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bauslut · 4 years

Text

as you are | vi.

pairing: aaron hotchner x oc

word count: 5.810k

warnings: mentions of murder, mentions of sexual assault, nudity, oral (receiving), filthy talk, use of pet names, sir kink, slight dom/sub, age gap, cursing, angst, lots and lots of angst, mentions of infant death, allusions to sex, cock warming, crying, marking, nsfw

a/n: this is the sixth chapter of my hotch fic! first off, i want to thank @sapphicstars for being my go-to for all my hotch rambles, for being my best friend, & for beta reading the past few chapters! thank you for being such a dear friend, i love you <3 let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist! i hope you guys enjoy, as i’m super proud of this! :’)

| iv. | v.|

a drizzle drummed against the window, the sheer cream curtains drawn, rays of light from the lamp casting a warm golden glow all around, illuminating nearly everything. the only sound was the patter of the drops as they collided with the windowpane, and the occasional shuffle of papers, the heating unit only nothing but white noise, drowned out by the rain.

rowan rivers sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with a loose thread on the patterned comforter, “so, do you want to shower first or would you like me to go?”

“you should go,” the rustle of paper followed his sentence, “you’re the one who’s wearing damp clothes. honestly, i’m not sure why you haven’t showered yet and changed into dry clothes.”

“and what are we going to do about the bed?”

“i’ll just sleep on the floor,” a weary sigh reverberated off the thin walls, “nothing that i haven’t done before.”

“aaron,” rowan rolled her eyes, slipping off the mattress, “do you realize that us sleeping in the same bed is nothing out of the ordinary?”

the unit chief was adjacent to the agent, his knees bent, acting as a prop for the file of the unsub. a notebook lied directly next to his thigh, open, a few notes scribbled into the margins. his coat was hung in the closet, suit jacket slung across a faux leather chair, nothing but his dress shirt and tie covering his top half, the tie loosened so that it wasn’t so tight around his neck.

aaron’s lips pursed, brow arching, “you don’t recall a single memory from that night, yet that’s the only thing you remember?”

“there’s a lot that’s coming back to me,” rowan shrugged, padding over to her bag, “well since you’re not protesting, i’m about to go use all of the hot water.”

“go ahead,” a chuckle flowed from his lips, light and airy, “i don’t mind a cold shower sometimes.”

“you’re ridiculous,” rowan snorted, “although i’m not shocked that you like cold showers.”

“i’m nowhere near as ridiculous as david rossi,” aaron brought a bottle of water to his mouth, taking a slip, “you realize this was intentional, right?”

“i wasn’t born yesterday,” her voice crescendoed as she entered the bathroom, rising again as she spoke, “if you need me, i’ll be in here.”

aaron mumbled an incoherent strand of words under his breath, cursing david rossi. not only did he have a case to investigate, he also had six members of his team badgering him about a coworker.

sure, the taunting on the jet was enough to handle. he could fire back, shooting down their teasing remarks with ease, able to maintain his cool, calm, composure. he was in control of the situation, shutting them up in a matter of minutes. nothing that he hadn’t encountered before.

however, this was a stark contrast.

aaron was in shambles, his skin flushed, neck painted with pink splotches as he gnawed on his lower lip. her mere presence was enough to have him crumpling to his knees, completely and utterly allured by her beauty. gravitating towards her voice whenever those plush lips parted, hanging onto every word. every interaction leaving one singular question ringing through his mind, clouding his thoughts.

how much longer was he going to able to keep it together?

“all right,” her voice pulled him out of his thoughts, snapping back to reality, “your turn.”

a fluffy white robe was cinched around her waist, the fabric covering nearly everything but a patch of skin between her breasts, a few marks poking out in the light. they were faded some, yet still prominent.

licking his lips, aaron clambered out of the bed, mustering every fiber in his being to break his gaze away, careful not to stare for too long.

“that was quick.”

“i didn’t want to waste the warm water,” she responded, ringing a towel through her hair, “i’ll just change in here while you shower.”

“you have no problem stripping when you’re inebriated but the second you’re sober you have second thoughts?” aaron let out a laugh, lips stretching into a broader grin as he noticed the rosy hue spread through her cheeks, “i’m just teasing.”

“i hate you,” rowan muttered, lips curving into a pout.

“i know for a fact that you don’t.”

“i’ll be in bed when you return,” her eyes crinkled shut as her hand deflected a yawn.

“and when i get out, i’ll be careful not to make any noise. every minute of sleep is precious. we have an unsub to track down when morning comes.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“what time is it?” her voice was barely a whisper, her back facing him.

aaron rolled over, squinting in the low light. the numbers glared back, a sigh exiting his lips, “it’s about two thirty-eight, ro.”

“from the sound of it, you can’t sleep either.”

“this bed is pretty uncomfortable,” aaron pulled the comforter tighter to his body, nuzzling into the pillow.

“so are these pillows,” she grumbled, her tone hot with scorn, “why couldn’t we have booked some hotel in the town over?”

“the nearest town is forty minutes away.”

“so why can’t you sleep?” the ruffle of sheets crept into his left ear, “something on your mind?”

“there’s a lot on my mind ro.”

“there you go again, calling me ‘ro’,” she exhaled, “you need to pick a side, aaron.”

“pick a side?” shifting his body, aaron faced rowan, his brow furrowed, “what are you talking about, rowan?”

“you need to pick a side,” she repeated, her depths nearly gleaming silver, “you can’t just keep leading me on but then pushing me away. it’s so fucking confusing because i like being around you, aaron, i really do. you make me happy and every time that i’m not with you, there’s this part of me that misses you.”

“rowan--” his throat tightened, “it’s just that--”

“oh what?” she challenged, “what is it that’s holding you back? right now, you’re laying close enough to reach out, close enough to touch me, but not too close because there is something in your mind telling you not to. is it the divorce? are you guys even officially separated? from the frequent phone calls you’ve been receiving lately, it seems as if it’s sorting out plans. sorting out plans for daycare, for spending the night. it’s sorting out plans for jack. the two of you don’t even live together and rossi told me that it’s been months since the papers were filed.”

“rowan.” her name was eerily quiet as it tumbled from his lips, yet she continued, her voice rising, inflected with notes of fury, tears threatening to spill over.

an index finger prodded his chest, digging in, “you may have a cold tone when talking to me, but the second that i walk into a room your eyes gravitate towards my presence. you are keen when i speak and always tell the others to quiet down when i have headaches. you always ask if i’m going to make it home okay. fuck, the other night you let me stay at your apartment. is that just normal behavior to you? what are you so fucking afraid of aaron hotchner? and yes, i know how much you fucking despise being profiled but--”

“for fuck’s sakes,” the words were a growl, gravelly and harsh, “come here.”

fingers crept onto her cheeks, palms fully enveloping the heated skin, pulling her closer, mouths only inches away from one another.

rowan’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes searched hers, the tip of his nose grazing against the inside of her cheek, “a-are you going to answer my question or not?”

“only if you want me to,” her lashes fluttered as lips brushed against hers, soft and plush.

“please do.”

the fingers glided into her hair, tugging at the roots as mouths collided with hers, a fiery kiss unraveling. aaron pulled her closer, desperate to have her as close as teeth gnashed against teeth, tongue delving into her mouth. a faint taste of cherries lingered, the taste sweet, only making him crave more. rowan’s hands flew to his chest, clutching the fabric of his tee as he sucked on her lower lip harshly, a whine rising in her throat.

the whimper escalated into a broken moan as his mouth drifted lower, trailing just below her jawline, “a-aaron, please.”

“what?” he paused, voice edged with lust, “you have to use your words, ro.”

a shiver ran down her spine, her body nearly collapsing into his, “we have all night, you don’t have to be hasty.”

“i don’t know how much longer i can hold back ro.”

“god aaron,” rowan panted as he nipped at her neck, “i bet they can hear us--”

“let ‘em,” satisfaction coursed through him as he marveled at the fresh mark, “i want to hear you.”

fingers laced into his silky hair as his mouth drifted, tugging at the roots, “fuck, aaron. just take it off.”

he paused, breaking away, heart thudding, blood roaring in his ears, “do you want me to?”

rowan nodded, her cheeks tainted crimson, “please.”

gently, his hands hooked the hem of the plush crewneck clinging to her frame, gesturing for her to sit up. carefully, he worked it up her arms, pulling it over her head, casting the article of clothing to the floor.

at the sight of her, he nearly came undone.

her breasts bounced as her back hit the mattress, a cotton thong hugging her hips. her lips were parted, curved into a shy smile, brunette hair sweeping against the pillow. a silver chain glittered, hanging loosely from her neck, a charm resting against her collarbone. swallowing thickly, his hands gravitated towards her sides, slowly trailing back and forth, savoring the softness of her skin against his. several, tiny scars littered her chest, spanning down to the plane of her stomach, the areas a more pale complexion than the rest.

“i’m sorry about the scars,” she sputtered, tripping over the words, “they’re really a mood killer and i’m so--”

“ro,” his tone was firm, yet his voice was so gentle, so quiet, “don’t you dare apologize. you’re beautiful.”

a hand cupped his cheek, her thumb caressing the cheekbone, “you’re the first man who’s ever said that to me and meant it.”

“i’ll say it over and over again. all day, every day. every single second that i’m around you because i fucking mean it, rowan. you’re beautiful.”

tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill over, “t-thank you.”

“no crying,” a chuckle tumbled from his lips, the pad of his thumb wiping away a tear, “i always hate seeing you cry.”

“i won’t cry anymore, promise. you should take this off,” her nails grazed the collar of his tee, “so we’re even.”

without any hesitations, he slipped out of his shirt, lowering his head so that he was at level with her chest, “can i?”

“can you what?”

“well,” his breath fanned against her skin, in close proximity, “you asked me a few nights ago if i wanted to suck on them. can i?”

“god, please.”

his mouth wrapped around her nipple, her back arching into him as his teeth tugged lightly, tongue flicking over the bud. rowan’s nails dug into his back, moans flooding the space, low and breathy, only fueling the lust burning within him. god, he needed more of her. he needed more of her so fucking bad. he needed all of her.

“a-aaron,” rowan whimpered as his tongue traveled lower, going down her stomach, “i-i need you to touch me. or do something. fuck, i’m so wet and i can fucking feel it. i need you.”

“yeah?” his tone oozed authority, “you need me? how bad? how badly do you need me to touch you?”

“i just fucking need you,” her head thudded against the pillow, jaw slack, “i need you bad, aaron hotchner.”

the sound of his name, his full name, dripping from her lips, nearly sent him over the edge of losing all inhibitions, drunk off lust.

aaron’s hands sprawled across her thighs, parting them in one swift motion, “if this gets to be too much, let me know. all right?”

“all right.”

settling flat on his stomach, his arms hooked around her thighs, his head level with her thong, “holy fuck. i can see how wet you are.”

“it’s all for you,” her voice faltered, squirming slightly as the tip of his nose brushed against her clit, “i’m so wet for you, sir.”

“sir?” aaron arched a brow, a smug smirk enveloping his features, “i like that, especially coming from your pretty little mouth. do you want me to put you in your place pretty girl? you want me to remind you who’s in charge? do you want me to make you feel good?”

rowan’s throat tightened, her clit practically throbbing through the cotton now, the fabric drenched with her juices, “yes sir. i need you to put me in my place.”

“that’s a good girl,” he hummed, fingers hooking the waistband, “let’s get these off you, hmmm?”

eagerly, rowan shimmied, aaron’s touch sending ripples of euphoria coursing through her body. it was almost as if every single part of her body was on fire, lit up from his words alone. the touch only intensified the scorching desire, consuming her whole.

his tongue darted out, licking a stripe from her hole to her clit, delving between her folds, a pleased hum rising in his throat as he swallowed.

“i always knew you’d taste this good, pretty girl.”

“god,” she writhed beneath him, instinctively bucking her hips, “please--”

the sentence dissolved into a groan as his mouth connected with her pussy, burying his tongue into it. rowan’s hands tangled into his hair, pulling, only goading him to keep going. to keep ravaging her with his mouth until she was begging to stop. his tongue glided upwards, swirling on her clit, lapping away, desperate to taste every inch. to explore every convex and concave until there was nothing left. nothing left to taste.

“a-aaron,” pulling away, a strand of saliva followed, glittering in the light.

“say my name, say it again pretty girl. and don’t fucking stutter.”

“but your mouth--” she protested, biting her tongue.

a growl rumbled, “i don’t care where my mouth was. say it again.”

hands squeezed her breasts, rolling her nipples between fingers. the pleasure was overwhelming, the waves racking rowan’s body as his lips wrapped around her clit, sucking and darting across it. heat radiated off her cheeks, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead.

“i-i’m going to cum,” a needy whine rang through the room, bouncing off the walls.

“you better cum,” he was pinching her nipples now, “you better fucking cum like the good girl i know you are.”

“i-i’m going to,” her thighs twitched, her breathing picking up, “oh my god aaron, i’m going to--”

“that’s a good girl,” aaron’s eyes drank in the sight of her, trembling underneath him, her climax seconds away from unraveling, “you cum like the good girl you are.”

her hips rolled, riding out her orgasm on his tongue, clutching fistfuls of his hair. giving her pussy one final lick, aaron pulled away, her juices coating his mouth, dripping onto his chin. his cock was twitching now, pre-cum dribbling along his length, constrained to the tightness of his boxers.

“fuck,” rowan cursed under her breath, her chest heaving, strands of hair plastered to her forehead, “aaron--”

“you hanging in there, ro?”

her response was a meek nod, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple, “yes.”

“i’m not finished with you yet princess,” aaron’s voice wavered as rowan propped herself up, reaching out, her hand flattening out on the print, fingers squeezing his shaft, “good god, p-please.”

“what?” tilting her head, rowan peered at him through thick lashes, batting them, “what is it, aaron?”

“i need you to fucking sit on it, that’s fucking what.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“what time are we supposed to meet at the station again?”

“only a couple of hours now,” aaron fought back a yawn, pressing a light kiss to her shoulder blade, “it’s nearly five in the morning, ro.”

bodies were intertwined, a flurry of limbs. the haze of sex lingered, the scent of arousal thick in the air. yet, aaron hotchner felt nothing but pure bliss as he cradled her body in his arms, a warm, cozy feeling seeping into his chest as her bare skin pressed against his.

shifting ever so slightly, a low grunt rumbled in his throat as his tip plunged further in, his cock coated with a sticky mess of his and her cum, the juices practically leaking down his shaft, pooling onto the sheets.

“aaron, please.”

“please what?” satisfaction coursed through his veins as her voice dripped with a plea, “you gotta use your words with me, rowan. i can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

“we’ll be up all night,” rowan whispered, “i-it feels so good.”

swallowing thickly, his hand traveled from her hip to the plane of her stomach, “god, i think i can feel it.”

“i don’t know if i can handle any more.”

“i know baby,” pecking her cheek, aaron pulled out, savoring the sensation of her walls wrapped around his cock, “let’s get you cleaned up, and then maybe we’ll be able to get a few minutes of shut-eye before a phone rings.”

baby.

rowan’s heart nearly soared at the pet name, the gentle notes inflected in his tone as he uttered it, the way it just sounded so right coming from him. god, was she so vulnerable in this state: enveloped in his tight embrace, nearly melting into his arms, not a single article of clothing adorning her frame.

in the moment, she was nothing but happy, cozy and content under the covers.

if only she could spend every night like this with him, basking in the intimacy. falling so much harder than she initially thought. sure, aaron hotchner was a handsome man. he was level-headed, carried himself with ease, and was so utterly good-looking. he was a family man, unafraid to express his abundant love for his son. he was compassionate, putting his needs of the team before his own. he was self-less, always thrusting himself into harm's way before any member of his team or civilian.

however, there was one aspect that rowan couldn’t understand. one particular trait that prevented her from giving herself to him completely.

why couldn’t aaron hotchner show any vulnerability? why was he a changed man behind closed doors?

“there,” his voice cut in the silence, “i changed the sheets. we should really rest, ro.”

padding over to the bed, rowan settled into the comforter, allowing space for aaron. within seconds, he was pulling her in, head nuzzling into the crook of her head, stubble grazing soft flesh, “i never really noticed it before, but you wear a butterfly necklace. is there any significance behind that?”

“i thought we were going to sleep hotchner,” rowan let out a hoarse chuckle, “but, to answer your query, i wear it in honor of my older brother. he was stillborn. when i was younger, my mom used to tell me that every single butterfly that i encountered was joshua, and he was just fluttering by to say hello. i wear the necklace to keep him close to my heart, because that’s where he resides. nearly every night, i dream about meeting him. i.. i really wish i could give him a hug sometimes, ya know? but you can’t hug butterflies or else that will kill them.”

fingers intertwined with hers, “you didn’t have to share that with me, ro, but i am so grateful that you did.”

“the thing is,” she paused, exhaling, “i want to share everything with you, aaron.”

lips brushed against her skin, “and i want to hear it all. every memory, every story, every inside joke. i want you to share these experiences and tales with me, rowan. i promise that i’ll listen.”

“what’s wrong with us? we’re not supposed to fall in love, aaron hotchner. you’re my boss. we’re federal agents. if anyone found out, our lives would be obliterated. if strauss ever caught wind of this, oh my god we would be--”

“rowan, listen to me,” the words were grounding, “i don’t care what happens. there’s a lot of uncertainty in the future, but i know one thing’s for certain. i want anything to do with you, no matter what the cost. i would ask about those damn boots you love so much, but we really need to sleep if we’re going to function at all tomorrow. and i need that brilliant mind of yours if we’re going to get this guy.”

“i was planning on spilling a few more secrets.”

“we have the whole flight home for that,” the laugh vibrated in his throat, “sleep well, rowan. sweet dreams. i’ll be here when you wake up.”

“sweet dreams hotchner,” rowan murmured, lids heavy with exhaustion.

within hours, beams of light were filtering in through the curtains, stirring the agent awake. groggily, she shifted, rolling over to face aaron, instinctively leaning in to press her lips against his for a warm good morning.

but he wasn’t there, the mattress nothing but an unforgiving void of cold sheets and broken promises.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“listen,” emily prentiss grumbled, sifting through a pile of bills, “you owe me if i’m right.”

“i won’t,” rossi countered, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he cracked a smug smirk, “this isn’t the fifty i was promised when we made this bet. we shook on it, remember?”’

derek morgan poked his head out a door, “do you guys think they fucked?”

“fucked is such a vulgar word,” garcia snorted, shouldering past morgan, “also, i hate you for putting that filthy image in my head. it’s going to be there all day thanks to you.”

“It’s nothing that we don’t do babygirl,” morgan shot her a wink, “how much do i owe you, rossi?”

“fifty dollars,” rossi beamed, “i prefer fives, if you have them.”

“i don’t think that they had sexual intercourse,” reid cleared his throat, striding towards the elevator, “the infrastructure of this building has extremely thin walls. i would have heard something. do you guys even think that hotch has that stamina to--”

“all right, that’s enough!” morgan coughed, throwing his bag over his shoulder, “where is hotch, anyways? the door is cracked, but i haven’t seen him or rowan leave the room.”

“i’m sure all of our questions will be answered within the hour,” rossi remarked, accepting a wad of cash from morgan, “if we see hotch smile today, then that tells us that they weren’t sleeping last night.”

the team held their breaths as a door opened, rowan stepping out, shutting it softly behind her, “good morning guys.”

“good morning rivers!” prentiss chirped, “how did you sleep last night? don’t tell me he made you sleep on the floor.”

“i didn’t get much sleep at all,” the brunette muttered, “have you guys seen hotch at all this morning?”

“no,” rossi replied curtly, “we thought you two were getting a few more minutes of snuggling before we had to leave.”

rowan’s eyes squeezed shut, her features twisting together with pain, “c-can we please just quit it with the teasing today? just for today?”

“oh,” prentiss’ face fell, brow furrowing with concern, “i-is everything alright rivers?”

“we didn’t mean to--” morgan began, but was promptly cut off by garcia.

“maybe you just haven’t had your morning coffee yet buttercup. let’s get you something to eat too. you look like you’ve seen a ghost or something utterly horrifying. caffeine always lifts my spirits.”

as garcia and rowan strolled to the elevator, whispering amongst one another, rossi nudged morgan, “something happened last night between the two of them.”

“should we ask hotch about it?” prentiss inquired, picking a hair off her blazer, “or, should we leave it be?”

“i’ll handle it,” rossi smoothed out his shirt, lugging his back behind him.

“i have an inkling that our unit chief is not aware of the consequences that come with reckless thinking.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“how are things today kiddo?” rowan flinched as a hand connected with her shoulder, “you’ve barely spoken a word to us all morning. and you’ve listened to every single order hotch has given you. is there something wrong?”

“oh,” rowan blinked, swiveling around in a chair, “um, i’ve just had a morning, i guess.”

letting out a sigh, david rossi slid into the nearest seat, scooting towards the agent, “you forget that i’ve been in this field for years, rowan. i know when something’s up. i won’t prod too much, but i’m worried about you. is it something to do with the case?”

“d-do you think anyone’s going to come over here?” rowan’s gaze flickered towards the group of cops huddled around the control center, chattering away.

“come,” rossi rose to his feet, offering the brunette his elbow, “let’s go on a walk. there’s not much to do around here anyways. garcia is picking through the laptop, it may take a while.”

graciously, rowan accepted his offer, following him outside of the station into the dreariness of forks. dark, flint grey clouds loomed over, threatening rain. the air was chilly, piercing the agent to the bone as she clung onto rossi.

“wait,” rossi paused, discarding his coat, “did romeo forget to offer his juliet his coat this morning?”

shoving her arms into the sleeves, rowan shuddered as a breeze rolled through the streets, “romeo is a fucking jackass, that’s what.”

“oh is he now?” rossi mused, “i figured he was the reason why your mood drastically changed. if you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”

“a lot,” the agent mumbled, careful to avoid the question.

“i want to help,” he stated, his tone cool, “but i can’t do that if you don’t let me know what happened, rowan.”

“i-i’m sure it’s no secret that i came from a very, very, horrible place,” rowan began, shrinking inside the coat, boots thudding against the pavement, “the first day i arrived at the bau, it was also no secret that aa-- hotch and i butted heads. there are still times in which he annoys the shit out of me, but that’s besides the point. last night i made a mistake. i allowed myself to be vulnerable and let him see parts of me that i’ve hidden for so long. rossi, i-i, i’ve never allowed a man to touch me like that. not since the night of the stakeout.”

“rowan, you don’t have to continue if it’s only going to--”

“rossi, three people tore me apart. i’m still healing, the wounds are there, and they’re deep and jagged. and i promised myself that i would never let anyone in since that night, and here i am, passively watching as it happens. i let him in, and it was so beautiful and exhilarating. i wish it would have lasted forever but it didn’t. he was gone before i opened my eyes,” sobs racked rowan’s body as her knees buckled, crumpling to the pavement.

a single tear trickled down david rossi’s cheek, his heart nearly splitting into two, “oh rowan, i am so sorry. i am so fucking sorry. you can’t blame yourself for any of it. what happened in columbus was not your fault, rowan.”

“t-thank you,” she wiped her tears, her cheeks flushed, “i’m sorry for breaking down.”

“you don’t have to apologize for that either kiddo,” rossi extended a hand, guiding her to her feet, “you’re human. it’s okay.”

“have you talked to hotch at all today?”

“not yet,” the agent shook his head, “however, i have some unfinished business to tend to.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

the rain was relentless, falling in sheets as aaron hotchner navigated through the wilderness, droplets streaming down his brow onto his cheeks, blurring his vision. david rossi was not far behind, merely a few feet away.

after garcia scoured every nook and cranny of the unsub’s personal laptop, she managed to extract essential information regarding his whereabouts. the team had split up into several groups, partnering up with one another to fan out, hoping to close in on an abandoned cabin, deep in the woods of forks.

with every step, aaron hotchner’s bones seared, desperate for relief. he was exhausted, the lack of sleep no help whatsoever. yet, it was only a matter of hours now before he was back home, all warm and dry, relaxing on the couch with jack, watching his favorite movie.

only a couple more hours and he would be home.

“all right dumbass,” hotch’s head whipped around at the harsh tone laced in rossi’s words, “i have some choice words for you.”

“excuse me?”

the agent stopped in his tracks, folding his arms across his chest, “you two had sex, didn’t you?”

“w-what?” hotch sputtered, shock plastered across his features, “rossi, what are you talking about?”

there was a beat of silence before rossi resumed, “you broke down your walls and decided to be intimate with her but then the second the run rose, you were out of the bed, as distant and cold as possible. i know how that shit works, aaron. it’s not a pleasant feeling to wake up and not have the person there.”

aaron hotchner almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “rossi, come on we have a case-”

“why would you say all that shit to her, hotch? we all know that you have feelings for her ah-,” rossi held up a hand, challenging aaron to butt in, “don’t interrupt me. it’s okay to have feelings but you know what’s not okay? hurting her because you’re scared. you don’t have to explain your feelings to me but please explain them to her. we all know she doesn’t deserve this at all, hotch. and you of all people should know that.”

“we’re working on a case and the only thing on your mind right now is scolding me for--”

“don’t change the fucking subject, aaron. you need to get yourself together, if not for yourself then for her,” his fury bubbled up as he spoke, the mocha depths blazing an obsidian hue.

“rossi, you know what that divorce did to me--” hotch stammered, scrambling for formulate some sort of response. some sort of deflection so that the discussion would cease.

