they flopped since there’s not a ton of information. You can look it up if you wanna to know more. Personally, I was more of a Disney fan.”

“Of course you were,” Sam said in amusement.

The dark-haired girl glared at him, “what’s that supposed to mean, moron?”

The blue-eyed boy shrugged, “just that it’s a girly thing.”

Lola rolled her eyes as Brittany shot something back at the boy, tuning them out as the attention shifted away from her. She made a mental note to research The Umbrella thing, as the other girl had said. Standing, she stretched and made her way into the main area of the store to take a break.

Despite all the time she spent in here, Lola didn’t think she’d ever tire of looking at the constant rotation of styles and colors. Her favorite thing to do was run her hands along the racks, feeling the shifts between soft, scratchy, wooly and a hundred other different cloths.

Her favorite section was the formal wear for the vast amount of sparkly dresses that her father decided to sell. She particularly liked the sequins because of the shine they gave off and the unique texture that passed under her fingertips. While she wouldn’t necessarily consider herself a girly-girl, she did appreciate a nice dress and the occasional accessory, even owning-and wearing- an assortment of hats and dressy items containing her favorite material.

This was the section she made her way over to now, immediately reaching her hand out to touch the slightly-rough, slightly-smooth fabric of a long, strapless dress covered in a layer of silver-and-gold sequins.

She jumped when a gentle, warm hand came to rest on her shoulder, “hey, Sequins.”

Lola rolled her eyes, “Uncle Ed, I thought I told you I hated that nickname?”

Her uncle smiled goofily at her, “what, I can’t call you something that you love?”

She huffed, “it’s dumb.”

“That’s what your mother said when you wanted to go by Lola but you did it anyway.”

“Ouch, I think I need ointment for that burn.”

The man laughed loudly, attracting some stares from other customers. They both ignored it, Lola being used to her uncle’s easy, hearty laughter, “I thought she was going to have a conniption when you told her.”

Lola’s face warmed, “are you ever going to let me live that down?”

He gave her a bright smile, “no way, Dolores.”

The brunette gave him a half-irritated, half-playful glare, “please, Uncle Ed.”

8 Days Until Apocalypse I, 2019

That evening before dinner, Lola sat herself down at the computer in her room and typed in the first part of a search inquiry: The Umbrella and then Google helpfully suggested the rest: Academy.

Clicking on the first result, her blue eyes widened in shock as an image appeared on the screen. The building she stole books from almost every night was home to heroes. Good god, what if she’d been caught? She would be dead for sure. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d only met the slightly-stooped figure a handful of times and had never spoken to anyone.

She scrolled further down to read about The Umbrella Academy.

On October 1, 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth simultaneously, despite none of them showing any sign of pregnancy until labor began. Seven of the children are adopted by eccentric billionaire Sir Reginald Hargreeves and turned into a superhero team that he calls "The Umbrella Academy." Hargreeves gives the children numbers rather than names, but the public gives them codenames. Spaceboy, Kraken, Rumor, Séance, The Boy and Horror. While putting six of his children to work fighting crime, Reginald keeps the seventh apart from her siblings' activities, as she supposedly demonstrates no powers of her own.

Intrigued, she clicked on a few more links that showed poor-quality pictures of six kids in domino masks and black uniforms after complete missions. Sometimes they’re covered in blood, sometimes they’re not. The group visibly diminishes in number after 2002, a few years before she was born. Then, when they’re in their teens, it shrinks again before all articles about the group cease to exist.

Frowning, Lola then typed in Reginald Hargreeves. There are, unsurprisingly, few articles about the man himself. There were a few about his notable achievements including his knighting and entrepreneurship but most involved The Umbrella Academy. There was even audio recording of one of the few interviews he’d done, showing the man standing outside of a bank as he introduced the group to the world.

“Our world is changing. Has changed. There are some among us gifted with abilities far beyond the ordinary. I have adopted six such children. I give you the inaugural class of The Umbrella Academy!”

Abilities beyond the extraordinary? Lola thought, weren’t they just regular crime-fighting children? She snorted at that. There was no such thing as regular crime-fighting children. She entered her next search: Umbrella Academy superpowers.

Many articles were speculations of the full extent of the powers the children possessed, what-if questions and potential side effects or results of their use. She did learn, though, that the six powers were as followed: super strength, super accuracy, altering reality, ghost summoning, teleportation and time travel and summoning inter-dimensional beings. Lola could barely believe what she was reading. Children like this existed? And here she was, writing down her autobiography like she was someone important!

She shook her head, forcing her jealousy to dissolve. The media tended to sugarcoat everything; these kids probably didn’t have a very fun life if they were constantly on the job. And besides, of course she was important, she had time to do something noteworthy. Still, it felt like she’d entered an alternate universe and couldn’t believe she hadn’t been aware people with super powers even existed.

A part of her wanted to stop searching then and there with how muddled her mind was currently feeling but an almost morbid curiosity forced her to continue. As her final search of the night, she typed in The Boy disappearance.

Here, even less credible evidence popped up and she sifted through what she found until she had enough of a framework for a story. Apparently, he disappeared on November 10th, 2002 and his adoptive father proclaimed him dead. There were several conspiracy theories but nothing concrete, causing her to eventually give up on finding information. There was more to be found on the other siblings, she knew, but her curiosity had been satiated and she had other things to do tonight.

Standing from her desk, she went to her bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out the two hardcover books she’d hidden in there. Tonight, she’d return them to The Umbrella Academy’s library- that was hard to believe- and get two more. Placing them in her bag, she wondered about the lack of security for such an at-risk family, but she’d seen pictures of Hargreeves; he was old, and despite being incredibly smart, he probably had difficulty with technology like any older person. It wouldn’t matter much now that he was dead, though.

Turning her feet towards the door to head downstairs for dinner, she wondered if the stooped figure she’d seen had been Hargreeves before quickly discarding the thought. While the man had appeared old, he’d always stood straight and proud, never bent with age.

During dinner, she let her parents and uncle talk around her while she puzzled over the mysterious Umbrella Academy. They seemed to have a fairly large fanbase in their youth, but all information on them was practically made up or guessed. Lola had always liked puzzles.

Finally, towards the end of dinner, she broke her silence, “mom?”

Diana turned towards her daughter, pushing back her short, brown hair behind her ear, “yes, Dolores?”

The younger girl winced. Her mother insisted on using her formal name, “do you know anything about The Umbrella Academy?”

Now she had both of her parent’s attention as Edmund cut off the conversation with his brother, “The Umbrella Academy?”

Lola nodded, “the superhero children of Reginald Hargreeves?”

Her mother shook her head, “a bit after my time, dear.”

The brunette girl rolled her eyes, “you’re not that old, Mom.”

Diana shot her a look, “I never said I was old, just that I didn’t know them.”

She grumbled under her breath, crossing her arms and pouting. She’d only been trying to give a compliment. Unfortunately, the dark-haired woman leaned over and gave her daughter a firm smack on the back of her head, “don’t grumble, Dolores. You sound like a caveman.”

There was just no winning with her. Thankfully, her Uncle Edmund came to the rescue by changing the subject, “any progress on your autobiography, Sequins?” he asked with an amused twinkle in his hazel eyes.

The brunette sighed and uncrossed her arms, using one of her hands to push her hair away from her face, “I don’t know what’s even the point anymore,” she complained, “especially with super-powered kids who are more interesting than me.”

Her father gave her a fond look, “you’re just as important as they are, don’t think that you’re not. And besides, this Umbrella talk reminds me- one of the children of the Academy published an autobiography a few years back, you might want to take a look at it.”

She shot him a surprised look, “really? Exposing superhero secrets?”

He shrugged, “I’m not sure of the extent of what’s written, but it’s probably worth taking a look, right?”

She chewed her lip in thought for a moment before nodding, “okay, thanks Dad.”

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offaeandcreation · 4 years ago

Text

The Silk Weavers

Summary: He squeezed the scroll, rice paper far warmer than Wen MingZhu’s hand. Her words, sharper than icicles, echoed in his mind. “…you will place the document on Sect Leader Wen’s desk, and leave immediately.” Not once since Meng Yao stepped into Nightless City had he laid eyes on the Wen sect’s elusive Sect Leader. Was there a reason they shouldn’t meet?

Content Warnings: Body Modifications, Mild Thriller

Chapter 1: The Secret of the Wen Sect

1, 2,

AO3

“Young Master Meng.”

Meng Yao glanced up from his mountain of scrolls. Wen Mingzhu stood by the open door, her tall willowy figured rod straight. Meng Yao scrambled from his seat, slipping his brush back by the ink stone to keep from damaging the document he was working on. Brushing off his white and red uniform, he bowed,

“Maiden Wen Mingzhu, how can this disciple be of assistance?”

Wen Mingzhu nodded, black eyes vacant. Rarely, she expressed more than the occasional furrow of a brow. Maybe. Even with the care of a surgeon, no matter how many times Meng Yao dissected her expression, looking for any single minute twitch, he could never find any.

“Deliver this to Sect Leader Wen’s office.” She said curtly, one pale claw wrapped around a scroll sealed with pale blue silk. Silk that could buy a week’s worth of food. Or maybe a hair piece for mother. Did none of the Wen realize that the very minuscules of their life could pay to feed hundreds?

The heavy weight in his sleeve jingled when he reached for the scroll. A chuckle bubbled in Meng Yao’s throat. Food would be served tonight. Full course, well cooked meals for himself. For mother. And for Sisi.

“It will be done-“

Wen MingZhu snatched his wrist. Fingers wrapped tight, squeezing. Her hand icier than winter nights.

Meng Yao’s eyes met Wen Mingzhu’s. Her eyes, blacker than the black sky void of any stars, stared as if his skin was merely cheap thin rice paper. Meng Yao forced his facial muscles to relax: unclench his jaw, blink to relax the muscles around his eyes, put his shoulders down, and most importantly, smile just so…

“Listen to me very carefully, Young Master Meng,” Wen MingZhu kept an even cadence, as if she spoke of something half-minded, like the weather, “you will place the document on Sect Leader Wen’s desk, and leave immediately. Is that clear?”

Meng Yao nodded. Words caught in his throat.

A twitch between her brows. Wen MingZhu’s hand squeezed around his wrist. His fingers went numb.

“Answer me, Young Master Meng.” No fire in her voice. Her eyes remained impassive, staring right into his, not blinking once.

She never blinked whenever they interacted.

“Yes, Maiden MingZhu.” Meng Yao would bow if his hand was free.

She let go. The tip of his fingers frozen and pale from the lack of blood.

“Good.”

_________________

Luxuries flooded the hallways surrounding the main family branch. Meng Yao paused by a white and blue ceramic vase covered in blue dragons. Perhaps on his way back, he would memorize the designs, and recreate it. Or perhaps save money and request a similar design.

Meng Yao barely bit back a grin. And only a few years ago, such thoughts were inconceivable.

He squeezed the scroll, rice paper far warmer than Wen MingZhu’s hand. Her words, sharper than icicles, echoed in his mind.

“…you will place the document on Sect Leader Wen’s desk, and leave immediately.”

Not once since Meng Yao stepped into Nightless City had he laid eyes on the Wen sect’s elusive Sect Leader. Was there a reason they shouldn’t meet? Did he despise anyone not from the inner disciple circle?

The moment he, his mother, and Sisi entered the sect, Wen Qionglin pointed out several hallways, mostly tucked into the far corners of the sect or surrounding the main family branch residence, warning them to never set foot within them without permission. His mother smiled, bowing her head, thanking the young master for his warning. The moment he left, Sisi turned to her, her eyes wide, mouthing something. Under his bed in a hollow section of the floor, they hid three sacks filled with clothing and money for “just in case.”

And now Meng Yao walked in the forbidden hallway, with only his sword at his side and a silk ribbon wrapped around a scroll.

As per Wen MingZhu’s instructions, he stopped at the first door on the right, made of thick reddish brown wood, engraved with the motif of the sun – it belonged to the elusive Sect Leader Wen.

He knocked twice. As Wen MingZhu told him too.

Every instruction, every word she said in a monotone resounded in his head. Why the precise instructions?

Why this care?

Why are the hallways forbidden?

What are they hiding?

He slid the door open. A waft of Agarwood, sweet and fruity, permeated in the air. Transported from the south. Very expensive. Fitting for a Sect Leader.

Meng Yao stepped onto the maroon rug that lined the floors. Bookshelves filled with scrolls and bound books lined the walls, occasionally jutting out, fitting between dark mahogany pillars, thicker than his waist. The desk, longer than his mother and Sisi combined, sat towards the very back, covered in stacks of scrolls and papers. Meng Yao took a step forward, foot stepping past the threshold.

The next set of instructions echoed in his mind.

Place the scroll on the desk. Leave.

Meng Yao’s eyes scanned the room with every muffled step he made, the carpet thick enough to insulate his footsteps. Shivers shot up and down his spine.

It was cold in Qishan, but it was late spring now. What purpose would a thick carpet have? Comfort?

No one stood between the shelves. No one hid behind the pillars. The room…empty.

Yet Meng Yao couldn’t shake off the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He could feel it in the shivers and prickles that made his very hands tremble.

Meng Yao placed the scroll on the table, right at the center of the desk. Impossible to miss. He turned back around in one swift movement. The backside of pillars and bookshelves greeted him. No shuffles. No shadows in the corners. No breathes outside the rise and fall of his own chest. Silent except for the pounding of his heart.

And then he saw it. On one pillar, something cast a hooked shaped shadow.

“Then leave.” Wen MingZhu said.

Meng Yao’s feet refused to listen. One moment he spotted the shadow. The next he stood in front of it, hand reaching out, wrapping around the dark brown object – warm and glossy to the touch.

Logically, Meng Yao should let it go, leave, pretend he saw nothing, or at most look up to see its origin.

He tugged at it.

“OW!” Voices shouted from above.

Meng Yao jumped, his entire body turned to ice.

“Seriously, Chao-er,” The deep voices continued, as if three people were speaking simultaneously,” how many times did I tell you not to tug on our ta-“

Meng Yao’s gaze met….six…no far more…many pairs of big red eyes. From the ceiling, hanging upside-down, a three headed creature blinked at him with its three pairs of eyes per head, with the addition of several more spaced throughout its torso. Its other half looked of that of a centipede, long legs wrapped thoroughly around the pillar. The sunlight glinted off black locks of hair and knife-like claws, three per hand, and he could count six of them.

If the creature wanted to kill him, just crushing him beneath its weight would be enough.

“A human?!” One head said, tilting its head to the side.

Meng Yao immediately bowed low, sweat trickling down the side of his face.

“Please forgive my behavior, Sect Leader. You may punish me as you see fit, but please show mercy to my family, they know nothing of this.” His voice trembled towards the end.