“but look at what you’re doing to her.”

“but rossi i--” hotch was on the verge of retaliation, but rossi pointed a finger at him, jabbing it into his arm, so forceful that aaron nearly yelped.

“no, aaron. this is for you to explain to her. not to me.”

*****

rowan rivers hovered over her desk, collecting some final papers, gathering them in a neat pile as members of the team filed into the elevator, silence consuming the behavioral analysis unit of quantico, virginia. everyone was beyond worn, their muscles sore, tense from the washington atmosphere, their minds weary from the heavy burdens of the job.

however, there was a far heavier burden weighing on rowan’s mind.

the click of shoes meeting tile caught rowan’s attention, a familiar pair of slacks appearing in her peripheral vision.

“you’re right rowan.”

aaron hotchner stood before her, his coat draped over an arm, bag slung across his shoulder. even in the light, rowan couldn’t help but notice the faint purple rings forming underneath his eyes, the thick lashes almost hiding them. the wrinkles lining his forehead and eyes were more prominent, deepened by hardships and loss. inky black hair that was gelled over only hours before was unkempt, strands of hair falling into his forehead.

rowan wanted nothing more to throw her arms around him, holding him close for an embrace.

but, she felt as if she couldn’t. not after what he did.

the agent met his gaze, her lips pursed with confusion, “aaron, what are you talking about?”

he shifted, swaying from side to side, fumbling with his hands, “you’re right about me. i’m afraid. i’m afraid of falling for you and not being able to control it. i hate not being in control ro, but god do i lose control every single second i’m around you.”

“aaron we don’t have to--”

he shook his head, lower lip trembling, “no i want to talk about this, ro. you told me to pick a side and i pick you.”

it was almost as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. there was no more confusion, no more unrest. no more tears to be shed pondering over the “what ifs.” he was fessing up, finally answering the queries that kept her up late at night, losing hours of sleep.

he didn’t hate her.

he was falling in love with her.

tears welled up in his eyes, tinging them red as he choked down sobs, burying his face in his hands. carefully, rowan’s hands enveloped his wrists, bringing them away from his face, “i’m just as afraid, aaron. but it’s okay. we’re in this together, just two people falling for one another.”

the second rowan’s hand cupped his cheeks, cradling his face in her hands, aaron melted, collapsing completely, “rossi confronted me about it all. he said i needed to get my shit together because it was hurting you. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry. i can be a little bit dense sometimes and a bit of an asshole.”

“a bit dense and a bit of an asshole?” rowan teased, the pad of her thumb wiping away a tear, “that sounds a little bit like you, aaron.”

“come home with me tonight. no hiding feelings. no intoxication. i just want you in my arms,” aaron murmured, his mouth nearly inches away from hers.

his heart skipped a beat as the corners of her lips curled into a bright, radiant grin, her head bobbing, “i’d like that. i’d like that very much.”

within hours, she was clinging to his frame, her head nuzzled against the fabric of his tee, light snores echoing through the room. his hands were threaded into her hair, subconsciously playing with the silky brunette locks as he glanced through paperwork, careful not to disturb her one bit.

his phone vibrated against the wood of the nightstand, piquing his interest. the caller i.d. was all too familiar.

“hotchner.”

“hey hotch it’s jj, i know that we all just made it home, barely settling in for the night but we were just invited on a case. from the sound of it, it’s quite urgent. the governor wants us to fly out there as soon as possible,” the blonde’s voice crackled on the speaker.

“and where’s this case?” a hand gravitated to rowan’s, lacing their fingers together as she stirred, bleary from sleep.

“columbus. columbus, ohio.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @sapphicstars @colorlessfl0wers @inlovewithaaronhotchner @lovebodymindstuff

#aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #thomas gibson #criminal minds fic #hotch x oc #bau #hotch fluff

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gothamcityneedsme · 3 years

Photo

I saw this bouncing around my dash and decided to fill it out myself for fun :) I decided to not double-list any games, and I tried to mix up the companies I used too so that the list would be more unique.

Long post, so I’m doing a readmore for my longwinded part lol.

(read more)

Favorite Game: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic 2: The Sith Lords - I could talk about this game forever. How it tears apart the Star Wars universe from within, how it creates a compelling story while challenging the usual themes, etc. I could talk for ages about the characters and how their motivations slot in place, and how this game lends itself to interpretation and analysis alongside roleplay. It’s just a wonderful game, one I deeply love and will always love. It’s a game that isn’t afraid to have you talk to other characters for twenty or thirty minutes at a time and honestly I’m always riveted at every line. This game deserves the cult fanbase it has, but I think there’s a lot the fanbase misses in appreciating this game. (Note...gameplay is a little janky and a community made mod restores a lot content that was cut before shipping-the game wasn’t properly finished).

Best Story: Fallout New Vegas - It’s the setting that makes the story here, and all the moving pieces and factions alongside the main conflict really make this game stand out. There’s so many little pieces to find along the way in the world and the way the main quest splits based on who you want in power feels important--and you are choosing a future for this whole region.

Favorite Art Style: The Witness - This game is peacefully wonderful with its visuals. There are wonderful nature scenes and nests of wires and panels spreading in various parts of the island that are fascinating to look at. The environment is half of the gameplay in most areas, so it’s important to look around even though exploration is not really the gameplay. You find puzzles in the world, even in nature, and it’s fascinating. The colors are bright and beautiful. There is even a map in the middle of the island inside of a lake that helps you track your progress if you notice it (it isn’t like a normal ‘map’).

Favorite Soundtrack: Shin Megami Tensei IV - I love video game soundtracks, but SMTIV is something special. The music booms in ways that make you really understand the atmosphere of the world, and there’s a great mix of different kinds of tracks for different places. I love the tracks for the other worlds you enter, and the themes of the different routes are done so well. Some of the music draws from past SMT games, but the remixes done for this game really are stunning to me, and there’s so many fantastic original tracks.

Hardest Game: I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream - I love this game but I literally never touch it without a walkthrough, which is why it gets to be the hardest game on the list, despite being a point and click adventure game lol. Also just emotionally this game is challenging too, but I definitely mean this more in terms of getting a ‘perfect run’.

Funniest Game: The Stanley Parable - Trying to make this list has taught me that I don’t really play many ‘funny games’. I don’t know if a game where multiple endings demand that you kill yourself should count as a ‘funniest game’, but it is also a game where the narrator tells you to stare at a fern and memorize its features, so....it counts.

Game I Like that is Hated: RWBY Grimm Eclipse - I’ve been playing this game since it was in early access and have loved it the whole time. I find the gameplay soothing and fun, and I like playing the different characters. It’s a game I play to chill out and just enjoy some fun battle mechanics. It’s a fun game and I’ve spent over 100 hours in it, so I hope I like it, lol.

Game I Hate that is Liked: Nier Automata - Neither this game’s gameplay or story impress me, and the fact that you have to replay basically the same stuff from a more boring-to-play-character’s pov in order to SEE all of the plot is a huge damper on the experience. The story, to me, someone who engages with a lot of robot-focused fiction, is far from impressive or new, and it hardly engages with genre specifics at all, let alone in a new or interesting way. I view this game as ‘a story with robots in it’ rather than ‘a story about robots’, which, to me, is a detriment.

Underrated: Nevermind - This game is amazing and very unheard of--and when it is heard of, it has been marketed incorrectly. Nevermind seems like a horror game, and does market itself as one a bit, but it’s much more than that. It’s more about trauma, recovery, therapy, etc. This is a game that is so mindful about the topics it engages in that I am impressed by it every time. It’s heavy with symbolism and character, despite lacking conversations or other similar game mechanics. This is a lovely game that I really wish more people knew about-`p5-all of the patients are so interesting, and the focus on recovery and mental health is impressive.

Overrated: Fire Emblem - I sort of mean this as the series as a whole really. I have enjoyed the entries I have played somewhat, but I overall consider the series much less impressive than I was led to believe by others. The gameplay especially is not impressive to me in any regard, even though I sometimes do find myself enjoying it. The stories are alright, but many of them are weighed down by the gameplay and as a writer and person who likes to analyze writing, it’s very hard to do so when it isn’t able to fully exist under the chains the gameplay forces on it. There are ways to mix gameplay and story well, Fire Emblem has not really done that in any of the entries I’ve played. That being said, I don’t regret playing them, and I will occasionally replay, but I consider them mediocre games at best.

Best Voice Acting: Devil Survivor 2 - I love the voice acting in this game. I feel like all the characters are really suited to their voices, and it’s really easy for me to visualize their voices. They really bring the game to life and make both the dramatic and the funny scenes more enjoyable.

Worst Voice Acting: Jedi Knight Jedi Academy - I love this game, I really do, but some of the voice acting is janky. Some of it is okay too--I think Kyle Katarn’s voice actor does fine, and some of the others I like NOW but hated when I was a kid, but the male protagonist voice in this game is just awful. Which is bad when Jennifer Hale is the female voice actress lol. His performance is passable though unless you’re playing darksided--the darksided ending to the game lacks all punch when you’re playing the male protagonist.

Favorite Male: Battler Ushiromiya from Umineko no Naku Koro Ni - He’s the protagonist for most of the visual novels and I adore him utterly, especially once you move past episode 2. He’s a wonderful character who I care about deeply. I love his drive and how he fights--he’s someone who is easy to cheer for. He matures well throughout the series and his character development is just wonderful.

Favorite Female: Naoto Shirogane from Persona 4 - I really like how Naoto fits so well in the game, especially for being a final recruit--oftentimes the final recruit of Persona games (post 3) have a bit of a more difficult time feeling right with the group. Naoto works really well though, and I love her struggles and story as well. I think the difficulties she has concerning living as a woman in her field hit very deep to a problem that has existed for a very long time.

Favorite Protagonist: Connor of Daventry from King’s Quest 8 Mask of Eternity - I’m like, one of four fans of this character in the world, lol. KQ8 is not a very well liked game and it does have a lot of issues, both with age and with how much of a departure it is from the series prior to it. It’s strange to take a puzzle adventure game and make it a hybrid with what basically is a shooter, and it doesn’t really work. Add to that the fact that you spend most of your time in the game without anyone around to talk to and it leads to this really polarizing and weird experience. For me, Conner goes through what I would consider to be the ‘Ultimate Nightmare Scenario”. Everyone in the world is turned to stone except him (and he survived out of mere chance) and so now it’s up to him, practically alone, to save the entire world. There is no game lonelier than this. I adore him for his bravery in the face of it, and how he just picks up to do what must be done because someone should do it, and if no one else can, then he will. I also really love how he apologizes to people who are encased in stone while he takes money from their houses to help him on his journey. I really do think he went back after the game was over and gave everyone heaps of gold to pay them back with interest lol.

Favorite Village: Oakvale from Fable - The first Fable is the only one I really like, and it was one of the games I played when I was little, so the hometown in the game always meant a lot to me. I like how you grow up there and how your tragic backstory is there--and then how you get to return to the town years later after you’ve come into your own, and you can see it completely rebuilt. I like to spend a lot of my time in this town, just wandering around it and playing the minigames. Even though I have a house in every town, Oakvale is where my hero calls home.

Most Hated Character: Merril from Dragon Age 2 - I don’t really want to lay into how I feel about Merril, but what I will say is that it was suggested to me that I totally ignore her when playing, and I did so. I only met her for her quest, dropped her off in town, and literally never spoke to her or interacted for the rest of the game. I had a much better experience for it, honestly. She appeared after I made my choice in the end of the game, which felt weird since I hadn’t spoken to her in several ingame years, but other than that, the game was totally fine without her. I sort of just wish you could kill characters in DA2 the way you can in DAO, then I’d just do that, tbh. It doesn’t suit very many (or any) of the characters I rp in DA2 to keep her around or support her in any way.

First Game I Played: Mixed up Mother Goose Deluxe - I’m not actually sure if this is the FIRST game I’ve ever played or not, but it’s one of the first I played alone as a kid. I really loved it--this is probably what created my love for point and click adventures, and the game was very silly and fun.

Favorite Company: Bioware - I’ve always been a sucker for Bioware games, ever since Knights of the Old Republic 1 was my favorite childhood game. I love how they do stories and party members, and while I’m not a fan of all of their games, I really love what they’ve made and their style of storytelling and character driven plot. Even though sometimes their stories get cliche, I think the suit video games well and most of my early gaming was within their games.

Hated Company: EA - Bioware truly only started to go to shit after the EA acquisition, so I fucking hate EA. I know Bioware had issues before EA too, but I definitely don’t think EA has helped the situation whatsoever.

Depressing Game: The Beginner’s Guide - I relate to this game as a creator and a writer, and it affects me deeply because of the story it tells and the questions it raises. It makes me reflect on how I think of myself as a creator, and it reminds me of friendships I used to have.

Creepy Game: The Path - God, I love this game. It’s just aimlessly wandering around and finding symbolic scenery and watching your current character comment on it. Then, you go off to find your girl’s wolf, and each one is different and unique to her, and you watch it ‘kill’ her--and facing her wolf is the only way each girl can truly mature. Whenever you get to grandmother’s house, the camera switches to first person, and your eyes keep closing, so you can only see while clicking to move. It forces you to keep moving so that you can see, but since you are moving, you only get to see things somewhat vaguely. It’s got a great atmosphere, and I love the symbolic storytelling.

Happy Game: Eastshade - This game is so sweet. There’s some drama around to with many of the quests, but I like this as an rpg without combat, and I think this would be a really good kids game. There’s a lot to see and explore, and the game was made to be really pretty so that you want to paint several aspects of it. It’s really lovely to just wander around in this game and bike around the area, painting anything that suits your fancy. As long as you don’t finish the main quest, you’re free to wander, and materials do respawn, so you essentially can infinitely paint once you get far enough.

Favorite Ending: Virtue’s Last Reward - I love the questions this game asks and where the ending goes. It thematically ties together--the whole reason the game itself exists is to get the attention of a ‘higher being’--the player, essentially. I love how it plays with that concept, and even though the final game in the series doesn’t entirely pick this idea up where this game left it, standalone this game is stunning in how it comes together.

#shitpost #long post #this was fun to do #i made it so every answer was a different video game and i tried to mix up my companies as well #got 3 atlus games on here but mer #2 obsidon #llol #2 sierra too haha but still #beginner's guide and tsp were made by the same guy too but #STILL I LIMITED MYSELF OK #these answers aren't absolute because i was trying to have a good diverse list lol

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imagine-loki · 4 years

Text

Once Upon an Unrequited Love

TITLE: Once Upon an Unrequited Love

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT:5/?

AUTHOR: Tragically-Sarcastic

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine 1 2 3 4

RATING:

NOTES/WARNINGS: I wrote this in one sitting, I have no earthly idea how.

FYI: I made up the Circle, I tried to search for a mythical place that you could find in a forest, but none of them felt right. I used an Icelandic translator, so please don’t come for me if the translations are incorrect lol (research said that Icelandic is the closest modern language to old norse)

The entrance of the circle was inspired by a picture prompt, when I saw it I was smacked by the idea of my Circle myth. I wrote down all the details I thought of and started writing this chapter. I had already written the last half, so I have a pretty decent sized chapter.

Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy!

Happy Reading, my back hurts from sitting at my desk to write this!

_________

“So where exactly are we going in this endless forest, and how do you know where we are going?” Loki asks, looking around at the trees that all seem identical to him.

“I come here everyday, so its a memorized path.” She says with a smile and a shake of her head.

“Are you going to tell me what you are showing me? Or shall I walk for another hour in suspense.” He says, trying to look annoyed but failing.

“What?” She turns to him with a smirk. “ The God of Mischief can’t take some mischief right back?”

“Teasing minx.” He mutters under his breath.

He turns around to walk backward, looking at her.

“At least tell me how much long-“ she cuts him off.

“Turn around and look your Royal Impatientness.” She points behind him.

He turns around to look at what she’s pointing at…and sees nothing.

He looks back at her tilting his head and searching her face for any sign that she was joking.

“Has being alone this long driven you mad?” he asks, only half joking.

She rolls his eyes at his confused look.

“Come stand where I am standing you daft man.” she grabs both of his shoulders, pointing him toward the doorway seeming to be made of vines and branches.

“I don’t see it.”

“What do you mean you don’t see it? Its right there!” she says in frustration. She walks in front of him, just missing the mischievous look in his eyes. She looks back at the doorway and turns to him.

“Stand behind me.” she demands.

She feels his body behind her, as his hands settle on her hips. She raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“Uh…what are you doing Loki?” She asks, trying to hide how flustered his touch has made her.

She feels his breath brush her neck as he speaks in a whisper.

“I’m standing behind you.”

“Well…you don’t have to stand so close Loki.”

“I know, now show me what you were looking at.”

“O-Ok, just kinda lower your head to be even with mine and look straight ahead of us.” She says, stuttering alittle. “Do you see it now?” When he doesn’t reply she turns her head to look at him, only to discover his face to be directly even with hers, and he was looking at her.

“What are you doing Loki?” She whispers as her eyes jump from his brilliantly colored eyes to his mouth and back again. This is the closest they’ve ever been.

He has an odd look on his face, before she can determine what it is he looks away, back in front of them.

“I see it now,” he pulls away, almost seeming reluctant to part from her. He puts his hand on her waist, slightly pushing her forward.

“Shall we?”

They head toward the natural doorway, one confused and one silently determined.

She stops for a moment to turn to him.

“So this is ‘Þögn hring’, Circle of Silence.” She says. “Once we walk though that door it will be completely silent. You won’t be able to hear anything at all, your breathing, speaking, or even our footsteps.” She tells him seriously. “Sometimes its a shock to the brain for sudden complete silence. Most can’t take being in the circle for more than ten minutes.” She smiles a small smile. “Ive been coming here for years so I can stay for much longer.”

Loki looks genuinely interested, a quizzical look on his face as he studies the doorway that looks like nothing more than a creative twist of nature.

“How did you find out about this place?” He asks looking back down at her for answers.

“Well,” she says hesitantly. “When I first came to this forest I wondered around a lot. Just thinking about life I guess, and what I would do with mine going forward.” She looks away, lost in the memory. “I was having a particularly hard day, missing my parents, my friends, and y-“ she looks at him, embarrassed that she had let that slip.

“I was missing you as well.” She looks back into the distance, thinking back on that day. “I had wondered farther than usual and was, admittedly, lost. When I came upon this doorway I thought it was just a twist of branches so I walked through. I stumbled back out and I very nearly passed out from the shock of it.” She looks back up at him.

“Thats why I wanted to tell you before hand, I wasn’t prepared for it so it was very startling. But since you’ll be prepared you should be fine.”

She takes a step forward, looking back at him with a hand outstretched.

“You ready?”

He takes her hand as they step over the threshold. Ironically, the silence is deafening, an odd silence that has no chance of disturbance. He looks at her, astonished and extremely curious about this magical place. He lets go of her hand and walks a few steps away, and sure enough, not a single sound is made from his shoes making contact with the ground.

Their laughter goes unheard.

————

“So why did you come back after your first experience with the circle?” Loki asks as they are making their way back to the house.

“Well, I was extremely confused about what had happened. So when I got home I got out some books from our library about magical phenomena in forests.” Her hand waves around as she explains.

“When I discovered the myth of the circle I knew that it was what I was looking for. Its origin is a very interesting story that resonated with me at the time.” She says as Loki helped her over a fallen tree.

“A long time ago an ancestor of mine had a great heartbreak, it doesn’t say exactly what happened, whether it was a death of a loved one or a betrayal. But it says that she would search for a silent corner for some peace and quiet but no matter where she went or how quiet it was she was never happy with the near silence. So, she started looking for a solution. She came across a way to make an area silent for a small amount of time, and it worked fine at first, but she eventually got tired of casting it every time she wanted some peace. So she experimented with it until she eventually created the Circle. It was her favorite place to go and sit, and it just happened to be the place that she finally got it right.” She has a small sad sort of smile on her face.

“Im sure you connected with the heartbreak part of the story.” He says, obviously still angry with himself for his part in her sadness.

She stays silent because he’s right, and she sees no sense in denying his part in it.

She thinks back to that fateful day, the day her heart was broken by the one person that she thought would always be there for her. He had said that not only was she a ‘Royal hungry harlot’, but he also told her that she was a clingy thorn on his side, that he could never get rid of. His words that day were the reason she had to leave.

She loved him with her whole being, and the thought of being a nuisance to him ripped her apart.

So she left.

~Past~

A knock sounds on the door to the Queens private rooms, she already knows who it is. She turns to the door as it slowly opens, the girl entering being so familiar with her that she knows she can walk right in. Sadness is plain on her face, broken hearted would describe the youth.

“Hello dear,” Frigga walks over to her, taking her hands in her own. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?” she asks sweetly.

“Frigga I must ask a very large favor of you.” She states plainly. “I need to…leave town. Immediately…Quietly.” she takes a deep breath, preparing for the second half of her request.

“I also…need you to not tell Loki where Ive gone, or that you know of me leaving at all.”

Her words are a shock.

“Are you alright? Has something threatened you?” Frigga asks worried. “Leaving town seems rather extreme, and on top of that, why can’t Loki know?” Her eyebrows goes up in concern. “Is …Is he the reason?”

“Something has happened between us, and I must leave. Make no mistake, he has done me no physical harm and the situation is entirely my fault. However, I fear he will eventually try to find me and I-… I don’t want him to.” She shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes.

“I can’t take seeing him when Ive come to know what I know.” She looks up at the woman that she has always viewed as a mother.

“Please Frigga, please help me slip away and please don’t tell him where I’ve gone.” A lone tear makes its way down her cheek.

Frigga wipes the tear away, her heart aching for the heartbroken look of the girl in front of her.

“I won’t, I promise.” She takes her face in her hands and kisses her forehead comfortingly before wrapping her up in a hug.

“Frigga, you must know how I appreciate you and all you’ve done for me over the time I’ve known you. I just-“ She takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily.

“You have no need to thank me dear, I view you as my own and would do anything you requested.” Frigga assures her with a small, if not sad, smile on her face.

The girl reluctantly pulls away, wiping the tears away and taking a deep fortifying breath.

“Im going to my families forest, Verndaskógur, It is very secure so there is no need to worry after my safety…once I’m gone.”

“Please don’t try and change my mind, my heart is already broken leaving all of you. Please don’t be angry with me for leaving, you are the closest thing I have to a mother left, I don’t want to leave on a bad note.” She pleads.

“I must ask, are you sure you can’t workout whatever happened between you? You and Loki have had disagreements over the years and you’ve always made up, how is this time any different? Won’t you discuss it with him first?” She makes one last attempt at getting her to stay.

“Im sure. This time is different. I have to leave, I can’t be around him anymore I-…” she looks up at Frigga. “Im sure you know that I love him, but… I have to leave him, for my own good and his. I need to get out of his life, out of his way…for good.” She says, a determined look on her face.

#Loki #Angst #Submitted fic #submission #tragically-sarcastic #chapter 5 #Once Upon an Unrequited Love

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wherevermyway · 4 years

Text

step out! do what you want (chapter seven)

pairings: reader/bang chan, reader/han jisung side pairings:  established changbin/minho, reader/bang chan/han jisung, possible bang chan/han jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, near-death experiences, discussion of death, drug usage to cope with emotions, profanity, discussion of pregnancy, drug dealer!au, organized crime!au. also: FEELINGS. word count: about 5,480 also can be found on my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter seven: before it breaks in half and then we bend it back again

recommended tracks: I’ll be your reason by illenium, in your arms by illenium, everything I wanted by billie eilish, when I was older by billie eilish, back to u by slander and william black, hope world by j-hope, slow dancing in the dark by joji, everything in its right place by radiohead, moon by krrum. playlist can be found here!

note: dunno about y’all but i'm still really upset over chapter six, so i’m sorry if you are too :’) there’s a lot of feelings regarding the death that I’m trying to wrap up in this chapter. couldn’t really make traditional Korean rites work the way they’re generally presented, so if the inaccuracy bothers you, I’m sorry! also I was a little baked writing some of these parts so if it’s too existential, my bad lol.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

There was one time, when you were seven years old, your mother had taken you down to Fukuoka to visit your grandparents. You were close to the harbour, slipping out of her vision for just a moment when the waves pulled up on the coast and sucked you in. The warmth that took over your body as you fell out of consciousness was welcoming, like receiving the deepest hug of your life. It had taken over you, from the tips of your toes and dissipating with a tingle in your forehead.

When you were pulled from the water, brought back from the entrance of purgatory, however, you felt miserable. You could have sworn you felt the oxygen enter every cell in your body, coming back from death. Everything ached and burned, abruptly springing back to life.

Your eyes ripped open, staring into the clouds above you. White flower petals were gusting along with the wind. The burning you felt in your chest and your arms was familiar to the time you experienced as a child: jarring, making you start to panic. It felt as though lava was coursing through your veins.

“- is too elevated, I can’t -“ a familiar voice travels around your head. You know the voice, but you can’t place exactly who it is. “- sats are - “ the voice cuts out as you notice someone stab your wrist with a branding iron, hot fluid burning its way up your arm. The voice says your name, it echoing around in the space between your ears for a minute. “ - alright, but it’s going to -“

The darkness envelopes you in an instant, drawing you back to the empty space in your head, where you’re not sure consciousness really exists. “You don’t want to be here,” a familiar voice whispers from in front of you. You’re unable to picture the shape that’s clouding your vision, still lost in trying to place the voice.