A pause. Meng Yao squeezed his eyes shut.

Was this why they forbade him from walking in for more than a moment? The Wens weren’t human, therefore wanted to keep it secret from outsiders! Perhaps Sect Leader Wen would kindly leave his mother and Sisi alone.

He should have followed directions.

Left the moment he completed his task-

“Most humans run off screaming when they see a Silk Weaver.” One voice replied. Light, almost considerate, “why didn’t you run off? Like the rest of your kind do?”

Meng Yao blinked his eyes open. The sound of crawling reverberated across the room.

“It would be rude, Sect Leader.”

It, no, Sect Leader Wen, burst into loud raucous laughter, voices booming in the too quiet room.

“You can get out of your bow. You’ll kill your back, human.”

Meng Yao obediently stood up, flinching at the sharp throbs from bowing too long.

Sect Leader Wen slid down the smooth wood surface, long pointed legs landing on the ground in a light thump.

That explains the thick carpeting.

Even just the height of the centipede half was up to Meng Yao’s chest. He swallowed a knot. Relaxed his jaw. Forced his shoulders down. His teeth clenched too tightly to smile.

Sect Leader Wen, at least the most human part of him, towered over Meng Yao. Now in the light, Meng Yao could make out the dark tones of his skin and the many eyes that blinked at him in asynchronous beats.

“You’re a weird human.” The silk weaver said, all three heads smiling with glinting razor-sharp teeth, “we don’t intend to kill you.”

#wen ruohan #meng yao #jin guangyao #yaohan #ruoyao #wen sect #monster au #my writing #sisi #meng shi

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

Favorite Place, Chapter 2 (Crygi) - Lily Bee

AO3 LINK

Summary: Crystal works at a French literature book store, and can’t help but fall for the pretty girl that comes in -also known as a cheesy bookstore au :)

A/N: hey guys its lily! thank you so much for the love on the first chapter :) thank you so much jazz for editing as per usual! trigger warning for panic attacks / mention of abusive relationships for this chapter! its just a bunch of angst i’m sorry… not really though :)

“Hey Crystal,” Nicky called across the bookstore. Crystal looked up from her book to see her boss staring at her.

“Yes?” Crystal yelled back, hoping she wasn’t in trouble for seeming to only ever be reading at work.

“Do you mind staying an extra hour tonight and closing up the store for me?” she asked. Crystal really didn’t want to, but extra money was always good, and she knew Nicky would be thankful. Plus, she would get an extra hour of reading in.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I can stay,” Crystal responded.

Around 9pm Nicky headed out for the night, thanking Crystal again for closing up.

Crystal had not done much besides read, and it seemed there were no customers left in the shop, so she got on with cleaning. She put away the books that people had moved around throughout the day and left discarded in the wrong spot. Nicky had a particular way of organizing so Crystal had to make sure everything was in the right place.

As she was finishing up, multiple rushed knocks came from the front of the store. Crystal began to panic; who in the hell would be trying to get into a bookstore past 9pm? She had never dealt with an intruder before. Did she call the police? Did she hide?

Over the sound of the knocks she heard a panicked female voice yell, “Hello, is there anyone in there?” The voice sounded distressed and familiar to Crystal. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she knew she had to help. She rushed up to the door, and saw a worrisome Gigi peering through the glass. She stepped back as Crystal unlocked the door, opening it softly.

Gigi rushed in, tears rushing down her face. She paced around the room, fingers grabbing her own hair and pulling on it, small strands coming out. Her breaths were staggered and she coughed as she continued to cry. Crystal could see her hands were shaking.

Gigi mumbled, “I had to get away. I couldn’t stay near that damned house any longer. I couldn’t look at it. There was too much of a risk of someone walking out of it and trying to talk me out of my decision. I was stranded. Drive, and I could cause an accident. Not drive, and I was still too close to what had happened.” Her words were rushed and staggered, not making much sense.

She didn’t even register Crystal as she continued. “I clutched the steering wheel, my hands wrapped so tightly around it that my nails dug into my palms.” She glanced down at her hands, which still had marks from where she had gripped them. Breathing was hard. Really hard. She cried harder, her chest growing tight as bile rose in her throat. She felt the blood pounding in her ears.

“What are you talking about? What happened?” Crystal didn’t know what to do. The girl was clearly having a panic attack. Crystal didn’t want to get too close, didn’t know how she would react.

“I ruined everything! I fucking always ruin everything!” She collapsed to the ground in defeat. “Of course this fucking happened to me! I shouldn’t be surprised ‘cause god, I deserve it!” she shrieked as she clenched her fists, forcing her eyes shut.

“Gigi,” Crystal spoke as she got on the ground facing the girl, “Gigi! You need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Gigi snapped. “You don’t get it!” Too tired to fight more, she collapsed into Crystal’s lap, tears still falling from her eyes.

“He fucking cheated on me,” she mumbled amongst the cries.

“Oh my god,” Crystal uttered. “Hey, this is not your fault. This is his fault, not yours.” She tried to assure Gigi, but she just shook her head.

“I went to his apartment to give him the fucking book to apologize for ever thinking he would cheat on me, but when I walked in, he was with another fucking woman. God, she even looked like me. He didn’t even see me, his tongue was so far down her throat to notice.”

Crystal just rubbed her head, brushing her fingers through the blonde locks, detangling it carefully. “He’s a bastard to ever do something like this. None of this is your fault. You were being a supportive girlfriend, and you don’t deserve this,” Crystal assured her.

“I just can’t believe he would do this,” Gigi weaped. She layed in Crystal’s lap for a while in silence, the only noise being an occasional sniffle from Gigi as she tried to settle her breathing. It felt like they had been sitting there for hours when Gigi finally pushed herself up.

“I need to speak to him. I didn’t even break up with him, I just left.” Crystal could sense the wheels turning in Gigi’s head as she continued to speak. “Oh my god, all my stuff is there. I was living there, I can’t go back, not tonight.” The panic in her voice started to come back.

“Hey, don’t worry, you don’t have to go back,” Crystal said. “If you want, you can crash at my apartment tonight.” It’s not like Gigi seemed to have any other option.

“Really? I don’t want to impose, but that would be great.” Her words were sincere. She looked like she was minutes away from passing out so Crystal quickly finished closing down the shop. She locked the register and switched off the lights as she led Gigi out the door.

When the pair got to Crystal’s house, they were greeted by her bookshelves, beloved and beautiful. Crystal looked around the living room. The shelf in the corner by television she didn’t really want (but let her old roommates get so they could play video games while she read) held her hardcover nonfiction. The shelf next to it featured antique hymnals and schoolbooks nearly a hundred years old, from her grandfather’s childhood.

Against the wall, the bookshelf with the plants on it had her childhood favorites. Fantasy, young adult fiction, children’s books, Shakespeare—she couldn’t tell you exactly where and when she got each and every one of those books, because getting a book was a privilege and she considered herself a collector. The other shelf was full of textbooks and reference material more recently acquired.

There were books on her shelves that she hadn’t even opened yet—ones she’s waiting to review, others she just wanted to own. It was easy to buy more books than one person was ever capable of reading, and Crystal had every book imaginable and more.

Gigi took one look around the room before mumbling, “Wow, you’re a nerd.”

Crystal elbowed her sharply in her side. “Hey, I’m the one giving you a place to stay.”

Gigi just giggled, having calmed down on the way home. “I’m only kidding. Your home seems lovely.”

“I hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” Crystal said, gesturing towards it, “though it is a pull-out.” She started to remove all the cushions, discarding them on the floor.

“Here, let me help,” Gigi offered. They pulled the bed frame up until it was brought toward them as the frame started to unfold. They dragged the frame gently down to the floor and unfolded the last third of the mattress.

“Voilà,” Crystal beamed, gesturing towards the bed.

“Thank you again,” Gigi said. “I feel bad asking, but can I borrow something to sleep in?”

Oh shoot, Crystal hadn’t even thought to offer. Looking at Gigi, she was still wearing the dress and heels from when she met her this morning. “Yeah of course, let me grab you something.” She scurried off towards her room, digging through her draws for a shirt. She found one of her old band t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants and walked back out to Gigi. She tossed her the clothes and pointed towards the bathroom.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, walking out of the room. Crystal wasn’t exactly sure what to do, didn’t know whether she should leave Gigi alone quite yet. She walked over to her shelf above the television and grabbed a book she had wanted to read for a while now. She took a seat on the bed, resting her head on the headboard, and started reading.

She managed to get a few pages into the book, not even realizing that Gigi had walked back into the room and was sitting next to her. Gigi stared at Crystal, observing her features. She had curly dark auburn hair cut into a mullet with little pieces of hair that fell into her face; it was a strange look for a girl, but somehow she pulled it off. Her face was gorgeous: She wore a lot of makeup, with bold eyeliner and overdrawn red lips. She sat still in her work uniform, not even seeming to care about anything besides her book.

“Like the view?” Crystal asked laughing at herself after. Gigi was taken aback. Had she known that Gigi was staring the whole time?

Instead of responding she just layed down on the bed trying to make herself comfortable.

“Here, let me get you a blanket,” Crystal offered. She placed her book to the side and headed back to her bedroom. Gigi was too tired to respond, instead resting her head on her arm as a pillow.

Crystal returned with a huge rainbow blanket and draped it across Gigi. The girl clutched to it immediately, wrapping herself in the soft fabric. “Thank you,” Gigi breathed.

Crystal just smiled and headed to her room for the night.

#rpdr fanfiction #crystal methyd #gigi goode #crygi #fluff #angst #eventual smut #lesbian au #s12 #bookstore au #favorite place #lily bee #tw mention of abusive relationship #tw description of panic attack

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azaleablueme · 6 years ago

Text

Beyond Words

A fluff fic for my best buddies @trademarkblue, @wildegreenlight, @jenn582 @aloemilk , @remedial-potions @callieskye @theperksofshippingromione, @idearlylovealaugh and @thefinalhorcruxx . No reason really, just that I love them beyond words. For some weird reason, everyone keeps asking Ron the same question. Paring: Ron/Hermione

Genre: Fluff Words: 2K approx Rating: General

3rd Year

“When will you tell her you fancy her?”

Ron looked up from the chessboard where his knight was in imminent danger of getting mauled by Bill’s rook and stared incredulously at his eldest brother.

“You’re talking to me?!” he asked, staring around and noticing that the rest of their family was huddled at the table, looking through what appeared to be their holiday pictures.

“Of course I’m talking to you,” replied Bill, casually moving one of his pawns.

Ron grinned and pushed his queen three steps ahead. “No clue what you’re talking about,” he replied honestly, cheerfully.

“ ‘Who’ I’m talking about, not ‘what’,” corrected Bill, shifting his knight away from harm’s way.

“You know, you sound exactly like-”

“-Hermione?” Bill interjected,

“Yeah!” he grinned.

“And you still don’t know who I’m talking about?”

Ron literally wracked his brains for a full minute before shrugging. “Erm...No?”

Bill let out an exasperated sigh and shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I guess I’ll give you a few years to find out for yourself.”

…..

4th Year

“Have you told her yet?”

Ron picked up one especially fat gnome out of the ground, swirling the creature over his head before letting go. It flew off for around twenty feet before landing on the other side of the field. Laughing, he dusted off his hands and grinned at the twins.

“Of course I’ve told her! She’s coming down for the World Cup, isn’t she,”

Fred and George looked at each other gleefully and shared a smile which alerted his brain to keep a lookout for danger; that look never bored well for him.

“We’re talking about Hermioneee,” smirked George in a singsong voice.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked, looking around for more gnomes.

“Nothing, Ronniekins. So what have you told her?” asked Fred gleefully.

“Errr…that Dad got tickets for the World Cup and we are expecting her?” he added, wondering what he was missing.

“You know, Fred, we really need to ask Mum if Ron got swapped with some other kid at the hospital. Our brother can’t possibly have the brain of a troll.”

“Oye!” he yelled, but his brothers ignored him.

“I bet he’ll find out by the end of this year,” suggested George.

“Tch- Christmas,” quipped Fred, pretending as if Ron wasn’t right next to them.

“Find out what???” he asked annoyed. But they began placing bets instead, and he fumed, grabbing hold of another gnome that was trying to sneak away.

…

5th Year

“I’m sure Hermione Granger knows.”

Ron concentrated harder, and by the third try, the cushion he was trying to summon, zoomed into his hands.

“Of course she does. She knows everything, doesn’t she,” he replied, glancing at Luna who was supposed to practice Summoning Charms, but for reasons best known to her, was waving her wand in lazy patterns around his head.

"By the way, what does she know?“ he asked. He was sure Hermione knew a lot of stuff but if Luna was talking about Wakspurts or something on those lines, he was sure Hermione would rather not know.

“She knows you fancy her- or should I say, love her?” Luna replied promptly and continued to wave her wand, while Ron narrowly missed getting hit by all the hundred or so cushions that came hurtling towards him.

After they escaped the mayhem that issued with the cushions barging in all directions- Ron wasn’t even sure what he had done to cause it- he found Luna alone near the bookshelves, going through a spell book.

“ Er…Luna?”

“Yes, Ron?” she quipped eagerly, giving him her full attention.

“Why did you say what you said? I mean, what made you think I fa-fancy Her- her?” he whispered. Merlin forbid, no one could know he was even uttering these words.

“Oh that’s simple!” she replied happily, “You have so many Flutterbirds fluttering around your head each time you talk to her or even as much as look at her!”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, stunned into silence for minutes before he found his voice back. “Are-are these ‘Flutterbirds’ visible to everyone?” he asked, feeling like he had been knocked with a bludger, coz he was damn sure he wasn’t making any sense. But then, he didn’t want anything fluttering around his head telling Hermione what he was thinking- not right now at least.

Luna pondered. “I don’t think so-” she said after a while, “-if they did, Harry would know Ginny fancies him, wouldn’t he?”

….

6th Year

“So…when are you going to tell her?”

Ron looked up from his cauldron that was hissing rather loudly and giving off purple fumes intermittently to stare at Neville, confused.

“Tell whom what exactly?” he inquired, glancing a look at Neville’s potion. It seemed the bloke was doing better since Slughorn took over Potion, but not by a large margin. The clumpy sludge was a brilliant shade of indigo which Neville was stirring frantically with his wand, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Hermione, ’course!” replied Neville, gritting his teeth as he attempted to pull out his wand which the potion-if it could be even called that- was now attempting to swallow.

Ron paused, his wand hovering mid-air as Neville’s words struck him with the power of an errant bludger. He glanced at the subject of their conversation- she had taken up the table furthest from him, right in front of the teacher’s desk. He could see the red fumes emerging from her cauldron as she twirled her wand in a circular motion, a self-satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“No clue what you’re talking about, mate,” he replied dismissively, pretending to be engrossed in his book. For a while, there was only the sound of Neville huffing before the bloke finally managed to retrieve his wand and drop it with a clank on the table. He wiped his brows on his sleeve and picked up his own book, unaware that Ron’s ears were still perked, keen to know what he was talking about.