“Trust me,” the voice says again. You’re about to open your mouth to say something, but you find it impossible to get your muscles to move. “You don’t want to be here. Go back.”

You can’t help but think why you’re here, how you’re here. “I need you to trust me,” the voice says again, getting further and further away from you. “It’s not your time yet.”

Your eyes tear open again, and you’re now in a sterile, white room, the sound of machines humming and trilling in the background. Two weights pull you down on either side of you: Jisung and Christopher, each holding one of your hands, resting at your sides.

You make a pointed effort to shift your shoulders, muscles adjusting for what feels like the first time in ages. A deep, throaty groan comes up from your lungs as you shift, and it startles Jisung awake.

“Oh my god,” he sleepily breathes out, shaking his head as he grabs your face, “Bunny, you’re back, oh my god!” Christopher starts to shift, and Jisung slaps his shoulder a couple of times. “Chan, wake up! She’s back!”

Christopher wastes no time shaking himself awake, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you into him.

“Ow, ow, ow,” you grumble, unable to really express the burning sensation taking over your body. “Hurts, that hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Christopher gasps, releasing you from his grip. He stares at you with a look of disbelief and exhaustion painted over his face. “You’re finally back.”

“What are you talking about?” You shake your head, somehow pulling your arm out of invisible cement and gripping your hair. “What happened? Where am I?” Christopher and Jisung look at each other, Jisung making an effort to bite his lip and look back down to the bed.

“It’s been a month, baby.” Christopher interlaces his fingers in yours, reaching his free hand up to your face. “You’ve been out for a month and we had no idea if you were even going to come back.”

It had been a week exactly since Changbin took a bullet for you. Minho spent a lot of time on the couch, staring out the window and clearly contemplating life. He looked like he lost a couple of kilograms in just a few days, his cheeks sunken in and his face an ashy grey. Felix came over a few times to try and get him to take care of himself, hooking him up to IV fluids every other day.

Minho would end up yelling at him every time he was hooked up to the IV. “I just want you to put me out and leave me alone,” he said, tossing a fistful of plastic packaging at his junior. “I’m tired of fucking dealing with this. Just keep me out until the funeral, alright?”

Felix would sigh under his breath, eventually pushing a couple vials of liquid into Minho’s IV, causing him to collapse within himself in seconds. “I can’t keep doing this to him, hyung.” Felix looked up at Christopher, his eyes clearly drained of energy and emotion. “It’s not ethical, for one, but it’s mostly not fair to Lee-hyung. He’s got to address this at some point. You know that.”

Christopher leans up against the wall, sighing heavily. “I know,” he whispered, “I’m thankful for all of the work you’ve been doing with him, though, Felix. You’re an asset to us.”

Felix dips his head in appreciation, but clearly still has something on his mind. “Hyung,” he presses, but Christopher waves his hand in the air.

“I know,” he says, walking to Felix and leaning down in front of him. “You’re absolutely correct. I need him at his best before I can figure out what to do with the family. It’s out of respect to Changbin; Minho knew the organization best after him, just because of his proximity. Once I can get that information from him, I’ll know how to handle this. All of this.”

Jisung shifts uncomfortably on the couch next to you, biting his lip. “Do you know what we’re doing with Hyunjin?”

Christopher opens his mouth to speak, but he interrupts himself before he says anything. Felix chimes in for him, however, “Seungmin has been handling him during the day. We got the location of a couple Triad hotspots in Seoul and Busan, but he didn’t know as much as we had hoped. He’s been really broken up over Seo-hyung, so he’s not talking much.”

Christopher rolls his eyes, scoffing. “I can’t believe the nerve of this bastard.” Felix nods, peeling off the nitrile gloves from his hands.

“I’ve got the propofol, I just need you to give the word,” the bleach-blond man says under his breath. You’re not sure if he’s serious, but the look that Christopher gives Felix as he says that makes your blood run cold.

“You’re too eager,” he simply says. “Hyunjin may have royally fucked up, but he’s still a brother. We decide what to do together.”

Jisung throws his hands up in the air, falling into the back of the couch and sighing in frustration. “We have two days, right? That’s when it’s happening?” Christopher nods his head, turning to look at Minho.

“Yeah. Minho said he wanted it on a Saturday, so that’s when it’s going to happen.” Christopher stands up, moving to cover Minho with a blanket and helps adjust him to a more comfortable position. “He’s been trying to get a hold of Changbin’s family all week, but no dice. Once we joined the family, he tried to distance himself as much as possible. He hasn’t even spoken with his sister in three years.”

Christopher sits down on the couch at Minho’s feet, right in front of Felix. “I wish he didn’t have to go through this. I know he’s been having a hard time with the family since the Shanghai incident, ready to leave everything behind just so he and Changbin could have lived a quiet life somewhere else.” Christopher lets out a soft scoff, then rubs Minho’s leg.

“He got really mad at me not long before I met you,” he says, looking at you with a half-smile, “Changbin was scolding me, telling me I was wasting my time in the family, that I needed to find someone like Minho so I had a reason to leave. We were at my apartment, laying on the floor in the studio and smoking a joint, recording some instrumentals that came to us. Then he just drops that on me, saying I should leave. We were too old to get any real benefit from the group anymore.

“He was upset, telling me that Minho wanted to settle down with him, but they were too deep into the family to really explore it as a real option.” Christopher continues to rub Minho’s leg, the younger man shifting in his sleep beneath him. “Changbin never let himself express emotions - especially not love - in front of anyone but me. He even had a hard time with me. I remember him telling me that he had fallen for Minho right after the Shanghai incident. He was pacing in my apartment for a good hour, working up the courage to tell me.

“I remember he panicked. He was pulling the hair out of his head, starting to tear up when he told me. ‘I’m in love with this guy,’ he said, ‘and I know it’s inappropriate and I know I shouldn’t, he took a fuckin’ bullet for me.’” Christopher smiles a bit, bringing his hand up to Minho’s face, brushing his hair to the side. “Changbin would keep panicking, telling me he was overthinking everything and he was convinced that there was no way Minho would even like him like that. But then, he started noticing. Minho would say things during recovery. He’d look at him for a moment too long, he’d touch him for a split second longer than he intended.”

Christopher smiles a bit wider. “Then it happened. Changbin had gotten Minho to walk a hundred metres. Minho collapsed in his arms, so excited over his achievement. He was so excited and happy, he didn’t care that he had fallen, because Changbin was there to help him. And Changbin just did it - he kissed Minho. Kissed him quite a bit, is what he told me.

“I remember he was so upset, because everything felt so right. But he got Minho back up to his bed and left him, too ashamed to show his face around him again.” Christopher runs his hand through his hair, still staring at the man below him with a smile. “Minho called me while Changbin was at my apartment, panicking - he always has really good timing. Changbin pretended like he wasn’t there, wasn’t watching my every movement and reaction as Minho talked in my ear.

“Minho was annoyed, but not surprised, ‘Changbin just does this,’ he told me. ‘Freaks out, then hides, and gets all embarrassed over how embarrassed he is. Bet he’s redder than a beet and freaking out over this.’ And he was right, Changbin was curled up on the couch, hands in his hair, face a real deep shade of red.

“He told me to tell Changbin to stop freaking out, that he had a feeling he was there and was pretending to blend into the background. He’d be waiting for him as long as it took, that he wasn’t mad.”

Jisung makes an effort to hide him rubbing his eyes, but you manage to see him out of the corner of your eye. You pull him into your chest and grip him tightly. “I was mad,” Minho sleepily grumbles, shifting from underneath Christopher. “I really was, though. Mad he kept it all in. Mad he didn’t trust me. Mad he kissed me and left. Mad he was going to shove his feelings under the rug again. Wasn’t fair to himself.”

“H-hey,” Christopher says, a look of discomfort passing over his face, “how long have you been listening?”

“Long enough,” Minho rubs his eyes, sighing, and adjusting himself to stare up at the ceiling. “I knew some shit like this was going to happen eventually. Bin was always stubborn when it came to you guys, saying you annoyed the shit out of him more than his actual family. Hell,” he scoffs, turning his head to look at Christopher, “you were his family, as far as he was concerned. I was always worried I was gonna lose him to you, that he had some deep-seated, secret crush on you.”

Christopher’s face shifts, probably understanding why Minho would feel that way. “He always said you weren’t his type and he wasn’t your type. That you kissed once when you got really drunk in high school together and it was weird and awkward. You’d swore to never talk about it again, but you loved him anyways. Always supported him.”

“Yeah,” Christopher says with a laugh as he rubs his eyes. “Changbin was always the best friend I never knew I needed. He never judged me or nagged me about dumb shit I did. He would say ‘just stay positive, it’ll work out eventually.’ And he was right, every single time. Man,” he reached out to Minho, grabbing his kneecap, “he loved the hell out of you, though.”

Minho scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Oh, I know. He always tried to act tough in front of you guys, especially when I was around, but when it was just the two of us?”

“He was totally different, wasn’t he?” Christopher says with a smirk.

“Yeah,” Minho nods, closing his eyes. “Night and day. It’d be just the two of us and he’d do the cutest shit. We’d curl up on the couch and watch old romantic comedies. He always made himself seem a lot tougher than he was, but he was always the little spoon when we’d cuddle up to each other. Always fell asleep with his head on my chest. Wouldn’t let me go to bed if he thought I was mad at him, because he always said it was important to never go to bed angry. He’d take up the whole bed and huff and puff until I reassured him I wasn’t mad at him.”

Christopher suddenly pulls Minho into his chest, holding him tightly for a couple of moments. It takes a minute, but you notice them both crying quietly against each other. Felix gets up, throwing his gloves into the kitchen rubbish before leaning over the sink. Jisung makes a pointed effort not to look at you as he digs his face into your chest, wrapping his arms around your ribcage.

The guys have a moment to themselves, letting them grieve however they felt the need to. It felt like the energy in the room was different. You finally understood just how close everyone really was to each other, that they really did view themselves as family, that it wasn’t just an empty title. Changbin was the one that brought them all together in one way or another, and now he was gone. Someone would have to fill those shoes eventually, but that wasn’t important right now.

Minho deeply inhales, lifting his head up dramatically, and looking at Felix. “Lix,” he says, motioning for him to come closer, “I’ve been horrible to you all week.”

“Yeah,” Felix sniffs, nodding his head as he walks to the couch, kneeling down in front his senior, “you’ve been pretty terrible, but I don’t blame you, hyung.”

“No,” Minho grumbles, grabbing his junior with a firm grip and pulling him into his chest, “it’s not okay. I’m really sorry for treating you so terribly when you’ve been taking good care of me. We’re lucky to have you. Changbin knew what he was doing when he picked you.”

Felix scoffs, then makes an affirmative nod. “Changbin was always good at letting me feel needed in the group. He told me a couple weeks ago that he was glad I joined up with everyone, that we needed someone smart and dedicated.”

“Yeah,” Minho laughs, “that time that you were training Sungie, though, that was great.”

Jisung perks his head up, pulling one of the throw pillows out from behind you, tossing it over at Minho. “Hyung!” He shouts, his face puffing up in frustration as he whines, “Why are you always so mean to me?”

Minho laughs, playfully tossing the pillow back at him. “You’re always comedic relief. If you don’t like it, stop doing silly shit.”

Saturday morning came faster than you anticipated. The day was supposed to be simple, just a celebration of life at Cheonggyecheon with you and all of the members of the family. It was to be low-key and subtle. Minho said he wanted it to seem as nonchalant as possible, that people walking by wouldn’t really pinpoint it as a funeral. “Changbin hated unwanted attention,” he said.

Minho kept a portrait of Changbin in the breast pocket of his jacket, only pulling it out for a brief moment when he was recounting Changbin’s life, keeping it only in his line of sight. Flowers were blooming all around the stream site, petals occasionally being lifted by the wind, dancing around your small group, decorating you all in white.

Everything was going as expected. You all looked normal, making sure not to stick out in any way, but you should have known that having a gathering in downtown Seoul was a stupid plan. When bullets started flying from the bridge across from you, you weren’t surprised. When you got shot a few times, you still weren’t surprised.

“Oh,” you remember saying as you collapsed into the ground. “Interesting.”

The pain was only there for a moment as you were pulled away from the brink of death by Felix, then it dissipated quickly when everything turned to black. That voice from earlier was talking to you again, but you couldn’t understand what it was saying.

“Who are you?” You had asked the voice that spoke to you. It was familiar enough for you to pinpoint it as someone you knew, but you couldn’t remember who exactly it was. “Why am I here? Why are you here?” You had said to the nothingness, not actually expecting a response.

“You know who I am,” the voice responded, “and I know that you don’t belong here. That’s what matters.”

“Why?”

“It’s just not your time,” the voice pressed, getting further away from you. “Tell them I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold on. It just wasn’t in the cards, I guess.”

“Tell who? What are you talking about?” Your voice sounded frail, weaker somehow. “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” the voice calmly reassures you, “this happens when you’re at death’s door. You got shot a couple times. Felix was working on you, bringing you back. But you can’t seem to make up your mind, if you want to stay or if you want to go.” The voice scoffs, sighing in annoyance. “Make up your fuckin’ mind already, would you? Be glad you got the option.”

“What?” The voice was starting to make more sense, but somehow still drifting further off into space. Was that who you thought it was? What the hell was his name?

“Go back. Christopher and Jisung need you. Hell,” he scoffs again, “Minho could use you, too. He likes something about you. Told me you’d be good friends eventually. I can see it now, of course. But you need to go back. Get out of here.”

“Wait a minute,” you say, trying to reach your hand out into the darkness, but nothing happens. “I know you. I remember you.”

“Yeah, you do, but you’re running out of time. Get out of here. Seriously, stop coming back here before I kill you myself.”

The voice dissipates, and you gasp loudly, opening your eyes. You’re in a bright white room, the trilling and beeping of machines replacing the voice that was in your head. Christopher and Jisung are on either side of you, staring at you in shock. That’s when it hits you: you have been here before. You talked with the voice before, too.

“Oh my god,” Jisung gasps, tears falling from his eyes as he grabs your legs. “You need to stop doing this. I can’t handle you doing this anymore.”

Christopher sighs heavily, staring at the monitors behind you with determination before he grabs your face and stares directly in your eyes. “Please stop doing that,” he says, his eyes starting to water. “You keep dying on us and I can’t handle it, either.”

“What?” You blink your eyes rapidly, your body growing heavy as you come to. “What are you talking about?”

Christopher takes in a deep breath, and Jisung crawls up next to you on your hospital bed. “Sung,” he presses and grabs Jisung’s wrist, “let her rest comfortably.”

“No,” he says with a slight quiver to his voice as he starts sobbing and chattering uncontrollably, “I can’t handle any more of this. Changbin-hyung’s gone, we almost lost her, you’ve been shot enough already, and we almost lost Minho and Seungmin. I’m not going to sit idly by and watch. I can’t lose anyone else. I just can’t. So, I’m sorry if I’m not handling this the way you want me to.”

Christopher sighs, then reaches his hand out to stroke Jisung’s hair. “Fine, Sungie, that’s fine. Just don’t cause problems, alright?”

“So,” you say, enjoying Jisung’s warmth as you clear your throat, “what happened?”

You had woken up briefly before, a couple weeks ago. It was a month after you had gotten shot at the funeral site. Christopher had explained it before, but you started to decline within a few hours of waking up, slipping in and out of consciousness. There was a point where you were comatose and intubated. He mentioned there was a point where you were bleeding, but it all blurred together.

There were a handful of doctors and nurses that came in to check on you, taking care of you as you needed. Felix came in at one point, concerned about some of the things he had seen on your labs, mentioning that he needed to talk to you about the next time you were conscious - if you regained consciousness, that was. He was acting as a neutral proxy for your healthcare, since there was no one that could legally speak for you.

Jisung made an offhanded comment that Christopher had yelled at Felix for the way he was handling your care, but Felix was trying to be as ethically consistent as possible. His first priority was to do no harm, and then comforting the family would come second. Neither Felix nor Christopher were trying to be cold about it on purpose. Christopher had been on edge since you slipped from consciousness the last time, and was unfairly taking it out on the first person he could.

“It made me realize,” he said, pulling his chair up closer to you, as he grabbed your hand, rubbing it on his face. “I love you. I really, honestly do.”

Jisung lifts his head off of your shoulder, turning to look at you with wide eyes. “You what?” He turned back to Christopher, cocking his head in disbelief. “Did I just hear you say that correctly?”

“Yeah,” Christopher says, softly, as the tears threatening to spill earlier finally fall from his eyes. “I love you, alright? Losing Changbin, then almost losing you made me realize it. I thought I felt it the day we lost Changbin, but I really, truly realized it when we almost lost you.” Christopher rolls his eyes up to Jisung, sighing deeply as he closes his eyes. “I guess I love you, too, in some weird way. Maybe not in the exact same way, but, you know, that’s not what matters. You’re important to me. We can figure it out as we go, right?”

Jisung kind of short-circuits for a minute, his head cocking to one side, then to the other side. He sputters incoherently a few times as words try to come to him, but don’t quite make it to fruition.

“I’m glad,” Christopher starts to speak again, “that we worked out the way we did. I remember thinking it was a really stupid idea when you brought it up, that Jisung wouldn’t be able to handle it, that he would panic or something.” Jisung glares at Christopher, about to quip something in response, but he’s cut off as Christopher continues.

“Hell, I should have been worried I couldn’t handle it. You two work so well together,” he says, looking at you and smiling, “and being able to be a part of this, to be a part of what you have, is just what I needed. Changbin always told me I was too hasty and protective in relationships, that I would need someone who could handle that but still challenge me.”

He flits his eyes to Jisung, grabbing one of his hands, bringing both of your hands together. “I was really horrible to you at the beginning, wasn’t I? Treated you as if you were some threat to a piece of property I felt entitled to, which is completely inappropriate. I shouldn’t have acted that way to either of you. I’m honestly so sorry that I acted the way that I did. Can you forgive me?”

Jisung scoffs, “Yeah, you were pretty rude. But I knew that about you, I mean, I put it aside when we started with this relationship, didn’t I?” Christopher nods his head, kind of humming to himself as he gets distracted by a thought. “I forgive you, though,” Jisung continues, a serious tone to his voice. “I know you were just being you, hyung.”

Christopher is about to make a comment, but the door to your hospital room opens. Felix walks in, his face perking up as he sees you completely conscious. “Well,” he says with a laugh, “look who took long enough and finally woke up.” Christopher turns his head over his shoulder, looking at Felix as he walks in.

“How are you feeling?” Felix continues, walking up to look at your monitors, pulling the paper feed from your EKG. “You’ve been circling the drain for the past couple weeks. I’m surprised you pulled through.”

“Yeah,” you say with a cough, adjusting the way you were seated, “I feel pretty terrible, I won’t lie. I feel like I’ve been a science experiment: poked, prodded, experimented on.”

Felix nods, looking at you, before turning his shoulder to the men behind you. “I need to talk with you about something. Alone, preferably.”

“Come on,” Jisung whines, grabbing you a little tighter, “she just came back. What happens if she slips out of consciousness again?”

“It’ll only take a moment,” the bleach-blond man reassures Jisung, turning to look at Christopher. “I promise.”

Christopher sits up, clearly displeased with the situation. He takes a second, then stands. “Come on, Sung,” he says, offering a hand to his junior. “It’s only fair. If you were in the same situation, I’m sure you’d want to be afforded the same respect.”

Jisung pouts, but does get up. “Fine,” he says, taking Christopher’s hand and standing up off of the bed. “But only for a bit, alright? She just came back to us.”

Felix bows his head slightly as the men leave the room. “I don’t want to alarm you,” he says, crouching down to be at eye level with you. He grabs your hands to comfort you. “But something on your labs concerned me when you first got here. I had the nurses pull some more blood to confirm, but,” he trails off, looking away from you.

“What?”

“When you were first admitted, you had detectable levels of hCG in your blood.” It took you a second, but the realization hit you and it hit you hard. The way Felix phrased his sentence so carefully made you worry.

“Had?” You press, sitting up a little and grabbing Felix’s hand a little tighter. “Does that mean…?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking up at you and grabbing your hands a bit tighter. “I had the nurses run your labs again just to make sure because you started bleeding profusely after you lost consciousness the second time. It didn’t make sense, not at first. I’ve been able to keep it hidden from Christopher and Jisung, but I knew I couldn’t keep it from you when you finally woke up.” He says your name softly, giving you a weak smile as he grips your hand. “I’m so sorry to come to you with this so soon after you came back.”

The two of you sat there in silence, staring at the thin blanket covering you. It seemed like it was an eternity as the realization that you were pregnant, and then suddenly weren’t washed over you. You hadn’t noticed you were crying until Felix wiped your face up with a tissue. He apologized again, just as Christopher and Jisung walked into the room.

“Sorry,” Jisung says in his usual chipper voice, “I was impatient and… what happened? Oh my god, are you okay? Bunny?” He hastily makes his way right back to your side, grabbing your face.

“What happened?” Christopher says coming up to your side, right next to Felix. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you want me to tell them?” Felix calmly asks you, rubbing his thumb on your hand. “I can tell them for you, or we can just ignore it for now.”

Christopher clearly doesn’t like that response. He grips Felix by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. “What happened?” Felix bites his lip, looking at you over his shoulder. “You’re talking to me, now, Lee.”

“It’s not your decision, hyung,” he says, squinting as he knows he’s only fuelling the fire. “I’m sorry, but you need to respect that and-“

“It’s nothing,” you say, the words falling from your lips before you can even really register it. “I mean, it’s not nothing, it was something, and now it’s nothing.”

“What are you talking about?” Christopher releases his grip on Felix’s collar, looking at you with concern. “What do you mean it was something and now it’s nothing? Why are you crying?”

You look at Jisung, then to Christopher, and sigh. You close your eyes in defeat and tilt your head down, trying to shrink yourself to make this all seem so much smaller, insignificant. If you treated it that way, it would hurt less, right?

“I was pregnant.” The words just slip out, quiet and concise. They have a taste of sterility and have a foreign texture as they leave your lips. “And now I’m not. That’s all. Something, now it’s nothing.”

“Oh my god,” Jisung says, collapsing at the side of your bed. Christopher’s face falls in disbelief, and he says something in English, something you can’t pick up, and he grabs your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

“What?” Is all you can hear him say before you slip from consciousness, sinking into his arms. You expect to hear Changbin’s voice again, but it doesn’t greet you this time. You’re only greeted with the black void and nothingness.

#step out do what you want #wherevermyway #stray kids fics #skz fics #bang chan x reader #han jisung x reader #chan x jisung x reader #bang chan x han jisung x reader #seo changbin x lee minho #changbin x minho #i can't stop writing emotional shit oops #i really recommend the playlist this time for max feels

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mookybear12404 · 4 years

Note

Claude from FE3H for the character ask

How I feel about this character-

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE IS MY FAVORITE CHARACTER IN THE GAME

All the people I ship romantically with this character-

BYLETH BYLETH BYLETH. Completely ignoring the fact that byleth is a stand in for you as the player, i feel like their entire relationship is that “my wife is a b*tch and i love her SO much” meme from john mulany. He admires her greatly and its adorable. I also love the contrast of the sunshiny, bubbly, extroverted claude paired with the dark, emotionless, badass byleth.

I love also that they fit the “battle couple” trope, and how much they’ve learned to work together on the battle field. They are both very tactical and calculating. The fact that Byleth can’t really express emotions, but Claude learned how to read her every little facial feature so that she’s practically an open book to him? And the idea of Byleth, who lost her own heart and can barely feel anything, learning to smile for the first time because of a joke Claude made? I LOVE.

On a side note I’ve seen some people shipping him with Hilda and honestly? I can see it.

My non-romantic OTP for this character-

HILDAAAAAAAAAAAA. they are literally the “partners in crime” trope and i LOVE it.

My unpopular opinion about this character-

HMMMMMMMMMMMM i have so many hot takes on this character i could write many lengthy posts about it. Oh wait? ive already done that. BECAUSE THERES A LOT OF BAD OPINIONS ON HIM.

I feel like so many people dislike or are indifferent to claude and its very sad. Most of it comes down to people never having played his route and putting him into the “haha meme dude” box, or the “flirty guy that jokes a lot” character.

Claude is SUCH a complex and overlooked character. Claude is someone who acts really bubbly because he’s putting up a facade. He was deeply hurt and abused as a kid and learned from an early age how to defend himself. That’s why he’s so obsessed with “schemes” and poisons. He grew up being the weak and small kid, and had to quickly learn how to use his wits to get the upper hand.

He was also the victim of violent racism from BOTH sides of his family. He’s the first (?) Bi-racial and bi-cultural character in the game, and one of the very few dark skinned characters in the franchise, and yet he wasn’t reduced to a side character.

And this plays heavily into his story. He was abused by the Almerians for being “weak and light-skinned”. When he finally ran away to Fodlan, he was promptly abused for being “barbaric and dark-skinned”.

Despite all he suffered, Claude is someone who doesn’t blame either side for what happened to him. He is someone who believes that the racism he suffered was pure ignorance, and only took back his seats of power so that he could use them to tear apart the boundaries of his two countries and bring and end to their war.

And I feel like its such a GREAT story. Claude’s route was one I really enjoyed. But so many people are used to the edgy grimdark plots of the other two routes that playing with the ever-optimistic and hopeful Claude makes them decide “this isn’t dark enough so it’s badly written”. I wish people would not use the level of violence and tragedy in a route to determine how good the story is.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon-

there is SO MUCH I WISH HAD HAPPENED AT THE END OF THE GAME. I feel like much of Claude’s story was pushed to the end of the game/the epilogue? A lot of his history with Almyra is only found through character conversations and easter eggs found outside the main plot. Like for goodness sake show us more about Almyra!!! Anything about their land or their culture!!! show us the battle in the epilogue of the Byleth x Claude ending where he rescues her!!! show us Claude having to deal with being a king and having to earn the respect of his people!!! WHY IS SO MUCH OF HIS STORY CUT OFF.

Also i would KILL even a SINGLE interaction between him and Dedue. It surprises me so much that they never had a single interaction, considering how much racism has affected both of their stories. I have a feeling Claude would be talking to him and would overhear another kid yell something nasty at him and instantly be like “alrighty give me three minutes and the strongest poisonous plant you have in your garden sir and you won’t be hearing from him again.”

Also I would love to see more between him and Dimitri. I feel like Claude is so insightful, it would probably take only a few more interactions for him to look at Dimitri and be like “is nobody else seeing this?? this kid is talking to ghosts and acting like he’s living in a walking nightmare how has nobody put him in therapy yet??????”

#SORRY THIS IS SO LONG IF YOU CAN'T TELL IM DESPERATELY AVOIDING HOMEWORK #long post #fire emblem #fe3h #claude von riegan #also thank you for the ask!!#Mooky's Asks

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orionwhispers · 5 years

Text

Wishing It Was You; Tommy Shelby Imagine

(A/N - hey guys... its been a while. I started this in april and finally finished it. she might be my longest yet my fave imagine ive done. im tired and lazy so sorry if there are any mistakes. PLZ let me know what you think and my ask is always open!! ily)

Tommy knows he's standing next to Grace.

He can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, can feel the pressure of his hand against the curve of her waist, can smell her expensive perfume, with it’s notes of rose water and lemon, lingering on her neck, but all he sees is you. Grace is leaning into him, her giggles sounding like twinkling diamonds as she laughs at a joke he hasn’t registered, his mind completely preoccupied with thoughts of the woman standing at the other side of the room.

He hadn’t expected to see you here. In fact, he hadn’t expected to ever see you again. It strikes him like a bullet in his gut, leaving him winded and gasping for air in the middle of an expansive ballroom, the gin on his tongue suddenly as hot as acid.

Have you seen him yet? The thought fills his brain like a buzzing hornets nest, the feeling is immediate and prickling at the back of his skull.

Do you know he’s here? Have you noticed him?

Most importantly though… Did you come alone?

His hand unconsciously tightens around Grace’s waist and she smiles at him, as sweet as sugar, completely unaware of the femme fatale on the opposite side of the room, capturing her husbands attention and luring him like a siren.

He bites his tongue until he can taste metal and copper. A fresh wave of guilt and shame collapse over him but he swallows it down like it’s nothing but a lump in his throat.

He loves Grace, he adores her. He isn’t doing anything wrong.

And yet, he can’t take his eyes off of you.

At first he thought he was going mad. He hadn’t believed in ghosts and spirits since he was a boy, sat in a caravan, reading tarot cards with his Mum. He became too used to death and decay in the war, too used to seeing blood and rot to believe in a chance of a second life - not when he had sinned so much in his first.

He hadn’t thought of you in so long. Hadn’t conjured up the image of you in his mind like he used to do late at night, imagining the feel of your skin against the pads of his fingertips, the smell between your shoulder blades, the weight of your ribs underneath his.

You were always at the back of his mind though. No matter how hard he pushed you away, your smile and voice would always linger at the back of his head, a beam of sunlight whenever the shovels would get too loud.

You were real though. You were back. He could tell only because of the way you captivated everyone around you, the faces of those enchanted by you were proof that you weren’t just a memory his drunken mind had created. Throwing your head back and giggling, chewing on the bottom of your painted lips, you had everyone under your spell.

He can’t take his eyes away from you. Its like he’s a puppet and you’re toying with the strings without even realising. He’s tethered to you, no matter how far apart you may be.

“Tommy?”

Grace’s syrup like voice cuts through him like a blade, and he straightens up. He’s acting like a teenager and the thought repulses him, he’s a businessman, not a child. He’s fought in the war, dealt with fearless gangsters and killed men with his bare hands, how come seeing you has rendered him breathless?

He turns to look at her, her gentle features illuminated under the chandeliers, her brow is furrowed with a mixture of mild irritation and curiosity and he lets her familiarity wash over him like the ocean. She smiles kindly at him, turning her attention back to the guests surrounding her, and Tommy feels a clench of white hot shame that whilst he is stood next to his wife, his mind is dizzied with the thoughts of another woman.

Grace is Grace.

She’s beautiful and soft and kind and warm. She was the stability he needed, the type of woman he needed to come home to, she tended to his wounds and listened to his rants and kissed his scars. She was too good for him and he knew it. She had lied and deceived him in the past, but it strengthened their love, rebuilt their trust like a fortress. He loved her, he wanted to have a family with her.

But she would never be you.

You were as familiar as the peaked cap that adorned his head, you were as much as a part of him as the gun in his holster. Your face flashed in his mind whenever he heard the last gasp of air from an enemy, it was you who appeared in his dreams and rescued him from the depths of his nightmares. It was as if you were stitched into his skin since the very first day you met when you were children.

He needs to get home, he can’t stay. Too long and you’ll sink your claws into him. Too long and everything he’s worked so goddamn hard for will start to crumble around him.

He flattens his palm against the back of his wife’s dress, ready to make hasty excuses and polite apologies and leave, nestle her into the back of his car and drive far away.

He opens his mouth to speak, but before words can slip from his tongue, he spots a smug, sparkling eyed Polly approaching, arms spread, lips curled into a smirk.

Fuck being polite. He’s Tommy fucking Shelby, he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

His hands curve around Grace’s spine and she tuts in protest, ready to scold her husband for his haste, but she snaps her lips shut at his flushed expression.

“Oh Tommy! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Polly approaches, already buzzed, arms spread like a bird in flight, just waiting to engulf him. A cigarette dangles from the corner of her cherry painted lips, her eyes gleaming with a mix of alcohol and mischief.

He inwardly curses, Polly cornering him like a lioness, ready to tear him and his wife apart. She’s practically chomping at the bit, the delight of seeing your familiar face and the knowledge of what that’ll do to Tommy and Grace making her float across the floor. She’s drunk on elation and glasses of champagne, her mind too fucked to even think about the consequences.

“Oh Tom!” She repeats, cradling his face like he’s a boy again. Under any other circumstances he would be delighted to see his Aunt so happy, a sight he was rarely blessed with, but now he’s wishing for anything else. Grace’s grip tightens, he can feel her stare on the side of his skin, burning holes into his flesh. Polly feels her gaze and turns to the blonde beauty, her disdain for her nephews wife enough to drill the final holes into his coffin, sealing him shut into eternal darkness.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s back.”

Grace stiffens beside him, arching a penciled eyebrow at her husband and opening her lips. Tommy can feel his palms moisten, an unfamiliar sensation that takes him back to being a teenager, one that only ever occurred around you.

“Who’s (Y/N), Thomas?”

————————————————————

You were the same age as Ada, reserved and soft spoken, new to Birmingham and all of its smoke and gristle coloured cobbles. She saw you one day in the school yard; sat alone on your first day, picking at the skin on your swollen lips, round doe eyes following the other children roughhousing and laughing. She was immediately drawn to you, her inquisitive mind growing protective, and it wasn’t long before she strode over to you, confident as ever, introducing herself and deciding to take you under her wing.

The two of you became fast friends, sharing jam sandwiches and apple slices under the sun, skipping along the streets and throwing stones into the cut at dusk before your parents hastily called you inside and scolded your recklessness. You barely left one another’s side, spending every night you could at each others house, giggling and gossiping under the covers, trying on your mothers makeup and making sticky pinkie promises to be best friends forever.

The years passed and you still remained attached at the hip, growing closer than ever as your limbs grew and you wandered into adolescence, facing every problem you encountered together. You were Ada’s shoulder to cry on when her mother passed, sleeping next to her in a single bed for month on end as the night terrors kept her awake. You grew closer to Ada’s family as well, especially considering the amount of time you spent there. Aunt Pol became a surrogate mother to you, chastising you and supporting you and always being there for you, sometimes with a smack on the back of the legs, like the time she caught you both smoking before you hit your teens.

You became a fond fixture in the Shelby household, slotting in like just another straggly stray at the dinner table every night. You were young, but you weren’t stupid, you had known the Shelby boys since the very first day you came back to their house and even as a child you could sense the mischievous aura surrounding them. As you grew, so did your curiosity, and it wasn’t long before you learnt of the betting shop located in the back room of Pol’s house. Ada and Polly were both protective of you, and managed to keep you out of trouble despite the spark of interest that brewed in your stomach and so that back room just became another chest to lock in the back of your mind.

They both knew that there was something different about you, and as you grew from a timid child to an inquisitive teenager your thirst became insatiable. Ada had always recognised the unpredictable nature the you harboured, you could be quiet and meek but under the surface your brain was a kaleidoscope of spontaneity. It was you who suggested late night adventures and rain splattered trips that got you both into trouble, you who dreamt of cities and lives bigger than the both of you. Ada adored that about you, your desire for change something she wasn’t used to in the dismal, grey town she grew up in but deep down she was terrified that you wouldn’t ever be satisfied.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed the impulse in you. From the very first time he saw you all those years ago he noticed the crackle of electricity under your docile exterior, bubbling under the surface like lightning that struck the sky. Of course, back then you were just a child and Tommy was far too interested in pursuing the betting shop than taking notice of his little sister’s friend, but he always kept an eye on you. The two of you had a bizarre relationship, despite the age gap between you both, you managed to find a level ground. Whilst Arthur and John would ruffle your hair and swing you over their shoulders as if you were still a toddler, Tommy would talk to you as if you were an adult, the two of you could bicker like siblings but there was a mutual respect underlying it all, you both connected by your need for more.

It came to a head when Tommy was counting money at the betting shop one evening in August. The sun was fading to the colour of a bruised peach and the air was still warm, notes stuck to his fingers and he hummed in frustration just as the large doors swung open. His head snapped up and he came face to face with a flushed Ada, her cheeks were as red as a Gala apple and tears welled in her wide eyes. Tommy immediately reached for the gun shoved in it’s holster ready to send bullets flying over his watery eyed sister, before her exasperated voice broke through the silence.

“It’s (Y/N)! She’s had a fight with her fucking dad and now she’s gone! Please, Tom, can you help me find her?”

As Tommy had the family car, he was left trawling through the country lanes surrounding the city whilst Ada and Pol searched your usual hiding spots in Small Heath. According to Ada, you had about a two hour head start from your house, and Tommy’s foot itched over the pedals at the thought. This was hardly the first time you had run away, usually it was over to Polly’s for the night after you had had enough of your family, but after a particularly bad spout with your parents last year, Ada had found you halfway to London. You were definitely a flight risk.

Tommy’s hands clenched over the steering wheel as the sky darkened, you were a beautiful teenager, walking alone through the streets at dusk; it was a recipe for disaster. Tom knew you could hold your own, but the creatures that lurked around at night were ravenous and there was no way in hell he would let them sink their claws in you.

Tommy could feel heat prick at the bottom of his spine. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that the feelings he harboured for you stemmed much more than the ‘sibling love’ he disguised them as. The attraction between the two of you had always been there, something magnetic joining you both before you could realise it. Over the years it had blossomed, despite his attempts to distinguish the fire that you brought out in him, something about you had captivated him.

All of his thoughts turned to wisps of smoke as he rounded a corner, nearly swerving into a thorn bush as he spotted you. You were walking with determination, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew on his face as he watched you march forward like a solider, your small frame filled with force. Your hair was loose, draping around your shoulders like a halo, bouncing with every step you took.

He trailed behind you, edging his foot off the gas and waiting as the car slowed next to you. He knew you noticed the intrusion from the way your shoulders tensed briefly, and he allowed the car to match your pace, the two of you moving like boats on water. He knew you would be the first to speak, and allowed your words to run over him like warm milk and honey.

“Hello, Thomas. Out for a drive?”

He smiled, rolling his eyes slightly before responding. “C’mon (Y/N), time to come home.”

“No thank you.”

“It’s getting late.”

“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”

He tensed his foot against the gas, the car rumbling lowly and rolling forward. He pulled it into park right in front of you, the dark exterior blocking you from walking any further up the lane. You exhaled in frustration, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks flushed the colour of Shepard’s delight, and he cant help but bite back the smile curling in his mouth. He patted the seat playfully and watched as you scuffed your foot into the mud like a child, coyly sucking on your tongue before clambering next to him, crossing your arms and settling into the leather.

Tommy’s hands rested on the steering wheel, he flexed his fingers for a moment before turning to face you, examining your skin under the dim light. Both of your fathers had a lot in common, alcoholic, nasty and violent, something dark like rum boiling inside of their blood, men who ruled with fear and aggression. There were no marks he could see, not like the time your arm was coated in purple thumb prints that left him seething, only calmed once you and Ada had snuck off to her room and he could control his thoughts with a cigarette. That night he pretended he couldn't see Polly watching him like a hawk.

“He didn’t hit me this time.”

Good. He would have killed him.

“Kind of wish he did though, Mum bought a new frying pan that could have come in handy.”

He let you talk, the birds and the wind the only noises disturbing the peace. You were quiet, and it was rare for you to open up like this, so he cherished the moment despite the underlying bleakness of it all.

“I know it seems childish, but it just feels easier to get away.”

He hesitated, looking down at you picking your nails in the front seat of his car. The words forming on the edge of his tongue tasting like whisky, not knowing how to comfort you without implicating himself. He tried to imagine himself as Polly or Ada, the kind of person who would know what to say.

“You have people that care about you, you don’t need to fuckin’ up and leave.”

“I know I do, but anywhere is better than Small Heath.”

He blew air through his teeth. “It ain’t so bad.”

You swivelled to face him, round eyes and raised eyebrows set on him like a sniper. “Really, Tom? You do know you’re saying all this sat in the front seat of a bloody Bugatti? Bought with dirty money might I add?”

It’s the first time he’s seen you so heated and despite the truth in your words the sight of your small face twisted in annoyance is enough to make his lips curl, only adding fuel to your fire.

“You can sit here and tell me that all you want, but you know better than anyone that there’s more out there than Birmingham. I can see it in you Tom, and if you want you can act like you don’t need anything more, then that’s fine by me! But I hope you’re alright with lying to yourself.”

He stared deep into your eyes, expression blank and solid as if your words had truly punched him in the gut. You watched him for a moment, cheeks flushing slightly and eyebrows scrunching, wondering if maybe you had over stepped the line before his eyes glimmered and he held his hands up playfully, peaked cap bouncing with every exaggerated movement.

“Alright, bloody hell. Remind me not to get in a fight with you. I can see how much our Ada has rubbed off on you.”

You let a tiny smile tug at the edge of your lips before it expanded and took over your face, tossing your head back and letting your hair fall over your shoulders as you grinned. Tommy swore he felt his heart skip a beat. He started the car as quickly as he had stalled it, feeling it purr and jut under his feet, the world righted once again now that you were sat next to him. The car rolled over a bridge, and after you crossed over onto the other side he cleared his throat, opening his mouth to speak.

“If you ever feel like running away again, come and see me first, alright?”

He kept his eyes on the road, but could feel yours on the side of is neck, running softly over his flesh like fingertips.

“If I didn’t know any better, Thomas,” You spoke teasingly, using his full name just to get under his skin, “I’d think you were going soft.”

The evening sun beat down onto the two of you, and as the car lurched forward he mirrored your own smile, because maybe he was, for you.

————————————————————————-

After that long drive home it was like a switch had flipped. The two of you became closer, as if an invisible thread was tying you both together. You were allowed into the betting shop more often, counting coins and change and bickering playfully with the Blinders. Tommy took you to your first horse race under the guise of “teaching you more about the business” you wore your finest dress and he pretended he couldn't feel his breath catch in his throat when he looked at you. His hands clung protectively around your waist as you downed a glass of strawberry wine, rolling his eyes and smiling as you laughed into him as the horses galloped and the crowds cheered. You spent evenings climbing through the window in his bedroom, sitting on the sloped roof tiles as rain pattered onto the streets below, sharing a cigarette and watching the stars peek through the smoky air, unsaid words bubbling behind both of your lips as yours knees pressed together.

The rest of the family noticed the change between the two of you, but said nothing. Even Ada couldn't help smiling to herself when she saw the glances that you shared, her kind and clever older brother was the only man she could possibly think was good enough for her best friend. Although she would never admit it, it meant he was distracted enough to not notice her leaving to spend time with a certain man named Freddie.

Tommy drove you to the beach for the first time, exploring the pier and walking barefoot across the sand. Your wide smile as you danced in the surf and talked under baying seagulls was forever cemented into his mind, he vowed silently that he would move mountains just to see you happy, the feeling unlike anything he had ever felt. He taught you how to shoot a gun, your body pulled flush against his as you squealed in delight as the bullet ricocheted off the can. Your conversations flowed like running water, able to converse and laugh about everything and anything from dusk till dawn. He was mischievous and playful and would crack jokes even on your worst days, when your father was mean and your mother was distant, he would make you feel whole again.

That’s why, on a rainy Thursday as the two of you walked side by side by canal, you pulled his face towards yours with your small hands and kissed him. He froze, with all of his previous girlfriends he had always initiated things first, but with you he had felt uncharacteristically hesitant, terrified of scaring you off and losing you. However as your parted lips met and he felt you smile into his mouth, tasting of cherry jam and stolen tobacco, he let his hands snake around your waist as if they had been carved there. The wind whistled and the rain splattered both of you, his peaked cap sheltering his ruffled hair and your face from the droplets, it was freezing but heat crackled between the two of you. You were practically half his size, resting on your tip toes to meet him fully, but in that moment he knew you had him utterly under your thumb.

The relationship the two of you shared was pure and untainted. It was all soft skin and moonlight painted faces, freckles and wide teeth and apricot coloured skies. His hand would brush against yours as he walked you home, you’d laugh into his neck at the Pictures, your words would mingle together at midnight as you sat and talked. Things couldn't have been more perfect, as sweet as the whisky tea you would drink with Ada and Polly, as merry as the laughs you shared with the brothers and as syrupy as the kisses you would have with your first love. But just like the smoke that filled the once clear sky above your heads, your life was soon to darken.

It all happened so suddenly, maybe your blissful youth had created a candy coated picture over the political dramas happening around you, but now they couldn’t be ignored. There was going to be a war. You knew from the start the brothers would be drafted, they were filled with pride for their country, they were young and fit and strong, they knew how to fight, punching and slashing with their razor blades, but you loathed the idea. You bit your tongue until it bled, knowing there was no point in arguing, but that didn't stop you staining your pillow with tears every night.

You refused to let the boys see you in such a state, and tried your best to enjoy the last few days you had until you would be separated from your family. The ache in your chest remained despite your false bravado, dinners were different, quieter, and you would often catch Polly staring at nothing, as if she could see a ghost.

Tommy took you away the night before. He drove the caravan for miles, his favourite dappled mare pulling you through fields of wildflowers as the sun followed you overhead. You parked in the woods by the river, silence falling over both of you. His hands laced through yours, thumb running over your soft skin, and you watched him, drinking in all of his beautiful features like whisky.

“Will you wait for me?”

His voice is quiet, so unlike his usual boyish, playful tone. Seeing him so vulnerable was like a bullet entering your heart. You rested your head on his shoulder, feeling the soft cotton of his shirt dance against your cheek.

“Forever.”

He intakes sharply. He plucks a daisy from the grass, toying with the tiny flower between his large palms before turning to you and pushing it behind your ear, looking at you in a way that makes your body melt like butter.

“I love you.” He watches you, gauging for your reaction, but you don’t give him any, you just look up at him with those big fucking eyes. He exhales, turning back to face the water as he continues. “Known it since we first met. Since that very first day, when we were just kids, I knew. You had a hold on me since day one. I couldn’t leave without telling you…telling you how grateful I am for you.”

His voice softens, “How much you mean to me and because of that,” He clears his throat as if struggling to get the words out, “I’ll understand if you want to move on, find someone else or…”

You don’t let him continue, you attach your lips to his as if they were magnetic, feeling him collapse under your touch. You pull away much too soon for his liking, a smile reaching your eyes as you press your forehead against his, the light making you look angelic. “Stop talking.” You kiss him again, harder, in that teasing way you have mastered so well.

“I love you too.”

Under the stars, as the moonlight bathes the caravan in a soft eerie glow, you pull off the straps off your sundress, watching Tommy follow you as if he’s in a trance. Calloused, firm hands meet your tender flesh as he worships you like a Goddess, unable to believe that you are human. You give yourself to him fully, and it’s unlike anything he’s felt, the connection flowing between your bodies stronger than anything, love and lust connecting as your bodies mesh. Despite his earlier sentiment, as he buries himself inside of you, he loathes the idea of another man touching you and you can feel the heat radiating from underneath his skin and pull his face to you, staring him down, telling him everything he needs to know.

You’re his, and he’s yours.

Candles flicker around you, painting your limbs the colour of the sunrise. You playfully touch his nose, and then his lips, dragging them open with your finger. Your bodies are slick with sweat, exhausted but alive, feeling as if you are the only two people in the world despite the knowledge of what lurks ahead, you just feel young and blissfully in love.

“You won’t forget about me, will you Shelby?” You tease. “Won’t find a nice French woman to take my place?”

You’re joking but he kisses you silent, eyes connecting to yours, “I’ll never be able to replace you, little one.”

——————————————————————

No one expected the war to last as long as it did, least of all you. Every day you sat by the radio, waiting and wanting desperately for news that it was over, but every day you would leave with tears filling your eyes. You busied yourself the best you could during those long, dark days. You and the girls ran the betting shop, you looked after John’s kids and Finn as if they were your own - despite your young age, the war had forced everyone to grow up.

Four years is a long time, and that’s exactly how you felt as you waited on the platform, hand in hand with Ada, waiting for your boys to come home. You felt as if you had swallowed rocks, nausea bubbling inside of you, acid in your throat. He had been home three times since it had started. Three times in four years had you been able to see his face in real life, touch his skin, tell him words that wouldn’t do justice on paper. You had seen the effects of the war distort the people around you, heard awful tales of shell shock and seen men returning home with missing limbs and broken hearts. Every day you waited for that call, that piece of paper that told you Tommy wouldn’t be returning, but blessedly it never came, and finally, he was coming home.

You’ll always remember that day he came off of the platform. The last time you had seen him had been so long ago, but even then you had noticed the grey of his skin, the pain in his eyes. He was quieter, milder, refusing to speak of the horrors he must have endured, instead focusing on light happy stories. You wondered how much he had changed since then.

He was beautiful.

He still had that boyish look, his sharp jaw and tousled hair, but he looked older, haunted. You felt your knees buckle at the mere sight of him, the way his eyes danced over the platform, looking for something, someone - you. Your eyes met and you watched them glimmer, something you had been starved of for so long that you devoured the feeling. Euphoria bit through your skin and tears pricked at your eyes. You ignored everyone else, storming through the crowd like you were the solider, racing with your arms wide open, not caring how childish you looked. He smiled in what looked like relief and laughed in exhaustion as you fell into his arms. He held you so tight that you could feel the air expel from your chest but you didn’t care, you cried hot, wet tears into his shoulder, and you felt him bury his head in your hair. He looked at you, breathing hard and opening his mouth, but before he could speak you smashed your lips onto his, melting into his touch like all those years ago.

“Welcome home, Tommy.”

——————————————————————

Weeks passed, and it was as if the darkness had seeped into his skin. You longed to tear it off of him, wished that you could swap yourself with him, carry a little bit of his pain, but you knew that was impossible. Night was when he found solace, with you wrapped up in his arms, breathing in your sweet clean scent, something he had been deprived of for far too long. If you strayed too far in the night, woke up for some tea for a sore throat or simply because your mind was restless, you would hear the gut wrenching moans and cries leave his lips and would dart up the stairs two at a time to crawl back onto him. The first time you heard it he sounded like a fox with its paw in a trap, something so inhumane that it stayed with you like an awful lullaby on loop in your brain. As you managed to wake him from his own nightmare, he pulled you impossibly close, breathing into your hair as you whispered words of comfort, feeling utterly helpless.

After the war, everyone had their own poison. Arthur started boxing, channeling his anger and frustration into fighting, Freddie started protesting, looking for change in places he found wrong, and for others like Danny Whizzbang, sometimes the war clung its teeth in too far and refused to let go.

Tommy however, became obsessed with power.

You had known about his incredible work ethic and savvy business skills since the very first day you met, but now his hunger was insatiable. He was up before the birds had started chirping, planting soft kisses on your collarbones as he left for work, and didn’t come to bed until you physically had to drag him away from his desk. You were worried, but as always he conducted himself in a manner that made it seem like he was always in control, smooth and charming, unfazed by his hectic schedule and the looks you sent him.

It came as no shock to anyone that Tommy had been leader of his unit, the kind of man that people would listen to and follow without hesitation, the kind of man that knew how to be in charge. You knew some things about what had happened in the tunnels, horrors so unimaginable that it tore your heart in two to think of him suffering, and you were just left wondering what kind of marks that would leave on a man. His high ranking earned him thanks and praise wherever he went, he was honourable and that lead more and more men to join the Blinders, wanting to be close to such a powerful man, wanting the things he could offer.