“-tell her you fancy her,” Neville said suddenly when Ron had almost assumed that the discussion was over. He was so shocked that he dropped his pestle, which missed the table and landed instead on the floor with a loud clunk- narrowly missing his foot.

The soft murmur of the class died down to an abrupt silence, all faces suddenly turned at his direction. He blew out softly through his mouth as his eyes found Hermione.

One look and she turned away...

“Sorry…” he muttered to no one in particular, reluctantly taking his eyes off her and bent over to pick up the pestle, secretly glad that Lavender had caught a nasty bite in the Care of Magical Creatures and was currently resting in the infirmary. He wasn’t happy about her injury- just that, she wasn’t around to hear the conversation they were having.

“I don’t know why you’d say that, Nev,” he replied, pounding his beetles a little harder than necessary, “-I am with Lavender.” His words sounded hollow, even to his ears.

Right next to their table, he noticed Harry pouring something in his cauldron. He seemed to be doing pretty good with his potion too- no surprises there, Ron thought a little bitterly to himself.

“Yeah, I know that,” replied Neville, somehow still unwilling to let the discussion rest, “-but we’ve all been wondering why, since it’s evident you fancy Hermione.”

Ron wondered if it would be worth it to intentionally drop something heavy on his foot, injure himself just to escape this interrogation. Then he remembered that Lavender was in the infirmary too. Nope, he’d have to think of something else. Grumbling to himself, he chucked the finely powdered beetles into his cauldron and whisked the contents furiously.

The potion period trudged on slowly, and he was least worried about his less-than-satisfactory potion affecting his grades when he escaped the classroom half an hour later; his mind on the girl who had disappeared from the crowd of students filtering out as if she had disapparated.

But you can’t disapparate within Hogwarts! his brain reminded automatically, leaving him feeling miserable and extremely furious at himself.

….

7th Year: Beginning

“Tell her,” Ginny muttered discretely as they set the table.

Ron looked up, his eyes finding Hermione easily at the far end of the kitchen where she was helping Fleur slice up the bread. He noticed her tired smile, remembering the moments that very afternoon when she’d arrived, and confided in him that she’d carried out what she had planned. They had stayed holding each other for a very long time, separating only when Ginny had come knocking at his bedroom door.

“It’s too early,” he confided in his sister, “besides, she has way too much on her plate. She doesn’t need the distraction with- with the task at hand.”

Ginny stopped placing the dishes suddenly, and when she looked up at him, Ron was sure he’d never ever seen her so miserable. Despite everything, he had an insane urge to punch his best mate into a pulp.

“She might not need the distraction, Ron, but I’m sure she needs the hope.”

7th Year: On the run

“You really need to tell her.”

Ron poured the lightly coloured water that was supposed to be their 'tea’ into three mugs, without bothering to look at Harry.

“I dunno,” he replied automatically, handing Harry his tea and picking up the other two.

“At least give it a try,” coaxed Harry as they moved towards their dining area.

“Is it even necessary,” Ron pondered aloud, “I know she knows.”

“She does?”

Ron took a sip from his mug before placing both their mugs on the table and Accio-ing his jacket. “She knows I love her,” he responded, pulling on the jacket over his jumper. Only when he made to pick up the mugs again he realised Harry’s shocked expression.

“Erm…I was talking about convincing her to shift near a Muggle village tomorrow?” mumbled Harry, amusement marked all over his features. “But to answer you, she has to be really daft to not know, which we know, she most certainly isn’t.”

….

Year 7: Shell Cottage

Hermione, still weak from her attack at the Manor, limped out of her room, supported heavily by Ron. But once at the last landing, she lost the little energy she had mustered and was forced to rest her back against the bannister to catch her breath.

“I told you, you should’ve had your dinner in your room,” Ron told her, grabbing her firmly around the waist.

She sighed, coaxing her aching muscles to cooperate, allowing her weight to rest against him instead. “Fleur has so much on her plate already, Ron. I don’t want to give her more trouble,” she replied.

Ron huffed and shook his head, and in one swoop picked her up in his arms. “Ron!” she admonished, blushing as her arms wrapped around his neck, “you really don’t need to!”

“Shhh,” he told her, pressing his lips to her temple in a chaste kiss before carefully carrying her down the steps.

From the far corner of the living room, Bill noticed the scene unfolding.

“Do you theenk he has told her?” Fleur whispered next to him, beaming.

“Maybe he has-” he chuckled.

Maybe they didn’t even need the words, he pondered quietly to himself as Ron lowered Hermione carefully on the couch.

Clearly, what they shared was beyond what words could even begin to describe.

…..

#azaleabluezstories #romione #fluff #a small fic for my friends #dem girls

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likesomekindofcheese · 5 years ago

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I Put A Spell On You- Roger Taylor x fem! OC

A/N: Hello @benders-diamond-earring ! It is I!!! Your Secret Santa revealed!!!

This is my HalloQueen gift (plus a smol moodoboard!) for @dtfrogertaylor Halloween celebration. It is a gift for @benders-diamond-earring AKA Cora! In her honor, I’ve made Cora my muse and namesake for the OC. Read and enjoy Cora (and everyone!)

Words: 3245

Some angst and lots of fluff!

Context: Cora is in love with her friend Roger, but he’s constantly flirting with other girls and totes not interested or is he??????? So Cora enlists some...supernatural help.

London, 1976

“I’m a freelance, love, I don’t do cheap. But there’s a two-for-one sale with potions so pick what you want.” The witch explained over her counter.

Cora scowled a little at the prices, then shrugged. Witch shops of high quality took effort to find, even in a big city.

It was a medieval building with a low ceiling and grey stone walls held up by wooden beams. Books and potion bottled filled up the bookshelves. A black cat hopped up to the small table full of cauldrons and bowls of snake skins. It eyed her carefully, still as a statue. Several larger cauldrons bubbled in each corner as if someone was boiling water for four pots of tea.

Mentally blocking the price tags of the potion jars, she studied the labels of each potion bottle she saw. If she was going to go through with this, she had to find the perfect one.

What other choice did she have at this point?

Just the other night at that bar she noticed how Roger was flirting with what seemed any gorgeous woman clicking by in heels and swinging purses by their side. Not that he didn’t have a knack for it. But it felt different that night.

They laughed intensely. They batted their eyes and hooked onto him like koala cubs. It was just a simple band gathering. Cora could have talked to one of the other members or do some flirting of her own. But envy shut her throat tight. She clutched onto her glass, gulping it down and ordering another. Just wanting to forget.

Only she hadn’t forgotten at all.

If she didn’t act, at least one girl would stay for longer than just one drink. That girl had to be her. No matter what means.

“Are your potions…effective?” Cora asked. Peering into a cauldron of green stuff, she almost heard a voice singing from it.

A bit of Cora’s ashy blonde hair got a little too close to some purple liquid bubbling on a shelf under a little heater and the witch bolted from her counter to brush the strand out of the way.

“It’s magic, love, of course it’s effective. Everything you read on there will happen. But be cautious, it will happen!” the witch boasted. She gestured with long, pale hands with soft, clean nails.

Cora squinted at the witch as she walked back to the counter. She had black hair cut into a pageboy bob and brown eyes. She was older than Cora, but not too much older from the light in her eyes and lightness of her steps. If the flowy, black, maxi dress she was wearing was a different color, one would mistake her for a hippy.

None of the potions on the counters were exactly what Cora needed. She let out a little huff and drove straight to it.

“Where are the love potions?” she asked, her eyes directly into the witches.

“I thought so! That’s what at least a hundred girls come in for!” the witch giggled. She pulled open a squeaking door from behind her counter.

“Well, now it’s a hundred and one,” Cora replied.

She rolled her ball into fists and curled her toe impatiently. She just wanted to be in and out as soon as possible. Especially if someone noticed.

The witch turned under the counter and brought out a small pink jar. One might think strawberry flavored tea was inside it.

“If you whisper the name into the jar and press it to your heart and then have the person take a sip of it, they will kiss the ground you walk on. I hear it tastes like lemonade. More than you can say for some of the others.” she explained with a wink.

“That’s perfect! I’ll have that” Cora answered. She grabbed the jar and cradled it on the crook of her arm.

The witch looked around at the other jars along with her shop lining up on bookshelves.

“Alright, want to pick another one?” she offered with a winning smile. “Buy one, get one, you know.”

Hesitantly, Cora looked at each one. There was another jar that was in a rather large bottle with a long neck and glowed like honey. Its liquid was the color of honey, too, and ran like water when she swirled it around. It had one mere word in cursive, purple ink on its label.

“Confidence” Cora read softly.

She dropped the love potion on the counter and moved the confidence potion next to it.

“I’ll take that one too, please!” Cora insisted.

“I hope you like the smell of cinnamon, it’ll waft up the place” the witch added with a small nod.

She began to add up the price and tax on feather pen on a sheet of crinkly paper.

“I must warn you. My love spells are powerful but…they are just a spell, at the end of the day. Not a real feeling. It’s like you’re giving your victim lines to read and play, but it’s just the spell talking.” She warned grimly as she handed over the sheet with the price.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I’ve made my decision,” Cora answered, looking into the witch’s eyes.

“Fifty pounds, then.”

Cora shuffled through to her little flat. It was small, with yellow walls and a red, raggedy carpet. She saw her flatmates gathered around the television engrossed in a comedy with its garish colors and ghostly laughter. She prayed they would be too hypnotized to crave a snack.

She tiptoed over to the kitchen and dropped her heavy brown paper bag on the counter facing as far away from the hubbub as possible. Immediately she lifted the pink jar and set it down with a clump.

Cora unscrewed the top quietly, clutching it in her free hand. She bent down, inhaled it’s maple tinted perfume and whispered the softest, tenderest, most desperate whisper of a name into the jar. She quickly reattached the lid as if she had opened a firing canon. She hugged it tightly to her racing heart for almost a minute,

What was she even doing? Was this a mistake?

Well, too late to go back now. I’ve started this and I’ll finish it!

She almost wanted to kiss the top for luck. Shaking her head from such an adolescent idea, she pushed the potion aside and crept to the black telephone on the wall. She made some calls to her intended victim and his friends. It would be on the Friday before Halloween and she wanted to have a little get-together for the holiday. Her flatmates would be out of town or out. Of course, drinking would welcome.

She put the love potion on the fridge and pushed the confidence potion to the corner of the counter to hide it among the other jam jars and beer bottles.

Deaky arrived first, as usual, with Freddie and Brian rushing after. Cora stuffed her gripping fists into her pocket to pull off an air of a relaxed hostess. Until there were five unmistakable knocks on the door and she nearly leaped into the ceiling.

Roger arrived last, dressed in his denim blue jacket and his blonde hair a little windswept.

“Cora, love! How are you! Not too late, am I? The tube took it’s bloody time!” he greeted with a small hug.

Cora laughed a little and shook her head once he started to release.

“Oh no, we just started- make yourself at home!” she said.

She could still feel his arms around her still pressed lightly on her arm like that of a ghost once he let go.

Roger strutted over to the couch and plopped himself down on the couch next to Freddie. The two began talking about some ridiculous fashion choices the neighbor had made and were cackling.

With a friend like Cora, the band always felt like it was a tiny haven. No press. No managers. No pressure to top. Only relaxation and each other.

“God, I’m starving! Can I help myself?” he asked Cora. She nodded her yellow head.

Brian wandered to the kitchen, filled with pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies on platters. He smiled- not the usual “Skull” meatballs on platters like the typical Halloween party he had been invited to. He helped himself to one and opened the fridge for drinks.

Of course, the good stuff was on the very bottom. Near his calves.

“All the beers are at my feet! I swear, Cora, you’re a pixie!” he complained, crouching down.

“My flat, my rules!” Cora retorted from the corner of the kitchen. She kept one eye on the top of the fridge, just in case.

Brian closed his eyes, shot up his eyebrows in admittance of defeat, and nodded his head. He did not see the pink jar or if he did he wasn’t interested. He got the chilled wine and set it on the table, near the other cookies, caramel apples, and orange buckets of popcorn.

The television buzzed with noise as Deaky fiddled with the knobs, flipping through channels. The knobs were so small his mammoth-sized hands almost crushed them.

“There has to be some Halloween program somewhere” he muttered.

Roger meanwhile stretched out his legs and looked up at the decorations of orange streamers hanging from the ceiling. His sapphire eyes turned to the beige walls where black cats curled over pumpkins with triangle eyes and toothy grins. The small balcony of the place had glass windows looking out to London amid another dark, autumnal evening. White paper ghosts with pointy hands and small, delicate facial features roamed over the glass, held on by tape. Far too detailed to be any of the dime-a-dozen plastic cats and witches at shops.

“Those are gorgeous!” Roger praised, his head turning to Cora.

Cora sucked in a bit of breath and wiped her sweaty hands.

“D’you make these?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I did, she asked me to” Freddie burst in.

He had already grabbed a bottle of the cheap champagne from the kitchen that had been out for him and a black ceramic cat with a witch’s hat. He set the bottle down on the coffee table and waltzed back to the kitchen for five glasses, the ceramic cat still under his arm.

Cora’s eyes darted back to the fridge. They had to stop doing this if her blood pressure would last the night. The pink jar was still untouched.

“Don’t you know my designs by now, Rog?” he said. He stroked the cats back as if it was real fur.

“Shut up!” Rog teased with a little pout.

Cora snuck a look and bit of a smile.

“Or shut in!” she added, throwing an in-joke.

Roger looked at her with gleaming eyes. Since she learned about the infamous cupboard incident, she labeled him a shut-in. He hated it at first, but it grew on him secretly. Now he allowed relentless teasings from Cora.

“You shut in!” he added. The others just stared blankly until it stopped.

Deaky kept turning until he found a channel showing the original Dracula film right as it was starting. Freddie practically hopped in his seat and begged him to let them watch it and Deaky relented, laying on the floor and watching.

The black and white movie continued and the three began their commentary over it. Brian was discussing how the crew pulled off the effects, and how the script compared with the book. Freddie was cooing over the capes and how amazing Bella Lugosi was. Roger was busy telling the victims in the box that they were obviously with a vampire and should flee instead of conversing with him “like dumb gits!”. Deaky quietly watched, mesmerized. Cora was secretly wishing it was something a little more current. And scarier.

“Is there any whiskey to drink? I want something strong” he asked Cora.

“Let me make you some whiskey with lemonade!” Cora insisted. Her pulse was starting to pick up as she eyed the potion on top of her fridge and smiled as it still seemed invisible to everyone else.