The experiences he’d suffered through had led him to become disillusioned and determined to move his family up in the world, especially you. He became increasingly overprotective, a trait you at first found endearing and then ultimately suffocating, you knew he meant you know harm, wanting to shield you from the things he had endured, but you felt like a child again. You longed for trips to the country, to walk along the beach with him, to sleep under the stars, but it was as if that part of him had been killed on the front line.

You would be a liar if you said you were unaware of the illegal activity going on in the betting shop, you had always known of the shady dealings going on behind closed doors, but they thrilled you, excited you, mainly because you always knew that Tommy was in control, he could never get hurt. Your whole life you had always wanted more, hungry for a lifestyle that never bored you, but now you were wondering if you had bitten off too much.

He was changing, morphing in front of your eyes like a creature you had read about in a storybook when you were a child. Growing up his violent tendencies were sporadic, but with both of your fathers being unpleasant men he was always tainted by his family reputation. You had helped sew razor blades into their peaked caps, had seen the fights in the school yard over petty childish things, and had wiped his knuckles clean when he beat Tim Green black and blue after he called you and Ada vile names. Back then it was exciting, the adrenaline making you fall onto him, enthralled by this beautiful man, feeling safer with him than you had ever felt before, but now you were wondering if you should be scared.

He would rather die than hit you. He had never called you anything other than sugary sweet pet names, never once raised a hand other than to caress your cheek, never in a million years did you think he would ever hurt you, not intentionally. But it pierced your heart like a bullet, walking down the street, watching those you once called friends hide in their houses, whisper his name like it was sour milk, spit at your feet once you had left. It never bothered you what those small minded people thought of you, but knowing the awful things they thought of your Tommy, that killed you. It felt like a knife in your ribs when you leant back against him and felt the unfamiliar weight of a gun tucked into the waistband of his expensive trousers, as if it was nothing more than the cigarettes he constantly carried. It clawed at your throat like a rabid dog, when he came home at midnight, covered in blood that wasn't his, his eyes grey and pale.

You wanted to be by his side throughout everything, holding his hand and being the woman that he had turned to for everything, but it felt like you were hidden in the shadows. He didn’t want you involved, wanting to rise up on his own merit, and give you all of the rewards without seeing the carnage he was leaving behind, but that wasn’t you. You weren’t some housewife who just tended to his wounds and looked the other way when he stuffed the local officers pockets with bribes, you wanted to be his equal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you, it was that he didn’t trust anyone else.

Some nights you would sit staring at the moon from the windowsill of his small bedroom, reminiscing on making love under his scratchy sheets, giggling into his skin, thinking of days when you would tell him anything and everything, and he would always know what to say. You hated yourself for thinking this way, knowing that he had fought for his country, with the terrors he had lived through, of course he would be a changed man, but this seemed more than that and it tore your heart in half.

He’d slip into the room at midnight, any miseries of the day diminishing when he saw your small frame, and he’d wrap his arms around you, whispering into your hair. Any bad thoughts you had would vanish as he cradled you, reliving all the times you had in the past, feeling as if home was a person, but you would be jolt at his words. He’d tell you of all the things he would buy you one day, spun tales of all the things you deserved as if he could magic them from thin air. He spoke of a large manor, marrying you in a ceremony with a thousand roses, expensive cars and hand-cut jewels, things that were enough to make anyone salivate, but not you.

The war had forced you to put your life in perspective. Those gut wrenchingly long nights away from your lover, biting your lip raw wondering if he was suffering. Days spent feeling numb, trying to distract yourself from thoughts that plagued your head, you wanted to escape. Small Heath had suffocated you, the smoke and the ash now clung to your lungs thicker than ever, and you were desperate for a gasp of fresh air. You thought that was what Tommy wanted too, thought that the both of you would flee Birmingham, climb on to a ship, sail around countries neither of you could pronounce, kiss under hot rain and see the buildings you read about in the newspapers, but maybe not.

You would have to make sacrifices. That’s what love is, you told yourself, tying your hair up with an expensive silk hairband that Tommy had bought, that wasn’t really you. You loved him, adored him, you were so head over heels with him that the thought of leaving made you feel nauseous. You would follow him to the end of the earth if he asked you to. This was the man you wanted to marry, the only man you could picture yourself having a life with, and you knew that he felt exactly the same. That’s what love is, you remind yourself, staring at the unfamiliar painted face in the mirror, it’s about compromise, right?

When Arthur bought the Garrison, despite Tommy’s apprehension, you took a job as his accountant and secretary, helping him keep business afloat when all he wanted was to drink his money. You fell into a comfortable routine, waking up early and working late, taking extra time on Sundays to learn how to bake, going a little further into town to buy fresh vegetables from the market, reading books that had sat on their shelf for years. You wore a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts, but deep down you were so mind numbingly bored, it felt like you had slipped on somebody else's skin, trapped in your own ivory tower. It all became worth it though, when Tommy would come home, his skin igniting against yours, lips savouring the taste of your flesh, the only good thing in both of your days. His hips pressed against yours, scratching your nails into his back and feeling him melt under you, enthralled by you, both of you so totally in love that it radiated around the small room, you knew why you did it. Curled under his arm he would smile and laugh, tell you snippets of his day, talk about the future, and hearing his words and charming accent, the way they fell from his lips like wisps of gold, running his hands through your hair, knowing that it was for a better future for both of you, you accepted your fate.

Ada noticed it first. Of course she did, you two were practically sisters. You knew each other like the back streets of Birmingham, like the lines and curves on your hands. She watched the way your vibrancy dimmed until you could fit in with the grey coloured photographs on Polly’s coffee table, listened as your giggles and playful teasing came to a halt and you spent more and more hours alone, separated from the world. She was heartbroken, torn between shaking you and forcing you to come to your senses, willing your vivacious personality to rise to the surface, and knowing that doing so could ruin the best thing Tommy had going for him, and shatter both of you into a million pieces. The rest of the family saw it as well, your light dulling with every day that passed, but they were unsure how to help without stepping over the protective line Tom drew around you, and with business tougher than ever, there was more than enough on their own plates.

To Tommy you were the most precious thing in his life. Because of you, his youth had been damn near perfect, meeting you had changed his life and he felt that he owed you the world. After the war you had rescued him from the depths of his own murky head, your letters and the image of you in his battered brain and been the only thing keeping him alive on he frontline. Whenever he felt like he was drowning, it had always been you that had pulled him from underwater, your smile putting the air back into his lungs. You made him feel alive, made him feel like in the world of smoke and debris he could breathe, that even on his lowest and darkest days, it was you that kept him going, but even he knew that was a lot for a person to carry.

You were wilting like a flower and he despised it. You had always been so beautiful. You could light up a room just by entering it, could trap men and enamour women with nothing but a look, could take his breath away with just a smile, but you were fading away. He had felt the darkness radiating off him since he returned home from the war, and he had fought tooth and nail to stop it corrupting you, you were too perfect, too pure, to be dragged down with him. He thought that he had kept you untainted, thought that he had done what was best for you, but now he wasn’t so sure.

He watched you when you weren’t looking, his eyes always finding your features no matter where you were. Whenever he was nervous or unsure he would find you and his breath would steady and his heartbeat would calm as if you were a shot of rum on his tongue. Almost a year after he had returned home did he start seeing you clearly, he had been so wrapped up in love, in coming home, in becoming the best man he could be, that he had clouded over you like fog on a winter morning. The glisten in your eyes had faded, they had dulled like a worn penny, and your collarbones and ribs began to rise from under your flesh. He tried to think of the last time he had made you laugh, a proper belly laugh like when you were kids, and he came up empty. He knew what the reason was but he refused to accept it, refused to admit that their might be cracks in your perfect relationship, because losing you just might break him.

He tried to be better for you, but he was too far gone. He could feel you slipping away from his fingertips and there was nothing he could do. You had tried to change for him and in the process you had lost part of yourself, and the war had carved a hole between both of you. It was heartbreaking and nauseating, both of you loving each other too much, but ultimately becoming different people. He refused to let you go without a fight, he knew he was being selfish and possessive but he couldn’t just let you leave, you had both been hopelessly in love since the very first day that you had met, you were soulmates. He chain-smoked you like a cigarette, took in your body like it was holy, craved your touch like it was medicinal, you were his everything. You were the reminder of the good days, looking at you and he was transported back to his youth, chasing you under apple trees, kissing until your lips were full and swollen, laughing until your ribs grew rough. You couldn’t imagine life without him, and every evening you clung onto his body, inhaling his sweat and tobacco covered skin, tracing his tattoos like they were bible verses, a million words lingering between you both. You were clinging on for dear life, knuckles glowing white as you refused to release your grip, desperate for everything to work out.

On a Friday, he let you go.

Curled up beside him, you felt otherworldly. He allowed himself moments of weakness around you, to everyone else he was the devil incarnate, but he softened whenever he touched you. He wanted these final moments to last forever, his girl wrapped up in his arms, the only bright light in his world of darkness. Tears were welling in his eyes, something so unfamiliar to him that he had to catch his breath, clear his throat before he could speak.

“I’ve not been good to you.”

Your head rose, resting on his strong chest as you peered at him, noticing how he refused to look at you.

“If I was a better man, a stronger man, I would have let you go sooner.”

“Tommy…”

“I’ve been selfish, little one. Too fucking selfish, and I see that now.”

You sat up further, already knowing his next words, your heart racing like one of his prize mares in your chest. You cling onto him, knuckles tensed as you feel him under you, willing him to look at you, but he can’t. He knows that if he sees your beautiful face, watches the tears slip down your cheeks and your lip quiver, he’ll crumble. That’ll be it, he’ll have broken, sweep you under him and try to piece you back together, but he knows this time he can’t.

You trace your fingertips over the hairs on his chest, the rhythmic motion helping to calm your rapid breathing. You feel like you’re in the firing line, on your knees, head bowed, just waiting for the final shot to blow your skull into pieces.

“I’ve never loved somebody the way I’ve loved you.” He coughs, rubbing his nose, and you’re not sure if its because it’s the tobacco in his lungs or the lump in his throat. “And know I’m realising that, what I’ve put you through, was wrong.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Tom, none of it. I’d do it all again if I could. In a heartbeat.” He knows you’re telling the truth, the honestly in your tone making his heart swell, but it doesn't make it any easier. He knows what he has to do, he has to be the bigger man, no matter how much it’ll wreck him, he has to do the best thing for you.

“I know you would, but that’s not the life you deserve.”

Silence falls across the room. Both of you bathed in smoke and ash and moonlight, memories flutter around you like torn photographs, drifting down onto the wood floor like snowflakes. The air is thick with tears that you both refuse to let slip, you had both known this time was coming since long before either had you had spoken the words. This was love. It tore you and ripped you in half, and neither of you had gone down without a fight. You loved one another so much that it had consumed you, swallowed you both whole and you wouldn’t change a thing. Despite the pain, it had been the best years of your life.

“I don’t think I know how to exist without you.” You confess, your lover such a part of you that it feels like you’re going to lose a limb, a terrible hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“You will. You know I wouldn’t let you go if it wasn’t safe for you, you know I wouldn’t…I’ve got some money for you, to find a place to stay, somewhere far away from here, OK?”

“I’m not taking your money, Tom.”

“Yes you are.You’re not leaving unless I know you’ll be alright, eh?”

“No I’m not T, seriously -”

“Always so bloody stubborn!” He laughed, pinching your outer thigh playfully, a gesture so innocent and intimate and awfully familiar that it makes you both deflate with sadness.

You refuse to let the silence engulf you. Refuse to accept that this might be the last time either of you smell one another’s skin, the last time you can take comfort in one another, refuse to accept that forever might not mean what you thought. Refuse to accept that saying goodbye felt like the right thing.

“Tom. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll rule the world one day. But promise me something, promise me you won’t lose yourself? Promise me that you won’t do anything that you can’t come back from. For me?”

He nods, burying his face in your hair.

His exasperated laugh sounds like sparkling champagne, “I almost drove myself mad thinking of what I was gonna say to you, but I couldn’t find the right words. After everything we’ve been through though, we don’t need words do we, little one? I love you and you love me, that’s more than enough. No matter what happens, it’ll be us forever. Even if we’re apart. We don’t need words to say what we mean.”

Your lips met his, making him come alive just as you had done under the canal all those years ago.

“So let’s not talk.”

Tommy wished forever that he could burn the image of that final night behind his eyelids, see you whenever he closed his eyes. He dreamt that he tatted you on his skin, could trace your figure whenever things got too rough, that you would pull him back to shore. That final night felt like a dream, you both cried, sank into one another’s bodies, muffled one another tears with open mouthed kisses. Your beautiful gangster falling apart only for you, his darling angel clinging to just him in those final hours. Your bodies had intertwined for the last time, exhilarated with lust but exhausted from sadness, communicating through touches and kisses.

Tommy slept the best he had done for years. No dreams of shovels, no thoughts of the business racing through his skull. Instead he let himself get utterly wrapped up by you,falling into a satisfied sleep with his girl next to him. Woozy and delirious, when he first opened his eyes he forgot about everything that had happened, felt that unfamiliar emptiness in the bed beside him and thought that he’d find you nestled in an armchair drinking sweet tea, but nausea filled the pit of his stomach like acid when memories came flooding back.

It wasn’t until he saw the envelope he had filled with notes and coins for you, unopened on the desk, and your treasured photograph of the two of you from that very first beach visit, left on top, painted with a cherry red lipstick print and the words, “Goodbye, Tom. I love you.” Did he lose it. He flung the peaked cap off its hanger, let out an animalistic roar and shattered his fist through the wall, before falling to his knees and burying his head into his hands.

———————————————————————————————-

He had heard that you came back. Similar to a alley cat, you snuck in and out of the city under the cover of moonlight, only being seen by those you wanted. He had heard that when Ada fell pregnant, and she stayed locked away in Freddie’s basement flat, you were the only person she let in. Sometimes he would loiter on those back streets after work, hoping and dreaming for a glimpse of you, something to satisfy his hungry mind, but he never got so lucky. You kept in contact with the others, sending them letters and postcards, but they kept them hidden from him, and he pretended he didn't fantasise about ripping them open and devouring your words. Polly and Ada would speak of you sometimes, but would fall silent whenever he was nearby, and he would pretend he was unbothered, despite the want of knowing where you were clawing him inside out.

He threw himself into work harder than he had ever done before. He could feel himself slipping away, and without you to ground him he felt the darkness start to consume him, but he would never blame you, you were too good, and he would have ruined you. He dreamt of you every night, thought of you in every spare moment, so it was easier to be doused in another’s blood or making a dangerous deal than to be left alone to his own devices. Wondering if you had met someone new made him feel violently ill, it was like torture thinking of another man making you happy, another man touching you, making you smile. Almost every night he paid a visit to a whore house, fucking somebody else and dreaming it was you, he knew it was unhealthy, but he couldn’t stop. You lingered in his brain constantly like the smoke that left his sullen lips.

He became used the the thought of being alone. Enamoured with the idea of being on top; controlling and dominating the streets was all he cared about. You were always at the back of his mind, wherever he looked he saw you, thought of you, it drove him crazy, but then again you always had. He was in desperate need for a distraction, some form of happiness to grasp after you had left, he knew he had to move on, but he was uncertain he would ever find it again. He had to get used to the nauseating fact that you were gone, and then, like a ball of sunshine, the new blonde barmaid smiled at him and he felt his world lighten.

But now you were back.

————————————————————

He can’t remember walking towards you.

His feet and brain were disconnected, he had become an entirely different person than the calm, collected business man he usually was, his composure crumbling the moment he saw you. The second he saw a falter in your conversation, when you excused yourself from the enamoured, sleazy men around you, practically drooling as you stood before them, did he know he had to say something to you or risk regretting it for the rest of his life.

He apologised quickly to Grace, half heartedly and rushed, something he knew he’d have to explain later, but he couldn’t stop himself. He also didn’t miss the curl of Polly’s lip at the sight of her nephew infatuated with you, reminding her of the teenager she missed dearly.

Every move of his was calculated. From business to his personal life, he refused to let himself be ruled the same as the common man, everything he did was deliberate and precise, but even he’ll admit he was tongue tied as he pushed past the rest of the people in the ballroom, eager to reach his target.

You had stepped outside. Desperate for the relief of cool air against your flesh, the comfort of the stars above you and the solace of a must needed cigarette between your lips. Tommy couldn’t help the smile on his face, 5 years of separation pouring out of him as he exhaled at the sight of you, so close that he could reach out and graze your skin with his fingers. It was intoxicating, you were intoxicating, and he hated himself for still being enchanted with a woman he couldn’t have and shouldn’t want.

Movement behind you made you turn your head, dazed and hazy from the alcohol and the smoke filling your lungs, but you felt stone cold sober as your muddled mind placed the man before you. Air left your body like a pinched ballon, your chest expanding with surprise.

He’ll admit seeing you so flustered at the sight of him did wonders for his ego. Igniting the flame inside of his stomach that proved that you still thought of him, still cared for him. But just as quickly as you lost your cool, you regained it instantly, straightening up and letting a soft smile grace your features, and he felt himself melt.

You looked so familiar, yet different.

You were more tanned, freckles across the bridge of your nose, constellations he could remember tracing when he was a teen. Your hair was longer, tousled into a style he had never seen on you, but it looked right.

He could tell your dress was expensive, embroidered and embezzled with lace and crystals, a finely crafted necklace sliding off of your collar bone, and thoughts of gifts from admiring suitors sent him into a tailspin. He loathed himself for it, but his eyes narrowed to your left ring finger, audibly exhaling when it came up empty, and he didn’t know if he should feel relieved or ashamed.

A moment of silence and shared memories flashed between you quicker than the spark of a match. A warm familiar feeling brewed in the pit of your stomach, so gut wrenchingly nostalgic you feel as if you have been winded. Both of your senses are heightened, you can smell him, imagine the feel of his hair, despite it being almost shaved to his scalp, imagine the tattoos under his expensive suit, can practically recall your nails tracing them in a sleep induced haze. You had forgotten just how he made you feel, and the recognition makes you both halt.

He breaks the silence first; as if to prove to you his new status. He was no longer as boyish, as playful, he controlled the room, owned it, and the devil sitting on his shoulder wondered if that extended to you.

“Hello, (Y/N).”

“Hello, Tommy.”

He almost falls to pieces at the sound of his name on your sugar sweet lips, reminding him of the times before the war, the times he had locked away in his mind. You’ve turned a strong man weak, rendered him speechless and you grab the control as it slips from his fingertips.

“It’s been a long time, Tom.”

“That it has.”

“You’ve been away for quite some time.” He inhales sharply, determined to clasp the reins once again, determined to dismantle you and get a reaction, “Didn’t even see you at Freddie’s funeral, would have been nice of you to show up.”

The funeral was years ago but he still hates the fact that he hadn’t seen you that day, he was burying one of his best friends and yet you had clawed all over his mind like a virus. He even stayed after everyone had left, saying private words to his friend, and wondering if he could catch a glimpse of you, but that evening he walked home as alone as he came.

You raise a brow in challenge, your eyes glinting with a mix of disbelief and humour. “I stayed with our Ada for over a month when Freddie died, I was by her side through the thick of it. I didn’t come to the funeral out of respect, I didn’t want it to be about anything other than him.”

He swallows your words, nodding slowly. Letting the silence settle around him like smoke before he asks you his next question. “Where did you go?”

A small smile fell on your lips, and you looked up at him in a way that almost made him turn his head as it was too familiar, too painful.

“Anywhere and everywhere. Paris, Rome, Berlin. It was nice to see them rebuild after the war. I stayed in America for a year or so, Boston and New York, and then settled on the beach in California for a bit, it was beautiful.” He listens to every word that escapes your mouth, noting how happy you sound as you describe your travels, so breathless and elated as you reminisce.

“You did always love the sea.” He says gently.

“Yes,” you smile, “I do.”

“What brings you back? To a party like this?” He changes the subject, not wanting to linger in the past, fearful of what that might bring up in him.

“I’ve been in London with a friend, I owe him a favour and ended up here.”

Him. Three words that strike him in the gut and nearly make him double over. He can feel the heat rising in him, he’s married and it’s been years since he’s seen you, but the thought of you with another man makes vomit and red hot anger ascend inside of him.

“He’s just a friend, Tom.” You say slowly, offering him an olive branch, you shouldn’t have to explain yourself but you want to, because it’s just as hard for you. “He owns a distillery but he doesn’t do well at parties, so I offered to take his place.”

He laughs humourlessly, almost breathless from disbelief at the sheer incredulity of it all. “Solomons? Of fucking course.”

“You know of him?” You ask, tilting your head slightly.

“You could say that.”

“Well,” You grin, “Looks as if we have something in common.”

The knowledge that you were mere miles away, laughing with Solomon’s, head thrown back as you made time for a man that wasn’t him, drove the nail further into Tommy’s own coffin.

“So your dress? Your jewels? Presents from him?” It comes out harsher than he intended but he doesn’t care, the sight of you has made him as inebriated as a dozen shots of whisky on an empty stomach and he allows it to distort his words.

“I make my own money, Tommy.” You respond.

He steps closer, the toe of his expensive leather shoe inching towards you like a high tide.

“Do you ever think about me?” The words escape him before he has a chance to stop them, and he sees emotion pool in your eyes, and he watches a breath escape your lips.

“Everyday.”

He isn’t sure what to say, suddenly feeling 15 again, if anyone saw him now they would be in utter disbelief that he was the same ruthless gangster they knew. He is within reach now, you could extend your fingers and feel him under you like you had once done a million times before, you wonder just how different his lush suit would feel compared to the ones he had run around in when he was a teen. His eyes scour your face, drinking you in like water, comparing your face to the last time he had seen you. Neither of you let your eyes meet one another, darting away like rivals, and yours slip over his head back into the crowd.

“Is that your wife?”

His head snaps up as if he has been doused in ice water, and he follows your gaze across the floor. He sees Grace, surrounded by other women, but her eyes trained on the two of you. He knows later he’ll have a conversation he isn’t ready for, knows he’ll have to explain feelings he’s kept hidden for years, but he turns on his heel, away from his wife and towards you.

“Yes.”

“She’s beautiful.”

“She’s not you.”

Silence. He loathes himself for his words but hates himself even more that he doesn’t regret them.

“Good. You deserve someone better.”

Your eyes finally meet.

His are stoic and unwavering, lacking the spark you loved but still the same ocean eyes you loved to drown in. Yours are filled with emotion, finally exposing yourself after so many years, you soften him to the touch as your eyes meet his, melting him like an icicle.

“I know what you’re thinking, Tom.”

“You always have.”

You smile softly. “I almost came back you know.”

His ears prick up like a bloodhound, his heart bursting under his flesh.

“I heard rumours. People would whisper in the street about a devil, I knew exactly who they meant before they even spoke your name aloud.”

He inhales sharply, not knowing where the story will take him, desperate to regain control but ultimately knowing he’ll always be trailing after you.

“They said you were cunning and brilliant but they also said you were ruthless and cold blooded. They said you were a man on a mission, a man destined to get to the top, they told me they were scared of you. Terrified.”

He steps closer.

“I begged Ada to tell me everything, managed to get her drunk from expensive liquors, you know the ones she loves? The ones that taste like the sweets we would nick after school?”

He nods, the memory distant but familiar. The taste of sugar on your lips, teeth clashing together, giggles that sounded like bells.

“She told me the darkness came back, took you away. She said she was worried for you, she told me she didn’t want to lose her brother, not again. I was going to come back, but I was a coward.” Your voice falters, and he wants nothing more than to cradle you in his arms but he knows he can’t and instead watches the rise and fall of your chest. “I was worried that if I came back you would get worse, I’m not good for you Tom. You know that.”

“You’ve always been good for me.”

“You say that cause you love me,” You tease, “But we’re not kids anymore, Tommy.”

He looks at you, older now, taller. He can remember the colour of your hair from the sun, the grass that stained your knees, the way you felt under him. He can remember everything. If you aren’t good for each other, why is he still under your spell?

He can see the way your face contorts, passion evident on your features.“She told me you met a woman, fell in love and got married. I was mad with jealousy at first, like a bloody woman possessed.”

He hates the way your admission makes him feel smug.

“But Ada, she told me she was good for you. She told me how she makes the shovels stop Tom, she makes you a better man. I knew in that moment that you deserved her, and she deserved you. You deserve to be happy, because you’re a good man, Tom.”

You walk towards him, luring him to you like a ship to the shore. He responds immediately, so close that he can feel the warmth of your body, smell the wildflowers that linger on your neck.

“I asked for a sign that night,” you say softly, “a sign that you would be alright.”

“A sign?” He asks almost playfully, just enough teasing in his tone to remind both of you that maybe he isn’t too far gone.

“Yes, a sign, and I got one.”

You tear your eyes from him, down to your diamond encrusted purse in your hands. You open the clasp, and rummage around, slipping out a piece of paper no bigger than your palm. You rest it against your fingertips before holding it out to him, and he slowly takes it, not missing the sparks he feels as your hands touch.

He turns it over, and let’s out a genuine laugh, one that shocks you both.

It’s a newspaper clipping, from one year ago, the black and white print almost seeming harsh under the light of the moon. He traces the picture with the pads of his fingers, smiling more this evening than he can ever remember.