“A bit too sweet for my taste, but it’ll do!” Roger said, giving her a smile that could have melted a glacier.

She shot up and walked to the kitchen. As Cora pulled out her stool stood on the top and reached for the jar her mind was half blank. It was when she got the glass from her cabinet that shivers hit her stomach.

This was it. One drink, one small drink, and all her fantasies would come alive. Roger would be at her heels. Glamourous dates, erotic midnights, and the warmth of his hands on her would all come true. He just had to take a sip.

She swallowed her fear and unscrewed the lid, ready to tip it over.

But she couldn’t pour it in.

One pour, one pour, a sip, and he’ll be all mine…and I’ll have a reason not to worry at night or cry…or feel angry inside when some girl or groupie hangs around him…

She tried again, but couldn’t pour it in. The witch’s words came again, clearly to her brain.

She thought of him after the drink. Eyes glazed. Words that while romantic were severely robotic. She could practically feel his hands. But they weren’t warm. They were cold and tense as a stone.

She sighed and re-capped the bottle. She shoved the love potion to the back of the fridge with the leftovers.

“Flatmates drank it all, so how about Southern Comfort- I’ve smuggled it from them” she suggested. A plastic smile smudged her face and hurt her cheeks.

“Not a problem at all! I need to walk anyways” Roger answered, he hopped out of his seat to grab it himself.

Cora stopped him with her hand and retrieved a glass of Southern Comfort from inside the fridge’s back corner, pouring out two small glasses.

She watched the movie with them covering the commentary with sarcastic remarks and other light conversations while sipping drinks and eating. Close to the end of the film, she noticed Roger get up from his seat and walk over to the kitchen.

“I need another shot of that stuff…” he mumbled.

His shoes trotted over the kitchen floor and stopped right at the counter where the bottles stood.

“What’s it doing in the corner? Untouched? Whatever!” he commented, opening the bottle with a pop.

Cora’s memory jolted.

The confidence potion was still out.

And it looked exactly like the Southern Comfort bottle-glass, and all.

Cora got up and ran, but it was too late.

“Aw! Is it a new bottle for me, Cora? Hiding a gift, eh? Thank you!” Roger said as he swigged from the bottle in a millisecond before he could be stopped.

His face changed from pale to red to purple. Then he charged up at Fred, tackling him with open fists.

“MY SONG IS STRONG ENOUGH YOU BASTARD!!! FIGHT ME!!” he screamed.

Freddie’s boxing origins kicked in and he dodged each punch gracefully, preparing his fists for a jab-cross-hook at Roger’s chiseled jaw.

Brian and Roger at once fled over and began to protect Freddie and push Roger away. Cora pulled Roger back by the shoulders.

“Roger…Roger of course it is! You need some air, let’s go outside!” Cora demanded, practically dragging him there.

They went out to the balcony. Cars could barely be heard skimming the streets. More stars stretched over the sky, not threatened by the cities blaring, yellow lights.

“Roger, calm down!” she ordered.

Roger blinked at her for a moment.

“Cora, I’m calm…I’ve never felt this calm in ages!” he insisted. He began to lick his lips a little.

Cora cursed herself for immediately feeling woozy. Maybe it was the whiskey. She folded her arms and continued her reasoning.

“Roger, you love Fred more than anything and you know it! And the song’s already on the B-side…everything’s worked out” she insisted.

“Not everything” Roger answered. He sat down on the green, steel chair placed outside, cold with nothing but the constant chill around it.

“What do you mean?” Cora asked. She placed her hands on her hips to look even taller than him now.

“You have everything you could ever want right now! Two years ago, you could barely afford beans and now you’re getting to be a rock star with hit songs, money, and girls at your feet.”

“Well, I don’t want those girls. They don’t matter if they aren’t you” Roger confessed, the cinnamon scent of the potion still wafting from his breath.

Cora felt as if she was dropped from the sky and plummeted to earth. She got dizzy and almost felt like she would teeter off the building but caught herself on the railing of the balcony.

“You’re joking!” she said.

“No, I’m not!”

“Did you have any of that pink stuff I had?”

“What pink stuff?” Roger asked.

He looked down, took a deep breath, and then took her hands. Cora felt them sweat slightly. He pulled her a little closer, so despite how short she was, she stood over his sitting frame. Roger looked up, his face soft with reverence and his eyes getting wide and his smile gentle.

“It’s that I just…I’m normally so nervous around you. I feel my heart picking up and I start sweating” he said quietly.

“What about those girls?”

“I used to devour them but lately… I like to use them as a warmup so I could be ready to ask you out sometime but…none of them were anything like you. They want my talent or that I’m a drummer in a band or something…they didn’t care about me…like you do” he said.

Winds picking up, the clouds above in the night sky moved further away. More stars dotted the sky like freckles on a face.

“But now, I feel…at peace. And I fancy you. And I’m not afraid anymore to say I fancy you...and…”

He bit his lower lip and Cora felt her body get hot.

“I always had a soft spot for blonde girls.” He added cheekily. Cora had to look down at the floor for a second to regain herself another time.

“There, I said it.” Roger finished, he tossed him arms and slumped back in the chair for a release.

She smiled coquettishly and went up to embrace him. He almost jumped from surprise. How could someone so strong, so radiantly beautiful, so brave, so confident, and awe-inspiring like obnoxious old him?

She sat on his lap from the hug and touched his face with both hands. Both of their eyes seemed to get a little misty.

“I fancy you too.” She answered. “I’ve fancied you for a while.”

“Do you…d’you wanna go out with me? Like, not as friends, but you know…”

“I will if you kiss me first!” Cora teased, biting her lip.

His lips were tender, and his breath had the sting of the southern comfort still on it, but it was a passionate kiss. One only witnessed by the stars in the sky.

That and three curious bandmates quietly staring through the glass. Brian cursed and slipped Deaky five pounds.

“Told you they’d be together” Deaky hissed.

#dtfrogertaylot #benders-diamond-earring #halloween #halloqueen #halloqueen event #roger taylor #roger taylor fluff #roger taylor angst #queen #queen fanficiton #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x fem!oc #ben hardy #classic rock #halloqueen gift #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor fanfiction #roger tsylor oneshot

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split-n-splice · 5 years ago

Photo

Oh hey! Cover image comes from a scene in this chapter. ;P Also I may have exaggerated about the dialogue. Hang in there? What can I say. :T I'm sharing this now while I’m still OK with it.

[Chapter Guide]

3. Hospitality – 2

Shego’s breath caught in her throat and her jaw went slack. Her hands trembled to her midriff as she finally faced the ugly bruise spread across her belly for the first time.

Her fingers feathered over her stomach to test just how sore it was, and suddenly she was a hundred times more tender than she had been moments ago. These days, she was accustomed to being sore and persevering through it, and until now she hadn’t acknowledged how bad her injury really was.

She’d seen such marks before and recognized the webby tendrils radiating out from the blotch splashed over her midsection, discoloring her skin to grisly shades across the spectrum, and she wondered with a cold wave of panic if she had more serious injuries like internal bleeding to worry about.

She was hardened to her own fire these days and she could take a hit – but being superhuman didn’t mean she was impervious to the deadly force.

She’d given herself this bruise.

Through her brother’s thick head, she’d managed to bruise herself with her own energy blast.

Extensively.

Her eyes stung suddenly. Frowning and fighting back tears, she squirmed and tripped out of her boots and pants and undergarments, barely holding back a torrent until she was sitting in the shower where she couldn’t distinguish if the hot liquid running down her face came from her or the showerhead.

Hot water wasn’t soothing for once, and it did nothing to ease her aches and pains today.

If she’d done this to herself…then what it did to Hugo’s brain was something too horrible to imagine. Her own brother – and she’d bet her life that she’d killed him by accident. What were his chances of surviving that? He was thick-skulled, sure, but could he withstand a blow like that? He wasn’t under any medication though to keep his superhuman qualities suppressed, so maybe – no. She’d be a sucker to get optimistic now.

As Shego miserably coerced herself into washing up as intended before the water could run cold, she reflected on her brothers left without her for the umpteenth time since running away – but now she considered the likelihood of being down a brother. Milo, in charge of the twins? That was a disaster waiting to happen. That boy would have to grow up fast, just like she’d had to. It wasn’t fair, but that was life.

She almost considered going home – but no, there was bad blood now. After what she’d done, how could they ever trust her again? She was no one’s hero anymore. Community service wouldn’t fix this.

Returning now would be to give herself up anyway, and that rotten Global Justice overseeing Team Go might never let her see the light of day again for taking down a star pupil – and that was if the government didn’t get a hold of her first to ship her to some obscure laboratory somewhere to figure out how to harness her glow to weaponize it or something. Laying low and staying here as a fugitive, she decided, may be her best bet if she wanted to keep her freedom. Not that it felt like she had much at the moment.

At some point while toweling off, Shego managed to battle her persistent sniffles into submission. Her chest ached, but she felt better otherwise. Clean, at least. It was shameful to think about, but crying herself out until the water ran icy had been relieving somehow, she acknowledged bitterly.

Out of sight, out of mind, she was glad when she could finally dress and hide the ugly blemish on her stomach. A baggy green pullover kept the pressure off. Equally baggy black sweatpants replaced the rest of her uniform, save for her sole pair of boots.

With the sore reminder hidden away, she felt ready to go on pretending she was fine, and moseyed back into the lab once she was sure her eyes weren’t so red as to betray her.

Dr. Drakken was still at his supercomputer, but he’d pulled up a seat now as he busied himself with salvaging whatever data he was after from the stolen hard drive.

Shego drifted closer until she was standing beside him, watching him read in between rapidly swapping windows, typing, pounding buttons, and shuffling around digital material. She couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it. It was pure gibberish to her. A Rosetta stone couldn’t help decipher the pages of coding written in what might as well have been a lost language. It was understandable he was glaring at it.

“I’m bored,” she announced, seeking distraction once more. She grimaced and rubbed her throat, not liking the sound of her own voice yet.

The man was too distracted himself to respond right away. Just as she began to suspect she’d been tuned out, he grunted. “Not my problem. Go paint your nails or something.”

Nail polish hadn’t been on her list of go-bag essentials, so that wasn’t an option.

Shego turned her focus down to the man’s unwavering deadpan for a minute, and tried not to smirk when he finally flicked an unnerved glance back at her as she moved to stand behind him, folding her arms on the back of his creaky desk chair.

He made another irritated noise as she plopped a hand onto his greasy hair and gave it a ruffle, and he ducked a little as if her hand weighed a ton. He was otherwise unmoved. If he thought he could ignore her, he had another thing coming.

For the moment, Shego willfully forgot he was a felon and boldly wove her fingers in and out of the shaggy mop he denied was a mullet, again working braids into it to alleviate her boredom. This time she got some satisfaction out of it, now that he was awake to grudgingly bear it.

He tried leaning forward out of her reach, but she only stooped over the back of his chair and gave him a yank that could be passed as an accident.

Dr. Drakken figured out soon enough that pretending the problem wasn’t there didn’t make it go away.

Finally he’d had enough of it and swatted her away as if she were a fly. “Mess up your own,” he hissed. “You have plenty of it.”

“It’s still damp,” she declared dismally, as if it would explain everything. Making her point, she picked up a soggy handful and gave it a flick, splattering droplets on his glasses when he made the mistake of turning to glare back at her.

“I’m working here,” grouched Dr. Drakken. “Go find something else to do.”

Shego settled for folding her arms on the back of the chair again, willingly abandoning the braiding endeavor. “You did say I can’t play with the henchmen,” she reminded.

The man grumbled something indiscernible as he wiped his glasses clean. “If I amend the rules, will you go away?”

“Maybe,” said Shego dryly.

She leaned further forward with a dreary hum, resting her chin on her folded arms as she stared over the top of his head at the giant monitor. It was still a bunch of nerd nonsense to her, but she gathered he must have located what he was after in the time it had taken her to shower, and was backing it up now.

“Is there a TV around here?” she wondered.

Dr. Drakken rubbed his eyes and sat back while the lagging computer processed his commands. In wordless reply, he heaved a heavy sigh and pointed. To the left of his desk, opposite from the corridor that lead to Shego’s room, was a simple nondescript door camouflaged against the brown stone wall.

She took the cue as permission to go see for herself, and so she finally let him be in favor of exploring a bit.

Shego prepared herself again to walk into a trap. This was a crook’s lair after all, and like it or not she was hardwired from experience not to invest much trust in his kind. She was content that there were no dirty surprises waiting for her here either though, and she relaxed just a little more.

If it weren’t for the polished stone floor and carved earthen walls with metal supports holding up the ceiling, this next hollow could have passed as an ordinary apartment. No amount of décor could detract from the fact it was a cave though, even if it appeared the man at least tried to give it a homey touch.

There were bookshelves and a few house plants, and a lamp on an end table beside a recliner. A brown corduroy couch sat before a mahogany coffee table, facing a big flat screen television ahead of its time. The entertainment center wasn’t complete without a stereo system and collection of media in the form of VHS tapes, vinyl, 8-tracks, and cassettes.

On the other end of the room was the kitchen with too much counter space and bar stools stationed around an island. Cookware hung from the back wall, but a layer of dust indicated it had been some time since more than a favorite frying pan had been used. Unless Dr. Drakken had a roommate, the dirty dishes in the sink had been sitting for maybe a week or more, a dehydrated sponge being the incriminating evidence. She sure as hell wasn’t about to roll up her sleeves and wash them, as was once her duty back home.

She scrutinized a basket of fruit on the counter, realizing she was pretty hungry, but decided not to risk it even if the apples and oranges still looked pretty good.

Shego returned to the living room, giving the couch a suspicious once over before sinking into it and sighing in relief to find it was heavenly soft. It was a pleasant surprise it didn’t smell musty at all like she might expect, and a throw pillow tempted her to lay her head down, but she resisted.

After a minute of slouching with her head thrown back, she roused herself to sit upright and pluck the remote from the coffee table. A force of habit, she whacked it on the heel of her hand for good measure before trying the buttons.

Shego spent the next half hour or so channel surfing with sinking hope, searching for news broadcasts that mentioned anything about Go City. Heck, even the east coast in general would have been comforting, but there was really nothing on this time of night. She found a weather station giving a brief update for the early-early birds, but all she could gain from that was the understanding that they were hidden away somewhere in a state shaped like a damn tortilla chip – Nevada – but northern or southern or east or west, she didn’t know.

Pang of longing twanged in her chest upon realizing just how far from home she was.

She almost left the television playing reruns of Scamper and Bitey to give herself some familiarity she hoped would soothe her, but it only served to remind her of her baby brothers, so she switched it back to paid advertisement for some once-size-fits-all diet plan that guaranteed results.

Hunger lured her back to Dr. Drakken’s desolate kitchen. She found the cabinets contained just about nothing but Vienna sausages and an absurd quantity of pickles that made her chuckle incredulously and shake her head. While the freezer was full of TV dinners and other microwavable quick fixes, the fridge held eggs and expired milk, as well as a few beakers containing colorful frothy fluids she wasn’t about to touch.

“Dude really knows how stock the place,” she grumbled to herself, letting the fridge door slam, beakers rattling inside. She eyeballed the bowl of fruit again, but again passed it up, because another door hidden in a dark crevice drew her eye.

Shego wound up sneaking out of the scientist’s personal living quarters a minute later, her cheeks flushed with a newfound unease.

A natural spring running like a brook through his room had been interesting, but it had paled in comparison to the crown jewel of the room, standing like a big square ruby. She couldn’t very well look his way now after finding a big king-sized, decked out with red satin that had made her backpedal so fast she’d slammed the bedroom door. She really wanted to believe he just liked sleeping like a starfish in luxury.

Despite her disquiet, she hazarded a glance his way, only to catch herself watching him work. He was oblivious to her perturbed stare as she wondered silently how many young women he suckered into this place. She wondered how many left.

She had a moment of doubt what she was here for.

Shego shook her head, reassuring herself that he’d yet to prove himself to be such a slimy guy. Testy and pushy, maybe – but sleazy, no. Not to mention, the rest of his digs wasn’t exactly a chick magnet, and she was sure there were brothels in Nevada if he needed a fix that desperately.

She relaxed a little. Even now, the man was all business, too absorbed in reviewing endless coding gibberish to notice her. She managed to convince herself she had nothing to worry about. If the nerd had the balls to turn on her, she wouldn’t be bashful to let him know he’d chosen the wrong gal to screw with.

It made her feel just a little better that Dr. Drakken was in his own little world at present, failing to acknowledge her even as she walked her fingers along the back of his chair as passed by behind him.

Content to be ignored for a change, she kept her unnerved curiosities to herself and left it at that.

Shego wandered back to the hall to find her bedroom. She rifled through her belongings, hoping in vain that she still had a pack of crackers left in the bottom of her bag, but no leftover car snacks were found.

She flopped down on the secondhand mattress with a huff to frown at the fanged ceiling, left to wonder when she’d be given something to do. He’d said he wanted a thief, didn’t he? So why wasn’t she out looting? This was downtime, she supposed, but that didn’t make her any less restless.

Antsy was an understatement.

Left to her own devices to occupy herself, she wasted little time before she began peeking into the other rooms.

Although it could be assumed they were off limits, Dr. Drakken hadn’t explicitly told her to stay out of them. Only to stay on this level. Besides the bathroom and her room, she found a couple cluttered storage rooms with shelves piled high from floor to ceiling and mountains of junk stacked on the floor. It was so packed full of boxes and scrap metal, papers and rolled-up plans in disarray, that she didn’t dare to step foot inside in fear of a junk avalanche. She had a hunch much of it had been simply thrown inside from the room now allocated to her.

She discovered the only other door in the corridor, a simple archway located at the very end, lead directly down a crude flight of stairs. The other floors Dr. Drakken had warned her to stay off tempted her, the echo acting as a siren’s song reeling her in. After a moment of hesitation and a cagey glance over her shoulder toward the lab, she descended.

As she wandered down the eerie staircase lit by more sconces, she wondered inwardly if the architect had put any thought into the floor plans or if he’d just utilized caverns and crevices as he found them. She supposed probably the latter.

The steps were carved into the stone, sloping through a winding fissure, and after some ways she came around a bend that opened up to a spacious office with walls lined in hefty tomes, shelves of dusty literature from floor to ceiling. A crescent Hench Co. brand office desk and matching chair sat at one end with some filing cabinets behind it, and at the other, tucked into a niche, was an unmanned surveillance system. Between them, a well-fed fireplace blazed to keep the chill off despite the fact it was still summer. The main door was just an arch carved into the stone, leading out to a dark empty corridor.

While exploring deeper was tempting, the CCTV grasped her attention instead. She zeroed in on the array of monitors, squinting up at grainy black and white feedback.

After a moment of scanning them, Shego was content to find that no security cameras overlooked private areas like bathrooms or bedrooms.

There were some henchmen about in a cafeteria, some starting their day early and others ending it. A couple were busy spit-polishing boots and hefty batons. One brute jabbed another in jest in much the same way one might snap a twisted towel in a locker room, and it became clear the sticks were more like cattle prods than something a majorette would twirl. Shego made a mental note to be wary of them.

In another grainy image, she found herself, and she almost looked back to search for the camera behind her like a kid in a grocery store.

Finally, the lowest screens were filled with feed from a handful of outdoor cameras watching the perimeter, and in one in particular, she could make out scarce white dots of a town just beyond the fence and spindly pine. It was still dark out.

She reckoned the burrow lair had been built into a hillside. If she had to, she’d guess Dr. Drakken’s first conquest would be the town it overlooked. In her short career as a hero, she’d seen the scenario play out about several times before, in Go City and in neighboring metropolises. It never worked. The longest she’d seen a city in lockdown under a madman’s rule was one week, tops.

There wasn’t much going on at this hour, vacant corridors and rooms bearing little interest, so Shego drifted away from the CCTV system. Wandering deeper into the lair was still alluring – if only for the sake of doing something she was told not to – but as she passed Dr. Drakken’s desk on her way, the stack of mail persuaded her to swing around and plop into his chair instead.

At least when it came to his creature comforts, he wasn’t so stingy. It still didn’t make up for the risky construction that could come caving in at the slightest tremor though.

Shego eyeballed the accumulation of mail and newspapers, and bit her lip as she wrangled with her self-restraint, but then she decided that an address could give her an idea where she was, so it was worth snooping a little.

The mail was originally delivered to a P.O. box. She’d expected that much. It was a shot in the dark, but she’d still held out the hope she might recognize a name. She didn’t of course. Nevada was a big state, and Las Vegas and Reno were the only places to come to mind anyway.

With a puff, she tossed the stack of bills unceremoniously back on the desk.

She almost got up and left, but something else caught her eye and made her stomach lurch. She deliberately locked her gaze on the other end of the desk, staring intently away from the newspapers screaming for her attention.

Biting down hard on her lip, Shego wove her fingers in her lap and squeezed her eyes shut tight, giving herself a stern talking-to that didn’t help settle her heart or the queasy tumult in her belly. Glimpsing Go City on the headline of a newspaper clear across the continent didn’t bode well. Her brother was dead and gone. She was ready to accept that as a fact. At least she tried to tell herself so.

She felt her chest tighten as a pesky sob tried to bubble up – dammit, she thought she was done with that – and she gulped it back and drew a deep breath.

Shego kept her eyes lowered as she reached across the desk for the unread newspaper. She looked anywhere but at the damn paper as she unfolded it, keeping her eyes on the ceiling, the fireplace, the staircase, herself on the CCVT feed across the room.

She was trembling.

She needed to know.

Her eyes darted down almost involuntarily – she caught the word stable – but she didn’t dare give herself false hope.

Breathing deep and bracing herself, she finally let her eyes focus down on the paper laid out on the desk, because she couldn’t risk holding onto it anymore without incinerating it. She still felt sick, but she was glad she found the guts to face facts.

Go City Hero Bounces Back, read yesterday’s headline of a national newspaper.

As big as the words were, it instantly became a blur as Shego set eyes on the photo featured across the front page. Although Hego was in a wheelchair, and despite an ugly welt and half his face being engulfed in bruising peeking out from his bandages, the knucklehead was grinning. Dressed in matching red harlequin uniforms, the Wego twins sat in his lap wearing weak smiles for the camera. Mego was left to push the chair, looking extra unhappy.

Shego didn’t have to read the article. She didn’t need to know anymore about the status of his recovery or what therapy he’d be undergoing. She didn’t have to read her brother’s quote pleading the public to keep their eyes peeled for the missing member of Team Go to help bring her home, or that there was an investigation underway to find the suspicious man she was last seen with, or about the search parties that were sure to be sweeping the tri-state area for the body of a young woman they’d never find.

The headline alone had told her all she needed to know.

She didn’t look at the photo of her family for more than a moment before skewing her eyes shut again, as if that would be enough to stop the tears from welling up. She couldn’t stand to see her brother looking the way he did, knowing she’d done it to him, and she hated herself that it even bothered her. How was she supposed to be expected to become a hardened criminal accomplice if she couldn’t handle a little backstabbing? He’d lived. It could have been worse. He’d deserved it anyway, hadn’t he?

She couldn’t stand another minute of feeling as if her brothers were looking up at her in betrayal from the photograph, and with a sound of footsteps coming to her attention, she folded the tear-blotched newspaper in a hurry and rubbed her eyes on her sleeve.

If she’d hoped to sneak back to her room before she was caught, she was sorely disappointed, because it happened the footsteps belonged to none other than Dr. Drakken.

And he was already halfway across the office, wearing a deep displeased frown as he caught her behind his desk. “What did I say about—oh no,” he groaned, pausing before he reached his desk. His face twisted into a grimace. “If you’re going to be having issues, take them to your room.”

“Thanks for the support,” Shego tartly grumbled past her sleeves as she patted her damp cheeks dry. Her throat was too tight to say more.

He snorted as if in disgust, but it faded to a look of akin to concern as she sulked by. “Alright, I give,” he huffed impatiently to her back. “What, pray tell, is the matter with you now?”

“Nothing.”

“What?” Dr. Drakken squawked as he followed her to the stairs, miffed and baffled. “But you were just—”

He needed to keep his stupid nose out of her personal issues before she broke it. “It doesn’t matter,” she explained, and hurried up to put distance between them. The man on her heels might have seen her at her rock-bottom lowest in the past, that didn’t mean she wanted him catching her with bloodshot eyes now.

“Women,” he scoffed in flippantly under his breath, just a few steps behind her. “One of life’s great mysteries.” He didn’t back off.

Emerging into the corridor at the top, Shego spun around to face him as she shuffled backwards. She’d had a moment to ease the tightness in her throat and will away the tears, and was keen to change the subject before he could push it. “So anyway, Doc,” she said, voice still hoarse, “anywhere I can get some grub around here?”

Dr. Drakken tripped on the top step and fixed her in an incredulous stare. His mouth opened and closed, and it looked like he was about to ignore her inquiry in favor of demanding answers to his, but he wisely gave up. “Well, usually…” he mumbled, and scratched his neck with a frown casting over his mug as he glanced back down the stairwell. He hummed uneasily to himself.

Shego surmised he was accustomed to passing off new recruits to the senior henchmen in the lower levels, letting them show newcomers the ropes. But after her wily behavior in the car with his crew, she’d blown her chances of associating with them anytime soon. Given the dubious criminal records of henchmen in general, she didn’t question the decision to keep her separate as precaution. He could have given accommodating her a little more thought, but then again, this had all been rather sudden.

“You’re hungry,” he said bluntly, requesting clarification but sounding more like he was speaking to a new unexpected pet he was realizing he was wholly unprepared for. He looked back down the stairwell, mumbled, “mess hall,” to himself and shook his head. “I have some—,” he began, but Shego was quick to interrupt.

She’d seen his pantry, and she wasn’t interested.

“Can I borrow the car?” she brazenly asked, failing to sugarcoat it. “Is there a 24-Seven around here? I could really go for something icy.”

Dr. Drakken surveyed her through narrowed eyes. “Yes to the convenience store, no to borrowing my wheels,” he said, and strutted ahead with hands clasped behind his back as if he was ready to go back to ignoring her.

“Come on,” she whined, following close behind.

“What collateral do I have? If I hand you my keys, there’s no guarantee you’ll come back,” he reasoned. “If you leave, that’s your choice, but I would like to not lose my car in the process.”

“Dude, if I wanted to steal it, I wouldn’t be asking permission,” she scoffed.

“You can go. You just aren’t going alone.”

Shego frowned at him for giving her a runaround as she followed him to the exit, the suspicion rising that he intended go with her himself rather than send a henchman to babysit her. Which she couldn’t really complain about.

Letting him lead, she was quiet all the way back to the oversized garage before she finally piped up. “You know, you’re going to have to actually trust me eventually.”

Dr. Drakken didn’t spare her a glance, but he barked a single incredulous laugh that echoed throughout the warehouse and made her jump. “You turned your back on countless people who believed you to be a hero, including your own family.” Rubbing salt in her wounds was indeed evil, but Dr. Drakken ignored her glare boring into him and he shook his head. “Whatever you did to earn that trust, I’m afraid you may have to work harder to earn mine.”

He patted down the pockets of his trousers then, finding his keys, and held them out toward Shego. She took the set with a look of suspicion replacing her scowl. She racked her brains to figure out what trickery Dr. Drakken was up to as he took the passenger seat and she climbed in behind the wheel.

“Um…I don’t know this town,” she noted as the oversized garage door groaned open at the press of a button on some remote Dr. Drakken tossed back under the seat. “So you’ll have to point for me.”

With an arrogant snort, Dr. Drakken crossed his legs and folded his arms behind his head. “No, thank you,” he said airily, and a wicked grin cracked across his face for a moment. “I think I’ll watch you figure it out yourself.”

Shego glared incredulously at him for a second, but groaned and rolled her eyes and didn’t argue. She could threaten him into compliance, but using her glow on another person right now was the last thing she wanted to do.

A henchman patrolling the perimeter met them at the main gates to open up. He must not have met her yet, because he greeted her with alarmed gawp and reached for a radio on his belt. But then Dr. Drakken leaned over and waved, and the bumbling goon proceeded to roll open the chain-link gate in haste.

Shego had to follow her intuition to decide which direction to go when she reached the road, and she was pleased with herself when she discovered she’d made an acceptable choice. Nonetheless, Dr. Drakken judged her wordlessly in the dark, his only cues being quiet hums and grunts. They rolled into town within minutes, and although Shego asked him twice and even shoved him in an attempt to bully directions out of him, he only chuckled and told her, “You’re on your own, kid.”

He was of absolutely no help, and let her drive around the sleeping town for a good ten or twenty minutes with heat rising in her face. Locating a damn 24-Seven convenience store wasn’t the most difficult task Shego had ever accomplished. It was just among one of the most recently trivially frustrating things.

She’d almost left the store without paying, but Dr. Drakken snatched her by the arm to drag her back to the register. The clerk gave the strange duo, the blue man in particular, a funny look when he rang them up, and Shego elbowed her escort to remind him that she’d paid for the last tank of gas, so he owed her. He narrowed his eyes at her, but returned the favor nonetheless.

As they left, he explained it was better not to cause a stir in one’s town of residence, particularly important when it was such a small town where everyone supposedly knew everyone.