He clears his throat and reads softly, “Tommy Shelby’s mare “Little One” comes first place at national derby.”

Your eyes connect once again, the corners of your mouth upturned. “Little One.” You repeat, “She was my sign.”

He nods, looking down at the picture of the thoroughbred he loved dearly. “She’s the most beautiful horse I’ve ever seen, but she’s stubborn as all hell, can be aggressive too.”

“She sounds lovely.”

“Oh, that she is.”

You tentatively place one hand onto his chest, as if you are taming a wild animal. He responds to your touch like he’s been craving it his entire life.

“I should go, Tom.”

He doesn’t know what to say, or do, something so rare for a man always one step ahead. All he can think of is to cling to you like a child, wanting to savour the moment for as long as he can.

“I don’t want to lose you, not again.” He admits, his tough facade shattering like glass.

“You let me go once before Tom, you can do it again.”

He holds you against his chest, not bothering to wonder who can see him in such a fragile state. A lifetime of memories flutters between you like pages of a book. Everything unwinding in your mind, tears pricking at the back of your eyes. You feel like a teenager again, can smell him beside you, feeling as if you are curled up back in his single bed, running your fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to go back to your wife, Tom. Your beautiful, kind wife. The wife who is good for you, and you’re going to go and be happy.”

He thinks of it all, the money and the mansion. The power, the gold and jewels and paintings that lather every wall in his house, he thinks of everything he has, and wonders how any of it compares to you.

You place one palm against the side of his cheek, pulling him into you and you shake your head as if you can read his mind. You plant a soft kiss against his skin, it scorches into him like a branding, like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. He exhales shakily, watching as you step away from him, forever beautiful and young and enchanting, slipping back into the teenager he chased around sunflower fields and danced with under the stars. Back then his hands were freckled and tanned, now they are covered in blood.

“Goodbye, Tommy.”

“Goodbye, Little One.”

He swears he only turns away for a second, to locate Grace, to try and think of any explanation for his erratic behaviour this evening, to not let you see the emotion flooding over his face like a tsunami, and when he turns back around, maybe to stop you, or maybe to get one final look before you go, you’re already gone.

#peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot #thomas shelby imagine #writing

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hiirunakaarchive · 4 years

Text

– to act in haste (3)

↳ Facts could never be disputed, but natural and insensible phenomenons like fate were fickle and ever-changing. Ethan hoped that maybe the outcome of this god-awful situation he was in right now could be fickle and ever-changing too.

↳ (pt 1), (pt 2), (pt 4)

◇ pairing: ethan ramsey x mc (haruna sakurai)

◇ genre: like 99.9% angst, 0.1% comedy (?) i hope that part of the story was funny man idk

◇ word count: 4.6k+

◇ tags: @aworldoffandoms, @perriewinklenerdie, @jooous, @senseofduties, @moteestro, @anything-but-reality

◇ author’s note: hey friends, i hope yall are staying safe and indoors during these strange times! classes have been moved online, so i’ve been writing and lo and behold –– part three to my series (which i finished a lot sooner that i expected :o) ! i was honestly writing this thinking it’d be the finale but the 10k word count was telling me smth else, so a FOURTH part is gonna be posted and THAT is gonna be the last one! also not to toot my own horn but i really, honestly, TRULY believe this third part is the best ive ever written, and i hope you guys like it as much as i do! like always, feedback is super appreciated and i’d be more than happy to add anyone to the tags! happy reading!

–

Dr. Ramsey was almost never wrong.

Almost.

And he hung on to that almost with a vice-like grip, that one in a million possibility that maybe this time, he could be wrong, and God, he had never wanted to be wrong so badly. But anyone with half a brain could put two and two together and figure out why his spiteful ex-lover stood in his office long after her shift had ended; white coat folded neatly and hugged against her chest with a sealed envelope at hand. Yet, despite knowing fully well what that letter being slid across his desk meant, he dared to challenge the inevitable truth. To let himself hope—

I could be wrong.

He took it in his hands carefully, and tore the envelope open.

Let it be wrong. Let it be wrong, let it be wrong, let it be-

”You’re resigning.”

He read it slowly and steadily, gathering himself with one long breath and the last sliver of calm he could find.

Over the course of the year, Haruna Sakurai had become some sort of a celebrity in Boston’s exclusive world of health care professionals, dubbed the perfect model to emulate in all aspects of being a doctor. She was as kind as she was intelligent, but unflinching in her righteous principles and a terrifying force to be reckoned with.

She was Edenbrook’s most valuable asset, yet the letter of resignation laying open on Ethan’s desk seemed to taunt him in ways that delved beyond a professional context. He regarded it hollowly, absorbing the great loss her departure would serve to the hospital, but also let his mind pathetically wander to the thought of where her resignation would leave the both of them.

It was silly and stupid, because they weren’t even romantically involved anymore. That tranquil period where they sat across from each other in comfortable silence, danced in his kitchen until they realized breakfast was burned, talked and laughed until they couldn’t breathe – it was such a distant memory that Ethan was convinced that it was nothing but a dream.

It didn’t matter because she was slipping from him anyway.

“Losing you would be quite a blow to the hospital, Dr. Sakurai. Is there anything that would make you reconsider?” He had to be impartial.

Convince her to stay. For the hospital, not for yourself, you selfish prick. No more of this lovesick nonsense.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her, and it was deplorable. The year Haruna spent on the fellowship had changed her. She stood taller, spoke louder, smiled wider, and Ethan convinced himself that losing her was a trivial price to pay for the success she so deserved.

Haruna had grit her teeth and accepted his twisted gift, abandoning that whirlwind romance they had, and as compensation, acquired invaluable knowledge that no one could pry from her cold dead hands. She had so clearly moved on, thus, there was nothing left to do but for Ethan to make peace with it and follow suit.

“I’m sorry, but my mind is set. It’s a...career move.”

Yet why did he still insist on making her stay?

“A career move? Dr. Sakurai, you do know that you’re employed at one of the best hospitals in the United States.” He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, and she rolled her eyes at his statement of the obvious.

“Of course I do, but our partnership with Panacea Labs has them trampling on every standard and principle that made Edenbrook one of the best in the first place.”

“I hate saying this as much as you hate hearing it, but that’s not something we can change.” Ethan sighed as he rubbed his temples.

“I know, so I’m leaving before it disappoints me further.”

“Life in and of itself is a disappointment, Dr. Sakurai.” he argued. “We-“

“I’m going back to Japan.” She blurted.

Haruna bit her lip, bringing a hand to her face like it was a secret she meant to keep and just as suddenly as she said it, Ethan’s world stopped all at once. The clock that hung just above the entrance to his office stopped ticking. He saw Haruna’s lips moving as she continued to speak, but couldn’t hear a thing. Every joint in his body seemed to have froze and gone numb. Dead silence enveloped Dr. Ramsey to the deepest part of him that it could dig.

Dr. Sakurai’s confession rang in his ears like a siren, and Ethan wanted nothing more than to make it stop. The loss of what they had stung him to the point that he almost clutched at the imaginary ache of his chest, but despite that, he carried on. Seeing Haruna was never easy, but the dull sting at the sight of her served as a very real reminder that she wasn’t just a dream. That there once existed a period where Ethan loved a woman so much that he was no longer himself. She was real and tangible, and as long as she remained so, Ethan fooled himself into thinking he had a chance and the luxury of time in fixing what seemed to be irreparable.

You can’t fix this anymore.

That cruel realization slapped him back to reality.

“-y parents are encouraging me to come home and work in their hospital. I’m hoping that it can offer me new and invaluable insight– Dr. Ramsey are you listening?”

Ethan lifted his gaze from the envelope on his desk and met her eyes. He stood from his office chair and planted his hands on the surface of the table, leaning forward.

“I’m listening. And what insight, pray tell, can the Sakurai Medical Centre give you that Edenbrook can’t?”

The tone of his voice adopted a subtle bitterness to which Haruna raised a brow. She uncrossed her arms, imitating Ethan’s pose and setting one hand parallel to his on top of his desk.

“It’s a new experience.” She responded impatiently, “A more challenging setting.”

“In the hospital that your parents own? How could that setting ever challenge you the same way we do here?” He continued to prod.

“In ways you couldn’t possibly hope to understand. Are we done here?”

“Not until you tell me the real reason why you’re resigning, Dr. Sakurai. You’ve made a name for yourself in this city, you’ve accomplished what thousands of doctors wished they could at your age. How could you leave that all behind?”

Here they were again, arguing, God, they were always arguing. Both of them were far too proud and far too stubborn to swallow their pride and back down. The only thing that seemed like a capable reminder to keep things civil was the mahogany desk that kept them mere inches apart.

She placed a hand on her hip and leaned closer across the table.

“I think you’re taking things too personally, Dr. Ramsey.” Haruna accused.

She was close. Too close, and Ethan swallowed hard and realized he could never win against her.

He looked away, in denial. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Haruna scoffed.

“Really? Then look at me and tell me that I got this far so early into my career because of my own hard work. Tell me that every doctor in Boston would know my name even if you didn’t use your position to land me that spot on the diagnostics team even though I was in fourth place. Face it, Dr. Ramsey, you don’t want me to leave because it means that everything you did was for nothing.” She spat.

Ethan threw his hands up in aggravation. “Sakurai, this isn’t about me, god damn it! This is about you compromising a perfect career that–”

“You don’t know what it’s like!” She yelled, her voice resonating across the room.

The sudden raise in volume took Ethan by surprise, and he bit back a response as Haruna scowled in an attempt to calm herself.

“You have no idea what it’s like...walking into that room everyday with doctors like you, June and Baz, and knowing that I’m not even supposed to be there. I come in here and see you and am just reminded that every bit of success I have now is because you loved me. Too damn much, if you ask me.”

“You want to know the worst part of it all?” She laughed despite herself. “Acting like I didn’t enjoy every minute of that fellowship, when the truth is that I relished in it. I spent this entire year resenting you yet basking in all this knowledge and these opportunities that you gave me. Then I’d come in the next day and hate you a little less than I did the day before. One day, I woke up and realized that I probably never even hated you at all. If anything, I was...grateful.” She cringed as she said it, then looked at Ethan with contempt.

For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t directed at him, but at herself.

“Do you get it? I can’t keep working here, because the mere sight of you is proof that I’m just as greedy and self-serving as bastards like Declan Nash, and I’d sooner die than become a doctor so disgusting. If I can’t bring myself to hate you, then...” She trailed off and looked away, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The revelation was all too much for Ethan to process, and his mind was riddled with questions. For over a year, he’d wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares of how she regarded him with immeasurable animosity. Was she trying to tell him that, that too, was a facade? A tense muscle in Dr. Ramsey’s jaw relaxed as he asked her quietly,

“Are you running from me, Haruna?”

“If I am?”

They looked at each other in a moment that seemed to end all too quickly, and the weight and meaning of what she said dawned on the both of them. Her eyes widened at the proclamation she mistakenly let slip and Dr. Sakurai snatched her letter of resignation from Ethan’s desk, starting towards the door.

“Never mind. Forget it.”

For a moment, he considered listening to her. To let her go like he’d always done. Every time they spoke, she always ended up leaving anyway. Ethan persuaded himself into believing that she was better off without him, but–

You are never going to have another chance after this.

And he realized, that the moment he let her leave that room, everything would really be over. He’d have to live with the regret of never having taken that final opportunity to mend what they’d both thought was unmendable, or at least try to. Would she have also wished that he’d tried to stop her?

“Wait...I said wait!”

Ethan bolted towards the exit, and Haruna froze in her tracks as he slammed the door back shut as she was about to leave. Her back was to him and his arm remained situated on the wooden surface, inches from her head.

“I need to know, Dr. Sakurai,” He breathed,

“Do I still mean something to you?”

Ethan heard her sharp intake of breath, taken aback by his sudden inquiry. Cautiously, Haruna turned to face him and that calm air of hers that always seemed so natural now looked like nothing but a brittle front to hold herself together.

“You do.” She admitted.

“I still love you, Dr. Ramsey. So much. I’ve loved you all this time but I-“

Her breathed hitched, and like a dam, she, and that distant and unbothered facade she was so adamant on maintaining, collapsed. Her cheeks were wet with tears and Ethan’s face fell as Haruna buried her face into her hands. He willed himself not to hold her.

She wouldn’t want you touching her. You don’t have the right. You don’t-

But against his better judgement he took her in his arms, and the solace he felt with the familiarity of this woman’s warmth, who seemed so small trapped against his chest, overwhelmed him with emotion. It had been so long since he last touched her, and both Ethan and Haruna knew that it may very well be the last. So he held her. He held her the way he wished he could have in the year that they didn’t speak. The way he should have held her from the start. And she let him.

He wasn’t sure if he could ever embrace anyone else the same way ever again.

“God, Ethan, where did we go wrong?” She sobbed.

He rested his chin gently on her head and didn’t respond, because he knew that nothing he could say in this predicament that they were in– no, that they’ve been in, would console her. Dr. Sakurai’s shoulders shook uncontrollably as she cried, and Ethan felt her go slack against him, holding her tighter as he lowered the both of them gently to the floor.

***

She was in his arms for the next hour. Sixty minutes of pure silence, apart from her weeping, and Ethan could do nothing but comfort the woman. He looked up at the ceiling as Haruna sniffled, and couldn’t remember the last time she had let herself be so vulnerable in front of him.

“We can’t be together like this.” She finally spoke, her voice raspy from the crying.

“I-” Dr. Ramsey began, ready to argue. He knew better though, and sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. “I know.”

“Good. So you know that you have to let me leave, then.”

He stayed silent in an attempt to avoid the question. Of course he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. If he did, he’d be acknowledging that this was for the best; and more often than not, the right decision wasn’t always the easiest.

“Haruna, I...” He started in protest, but paused as he felt Dr. Sakurai’s hand slide up to rest on his cheek.

He looked down at her, and wondered if he was being too transparent. If she could see how broken he was at realizing the choice they both had to make. She sat up a little straighter, still in Ethan’s arms and rested her forehead against his. Then she asked him quietly. Pleadingly.

“Please, Ethan.”

How could he ever say no to her?

So he responded wordlessly, tilting his head and bringing his lips to hers. Haruna met him halfway, and a year and a half of fierce self-restraint and inexplicable pining for the feel of each other erupted all at once. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer by the nape of his neck. Ethan cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, softly at first, but every second that passed with her mouth on his summoned a tide of longing that he forced himself to keep latent all this time, and it only urged him to kiss her harder.

“I love you.” He groaned against her mouth. “God, I love you.”

She merely smiled at his reckless confession, holding him by the lapels of his coat until, Ethan, breathless, forced himself to pull away. He brought a finger below her chin and tilted her head up to look at him. Her eyes were red and swollen from the crying and her hair was disheveled from the moment of passion they just shared, but Ethan couldn’t recall ever being in love with her more than he was in that moment.

“Haruna, marry me.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. She looked like she was going to say something in protest, but Ethan continued in order to validate his outrageous request.

“Not now.” He interjected. “You’re going to go to Japan, and become the best damn doctor they’ve ever seen. Your success will be your own, and no one will ever remember that you were ‘The’ Ethan Ramsey’s protege in the first place because you’ll become someone a hundred times better.”

Dr. Ramsey pushed himself off the floor, and pulled Haruna up following that. Her eyes had begun to shine with tears again, dangerously close to falling, and Ethan held her face in his hands. He offered her a comforting smile, but he wasn’t certain if it was meant to reassure her, or to hide his own brokenness.

“Then, if these god damn stars ever choose to align for us and we see each other again, however long that might take, we’ll get married. Is that clear, Rookie?”

She laughed through the tears.

“Crystal, Dr. Ramsey.”

––

Dr. Haruna Sakurai departed for Japan the following week. No one knew of her resignation except for the diagnostics team, Naveen, and her closest friends from intern year, so Ethan remained unbothered at the gossip that rang through the hospital when one day, she had stopped coming to work and no one knew why.

After that evening where he vociferated that almost childish marriage pact, Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Sakurai failed to have another chance to speak. He was busy with his own doctorly duties and Sakurai was preoccupied with tying up any loose ends before she left for good. They’d merely pass by each other in the halls and their interactions alternated between a subtle smile, a curt nod, or a discreet brush of the fingers.

When Haruna accepted his poor excuse of a proposal, Ethan thought he’d convinced himself that it was going to be alright. That things would turn out fine because they parted on good terms and with the knowledge that they’d made the right choice.

So he had to pretend, and to an extent he never did before.

Pretend like he wasn’t heartbroken at the fact that she didn’t say goodbye.

Pretend like he wasn’t just as surprised as everyone else when he came to work and didn’t hear the sound of her voice by the nurses’ station like he would everyday.

The feigning of indifference had embedded itself so deeply into his routine that Ethan believed it was real. He readopted his strictly objective nature, like how he used to be before he met her, and just like that, his world went numb and grey.

“I’m worried for you, Ethan.” Naveen sighed as he sat across Ethan’s desk, genuine concern written all over his face.

Dr. Ramsey didn’t bother looking up as he flipped through applications for the year’s new batch of interns. “We have hundreds of patients to treat and a budget cut that still needs to be solved. I’m not who you should be worried about, Naveen.” He replied dryly.

“My shift ended twenty minutes ago, my boy,” Dr. Banerji chuckled.

“I’m not here as administration, I’m here as your friend. Now tell me, why are you acting this way?”

"Acting what way?” Ethan quipped, setting down a folder to give his mentor his full attention. “I’m not any different from the last twelve years we’ve been working together.”

“Completely and wholly devoted to your job, I know. But in the past twelve years I’ve known you, you’ve never been so...” Naveen rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair as he pondered for the right word. “Anesthetized?”

Banerji eyed Ethan carefully, almost strictly.

“You’ve always been a workaholic, Ethan, but never to the point that you neglected your own health. You’re a walking contradiction as a doctor.”

Ethan knew he was right. If there was anybody in the world that he could never win against in an argument, it was his mentor and his mentee. The three of them were an elite trifecta with a unique bond equipped with boundless knowledge, and Ethan swallowed hard as he remembered her for the first time in the four months since she left.

After coming to terms with her resignation, Ethan thought that their parting satisfied him enough to live on happily and assured of their love for each other. But the following week of being deprived of her presence and being reminded he might never see her again made Dr. Ramsey realize that it was stupidly naive of him to think so. This was nothing like the two months he spent in the Amazon, because he didn’t have that certainty of her greeting him when he inevitably came back. He was unsure of whether the stars really would align for them like he suggested, but certain that he’d never love anyone the same way he loved her.

He drowned himself in work and almost stopped coming home. The bags beneath his eyes had grown so much more prominent, and four months of this self-negligent lifestyle had aged him more than twelve years of working as a doctor of internal medicine ever could. Of course Banerji had been the first one to notice.

“She’s there everywhere I go, Naveen.” Ethan confessed, unable to keep it to himself any longer.

“Can’t even leave this damn office and grab a coffee anymore. I ordered my usual roast at Derry’s, and you know what happened? The barista snuck me a free espresso Romano! Told me, ‘for the other pretty doctor,’ and I almost lost it.”

Dr. Banerji stared in disappointment at his own pupil’s oblivion. He had given him too many invaluable lessons to count, but the one thing he never succeeded in helping Ethan understand was the importance of subjectivity. That sometimes even the most logical and calculated decisions were no match against the fickle loyalties of the heart.

“Answer me honestly, Ethan,” Naveen dropped all hints of playfulness.

“Do you regret letting her leave?”

–– FIVE YEARS LATER

“Do you regret letting her leave?”

When Naveen asked that question, the answer popped into Ethan’s mind shamefully quick. Accompanied with that epiphany, his world, the one that went numb and grey, began to scream altogether. The imaginary pain that once pricked him frivolously like pins and needles hit him all at once and burst into flames. Shallow incisions made to his heart with every thought of her and what could have been, transitioned into relentless, deep cuts that came at a pace faster than he could heal.

Over the course of five years, Ethan stopped trying to fight it and left his heart to be mangled by the regret.

“Yes, I regret it.”

Today marked his seventeenth year of working at Edenbrook, and Dr. Ramsey had lost count of how many batches of interns had come and gone. He still thought about her occasionally, when he’d see her friends in the hospital or at midnight in bed and alone with his thoughts; but time had done a fairly adequate job of healing that wound. Five years in retrospect didn’t seem that long, but it was enough for Dr. Haruna Sakurai’s face to blur and drown into the deepest recesses of Ethan’s mind.

“He’s so freaking fine, but I swear he doesn’t have eyes.”

Making his rounds, Ethan’s brows furrowed irritably at the interns he caught gossiping in the hall. He tucked his clipboard under his arm, more than ready to reprimand them until a calloused hand caught him by the shoulder.

“Shhh. I want to know what they’re saying about you.” Ethan turned his head just enough to see that it was Dr. Lahela.

He never expected to grow close with one of her brother-like figures, but him and the surgeon spent too much time together at the gym, and Ethan grew fond of the younger doctor more than he cared to admit.

“You know Dr. Tremaine? The pretty one with a sixteen thousand follower count on Instagram? She asked him to dinner and he just walked past her like he didn’t hear anything.”

“You did not turn down Dr. Tremaine.” Bryce covered his mouth with a hand, feigning shock and Ethan retorted almost immediately with his own dry humour.

“I think you forget sometimes that the thought of your best friend still torments me.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They turned back towards the young doctors, so deep into their conversation that the two didn’t even bother hiding anymore. Ethan leaned against the wall patiently as Bryce cleaned his stethoscope with an alcohol wipe he dug out from his pocket.

“Dr. Castillo’s brother did his residency here too, and rumour has it that Dr. Ramsey actually had a fling with an intern from his batch a couple years back.”

“Shut up. She must’ve been so hot if she could make Dr. Ramsey budge.”

Ethan leaned over to Bryce, unsure of why he was even following his request of keeping silent.

“My ears are bleeding, Lahela.” He aggressively muttered under his breath.

“Wait, they’re getting to the good part. You know how I love hearing Haruna’s praises sung– wait, Dr. Ramsey!” The surgeon’s voice faded as Ethan ignored his plea, beginning his march towards the rumourmongering interns.

“–Super hot, super smart, and super scary. Apparently she punched Declan Nash in the face once.”

“Shut up! Who is she?”

“You know the one from the last issue of Times? Like, total medical prodigy? Asia’s top doctor who-”

“–Turned her parents hospital into Japan’s top research facility, I know the whole deal. What about her?”

“So, like, she used to work at Edenbrook right? Apparently-”

“You two, interns!” Ethan barked down the hall.

“Dr. Ramsey!” And his terrifying approach was drowned out by Harper Emery’s own voice and the loud clicking of her heels as she rounded the corner.

Complete, utter fear settled into the young doctors’ eyes as they realized that they were in the company of Edenbrook’s most skilled and accomplished staff, one of whom they were gossiping about. Their gaze darted between a cool and collected Harper, and Ethan, who was very visibly seething, and found they could look nowhere else but the floor.

Harper and Ethan rekindled their friendship following Aurora’s transfer to Mass Kenmore. Harper realized that she wanted the fellowship more for Aurora than she did for herself, and thanks to the younger Emery distancing herself from Edenbrook and her aunt’s legacy, the women were closer now than they’ve ever been before.

“We need to talk.” Harper demanded, despite being aware of the tension.

“It might have to wait, Dr. Emery, I’m in the middle of something important.”

Harper stepped towards him and spoke in a voice low enough that only Ethan could hear, her tone demanding his full attention.

“Dr. Ramsey.” Harper repeated, more firmly this time.

Ethan sensed the urgency in her voice, and looked between his friend and the interns. Exhaling once, he shot them one more infuriated look before turning back the way he came and following his colleague. Ethan eyed Dr. Lahela expectantly as him and Harper strolled past.

“You're up, scalpel jockey.” And Bryce smiled excitedly, closing his eyes and getting into character before storming down the hall.

“Coffee must be one hell of a drug if I’m seeing not one, but two interns chatting ‘til kingdom come while they’re still on the damn clock! Both of you, names!”

Harper failed at containing a smile. “You’re a horrible influence, Ethan.”

He shook his head, repressing his own laughter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That pupil of yours wouldn’t leave me alone until I showed him the ropes of...what did he call it, ah– oral persecution. So what was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“You and Dr. Hirata will be in attendance for a medical conference in Kyoto as Edenbrook’s representatives.”

He nodded in response, continuing to look straight ahead as they walked. “Hmph, like always.”

“And Dr. Sakurai will be present as the keynote speaker.”

#choices #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years

Note

Hey, I was wondering if you could do a TK sick or injured fic with the focus on Owen doing the comfort?? I’m loving your writing.

Hope you’re okay with sick and injured, anon, because that’s what I've written! (ao3)

This pairs as my submission for @911lonestarweek‘s day two prompt - I’ll be by your side.

tw - implied/referenced homophobia, implied/referenced drug abuse and overdose, general injuries

The second Owen lays eyes on his son, he immediately knows he’d do anything to protect him from harm. He doesn’t know yet just how difficult that will be, but he suspects - although even his wildest suspicions don’t even begin to cover it. He still swears it, though, right there in the hospital, while Gwyneth is resting and Tyler is asleep in his arms.

“I promise, Tyler Kennedy Strand,” he whispers, almost so quiet he can’t hear himself, desperate as he is not to wake his son. “I’ll always be here for you. I’ll always protect you.”

When Tyler is four - though they’ve switched to calling him T.K. now, his full name becoming too much of a mouthful, and just generally too much - he falls while playing with some friends in the park.

At first, Owen expects him to get up and walk it off; T.K.’s tough like that. And, at first, it seems like he will. He pushes himself until he’s sitting rather than lying on the ground, but instead of getting to his feet, he just stares at his hands.

Owen’s up and moving before the first tear even begins to fall, kneeling next to his son and putting an arm around him protectively. T.K.’s not too injured, fortunately - he’s skinned both of his knees and there’s a tiny cut on his right palm - but Owen knows that the shock of the fall would have been worse than the actual pain itself.

T.K. sniffles and turns his face into Owen’s shoulder, his head tucked under Owen’s chin.

“You’re okay,” Owen murmurs. He pulls away and tilts T.K.’s face up to look at him. “C’mon, bud. How about we get you cleaned up, then we can get some ice cream?”

T.K.’s face lights up and he bounds to his feet, injury forgotten. Owen is slower to get up, his knees cracking, but he smiles as he watches T.K. race around, grinning at the prospect of ice cream despite his bloody knees.

Owen wishes all of a sudden that skinned knees and playground falls would be the only pain his son would ever have to worry about.

ii.

By the time T.K. is fourteen, it’s abundantly clear to Owen why his friends warned him about the teenage years. He’s angry what seems like all the time, pulling away from Owen and shutting himself in his room, snapping over dinner, and his grades are dropping.

Part of Owen knows this is normal - or, at the very least, something all parents have to go through. The other part of him knows it’s far from normal, even for a teenager; T.K. has had, after all, a far from normal upbringing.

And, yeah, Owen knows pretty much every kid over the age of ten in New York has felt the impact of 9/11. Christ, the entire country - the entire world - felt it, maybe even still feels.

But not every kid’s dad was there. Not every kid had to deal with the fact that their parent might not come back - though their family was one of the luckier ones in that regard. Not every kid went through a divorce on top of everything else.

Point is, T.K.’s always had it harder than most, but Owen knows that still doesn’t fully explain this new behaviour. Particularly not when he gets a call one morning, telling him that T.K.’s been in a fight and could he please come in to collect him?

Except Owen can’t go, the alarm going off in the middle of the call, so the school just sends him home, though the woman on the phone clearly disapproves. Gwyneth normally deals with this kind of thing, but she’s away at a conference out of state, so Owen’s left to pick up the slack.

Fortunately, the shift’s only 12 hours, so he’s back home by seven; still not ideal, but it’s the better circumstance. T.K.’s sat on the couch when he gets in, a bag of frozen peas defrosting on the table next to him.

Owen clears his throat and T.K. whips around, exposing a split lip and a developing black eye.

“You should see the other guy,” he says, but the joke falls flat, and he sighs, turning back around and hanging his head. Owen walks over and sits next to him, wincing at the way T.K. shifts away.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asks, as gently as he can. Anger, he’s decided, will not help here.

T.K. shrugs. “I got in a fight. It’s no big deal.”

“No big -” Owen stops and lets out a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Alright, let’s try this again. Why were you fighting?”

“It was nothing.”

“T.K.”

“Nothing, I swear!”

“So you just hit him?” Owen lets a little anger into his voice, and it’s enough to get T.K.’s attention, his gaze sliding over briefly before snapping back to the floor.

“No,” he admits. “It’s just. He said some stuff. Called me a -” He stops abruptly, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Owen raises his eyebrows. “So some kid called you a name, does that mean you should hit him?” he asks. “Come on, T.K., you’re fourteen, not four.”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Owen knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth. T.K. rounds on him, fury in his eyes, but it’s the tears that accompany it that surprise Owen.

“You really want to know?” T.K. demands, though he doesn’t give Owen a chance to answer. “He told me it was my fault you and Mom split up. Said that it’s no wonder neither of you are around considering I’m a -” He stops, stricken. “A f - The f-word,” he finishes quietly.

Owen frowns. “Fuck?” he says, though he doesn’t mean to. He winces, but it’s enough to get T.K. to crack a small smile, brief as it is.

“No, Dad,” he says, strangely gentle. “The other one.”

“The other… Oh.”

“Yeah.” T.K. chews on his lip, then turns to Owen, apparently making his mind up about something. “It’s true, Dad. I’m a - I’m gay.”

“Oh.” And Owen knows that’s not the right thing to say, but he can’t find the right words just now. He watches his son, sorrow filling him at the tears in T.K.’s eyes, at the apprehension on his face, the doubt. Owen hates himself for it.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Owen says eventually. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“Really?”

Owen smiles. “Yeah, really.”

And before he can get another word out, T.K.’s hugging him, so tight that Owen can’t breathe for a second. Once he’s got his breath back, he laughs, and brings his arms around T.K., only just then realising how much he had been missing this.

iii.

The call comes in the middle of the night, just as Owen is finally dozing off after a 24-hour shift. He’s awake and pulling on clothes before he’s even aware he’s moving, calling a cab as soon as the woman puts the phone down. All his instincts are screaming at him to get in the car and drive, but common sense tells him that he’d probably crash it, tired and anxious as he is, and that’s the last thing everyone needs.

The cab doesn’t pick him up for another fifteen minutes, New York traffic playing havoc even at this late hour, and Owen gets more jittery by the second. By the time he’s en route, his mind has gone through every potential scenario, each one worse than the last.

Fuck, how could he have missed this? Sure, he’d noticed that T.K. had become more withdrawn from him recently, and he’s aware that his son likes going out and partying more than is advisable, but he’d just chalked it up to being young.

And yet… The more Owen thinks about it, the more he realises the signs were all there, and he’d missed every single one of them. T.K. had almost died tonight, and it’s all Owen’s fault.

He’s never going to forgive himself for this.

The receptionist at the front desk points him to T.K.’s room, her kind smile doing nothing to calm Owen’s nerves. He races there, earning himself several reproachful looks from staff, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs to see his son.

T.K.’s room is dark, but through the windows, Owen can make out his prone form in the bed. His heart leaps in fear, but then he sees the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the heart monitor beeping out a steady rhythm.

Owen breathes out shakily, taking a moment to compose himself before heading inside.

T.K.’s awake, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He doesn’t acknowledge Owen’s presence in the room, and Owen feels his heart break a little, noting how thin, how small his son looks in the hospital bed.

God, he’s really failed this time, hasn’t he?

But he drags his thoughts away from his own failures; T.K. is all that matters now. Owen eases himself into the chair next to the bed, debating whether or not to speak.

He decides against it eventually, instead just laying a hand on T.K.’s shoulder. T.K. looks over then, briefly, before returning his gaze to the ceiling. But he doesn’t brush Owen off, which he takes as his first victory.

Small steps, he tells himself. Small steps.

iv.

T.K. rarely gets sick; even as a kid, he’d tended to avoid all the coughs and colds that plagued his school friends. His system had taken a hit after the overdose, but recently he’s seemed to have regained most of his old immunity.

Which is why it’s even more concerning when he calls in sick one morning, sounding even over the phone like death warmed up. Owen has to just take it at the time, no time to check on him before his shift, but he’s over to T.K.’s apartment like a shot as soon as he’s done, the fact that it’s the early hours be damned.

T.K. takes a while to answer his knocks, and Owen’s considering breaking in when the door swings open.

“What the hell, Dad?” T.K. croaks, shuffling to the side to let Owen in. Owen doesn’t bother answering, instead surveying the mess strewn all around the place. T.K. doesn’t obsess over cleaning, but he’s generally fairly tidy, and never this messy; the table is buried in tissues, unwashed plates are stacked in the sink, and the laundry basket is overflowing. It makes Owen wonder how long T.K.’s been ill for without saying anything, but he chooses not to think about that too much.

But one look at his son confirms that he’s been feeling under the weather for a while - a few days, at the very least. He’s got tired bags under his eyes, and his face is pale and drawn. He’s hunched over, blankets wrapped around his thin shoulders, and he looks like he’s about to fall over any second.

It reminds Owen violently of the hell withdrawal had wreaked on T.K., on his body, though he’d been mercifully spared most of the fallout from that. T.K. had lasted it out in rehab and, whilst Owen had visited as much as he’d been able, he’d still had a job to hold down.

He wonders if he should feel guilty about being grateful for that.

He shakes the thought from his head and steers T.K. over to the couch, easing him down into it even as T.K. weakly swats at him. Owen glances around the room again and sighs.

“Okay,” he says, then sets to work, starting off with the rubbish on the coffee table.

“Dad, don’t -” T.K. starts, but Owen sends him a look.

“Shut up, T.K.,” he says, and T.K. does.

Owen cleans the entire apartment, guiding T.K. to bed as soon as he starts dropping off because falling asleep on the sofa is the last thing he needs. It’s late when he’s done; too late, he reasons, to go home now. His uniform’s with him in his bag and, besides, he knows he’ll sleep better here with T.K. in the next room.

Sure, T.K. will probably be pissed when he wakes up and finds him still here, but Owen thinks that that’s a price he’s willing to pay.

T.K.’s silent the entire way back from the hospital. So is Owen. There’s no point trying to force a conversation now; T.K. will talk when he’s ready.

They go back to Owen’s apartment, and T.K. heads straight to the roof. Owen is scared for a brief second, but then T.K. turns to look back at him, letting him know that he wanted Owen to follow.

T.K. barely looks at him as they talk, but it’s impossible to miss the shame and guilt in his expression. Owen tries to comfort his son as best he can, wishes he could tell him that everything’s okay, but he can’t. Nothing about this is okay.

He doesn’t know what to do. It’s all too much - Alex, the fact that Owen’s not sure it was as accidental as T.K. claim, his own cancer diagnosis. Even the New York air is stifling to him now.

Owen has lived in this city for pretty much his entire life. He loves it here. Everything he cares about is here. And yet.

Owen makes a split second decision.

“Pack your stuff,” he says. “We’re getting out of town.”

It’s the sort of thing Owen’s been dreading, ever since T.K. decided to follow him into firefighting. He’s always tried to shove the fear to the back of his mind, because their job is dangerous; getting hurt is an inevitability.

The job has put T.K. in the hospital before, but usually it’s just smoke inhalation, or some other simple, non-threatening injury. Nothing like this.

Owen’s trying to be optimistic; the doctors have told him there’s no reason not to be. T.K.’s young, healthy, and the surgery went as well as it could have done. But he also knows that T.K. almost died in that house, and there’s still a chance that Michelle just delayed it by a day or so.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind. He succeeds, for a moment, but all the thoughts are back as soon as he opens them again, the sight of T.K. in that bed bringing too many memories back.

It’s the third time he’s almost lost his son, and the second in six months. He wonders morbidly if they’ve finally run out of chances, but he knows he shouldn’t think like that either.

This is different, though. Before, Owen was able to comfort T.K., to talk to him and hold him through the worst of it. He can’t do anything now except sit, and wait, and pray that T.K. will wake up.

Helpless is not something Owen Strand is accustomed to feeling. And yet, as it settles deep inside his bones, he wonders if it will ever go away again.

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boywivlove · 4 years

Text

| Lutz | 01

Chapters | 02

Pairing: Past Hoseok x Reader | Eventual Jimin x Reader

Genre: Figure skating AU | Slight angst | Fluff

Words: 1K +

Summary : After your last performance at the Junior world championships leaves you with a broken leg, your longtime boyfriend and team mate Jung Hoseok decides to partner with someone else and sign with a new agency for the next competition, leaving you behind with the remains of a severed relationship. 2 years go by and your leg has long since healed, but a nasty blow to your confidence has put you off the idea of return to the competition circuit after being left behind. But when a chance meeting with an old friend catches you by surprise, you find yourself with a new partner. And after working hard you end right back where everything went wrong. But this time your going to show just far you’ve come.

Warnings : Mentions of broken bones and injury | some strong language |

Authors Note: Heyyyy SO Im still here haha, Ive been so busy with work and getting ready for christmas Ive not had time to write, but hopefully people are still here and want to read my skater AU hahah >W<

Its funny how things can change so quickly. You feel like everything just fits together, like a jigsaw portraying the image of your perfect life. You never really think about the perfection shattering like a mirror and you, being left to pick up the pieces of your once perfect reflection. Some things are just not meant to last forever I guess.

It was currently autumn time in your small little town, the leaves had long since shifted from lush greens into the beautiful hues of orange and red, like fire lining the cobbled streets. The chill in the air calling for thick winter wear and stalls of delicious hot foods perfect for this kind of weather. Yet as you walk the busy street, your once beloved time of year now only brought you broken memories and an ache in your bones you couldn’t seem to shift.

You readjusted your messenger bag as you opened the door to the small coffee shop, the bell chiming as you felt the warmth kiss your frostbitten cheeks. It had been two years to the day when your dreams were ripped away from you. It was in this very cafe that you remember every detail of that night, every word he spoke to try and make you see his point of view, as if to soften the blow of his abandonment. Who was he trying to kid? His name was Jung Hoseok, Jhope in the figure skating circles. Yes, THAT Jung Hoseok. Lovable bad boy Pro skater Jung. god. damn. Hoseok. It was such a bad break up, if you could call it a break up. More like complete abandonment in your opinion. Who the hell abandons their girlfriend and skating partner for competition? Him thats who.

It all happened at the junior world championships. You and Hoseok had been partners for 10 years, ever since you could balance on your skates. and for 5 years you had been a couple going strong. All the training you put in had led up to that moment, the moment to prove yourselves and be scouted out by the mass of agencies that had attended in hopes of snatching some new blood. It was finally your turn and you both breezed through the routine, the toe loops? no sweat. the Salchows were child’s play for you both. But then came the triple lutz. You had practices this particular move almost a hundred times and every time you were near perfect. But that one particular moment. The one time you needed to be flawless, lady luck decided fortune was not in the cards for you. You lost footing mid air and Boom. One broken femur and a trip to the hospital later you felt your ego bruised and your chances of being talent scouted shot.

It was two months later into your recovery Hoseok had asked you to meet at the cafe you sat in now, four booths over in fact. You had arrived a little late due to your injury inconvenience. He had ordered your favourite hot drink, peppermint hot chocolate and asked how you were. You didn’t think nothing of it but he had been distant since the accident. It wasn’t anything you felt you had to worry about, you were confined to the house the majority of your time after being released from the hospital so it was natural to you you hadn’t seen him in weeks. It was only when he cleared his throat and bit his lip you knew something was on his mind, it was a habit he had since he was a kid. Time seemed to slow down in that moment as your world caved in from under you.

“hey listen,, this is a little hard for me to say…”

“oh? is everything alright? I know we haven't been able to practice in a while but once im all healed-”

“no no its,,, look Y/N ill be straight with you.”

“ o- ok?”

“Y/N,, I want to go somewhere with my figure skating. and with you off the ice for the foreseeable,,,, I dont think I can go anywhere.”

“ oh… uh- so,, are you saying you want to go solo?”

“Not quite,,, aghhh listen, after your accident I realised were on different levels in our skating, this just proves it. This competition should have been easy for us and you go and break your leg for fucks sake,”

“oh like it was my intention to make an idiot of myself out there? How can you blame me for that?! Hoseok if you just wait we can work, I can work on my routines. i ca-”

“Y/N I cant say thins any other way but, I got a call from the S.F.S.A and they want me in their program. They’ve partnered me with a great skater and she-”

“Wait… you've already signed with them,,, and got a new partner. Hoseok I cant… I cant believe you. We always said we skate together or not at all. and you know how much I wanted us to get into S.F.S.A TOGETHER? Its like you dont care about anything we worked towards… and just because I broke my leg? … I just. I cant believe you.”

“come on Y/N dont be like this. This is a big opportunity for me. The Seoul Figure Skating Association in a BIG deal. I thought you’d understand. Your my girlfriend why are you being like this”

“Im HURT Hobi!? The slightest inconvenience and you throw me away? ,,,”

The silence was deafening as the two of you sat in that booth, The lighting overhead made Hobis blonde tips look almost white, and your eyes shimmer with unshed tears. It was as if the Hobi you knew, the man you’d loved since childhood had disappeared the moment he sat down. After all the hard work and effort you had put in, both in your teamwork and relationship, was it all for nothing.

“I dont think this is gonna work between us anymore… Things, things change. People change and, I want this Y/N. I cant wait for you anymore.”

Those few sentences broke your heart. With nothing else to say to him you stood up, your crutches steadying you as you said nothing, what could you say to someone who just threw away everything you had together for a chance at bettering his career,,, a career you both put so much effort into. A career he was perusing with someone new. Hoseok stood with you when you struggled to adjust your bag around your head, he looked as though he wanted to help you, but the angry tears threatening to spill out of your reddening eyes was enough to tell him not to. As you made your way to the entrance you looked back at him, his face was masked in an almost pained expression, his cheeks were starting to pinken and his jaw was shaking slightly as thought he was about to cry. You left the shop before you could hear him saying its for the best. if that was what he thought then he can leave you. You were just thrown to the kerb and in that moment. your perfect world had shattered. your reflection left broken into pieces on the floor.

So, two years later and here you sit, in the same cafe, looking over to the booth your whole life came crashing down. Your leg had healed well, and you took back to the ice almost instantly to train yourself up again, but after the pain of losing your partner on and off the ice, you just couldn’t find the confidence you once had. It was as if your competitive lust for figure sating had left you with Hobi. It was after your loss of confidence your mental health took an even bigger hit, you felt yourself declining from the world and the people around you as you just got by day to day. You felt you could heal from what happened physically, but not mentally. But all grey clouds have a silver lining, days went by, the sun came up, and you eventually felt like yourself again. It took a lot, but it was the lack of self confidence in yourself that led you to your current occupation, your local ice rink had an opening for the overseeing the beginners lessons for ages 5-10, as much as you wished you could get back to being the skater you once were, the kids have grown on you. Your days that were filled with dull moping around the now very single woman’s apartment was now filled with tiny rosy cheeked little faces eager to learn. and everyday you felt yourself becoming more and more like yourself. And its this part of your life when you meet someone who turns it all around for you.

#btsbookclub #armysource #jung hoseok fanfic #jung hoseok x reader #jung hoseok #hobi x reader #hobi fanfic #jhope x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts ice skating au #ice skating au #bts figure skating au #park jimin x reader

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aestheticseungmean · 4 years

Text

Memories-Ateez

Synopsis- After an accident causing you to be chained to the hospital bed makes you forget your memories, soon you’ll remember each member.

Warning: This is 𝑛𝑜𝑡 accurate.

Colors are the memories

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The wires trapped you to the bed. The tubes made your nose sore but you needed them so you could breathe. The IV made you unable to move your arm much and the constant in and out of sleeping exhausted you. The raspy sound of you breathing and the steady beeping of the monitor were the only sounds in the room. But that sound was soothing to the people who visited you because it meant you were still alive. Blinding lights gave you constant headaches all the time. Words came out of your mouth but they were weak. “Mingi?” He looked up at you hopefully. “Yes?” “Can you turn the lights down?” Happily, he turned down the lights.

Slowly, you were slipping into sleep until a sharp pain shocked you awake and you gasped for air. “MINGI-“ you grasped the bed, your body shaking vigorously. Scared, he called the doctors who ushered him out of the room. “NO. I NEED TO BE IN THERE WITH HER.” He fought and clawed until security dragged him to the waiting room. The boys that were waiting for him had to hold him back. “I know that she’s important to you, Mingi but she’s important to us too.” “YOU DON’T KNOW HOW BAD IT HURTS, SEONGHWA.” Mingi turned towards the doors but Seonghwa turned him around. “BULLSHIT, MINGI. I’M HER BOYFRIEND FOR FUCK SAKE. I LOVE HER SO YEAH, I KNOW HOW BAD IT HURTS. NOW SIT DOWN.”

It was currently 3 AM so nobody was being bothered except the few nurses that remained there. Mingi reluctantly sat down. A few hours later, Seonghwa went to grab some drinks. As he was coming back the doctor came out. “Mingi, your sister has stabilized but…she might have lost some or all of her memory including you guys.” Audible gasps were heard as Mingi dropped down onto the floor and cried. This was worse than when his parents died. Shock froze Seonghwa and he dropped the tray of drinks. The liquid splattered everywhere and tears welled in his eyes. “Can we see her?”asked Jongho. The doctor nodded and the boys followed him leaving the mess for the janitor.

There you sat even worse than ever. You had a new gown and I.V. The medicine wore off and you were awake. You looked with wide eyes at the boys coming into the room. Mingi reached out to touch your hand but you pulled it away. “Who are you?” That’s what it took to make Mingi break down again. His own sister didn’t remember him. You looked around the room and a red-haired boy caught your attention. You knew him but you couldn’t put your finger on it. He softly smiled at you and then it hit you. “Hongjoong?”

Memories flooded your head. Hongjoong washed your cuts and bruises. “I’m going to start calling you Eomma, Joongie. He smiled at you and played along. “Then I should call you grandma because you are prone to accidents.” “Yah! You act like I hurt my finger when I touch you.” Laughter filled the air. “You did remember?” Another memory popped up. “HONGJOONGIE? GUESS WHAT DAY IT IS?” “Is it hump day?” “No.” You pouted. Hongjoong smiled at you being cute. “IT’S. MY. BIRTHDAY!” Each breath, you poked him. “I’m twelve now!” “Old lady! Old lady!” You poked him again and held your finger. “OW, MY FINGER!” “I’ll kiss it to make it better.” He kept true to his word and kissed your finger. “Thanks, Joongie~”

Hongjoong moved towards you and nodded. “It’s me. How did you know?” “Your smile, Hongjoong Eomma.” A loud sob came from the floor and you saw the boy that tried to touch you. He was crying and you couldn’t figure out why. “Excuse me, nurse?” The nurse who was doing your vitals looked at you. “Can you help me to the bathroom?” She nodded and helped you. When you flushed the toilet, you turned to the sink. You looked up and gasped. The slightly less plump lips and a softer nose stood out to you. You had the same features as the boy but softer and smaller. With the nurse’s help, you waddled back to the room.

A few weeks later, you could walk by yourself. The same 8 boys came to the room everyday. Each time, the same boy cried. He was sitting in the chair biting back his tears when you got up and slowly walked towards him. He looked up at you confused. Softly, you grab his hand and held it before asking a question. “You’re my brother aren’t you?” Realization came to him and he jumped up and nodded. You made an m sound with your mouth but you couldn’t continue. His name slipped your mind. “M-m-mi-“ you sighed. “It’s okay, I’m just glad you remembered who I was to you.” You softly brushed away his tears and smiled. “I’ll get it so don’t tell me.” He nodded and hugged you. “Yeosang, come here.” You heard from somewhere in the room. Yeosang you repeated. Yeosang, Yeosang, Yeosang.

A brief memory of you being pushed on the swing on a summer afternoon appeared. You were laughing and smiling with the boy who was pushing you but you kept screaming. “Yeosang, higher.” “Don’t fall.” But you did. You fell and cried. The boy carried you in his arms to your house and you could hear your brother reprimanding him. “SHE SAID HIGHER.” “THAT DOESN'T MEAN YOU SHOULD DO IT.” “SHE’S 18! YOU DON'T HAVE CONTROL OVER HER LIFE.” You stared at the ceiling waiting for it to stop. “EVER SINCE MOM AND DAD DIED IN THAT CRASH, IT HAS BEEN JUST US SO SORRY IF I AM TOO PROTECTIVE.”

Yeosang. You remembered. “Excuse me, um M-Min- argh! I’ll be right back.” Quickly, you scanned the room and saw a boy with a birthmark on his face. You tapped on his shoulder. He turned around hopeful. “Yes?” “Yeosang!” You were sure of it. He looked the same as the boy just older. “You remembered!” He hugged you. “Yeosang, higher,” you repeated from your dream. “That was two years ago.” “I remember though.” They were excited that you were slowly remembering them through memories. Within two weeks, you remembered two out of eight names and three out of eight faces. Even the doctor was surprised by her recovery speed. Thinking of the doctor, he came into the room to deliver news.

“Glad to see you are all awake!” “Hello, doctor.” All eyes and ears were on him. “You can go home in two days, we just want to run a few more post trauma tests. At the rate she is going, she might remember you all by the end of the year.” Cheers and smiles filled the room. Two days later, the celebration began. You walked home to the house that you found out was shared with all eight boys. A “Welcome Home” banner hung over the cake that said the same thing. Mingi hugged you and sat you in front of your cake. “Vanilla cake with the frosting cold, just how you like it.” You took a bite and savored the flavors.

Then it hit you. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear, Jongho! Happy birthday to you.” You could hear Yeosang start the korean version. “생일 축하합니다! 생일 축하합니다! 사랑하는 종호! 생일 축하합니다!” He blew out the candles and your brother served the cake. “I’m going to put my cake in the fridge. I like the icing cold.” “Then I will too because you are the food connoisseur.” You giggled at Jongho placing his piece next to yours. Soon all the boys were following suit. “Now how are we going to tell them apart?” “Mine has any name on it.” “Let’s organize them by age.” You put yours next to Yeosang’s since you were only a few months older. In the meantime, you guys danced to the different songs that were playing on the radio.