Dr. Drakken provided directions back to the lair, but Shego took them with a grain of salt, taking an “accidental” detour and passing his driveway. She found the shoulder room to pull over, and cut the engine. She wasn’t ready to trap herself back in that stuffy burrow he called a lair just yet.

“What are you doing now?” Dr. Drakken griped as she unbuckled.

Shego ignored him, pushing open the sunroof and climbing out, taking her frozen drink and sub sandwich with her. He scowled up at her perching above him, but seemingly accepted where she’d chosen to have her meal. He didn’t drag her back down by an ankle, anyway. The whole trip, he’d been fairly consistent in his objections to eating in the car, so he broke into his own plastic-wrapped turkey sub with great reluctance.

Sipping a cold fruity drink that reminded her of home, Shego shut her eyes and imagined the briny sea breeze was blowing instead of an arid Nevada wind. Without the distant sound of waves and gulls and boats and the ever-present white-noise of metropolitan traffic, she had a hard time picturing it.

She nibbled her food and pretended she was only looking out at Go City from a different angle than she was used to, but it simply wasn’t vast enough. The sleepy town below her was nothing but a puddle of light. She quickly became disappointed because she couldn’t find any substitutes for the landmarks, and the newly-constructed Go Tower was nowhere to be seen either of course.

For a moment, it stung deep inside to accept that this wasn’t Go City. She couldn’t just walk into town and let homing instinct kick in to guide her home and back to her own room, her own bed, where she would wake up in the morning to her father telling her to drive the twins to school. She wouldn’t see her big brother’s smiling face tomorrow, wouldn’t be forced to put up with her pompous little brother’s attitude, or her baby brothers’ need for a substantial parental figure.

Her breath hitched as grief tried to catch up to her and drown her again.

A voice below her cut through the thoughts of her brothers in the next moment.

“Shego?” Dr. Drakken called up tentatively, but she had a hard time tearing her eyes off the pathetic puddle of glitter to look down at him. “Is there something you need to get off your chest?”

She swallowed thickly. “You’re not my psychiatrist,” she retorted, and took a long sip of her melting drink, but it did nothing to ease the choking sensation. She shook her head anyway and huffed, “Nah.”

“Well, something is the matter,” he acknowledged sourly below her. “I need you in working order. So if there’s anything you need to tell me, then spill it already.”

But Shego was silent. Even if she wasn’t too guarded to open up just like that, she didn’t know how to begin. As she chewed it over between bites of her sandwich, she could feel him watching her in the dark with a withering glare for the longest time.

After another moment, Dr. Drakken spoke again. “Maybe you can answer questions better,” he grumbled. “This whole thing – you taking me up on my offer and coming with me, I mean – it wasn’t just done for no good reason. So what really made you decide to come with me? And – and why were you handcuffed? What mess did you get yourself into—?” He shut his trap as she tensed under his pressing questions, and silenced himself with a dry mouthful of turkey sub.

“I’d rather not say,” Shego muttered eventually from above. “It’s personal.” A lump in her throat still threatened to choke her and her eyes still stung.

Dr. Drakken washed down the bite with his coke. “I can understand that,” he said reluctantly with a slow nod. “I just hope it doesn’t follow you here.”

It was bound to, sooner or later, but she wasn’t ready to warn him about it.

He grunted a warning for her to watch out as he stood up then, shoving her knees aside to make her move so he could awkwardly squeeze out to join her. He took a spot on the edge of the sunroof across from her to analyze her, his eyes skewed against the dark.

Then he turned his frown to the puddle of town glitter and blew a pathetic raspberry. “I really did try to honor your wishes in Go City by not prying into your personal life, but I need to know, for peace of mind, why you ran away,” he explained, but she was silent, denying him answers. “More importantly, if you regret it.”

The bruising on her wrists told her no. The ache in her heart and the bruising on her stomach however screamed yes.

She was slow to reply, but before she did, she reached across the distance. He jerked back, but not quick enough to dodge her fingers hooking into his hair. She grimaced as she pictured where she had struck her brother. It took her a moment to realize he had her fixed in a perturbed stare, and she withdrew her curious hand and sheepishly averted her eyes.

It was stupid, but somehow it eased the ache in her chest a little to be reassured that she could still touch somebody without accidentally killing them with a plasma blast. Any normal human would have been toast after what she’d done.

The lump in her throat made it impossible to sound fine. She hung her head and shook it. “I did something really bad that I didn’t mean to,” she muttered under her breath. It felt like a big secret leaving her lips, but it was probably plastered all over the news back home. “It just shook me up is all. But – y’know – he deserved it.”

Her lips zipped shut before anything else could slip out. Her melting slushy did little to cool her down.

Dr. Drakken didn’t need the play by play or every reason why. He didn’t need to know about overeager Hugo jumping the gun and signing her up for the whole ordeal in his excitement to form a superhero team, or about the months she’d spent as GJ’s little lab rat being stuck with needles and trained before being thrown to the wolves at the tender age of fifteen. She didn’t need to lament on how the whole hero scene was a thankless job and a load of bullshit. He didn’t need to hear about her withdrawals, and he certainly didn’t need to see her shaking and holding herself together now.

He only needed to know she most definitely wasn’t having second thoughts.

After a moment, she sensed a smirk had come over Dr. Drakken, and shot a glare up at him. “Something bad, hmm?” he crooned, as though genuinely interested, and then jokingly asked, “What was it? Did you kill someone?” His chuckles faded fast when he picked up on her guilty silence. If the quip was meant to cheer her up, it backfired.

“Dr. Drakken, if you just let me take my secrets to my grave, I’ll do anything you ask,” she practically begged.

The man sipped his coke and sized her up before cocking his head at her, a wry smirk back on his face. “Really? Anything, you say?” he teased, making another attempt to lighten the mood. She could sure use some cheering up, but he didn’t seem to know how to do it. She wasn’t even sure how he could do it. But one thing was for sure – using that tone of voice wasn’t it.

Shego realized quickly what the bargain could entail, but was comforted with the knowledge that she always had the willpower to deny the most ridiculous requests. She hadn’t yet signed any binding contracts, and even if she had, she’d break it. “Almost anything.”

“How do you feel about stealing a radioactive power cell from a military base?” Dr. Drakken wondered, grinning.

It threw her for a loop, and she stared at him in a stupor for a long moment before an incredulous smirk found its way onto her face. Maybe he did know how to cheer her up. It was a far better absurd request than she could have hoped for anyway. “This military base wouldn’t be Area 51, would it?” she wondered with a small laugh.

Dr. Drakken leaned back on a hand, smirking as he raised his bottle of coke to take another swig. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if such an undertaking was no big deal. He was undoubtedly insane if he thought so. “Possibly.”

Shaking her head, the ex-hero couldn’t help laughing quietly to herself. Was this man really that nuts? He had some big dreams, alright. “Sounds fun,” Shego said amicably. She wasn’t sure if she was joking. She’d need more details.

“You’re up to it?” He almost sounded surprised, but maybe he was more delighted by her consideration than anything.

“Possibly,” she threw back at him.

He blinked away the shock. “Oh. Alright. Uhh…” He sat forward again, rubbing his neck, and laughed feebly before his smile fell. “It’s not Area 51, but I’ve lost a couple of men to it,” he clarified apathetically. “They couldn’t fit through ventilation ducts. But I imagine there are certain things a woman with magic hands could do that the average henchman can’t. I could stand a chance with you.”

“You sure you can keep up with me?” she jeered with a wry smile. “Because if you think I’m putting my life on the line alone, you have another thing coming.”

Dr. Drakken threw her a dirty look, but rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I think you and I are going to get along splendid.”

“Good,” said Shego, swinging her legs and taking a stab at her frozen drink. “I was beginning to think you couldn’t handle a teenager.”

“Yes, well, you won’t be one for much longer,” he dismissed, flapping a hand. “At least you’re not jailbait.”

In an impish effort to put him back in his place before he got too high on his horse, she kicked his shin, not enough to hurt, but enough he shot her a glare. “Hey, Dr. D?” she called over between sips of her icy drink. “Thanks for taking a chance on me.”

“Likewise,” he replied, and moved his legs safely out of the way of another swing. “Now about that power cell. I’d like to have it by Thursday.”

A/N:

I just wanna mention that "I would like to not lose my car in the process" bit absolutely alludes to something that happens later. aaahahaha

#screams into oblivion.#The Company You Keep fic

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365daysofsasuhina · 6 years ago

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day One Hundred Two: Game Console ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

“Hey.”

“...hey!” Turning from her locker to look at Sasuke fully, Hinata takes a moment to adjust. It’s still taking some getting used to: him talking to her again. Only this past Summer did they finally break the years-long silence between them that bloomed from the loss of Sasuke parents, Mikoto and Fugaku. The time prior - where the pair of them had been best of friends - had then seemed like a bygone dream.

And now, it feels like she’s dreaming all over again. It’s strange, and yet...in some ways, it’s like they never stopped. But a lingering feeling makes her cautious: like if she makes one wrong move, he’ll just...leave again.

But she tries not to think about that.

“Doing anything tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Uh…” A moment to think. “I don’t think so?”

“You wanna come over? I just got a new game I’ve been waiting for in the mail.”

Hinata blinks. “...sure!”

She’s not much of a gamer herself - her father’s mostly against the idea of video games. Thinks they’re a superb waste of time. But he indulged her every so often as a child...mostly to keep her out of his hair. Hinata got a Gameboy for a birthday one year, and a Gamecube several after that. And recently, she saved up and got herself a Switch. Nintendo’s all she’s ever really branched into. Pokémon, Mario, Legend of Zelda...maybe childish in some eyes, but she grew up with them, and just...never really got into anything else.

Something tells her that’s not Sasuke’s style, though.

With the day over, they walk home together...which they’ve done since he started talking to her again. For the most part, they just chat and walk. But every so often, he’ll glance her way, and she suddenly feels shy all over again.

She tells herself she’s just...still adjusting to it. That’s all.

“So, um...what game did you get?”

“It’s a zombie game.”

“Z...zombies…?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of zombies, Hyūga.”

Her cheeks puff with a pout - partly at him calling her a scaredy cat, but mostly because he’s still calling her by her surname despite her insistence otherwise. “I’m not scared, they’re just...creepy.”

“Which means you’re scared of them.”

“No I’m not!”

“Then how do you feel about them?”

“I just...don’t like them.”

“Are you sure you still want to come over, then?”

“I won’t be playing it, so...i-it’s fine.”

“You play any games, Hyūga?”

“Yes!”

“Let me guess: cutesy ones. Or dating sims.”

“What? No! I...I play, um...retro...games.”

“Retro.”

“Yes.”

“Like…?”

“M...Mario. And Zelda. And...Pokémon…”

She fades into silence, expecting him to poke fun at her.

“Classics. Can’t go wrong with those.”

Or...he’ll like them? “...my dad doesn’t like video games. Says they’re useless. So I don’t really have a lot to play...”

“So are most hobbies. Hobbies are just ways to waste time and keep your brain busy. Show him one of those articles talking about how they help people with Alzheimer's. Maybe he’ll change his tune.”

“They do…?”

“I think so. Something like that. And, there’s people who play games for a living. Streamers, professionals on competitive teams...there’s money in it if you do it right. But, for most of us...it’s just a way to engage our brains and not be totally bored. Like a book...but better.”

That earns a small snort. “Hey, books aren’t bad!”

“No, but games are better.”

“That’s your opinion, Sasuke - not a fact.”

“And some opinions are better than others.”

Hinata just rolls her eyes as they turn onto the proper block. She doesn’t remember him being so...sassy. But then again, he’s a teenager now. The last time they really spoke was when he was seven.

How things change.

Heading into the house, Sasuke kicks off his shoes. “We’re probably here alone. Itachi’s gonna be home for the weekend but I don’t see his car yet. Shisui’s working, and so’s Manami. Staying for dinner?”

“Um...I guess -?”

“Okay, cool - we do takeout most nights cuz she works too late to really cook.”

That earns a frown. “...well, I could make so-”

“You’re a guest, you’re not gonna cook for us.”

“But I’d be happy to! I cook at home a-all the time!”

Pausing at the base of the stairs, he looks back at her. “...well, guess I can’t stop you from digging through all our stuff.”

“T-that’s not what I -!”

“I’m kidding, Hyūga. Do whatever you want.” Something shifts in his gaze. “...you’re home now...remember?”

She stills.

“...come on, let’s go boot up my game.”

Stepping into Sasuke’s room is like opening a time capsule, but...in reverse. It’s completely different from when he was a little boy. Posters litter the walls, and bookshelves are full of games, CDs, movies, and figures of...something. She doesn’t recognize any of it. A high-end PC sits on a desk, case glowing softly as it sleeps. It’s otherwise tidy, and he collapses into a beanbag chair in front of a flat screen TV, complete with a game console, once it’s all powered up.

“So...what one do you have?”

“PS4. Drives Naruto nuts cuz he’s a Microsoft fanboy.”

Hinata blinks. She...has no idea what that means. “Um…?”

“...he has an Xbox. We can’t really play together much.”

“...oh!”

“What do you got?”

“Um...a-a Switch. And...I still have my Gamecube.”

“Yeah, retro,” Sasuke replies with a grin as she goes pink. “Well, have a seat.”

Eyeing the beanbag next to him, she asks, “Which one of us is retro again…?”

“Hey, I think they’re comfy.”

Hinata eases into one, immediately feeling like it’s swallowing her up.

“I had it downloading and installing all day while I was at school, so we’re all good to go.” Sasuke boots up the game, navigating his way through the console menu, game startup, and then finally into the game itself. As expected of a zombie title, it’s dark, grim, and immediately spooky.

Hinata sinks a bit more into her seat.

The introductory level isn’t too bad...but it segues with a jumpscare that makes her eep.

“C’mon now Hyūga, we’ve only just started!”

“T-that wasn’t fair! It...it jumped out, and -”

“You wanna play?”

“N-no!”

“You sure?”

“Yes I’m sure! It - it’s too -!”

“What?”

“Scary!”

He just smirks, apparently prideful he got her to admit it. “C’mere.”

“What?”

“We’ll play together. Come sit with me.”

She’s...not exactly sure what he means. With him? These beanbags aren’t huge, she can’t exactly sit with him on it. Not unless...they…

Seeing his expectant look as the game pauses, she heaves a small sigh before managing to free herself from her own. Standing nearby, she curls a hand at her chest hesitantly. “...um -”

“Here.” Controller in one hand, he uses the other to tug her down to...sit between his knees. Arms around her and holding the device at her front, he says, “You tell me where to go.”

“B-but -?”

“You’ve clearly got better reflexes than me. You jumped a whole second before I even knew that scare happened.”

Another pout. But it’s hard to concentrate of being miffed when she really has no choice but to lean back on him to make room for his grip. Hinata’s heart pounds in her chest, all too aware of just how much of her is currently touching him.

“Where to next?”

“...u-uh...l-left?”

Off he goes, watching from over her shoulder as he stares at the screen. No matter how many times Hinata glances to him, his gaze doesn’t waver.

Unlike hers.

They continue like that for a while, Hinata giving directions and Sasuke following. Every time a zombie comes up she can’t help a sound of fright, one so bad she actually turns and buries herself into Sasuke’s shoulder.

Above her, unseen, he grins.

And, of course, it’s right then that Itachi opens the door. “Sasuke, have you heard from -?”

Both teens turn to look at him, and Hinata immediately goes bright pink.

The elder brother blinks, but otherwise doesn’t seem phased. “Have you heard from Manami or Shisui yet tonight?”

“Nope.”

“Hm...I’m going to go give them a call. Any preference on dinner orders?”

“I-I can make dinner!”

Both brothers look to Hinata, whose eyes are wide and face pink, but otherwise determined.

“Hinata, that’s not nec-”

“I know! I-I want to!”

Itachi perks a brow. “...well, all right then. Let me see if I can get ahold of them, and...we’ll plan from there.”

“...’kay!”

He takes his leave, and Sasuke looks down at her.

“...what?”

“...nothing. C’mon, we can do another level before he gets back.”

OMG I've wanted to continue Day 63 FOREVER and I finally took the opportunity xD I dunno why this prompt jumped out at me to, but it did! This is a follow-up of the piece where Hinata and Sasuke were childhood friends in a modern-day verse...until he lost his parents and became reclusive. They had a brief reunion at the end of 63, and...I finally continued it! With some fluffy shenanigans to counter the angst of the first part, lol But yeah, that'll do it for tonight! I had a rather long day including treating a sick moo, so...I'm gonna call it a night. Thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha itachi #best years of your life [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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1987vampire · 7 years ago

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Fuck U Betta

Fandom: Teen Wolf Relationship: Bottom!Stiles Stilinski x Top!Werewolf!Reader Word Count: ~3k Warnings: smut, biting, scratching, unprotected sex, marking, bottom!stiles, jealousy, idk, cussing Request: @fandomaster128 asked: Can you write an imagine on the song fuck you better by neon hitch with stiles? Please.☺ A/N: i love you guys so much Extra: buy me film for my camera because I’m broke af / The Song

Stiles wasn’t my boyfriend, and I knew that. He had never been my lover in any way other than sex, but when I found him looking at another girl the way he had never looked at me, I could feel my chest tighten and heart break. It made absolutely no sense to me.

The thought had never crossed my mind before that I might have developed feelings for the dull-eyed and over-working boy. The two of us had been friends for years, not as long as he had been friends with Scott, but we had known each other for a long time. There were plenty of nights with the three of us jumping around and acting like idiots, pizza nights at Scott’s house, and discovering too many things together. As we got older, I found myself looking at Scott like a brother, but Stiles, Stiles was completely different.

There was always something about Stiles, now that I think about it. He was always someone I admired from afar, silently cheering on his sarcastic comments and making sure he actually went to bed instead of researching. He was intriguing with his fascination in the simplest thing, and how he wasn’t able to trust anyone. He was absolutely gorgeous with hair grown out of the years and hazel eyes that were always shining with excitement and a bit of sleep deprivation. I won’t ever be able to analyze every bit of him, but that’s what makes it all the better.

Stiles was a mystery that I was never able to solve.

Through the recent year, Stiles had come to me with problems I never thought he would be come to me for. I spent night after night with Stiles in his bed, relieving him of his pent-up frustration and sex drive. The boy needed it after all. The nights were never consistent, and after, he would act like nothing happened. I didn’t care all too much, but I lived for those nights where Stiles would fuck me like there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow or the ones where he was tired but needed something and just rocked into me slowly, the room filled with soft gasps and pants instead of the loud moans that could be heard by any supernatural creature around the block.

Then, Malia Tate appeared, and I was left in the dust. He had found someone else to satisfy his needs and occupy his bed, but I couldn’t deny that it hurt. She took my spot in an instant, and I didn’t expect it. I watched the talk like they had known each other for years, and it was like a punch in the gut every time. They weren’t dating either, just fucking, just doing what I wanted to do.

I gritted my teeth as I watched Stiles grin and bend down to kiss Malia by his locker. For claiming they weren’t a couple, the two sure were lovers of PDA. Scott wrapped his arm around my shoulder and sighed. “You need to do something. You can’t just mope around all day.”

I rolled my eyes and looked over at him. “Stiles doesn’t want to do what I want to do.”

“And that is?”

“Well, first I would take off his clothes, and then-“

I was rudely cut off by Scott coughing loudly, wrapped his hand around my mouth. “I don’t need to hear that.”

I pushed his hand away. “You asked, loser.”

Scott shook his head, and we resumed our position from before. I sighed and leaned my head on his shoulder, watching as Stiles stared at us with curious eyes while Malia talked about one of her classes that she didn’t understand. His eyes studied the two of us carefully, trained on Scott’s hand around my shoulder. I shook my head, knowing it was most likely just my imagination. Stiles didn’t care about me.

“You really should talk to him, though,” Scott enthused, smiling encouragingly.

I sighed and nodded. “I’ve been meaning to do it, it just never happened. He never seemed to care. Besides, he’s got Malia.” Her name tasted sour on my tongue like I shouldn’t be saying it. She had ruined the one good thing about my life, and she didn’t even know it.

“He’s got Malia because he feels the same way about you. He just doesn’t think you like him too, so he uses her.” Scott’s voice was persistent, trying to make me believe what he was saying. It was like lying was his second nature because I had never seen him do it this well.

I shook my head and continued staring at the two. “You’re such a liar.”

Scott shrugged his shoulders. “I only tell the truth. You’re just lying to yourself.”

After that conversation, I found myself staring at Stiles a little bit more than I normally would. What if what Scott said was true? What if he actually liked me? I threw the thoughts from my head, however. How could he like someone like me? He was basically a god, and I was plain.

I threw my head back, groaning, as I stared at the work in front of me. I had stayed late at the library even though I wasn’t supposed to be here after school hours. The librarian had given me a special card that unlocked the doors at night so I could come in. She claimed it was because she trusted me, but I think it’s because I always end up cleaning up a bit.

I placed my head in my hand after stretching a bit and stared at the large textbooks in front of me. I always found myself studying at the last minute, procrastination sneaking up on me. I wrote down a few notes that I knew I wouldn’t look at later before I picked up my phone. I scrolled through a few notifications, most from apps or an occasional like on one of my posts.

I found myself staring aimlessly at a wall after that. I didn’t want to study, but I didn’t want to not study. I was struggling. When it finally reached about eleven o’clock, I decided to turn on my music and start studying again. If I messed up this test, I would be failing the class, and I already have enough problems as it is, I don’t need school looming over my shoulder like an overprotective parent.

It took me a few minutes to get into the normal swing of schoolwork, but I soon found myself humming along to the familiar melody falling from my phone as I wrote down random facts I knew I needed. Time passed by pretty quickly, but I still wasn’t tired. However, I had slept through most of my classes after spending the night before scrolling through Tumblr.

I looked up quickly as I heard the sound of the library door open and close. I raised an eyebrow and peered through the various bookshelves to see the one person I didn’t want to see. Stiles stood clad in gray sweatpants and a red shirt with only his phone in his hand. I sighed and ignored him, knowing he had already heard my music and would be coming around soon.

I flipped my page quickly and continued copying down, realizing that I was already almost completely done with my notes. Perfect. Now, I wouldn’t have to spend as much time here.

Four sentences left, and I heard his sneakers squeak against the wood flooring towards my direction.

Three sentences left, and I saw him walk over to the table area.

Two sentences left, and he was standing in front of me.

One sentence left, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Zero sentences left, and I jumped out of my seat before he could say anything and grabbed my belongings. I swiftly began walking to the door before I was swiftly held back as Stiles’ hand clasped around my wrist. I tried yanking myself out of his grasp, but it didn’t work, and Stiles pulled me closer to him, wrapping his arm around my waist so I couldn’t escape.

“Stiles,” I whined out, and pushed against him, “let me go.”

Stiles shook his head and held me tightly. For someone who only weighed about one-hundred and forty-seven pounds, he could hold me pretty well. “You need to talk to me, y/n. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You never come over any more. I miss you as a friend and lover.”

“I haven’t been ignoring you, you’ve been ignoring me ever since Malia came into your life and took my spot. You don’t have to feel bad or like you still have to be my friend when it’s obvious that you don’t want to be. I don’t have time for this drama or your bullshit.” My words were like fire as I spit them out, my lip curled into a snarl. Stiles loosened his grip on me for a second before turning me around so I was facing him.

“You thought I ditched you?”

“I don’t think,” I snarled, “I know.”

“y/n, I-“

I cut Stiles off by throwing myself forward and kissing him harshly, catching him by surprise. It was only a few seconds before he kissed me back just as forcefully. I let my emotions take control, knowing I would regret it later but enjoy it now.

Stiles pulled away with a soft gasp only for me to press my lips against his neck, sucking a bright mark into the unclaimed skin. “y/n,” he moaned out, breathily.

I growled back, my eyes glowing bright. “She’s been all over you, everywhere I’m supposed to be. Do you think she’s better than me? Do you think she can fuck you like I can? Do you think that she’s going to treat you like I do?”

Stiles sighed lowly and rolled his neck to the side, happily letting me have free reign on his neck. “She’s not. She’s definitely not any better.” I grinned and licked a stripe from his neck to his ear, biting on his neck softly.

“Are you gonna let me fuck you, Stiles, or do you want me to stop?”

Stiles groaned and nodded profusely. “Please fuck me.”

I chuckled and palmed him through his pants, feeling him growing hard already. He was breathing heavily, his pupils dialated as I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to me so I could kiss him. Our lips met in some odd synchronization that was perfect yet messy. Our teeth clashed at one point, but we both ignored it and just held each other tighter.

Stiles’ hands gripped my ass, but I smacked him away and pulled off our kiss. “Don’t touch. This is punishment.” Stiles whined but nodded and moved his hands so they were gripping the table instead of me. I smirked and thumbed at the bottom of his shirt, rolling the material between my thumb and first finger.

I hummed lightly and pressed my lips to his cheek. “What do you want me to do, Stiles?”

“Something. Anything.” His eyes closed, and his pink lips parted as I pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his pale and toned torso. Running around and saving people definitely gave him a nice body. I ran my hand over the planes of his stomach before dipping it down to his pants.

“Do you want to do this in here, Stiles? Want to do this in the middle of a library? Want to do it in the one place the pack is all of the time?”

Stiles whined. “I don’t care. I don’t care. I just need you.” He was shaking slightly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips every few minutes, his pupils blown. I smirked at my ability to make him fall apart in just a few seconds.

I hummed lightly before pressing my lips to jawline as I pushed my hands into his pants, wrapping my hand around his cock eagerly. He groaned loudly and tilted his head back, exposing his neck to me. I bit down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder before dragging my tongue over it languidly.

Stiles’ pants filled the room as I stroked him with one hand while carded my hands through his hair with the other. My mouth was constantly attached to him in some way, but he didn’t care. He was reveling in the moment.

Stiles bucked his hips into mine as he let out a loud whimper. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“ I swiftly pulled away from him and heard him groan loudly. He panted loudly and stared down at me, licking his lips again.

I moved up and pressed my lips to his, letting my tongue slip into his mouth. I slipped my hands down and hooked my thumbs into his sweatpants before dragging them down and then discarding my clothes, throwing them somewhere nearby. I watched as Stiles stepped out of his pants and stared at me, his hands twitching as if he was itching to touch me.

I walked back towards him, swinging my hips lightly. His eyes ran over my skin slowly, taking in every inch of me as if he hadn’t seen me before. I made my way to him and wrapped my arms around his neck, grinning as I stared at him. “Do you want me, Stiles?”

“Yes,” he murmured out, gripping the table.

“Can I fuck you?”

“Of course.”

After that statement, I pushed him back and watched as he fell onto the table with a loud “umph” leaving his lips. I crawled on top of it as he pushed himself back, so his entire body was situated onto the wood. I sat on his thighs, my hands on his chest, and I smiled, proud of myself. He grabbed my waist cautiously, scared I would push him off, but I simply smiled, letting him grab me. He smiled lazily up at me and closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. It had been a long time since we fucked.

I interrupted his peace by moving forward, lining myself up, and sliding down onto him. His eyes went wide, and his lips parted in a silent moan. I pulled myself up and then back down again, moving at a slow tempo that left both of us breathless.

I muffled a sound of pleasure before snapping my hips down, tilting my head back. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Stiles mumbled out, his eyes hazy.

“You are too,” I mumbled back, dragging my thumb across his cheek. “Especially from up here.”

I rolled my hips down onto his, knowing exactly how he liked it. He let out a gasp of air, his cheeks growing red from my body heat on his. I closed my eyes and sped up my tempo, slamming onto him with soft gasps leaving our mouths.

I rolled my head back and dug my nails into his chest, a simple claim that he was mine the next time any other girl tried to touch him. I could feel my release coming soon, and by the pitch of Stiles’ moans, I knew he was near as well.

“You close, Stiles,” I teased, rolling my hips again. “You ready to cum? Ready to let go?”

Stiles moved his hands and latched onto my arms, nails digging into the flesh. “Can I please, y/n, please?”

I hummed lightly and stared down at him. His face was slick with sweat, upturned in pleasure, and his lips were constantly parted, wet from him constantly licking them. “You can cum, Stiles. Let go.”

Stiles let out a loud groan before bucking his hips up and releasing, his cum filling me. I let out a loud groan before cumming as well, my hips faltering and slowing down as I tried to ride out my orgasm. Stiles whined underneath me and closed his eyes before pulling himself up and me down so I could kiss him.

“Do you agree with me,” I questioned softly as we pulled away.

He hummed in questioning, rubbing his hands up and down my arms. He looked exhausted.

“I can fuck you better than her.”

Stiles grinned lazily and nodded, watching me as I moved off of him and grabbed our clothes. “You’re definitely so much better.”

“I know,” I mumbled, throwing his sweatpants to him while I shrugged on his shirt. “Do you want to spend the night at my house or do you want to split?”

“Can we stay at yours? I don’t want to talk to Malia yet.”

I hummed and nodded, pulling on my pants as Stiles slid off the table. He pulled his sweats up his legs and wrapped his arm of me after I was completely dressed. “Maybe, I should actually ask you out sometime. We should become official.”

I smiled and chuckled. “I’d like that a lot.”

#Stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski smut #stiles stilinski x reader #bottom!stiles stilinski #sub!stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien smut #dylan obrien imagine #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan obrien x reader #bottom!dylan obrien #Sub!dylan obrien

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years ago

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Once a Witch*

Chapter Six

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Witch!Reader | Word Count: 3137 Warnings: Angst, Anger, Smut - NSFW

Leaning your back against the door, you covered your face and let the tears flow. It was the right thing to do, you were sure of it, but it left a gaping hole in your chest. This one was three times the size of the one you’d lived with for three hundred years. It was fresh and bled pain, but you’d done the right thing. The best thing. The only thing you could.

He deserved to live the life he clearly loved, with the people he loved. To be happy.

You should have known better, though. He wasn’t one to give up that easily, and when you heard the glass shatter, you jerked off the door, spinning to face the man angrily pacing toward you.

“You think you can tell me all this, sit there and look at me with longing and those goddamned eyes and then kick my ass out?” He stormed angrily toward you, shield on his arm and glass falling from his frame from the window he'd crashed through.

Again you found yourself backing away. Not out of fear, he would never hurt you, but out of shock. “How did you… get in?” He never should have been able to get back into the house, not with your spell active and protecting the property.

“Brute force and determination,” he growled, stalking you into the bookshelves.

Backing hard into the wood, you knocked everything over with the connection sending crystals and candles and small statues falling.

Steve’s right hand shot out, and everything stopped before it could smash to the ground. “Careful.”

You were too shocked to do more than stare at him, ignoring the objects which flew past you, returning to their place upon the shelving. It had to be the serum. The amazing serum they’d pumped into him back in the forties. It had done something to the magic inside him, unlocking even more of his strength and abilities than ever before.

Once everything was returned to the bookcase, Steve took the shield from his arm and leaned it against the sofa. “Now, we gonna talk about this, (Y/N)?”

The rolling, swinging stride had you swallowing hard when he continued toward you. His hands came up to grip the shelf on either side of your head as he leaned closer, nearly nose-to-nose with you.

“Steve…” You opened and closed your mouth a few times, caught in the spell his eyes had become. Intense, focused blue, glowing with the depth of both anger and magic.

“What made you rabbit, baby?”

“Goddess save me,” you whispered, his question crooned in a manner most coaxing.

One big hand delved into your hair. “She’s a little busy, doll face. Talk to me instead.”

Darting your tongue out to wet your lips, you gave a shuddering sigh. The heat from his body warmed your previously frozen bones. The way he held your hair caused your heart to pound and your womb to clench. He inhaled, and you were nearly certain he could smell the arousal on you.

“You have a good life, Steve, an important one. One where people depend on you. I can’t be selfish again. I won’t take that away from you. I lost you once because I made you choose between what I wanted and what you did. I won’t do that again.”

“Stop talking crazy,” he muttered, his eyes locked on your lips.

“It’s not crazy!” you huffed, shoving at his chest to no avail.

“It is!” he snapped. “If you help me remember, will I forget who I am right now?”

“Well… no,” you admitted.

“All I do is gain back a few centuries worth of memories with a woman who loved me, and whom I loved, right?”

You nodded slowly, hair pulling against his grip. “And a better understanding of your magic.”

“And you? Do I get you, darlin’?” He leaned into you, his entire body moulding to yours.

A thigh somehow nudged its way between your knees, making you whimper. “If… if you want me.”

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you,” he breathed. Dipping down, he closed his mouth over yours in a kiss centuries in the making.

Sighing, you went boneless against him, arms lifting to wrap around his neck. It was a kiss for the ages, one that deserved to be recorded in the history books. His hold on your hair gentled. His hand slipped down to cup your jaw as your mouths moved together in perfect harmony. His opposite hand dropped to curl around your waist and draw you from the bookcase, lifting you up till you were standing on your toes, suspended in both time and against him.

The inquisitive flick of his tongue against your lips had your mouth opening on a moan. A slow exploration began as he took his tongue over your teeth and into the depths of your mouth. His stroked against yours, pressed and played, teasing a moan from your chest.

He broke the kiss only to take a deep breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours. “Baby…”

“Steve…”

You smiled when he did.

He held you against him, still on your toes, mouths so close together you could feel the wash of his breath across them. “Don’t push me away, (Y/N). Something… something tore inside me when you did. It hurt like nothing else ever has.”

“Me too,” you admitted, holding him a little tighter.

Taking another breath, deep and shaking slightly, Steve whispered, “Help me remember.”

“But…” you shook your head.

“What’s holding you back?”

“You’ll have to choose,” you whispered. “Me or the Avengers.”

“Why? Why would I have to choose?”

“Because of me,” you sighed.

He chuckled, actually snickered against you. “Darlin’, why couldn’t you just come with me?”

“What?” Jerking back as far as his arm would allow, you stared up at him in amazement.

“You think they wouldn’t welcome another magic wielder?”

“But… I can’t… I don’t use it like that! I can’t!”

His lips brushed yours when the panic filled your voice. “I know. I know, sweetheart. I’ve got all these things jumbling around in my head, but and it harm none keeps coming through like a heartbeat.”

“You… you’re remembering?” you gasped in shock.

He gave a slow nod and smiled. “Bits and pieces.” Caressing your cheek, he brought his thumb to your lips. “Your taste is so familiar. The touch of your hand. The way your skin smells… I can’t explain it. When I kissed you, it was like the first time and the millionth time all wrapped up together.”

“Steve…” you whispered in awe.

“Help me remember.”

Closing your eyes, wallowing in the caress of his hand and the heat of his large body, a heat you’d sorely missed, you gave in. “Okay…”

***

Even as you led him toward the forest at the back of your property, you wondered if you were making a mistake. The basket on your arm was a heavy reminder that what you were about to do could not be undone. When he’d tried to take it from you, you’d clutched it all the tighter.

Arriving at a small, circular clearing, you crouched to place your hand against the ground. The tall grass waved and retreated, the trees bent their branches back allowing the silver light of the moon to flood over the ground. Your circle formed, filled with green grass, lush and thick and so very soft. A ring of flowers in pure white sprang up, took on an ethereal glow while you quietly cast your seal of protection.

Steve held down his hand to help you up, and you took it, peering closely at his face. While a touch of wonder filled his eyes, he only smiled gently and nodded his agreement again.

Holding onto his hand, you stepped over the threshold, your magic buzzing on your skin. “Come in, Steve. You are welcome in my circle.”

A quiver wracked his body when he did so. The blue of his eyes brightening with the increase in power all around. “Wow,” he whispered, his fingers tightening.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” you said with a small smile.

Taking back your hand, you flipped open the top of your basket. Inside, fat white candles waited. Before you could reach for them, they were up and gone, set out exactly as they should be.

Glancing at Steve, he only shrugged. “Follow my heart, right?”

Smirking a little, you lit them with a wave of your hand and reached for the blanket, the cup and the wine you’d included. “Lay that out for me in the center.” You handed him the thick quilt.

He eyed both it and you but did as asked.

Kneeling down, you whispered a prayer to the goddess and pulled the cork from the wine.

“What’s that for?” Steve asked, dropping down to kneel before you once he’d spread the blanket.

“Courage,” you whispered, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking deeply of the dark red wine laced with herbs. Holding out the cup, you arched a brow when he only looked at it. “It will help.”

He drank, watching you over the rim as he repeated your actions.

When he was finished, leaving a mouthful in the bottom, you took it and poured it over the earth. “Take this offering from my heart and help me as I work my art. As the moon this night rises free, return the love once taken from me, as I will so mote it be.”

The soft white glow of the flowers deepened into silver and shifted into blue. It seeped like fog along the grass, flowing in tendrils toward you.

Returning to your feet, you held your hands out for Steve as the first wisp of your magic touched him.

“I… know this place,” he said, staring wide-eyed at the forest.

“Yeah… you do.”

He pointed toward the grove of willows. “There… there was where I…”

“You died. I returned your body to the earth in that grove, and when I bought this house and land, I set a marker for you.”

Turning to you, he gathered you close. “What now?”

A blush filled your face. With a deep breath, you reached up and touched the button nearest his throat. “We need to… you and I need to…” Plucking at the button, it came undone, and you stroked the flesh laid bare.

Colour filled his cheeks. “Really?”

“Sex magic is potent,” you murmured. “We used to… all the time… when we worked a really big spell.”

Determination filled his eyes. Hot hands dipped beneath the hem of your simple t-shirt and stroked the skin of your back.

Your whole body quivered at the contact.

“I’m up for it, baby,” he crooned, lips brushing yours in a tender kiss.

“Steve… be sure… it’s not too late to stop this.”

“I am sure. I’ve been sure since shortly after dinner. You’re the one who drop-kicked me out of your house.”

“Really?”

He pulled back enough for you to see the gentle glow of his eyes and sweet smile. “Yeah. It was taking everything in my power not to jump you in your living room. There’s this… part of me that keeps growling mine. I’m tired of fighting it.”

Your shirt came up over your head with such speed, you gasped out excitedly. Especially as his hands remained on your back while yours were now firmly held above your head by his magic. “Still so tricky.”

Chuckling and tracing his fingers over the band of your jeans, he slipped his palms back to grip your ass and drag you up against him.

The press of his erection into your stomach had you moaning and rocking on your toes. “Steve… please!”

When he released your hands, clothing came off in a frenzy of buttons and tearing seams. The tension which had been building all night, all day, was finally peaking.

Hands roamed everywhere leaving trails of shivering skin and gooseflesh in their wake. Teeth and tongues clashed as kisses grew out of control.

He dropped to his knees to place openmouthed kisses on your stomach, and you cradled his head. The sensations were so familiar but so strong, you cried out when his hand closed over your breast.

“Easy, baby,” Steve murmured against your flesh while tugging and rolling your nipple.

“Oh, Goddess! It’s been so long!” Dragging his head back, you dropped over his lap, your thighs spread wide to straddle his.

It had a harsh groan rippling from him for your dripping wet core skimmed his hard cock like a lover’s teasing caress.

He went over on his back on the quilt, taking you with him.

Plastered to his chest, you nipped and kissed his jaw, rocking your hips down on his clenching abs, trying to ease the ache flooding your core. “I’ve missed you so much. I need you so bad.”

Hard hands grasped your ass, lifted and set you back so your wet heat could slide over his throbbing shaft. There was a spark of memory in his eyes when you looked at him questioningly.

“Take what you need from me. I give it freely.”

Tears gathered again, threatening and finally falling with the words. Sitting back, you began to rock your hips over him, rolling your wet core on his thick cock. Each slide brought friction to your aching clit.

His hands locked around your waist, dragging you down harder over him and higher to catch the head of his erection. “That’s… oh damn…” he panted, eyes glazed and heavy-lidded with lust.

“Wait for it!” you gasped, lifting your hands in the air. The mist closed in, wrapped over you both, curled its way up your body to dance around your fingers. Power flowed into you, gradually growing waves of intensity which lit you up and set your body on fire. “Now!”

Lifting your hips, Steve brought you back down, driving his cock up at the same time, filling you so full you screamed and nearly lost the hold you had on your spell. Throwing both hands out, you began to move again, ride the overwhelming fullness between your thighs with vigour.

The silver moonlight fell upon your spine and set you glowing, filling you with strength and the power of the Goddess even as your long lost lover returned physical pleasure to your life. He cursed softly, drawing your attention down to his face.

Brows drawn together, his tight grip on your waist registered for the first time. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes gleamed the bluest you’d ever seen them. They lifted from where your pendant swung against your chest to your eyes, held for a moment more. Then he was surging up, the show of strength making your core clench around him.

“You’re so damn beautiful like that. Look at you glow, baby.” His hands drifted down to grasp your ass, lift and lower you over the hard length of him.

“So long…” you moaned. “I missed you…”

His teeth nipped into your lip.

Tight coils of pleasure had wrapped so firmly around your womb you thought you’d explode before you finished what you started. The slick glide of him through your fluttering walls drew harsh grunts and sexy growls from his throat. You wanted nothing more than to simply fall into the passion, but the spell was so close to being finished you held back, held out for a few more seconds.

“Tell me your close,” he moaned, his mouth dropping to lay sucking kisses to your throat and shoulder.

“So close.” Every part of you throbbed and burned for him. Shockwaves of pleasure pulsed with every beat of your heart, with every thrust of his heavy cock through your tight core.

When the final remnants of the spell gathered around you, you brought your hands to rest on his shoulders continuing to roll your hips. Your breasts connected with his chest, nipples rubbing most pleasingly as you clutched him closer. “I missed you mo ghaisgeach, mo ghaol.”

One big hand threaded into your hair, tugged your head back for his lips to find the hollow of your throat. “Thoir dhomh a h-uile dad, mo leannan.”

The mist wrapped tightly around you both, the magic finally peeking as the love you’d been holding back came forth on a cry of his true name. “Aneirin!” screamed from your lips when your orgasm overcame you, tightening your walls and milking his cock in rapid contractions.

“Nessa!” he bellowed, body shaking as he followed you over into ecstasy, the hot wave of his seed making you whimper.

Draped over Steve, body humming but exhausted, you rested against his chest and shoulder while your heart slowed and breathing normalized. The gentle stroking of his hands over your back was almost enough to make you purr like a kitten.

“Nessa…” he whispered, his face nuzzling into your throat. “Oh, Goddess, Nessa! I remember. I remember everything!”

“Welcome back, Aneirin,” you sighed happily. The world rapidly tilted and you giggled to find yourself beneath him.

Bright, excited eyes full of love peered down at you. “How could I… I can’t believe… I forgot you. Oh, darlin’.” Pressing his forehead to yours, he shuddered.

“Not your fault. Not your fault at all.”

Tracing your fingernails over his back, you smiled when you felt your heart beat in time with his. Content and whole for the first time in three hundred years, you wallowed in the warmth of his body.

“You’re too giving, mo ghaol.”

“I’ve missed you Aneirin.”

“Think I’ll stick with Steve.”

“Steve…” You turned your head to see him in the moonlight. “What happens now?”

Settling to your side, he pulled you in close and gently touched your cheek. “I’d hope you’d come home with me, back to the tower. Come meet the team and I think… I think we’ll tell them the truth.”

“Really?” Stunned you could only stare.

“Yeah. It’s not like it was in the past, Nessa. I trust them, I really do. I think it’s time.”

Taking a shuddering breath, you gave a slow nod. “I like (Y/N). And I’ll go anywhere you want, as long as I’m with you.”

He smiled then, big and wide, and rolled you underneath him. “No need to go anywhere for a few days. I’m still on furlough and have a few centuries to make up for.”

Laughing, you clutched him close and breathed him in. While it might scare you, your future unknown and new people on the horizon, you had him back. Aneirin, Henry, Steve. The love of your life was once again back at your side.

Whatever came next, as long as you had each other you would be alright.

-The End-

mo ghaisgeach, mo ghaol - my brave one, my love Thoir dhomh a h-uile dad, mo leannan - Give me everything, my darling.

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