“I remember Jongho’s birthday.” “I’m glad my birthday was so memorable.” You looked at your cake intensely. Quickly, you got up and turned the radio on. A song from your memory was playing and you danced along. “Come join me!” The nine of you laughed and danced and ate cake all night long. It was time to head to bed but you found one of the boys sleeping there. Being nice and trusting, you laid next to him and closed your eyes. “Why can’t you remember me? Was our relationship not memorable?” Nothing came out. Frankly, you couldn’t think of anything to say. Instead, you fell asleep. When you woke up, you left a note. “I’m sorry I don’t remember our relationship. Hopefully I will soon.”

The first sweatshirt you could find, you threw on. It was a bit big on you and you wondered why. You ran a brush through your hair but you couldn’t do anything with it. You couldn’t remember how to braid or anything else. “Do you need help with that?” A shortish boy stood in the doorway. He had a bright smile and fluffy hair. “Yes please.” Feeling obligated, you lowered yourself. “Ah, thank you.” His fingers intertwined in your hair slowly French braiding it. It felt like Deja Vu. The whole thing felt familiar. The boy’s fingers braiding your hair as he hummed. You slouched so he could reach the top of your head. Him catching your eyes in the mirror and smiling.

“Ahh, too tight!” “Relax, it will loosen up. I didn’t pull your hair that tight.” You looked at him in the mirror wincing every time he pulled another strand. “Wooyoung-ah. I’m going to be bald by twenty-five because of you.” Wooyoung laughed. “You are such a whiny baby.” “Can you sing me a song?” “Which one?” You shrugged. He started humming 𝕊𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕄𝕖 by BTS. Not realizing it, you started to sing along to it. As the song ended, Wooyoung put in the ponytail holder. You stood up. “Thank you!” “You whined the whole time and now you’re going to act like you didn’t,” he teased. “Sorry, Wooyoung-ah.” You held a finger heart up and he reciprocated it. “You’re welcome.”

Just like the memory, he finished humming and put in the ponytail holder. Carefully, you stood up and hugged him. Confused, he hugged you back. “Thank you, Wooyoung!” “You remembered me! Was it me braiding your hair for the first time?” “I don’t know but we sung um- I’ll hum it for you.” You hummed 𝕊𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕄𝕖 and he smiled. “I remember that day, you were getting ready for homecoming. You were so pretty! Let’s go look at the pictures.” Before you knew it, you were being dragged to the hall of memories. Photos from all family and friend events were littered on the wall. He pointed at one with you in a short, poofy dress. You recognized the boy in it as the one who shared the room with you. The boy was in almost every photo with you and your eyes wandered down the hall.

You made your way to the living room but the picture remained in your head. For the rest of the night, you were distracted. You knew Wooyoung, Yeosang, Hongjoong and Jongho. That’s half the battle at least. Confused from the conversation the boys were participating, you got up. “Where are you going?” You looked at your brother. “Just going to wander around the house.” With nowhere in mind, you wandered back into your room. The pink and blue lacy fabric caught your eye from the closet. Curious, you picked up the dress. Almost immediately, you remembered the picture. It was your homecoming dress.

That night, you laid staring at the ceiling and the boy wrapped his arms around you. The rings on your fingers matched and for a minute you could hear his voice when you got it. “It’s a promise ring because I am so in love with you, it hurts.” A smile appeared on your face. You didn’t know who he was but it felt right. Slowly and carefully, you grabbed his hand and drifted off to sleep. The morning light peaked through the bathroom and onto your face. Annoyed, you got up and started your day. Before you knew it, you were in the kitchen making pancakes. A yawn sounded behind you. “Wah, pancakes!” You turned and saw a bright smile.

“I’m hopeless, San. All I can make is scrambled pancakes.” You pouted and he squished your cheeks. “Here, let’s make pancakes together.” When you got scared to flip the pancakes, he grabbed your hand and helped you flip it. Finally, you got a good pancake. “SAN, WE DID IT!” You hugged him tight and jumped in joy. You eventually learned how to make pancakes from scratch and it became the favorite around the boys. Once a week, you woke up and made pancakes and the boys would slowly gather around the table at the smell. “PANCAKES ARE SERVED.” “WAH, PANCAKES!” “You are so dramatic, San.” He giggled at you. “Pancake day is the best day.”

“I don’t know how I know the recipe but I guess it’s pancake day, San.” “Pancake day is the best day!” You laughed and waved him over. San practically skipped over to you. “Here, try this.” You held up a tiny pancake to his mouth and he bit it. “Wahhhhh, just like last time.” Rolling your eyes playfully, you laughed and playfully pushed him. “So dramatic.” The smell of pancakes cooking caused a crowd around the table. Excitement filled the air as the boys looked at the pancakes. “We missed good pancakes.” “Hey!” “Sorry, hyung.” You laughed at Wooyoung and Hongjoong’s banter. “Eat up guys.” No movement was made. “We need a picture of you with your pancakes.” You did nothing but smile for the picture. After that click was heard and an okay came from Mingi, the boys didn’t hesitate to go for the food.

Within an hour, all the pancakes were gone. “That’s yummy in my tummy!” “Aww, San is so cute!” “Stop, Wooyoung!” Wooyoung shook his head no and teased San even more. “This photo will look good up on our wall of memories!” “First photo since the accident.” The boys were chattering happily. “What happened to me?” You whispered softly, almost afraid to ask. The noise died down and the boys looked at you with sadness in their eyes. Mingi spoke up. “You were at a gymnastics competition and you were winning. A girl got jealous and put stuff on the balance beam before your turn. Of course you were last so no one else would get hurt. Going for the final round off and flip to exit off the beam, you slipped and hit your head. At the hospital, you had a seizure and you lost your memory.”

“But you are gaining it back!” Yeosang tried to lighten the dark news. “Yeah, that’s good news…” You put on a fake smile. “I guess.” Deep down, you wanted to cry and have someone hold you tight. “I’m going to go shower.” Everyone looked concerned but you were already off to the shower. The water was warm when it hit your back. You drew with the suds against the wall. Angry, you finished your shower and threw on leggings and a shirt. After blow drying your hair, you put it up and went outside. “Let’s see how much I can remember.” You were stretching when San saw you through the window. “GUYS COME HERE.” Everyone was waiting to watch you, scared. You did a basic cartwheel and it felt good. Then, you did a handspring and laughed. Taking a running start, you did a round off into a back handspring, to a double twist and landed perfectly.

The boys cheered even though you couldn’t hear them. Filled with exhilaration, you got up on the balance beam. Starting slow, you did a handstand into the splits. Flipping yourself back up, you did more flips and tricks. You landed on the ground gracefully and bowed to your imaginary crowd. Immediately you got embarrassed when the boys came out. “Did you see that!” “You did amazing!” Happily, you made your way to the trampoline when your brother stopped you. “You were struggling with the trampoline and kept hurting yourself, please don’t.” “I feel like I have to do this. Just to try it out.” He let go of you and watched you perform tricks perfectly whereas before, you could barely get a backflip in. You landed and stopped yourself.

You did the back twist but couldn’t get your feet down in time so you landed on your stomach. “FUCK!” Once again, you got up to do the trick again. Again, you failed. Sighing, you took a break and sat on the trampoline. A memory popped up in your photos and you watched the video. “You got this, sis!” “Mingi, catch me!” You fell and he caught you. “That was a good back handspring! You’re getting better on the balance beam.” “I did it for you.” Another video popped up. “Now announcing contestant 478.” You powdered your hands and perfectly executed your routine. Now it was time to see who goes to the finals. “And in first place to the finals is number 478!” You ran to Mingi and your boyfriend who kissed you. “You’re so amazing!” Smiling, you put your phone to the side and kept trying until you got the tricks down.

Smiling brightly, you stood on the edge of the trampoline. “I REMEMBER!” You stumbled a bit and couldn’t catch yourself. “MINGI!!” He leaped forward and caught you. “You said my name!” The smile on Mingi’s face was from ear to ear. He sat you down and you walked over to Seonghwa. “In my memory, you kissed me. I remember but I can’t remember your name for now. Please don’t tell me. I want to learn it.” Seonghwa nodded but was dying inside. It hurt him that you don’t remember his name. He wanted to hold you and kiss you again.

After the fun in the yard, you went inside and sat on the couch. Yunho plopped down next to you. “I remember the day we met. You were practicing for your gymnastics competition and you accidentally ran into me. I was new to the area and was nervous. You bought me ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. My favorite part was you introducing me to your friend group. Best decision I ever made was to go to the ice cream parlor with a stranger.” You laughed and listened. It was a cute story you thought.

“Come on, you can do this!” You were encouraging yourself. Then you started to do your practice routine. For the finale you landed and turned right into an unexpected passerby who fell. “ARE YOU OKAY?! I AM SO SORRY.” The boy shyly smiled at you. Politely, you offered your hand to which he took. “I’m ____!” “I-I’m Yunho.” “You don’t look familiar.” “I just moved here.” You perked up. “Let me take you to get some ice cream! To say sorry and as a new step in a possible friendship.” That was the first time Yunho had smiled in ages. “Okay!” The two of you talked until you got to the ice cream parlor. As soon as you had your ice creams, you walked with him to your house. ”I want you to meet my brother.” The door opened and your brother appeared with the trash. “Mingi, this is Yunho my friend. Yunho, this is my brother, Mingi.” There was an awkward silence.

“There was a tension between you and Mingi.” “Ah, you’re remembering me!” He ruffled your hair. “YAH, YUNHO!” Yunho got up ready to run. You chased him around the living room laughing. “Get back here!” “Never!” Out of breath, you both threw yourself onto the couch. A smile covered your face. You couldn’t help it. These boys brought you happy memories and they make you happy, even if you can only remember a few. A movie was turned on by one of the boys and you fell into the film. Dozing off was hard to not do but you found yourself doing it anyway. Finally, sleep took over and you were out cold. Seonghwa bid goodnight and carried you to bed.

You have decided that the sun is holding a grudge against you. It’s like it is its mission to blind you and so far, it is working. Lazy day today you thought. You dragged yourself out of bed and into the closet. The boys had left to go do something so you decided to do nothing. There it was sticking out like a person wearing neon orange. The dress laid alone in the corner almost begging you to put it on. Ultimately, you took it to the bathroom and slipped it on. You twirled and watched the bottom flare out.

“Wah, you are so pretty!” “Thanks, Wooyoung!” Mingi beckoned you over for a picture. You had been going out with Seonghwa for three months and he had asked you to Homecoming. Seonghwa wrapped his arm around your waist and stood beside you beaming. The music was blaring and pretty much everyone was either making out or grinding. You simply danced with Seonghwa. “I love this song.” He grabbed your hand and started to slow dance with you. You were distracted. As the song ended, you looked up. “Seonghwa?” He looked at you. “I love you.” It was as if he’d won the lottery. “I love you too!” Without thinking, he kissed you and the two of you got lost in the moment.

“WE’RE HOME!” You raced out and hugged Seonghwa. “W-What is this?” You said nothing, instead, you grabbed his shirt and pulled him down for a kiss. “I fucking love you so much, Seonghwa.” After the shock wore away, he kissed you again. This time deeper. When he pulled away out of breath he couldn’t help but smile. “I love you so much too!” He looked at you again and realized that you were wearing your homecoming dress. “That is my favorite memory of us.” “Mine too, Seonghwa. Mine too.” Finally, you had remembered everyone but you got hit with one last memory. This one had all of you.

Mingi stood there crying and you couldn’t help but let a few tears fall either. The nine of you watched as the funeral home buried your parents. You remembered the fact that they were just home smiling and leaving for date night. “Bye guys. Have fun!” “You too mom except, don’t have too much fun.” Horror hit you as every mean thing you have ever said to them flashed through your mind. How you wished you could take it back. The few tears turned into uncontrollable sobs. You couldn’t stand, it hurt too much. Anger and sadness controlled your emotions and you ran out into traffic. Arms wrapped around you but you pulled away and looked at Seonghwa angrily. “Come back to me. Stay with me.”

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez mingi #ateez hongjoong #ateez wooyoung #ateez san #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez jongho #ateez seonghwa #wooyoung #mingi #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #jongho #yeosang #choi san

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p4nkow · 5 years

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Happier - part IX

Here we are! Technically it’s the last part of this fic but practically there still is the epilogue yet! It’ll be my chance to leave to y’all my thank-you-notes and tell you how grateful I am :)

So, enjoy the reading and let me know what you think of it!

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII

Summary: you work as an assistant at EMI and you meet Roger while organising Queen’s gig at Hyde Park. lots of fluff but then, after months of relationship, Roger admits something that breaks your heart and the two of you break up. You try to move on and so does he, but after two months of being apart you meet at a pub and you both have a date. What will happen? But most importantly, will you and Roger fall in love again after being forced to see each other everyday?

You were so nervous during the ride that you just couldn’t stay still. That’s probably why you gained a few confused looks by your uber.

“You okay, miss?” The old lady seemed worried so you fake a little smile and just nodded.

“Yeah, just a bit nervous.” To say ‘a bit’ was an understatement, actually, but the lady nodded at your words.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking but is something important happening to you today?”

You bit your lower lip at her question. Talking to her helped you not to overthink about what you were about to do and that’s why you gave her a grateful smile before answering. “Something like that, yeah. Could you...” You felt a knot in your throat as you kept talking. “Could you please wait for me? It won’t take long.”

The lady nodded without moving her gaze off the street and you sighed in relief. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks.”

And now, while climbing the stairs of the building, you were more and more sure of your decision, because you’d finally understood what your heart wanted and needed.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to knock at Noah’s door, and while you tried to force yourself to do it, you caught the attention of his neighbour.

“He’s home, if you’re wondering.” A mid-aged lady was looking at you, leaned against the half-opened door of her apartment. You turned towards her, giving her a tight smile and murmuring “Thanks.”

“Are you his girlfriend? The one of the dog?”

You narrowed your brows at her words, secretly hoping Noah wasn’t hearing the conversation. “I’m sorry?”

The smile of lady didn’t change as she narrowed her eyes. “A couple of weeks ago he nicely asked me if I could look after his girlfriend’s dog — which was really an angel, let me say. I think he went to visit her somewhere. Was that you?”

Her explanation left you speechless and that’s why you just nodded your head ‘yes’ at her question. At least you knew Ringo had been in good hands.

Did really Noah call you ‘his girlfriend’ or was it just an assumption of the lady?

“Yeah, it was me”, You softly said, but you felt your heart sank at her words. Noah’s come back heartbroken from that little trip in Montreux.

After reassuring her of the fact that Ringo was just fine, she went back to her flat and you finally knocked at the door, not without taking a deep breath first.

Noah was clearly surprised to see you, given the shocked look on his face. “Y/N.”

“Hey.” You gave him a tight smile, anxiety eating you alive as moments passed. “May I come in?”

He seemed busy — his hair was messy and you noticed he had bags under his green eyes. “Of— Yeah, of course.”

He stepped aside and you walked in the flat, looking at him in silence while he closed the door behind you. You gave a quick look at the flat, which was full of papers and notes. “Are you busy? I hope I’m not bothering.”

“Oh no, no.” He slipped his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply. “I was just working.”

“I won’t stay for long, then.” He nodded towards the couch, silently asking you to sit next to him. While you did that, you turned towards him and said “I’m leaving.”

He narrowed his brows, placing his arm on the back of the couch, his eyes fixed on yours. He seemed tired. “For tour?”

You nodded your head ‘yes’ at his question. “Yeah, I’m joining the band in Paris and then we’ll leave for the US.”

“Yeah, Prenter told me. I called a few days ago to make sure everything was fine.”

There were a few moments of silence, which you decided to break by saying “I’m sorry.”

He narrowed his brows at your words and his lips parted given that he was about to say something, but you interrupted him. “Please, just listen to me.” And when he nodded in agreement you kept going. You took a deep breath, placing your hands on your thighs to stop them from shaking. “Roger and I x- we’ve met in ‘76. I was organising Queen’s gig at Hyde Park and that’s how I’ve known him. We’ve been together for two years before breaking up.”

You could tell Noah wasn’t happy about the subject of the conversation but he nodded at your words, telling you to keep going. “The day we met him during our first official date, we’d broken up for two months. The reason why I... lied to you, it was because he hurt me. He hurt me more than I liked to admit, but I haven’t been fair to you.”

You took a deep breath, raising your gaze to meet his. He was looking at you with attention, following every single one of your words. “You gave me the quietness and lightheartedness I needed and I’ll forever be grateful to you for that.”

Your tone was low and soft when you placed a hand on his arm, giving him a tight smile when he did the same. “And I know I hurt you, even though I never meant to. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I believe you”, Noah said, speaking for the first time after hearing your explanation. He looked away just for a few moments, taking a deep breath before looking at you again with a sad smile. “And I know you well enough to know this is a goodbye.”

His jaw clenched when you nodded your head ‘yes’ and he sniffled. “Yes”, You whispered and he nodded. A chapter had been closed and another one had still to be opened.

It took you and hour and a half — the length of the flight from London to Paris— to find the right words to say to Roger once you’d get to the airport. You knew he’d be there, John had told you so the day before when you called him to check on Michael, and that’s why you were incredibly nervous.

Talking to Noah made you feel like you’d taken a weight off your shoulders but there still was another obstacle to overcome: finally telling Roger that you were still bloody in love with him.

Every step you took to get out of the terminal did nothing but make you more and more nervous. You were holding your baggage so tight that your knuckles turned white.

And there he was, in all his glory. Roger was of course wearing one fur coat of his and the brown shades you’d started to like. His hands rested in his pockets and he was looking towards the terminal to spot you, probably ignoring what Brian was telling him.

Finally his blue eyes met yours and it was like being able to breathe again after weeks. He took a few steps towards you, leaving the boys behind him. It was like you were attracted to each-other with a magnet and when you finally got in front of him you just couldn’t stop smiling. He seemed amazed and extremely excited to see you again, his lips parted as if he was about to say say something but then he changed his mind.

“Hey, Rog”, You softly said as your smile grew wider. He took off his shades and finally his blue eyes met yours.

“Hey, love”, He replied with a grin. You let go of your baggage and threw your arms around his neck, holding him in a tight embrace. He gently caressed your back as he placed the other hand between your hair, whispering in your ear “Missed you.”

You didn’t know how to reply, given that you were still trying to summon up the courage to tell him the truth, so you limited yourself to hold him tighter.

When you leaned back to meet his eyes, you placed your forehead against his, his blue eyes fixed on yours. You gently caressed his cheek, appreciating the familiar feeling of his skin against yours as you noticed that your lips were just a few inches away from his.

“Just give them some privacy!”, You heard Veronica murmur and you chuckled, backing away from Roger as Freddie moved closer to you.

“Oh my dear, everything’s been a mess since you left!” He placed a hand on your shoulder and you were more than happy to notice that he hadn’t changed at all — he was still as dramatic as always.

“But I’m back now.” Your words came muffled to his ears when he hugged you tight and you let out a small laugh.

“And please never leave again.”

“Is it my turn?”, Brian asked, looking at you with the biggest smile as you greeted him.

“Missed you, space boy.”

He gave you an amused look by hearing his old nickname and replied by saying “Missed you too, bossy.”

“Ok that’s enough”, John said by stepping in the conversation. His smile grew wider as he met your gaze and you let out a little squeak of excitement before hugging him tight, murmuring “I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here.”

“Oh hush, Y/N. As you said, you’re here now.” You quickly nodded, trying to hold back the tears while turning towards Veronica.

“Hey, you”, You said with a smile, trying to fight back the knot in your throat.

“Hey, auntie”, She replied and you lowered your gaze to the baby she was holding — little Michael was the most beautiful baby you’d ever seen.

“I wanted to be here for you”, You whispered, meeting again her gaze.

“But you’re here now. You needed your time, Y/N. Don’t apologise for that.” You nodded and gave her a sad smile, so she said in a cheerful tone “Now, I introduce you Michael Deacon.”

Your smile grew wider as you looked at the baby, his little hand wrapped around your index finger. “I already love him.”

“Fine, let’s go”, Roger said after clearing his throat and the look in his eyes when you me this gaze made your heart race. Because all you saw in his deep, blue eyes was love.

You spent most of the ride to the hotel playing with the baby, updating the boys on what was happening in London and hearing their funny stories of their recordings in Paris. You’d leave for the US in the morning and one could easily feel the excitement in the air.

You hadn’t the chance to see much of the city but when you got to the hotel you were amazed by its architecture. Roger noticed your amazed look and asked “You like it?”

“It’s so… posh.”

“Posh?”, He asked with a small laugh and you nodded.

You were about to drop your baggage — it was so heavy you could barely hold it — but he noticed it and quickly grabbed it, his hand touching yours by doing so. “It’s so heavy, you don’t have to do it.”

“I’ve got it. C’mon, I’ll show you your room.”

And as you walked through the hallway of that amazing french hotel, there was a weird silence between the two of you. Roger was lost in his own thoughts and you were desperately trying to find the right moment to confess him everything.

“I went to Noah’s before coming here.” Probably not the best subject of conversation but you wanted to be honest with him.

“Did you?”, He asked and he didn’t seem happy about it.

“I wanted to make things all clear with him before…”

“Before what?” He asked, stopping by the door number 26. He rummaged in his pocket to find the key and shortly after the door opened with a loud ‘click’.

You hadn’t answered his question yet and that’s why he gave you a questioning look. “Would you like to come in?” You asked him instead and he just nodded, his brows narrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, of course.” He placed your bag next the door and took his coat off, placing it on the back of the door in which he seated. “D’ya wanna talk about something?”

“Actually, yes. Just listen to me, ok?” You took a deep breath and you felt like having a déja-vu of when you broke up — but hopefully this time there’d have been a different ending.

“Yeah, love. Go ahead.” He seemed interested and confused at the same time.

You quickly nodded and sat on the feet of the bed, afraid that your legs’d have ceded. “You’re arrogant”, You started.

His brows lifted in surprise and he lifted a corner of his lips in an amused grin. “Strong beginning.”

“Shush just for a second. Please?”

He raised his hands in a silent apology and nodded towards you as to say to keep going. “You’re arrogant and sometimes you’re unbelievably annoying. To be honest I hate the way you drive my car — and by the way, before you say something about it because I know you would, yes. I can drive properly.”

Roger chuckled at your words and you couldn’t help but smile. “I won’t say anything about that.”

“You better”, You quickly replied, pointing at him with your index finger. “And that obsession of yours for your hair… don’t even get me started. I hate the way you smile at me when you know you’re right and I’m wrong and I really don’t like the fact that we the only way we solve our problems is in our bedroom because we can’t keep our hands off each other for just five minutes.”

“Love, where are you going with this? ‘Cause you’re doing nothing but list my flaws”, He asked, honestly confused. And he was right.

“All I wanted to say is… that I’ve loved you since the very first moment also because of your them. We all have flaws, they shape us and I’ve learned to love each and everyone of yours. I love how you give me tips to improve my driving skills, I love when you make me fix your hair, when you smile at me like I’m the only woman around, when you touch me and give me goosebumps. I love when you take care of me, even when I’m piss drunk, or when you share your music with me. I could go on forever but the point is, I love you.”

Roger’s smile grew wider and wider as you kept talking, and you couldn’t help but smile back. “You still do?”, He softly asked and you nodded.

“Always have and probably always will. That’s why I had to make things clear with Noah.”

Roger stood up with a surprised look on his face and took a step towards you. “Y/N, I…”

“But if we’re going to do this”, You quickly added. “I have to be sure that it’s just you and me. No Nicole, no Noah, no other women. Just the two of us.”

“Love”, He said and he was now right in front of you so you stood up, too. “It’s always been just the two of us, y’know that.”

You gave him a tight smile and he surrounded you with his arms, holding you in a gentle embrace. His hand was between your hair and his cheek was leaning against yours. He took a deep breath as you hugged him back and he leaned back to meet your eyes. “There are no other women, princess. You’re the only one I love.”

You slowly nodded and you placed your hand on his neck, gently caressing it. “Do you remember the first time I told you I loved you?”

“Yeah”, You replied with a little laugh. “You said it in french.”

“Je t’aime”, He softly replied with the biggest of the smiles on his face.

“You remembered.” You were more than amazed by the fact that years later he still remembered.

“‘f course.” And there were a few moments of silence before he murmured deadly serious “Marry me.”

“What?” You narrowed your brows in confusion and he nodded as to confirm his words.

“Marry me, Y/N. Make me the happiest bastard of this earth.”

“Are you crazy?” You murmured but you couldn’t help but smile. “We just got back together!”

“Is it too absurd? I just want you to be Mrs. Taylor so bad.”

“Mrs. Taylor”, You repeated in a low tone, looking at him in the eyes to find any trace of doubt. There wasn’t any. “Sounds good.”

“Bloody good”, He confirmed with a toothy smile and you chuckled. When you hesitantly placed your lips on his, he tightened the grip on your waist and pushed your body close to his. And for the first time in months you weren’t just kissing in the throes of passion, anger or frustration.

You could finally feel the love. And you were happier that you’d ever been.

Taglist: @but-legendsneverdie @ohtheseboysilove @xgypsy-witchy-vibes @queen-turtle-boiii @scarsout @hystericaldancingqueen @mercurycrowley @protectrowanwhitethorn @70sarreaga @loveandbeloved29 @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogahloveshiscar @queen-crue @luckytrashgooprebel @16wiishes @rogershoe @rogertaylorsgirlfriend @luvborhap

If you wanna be added in the taglist just tell me

#roger taylor #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x reader #Queen #queen band #queen fic #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic

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hyunjinssmile · 5 years

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“Lyrics For You”; Han Jisung

Disclaimers:

Descriptions of sex, dirty talk, angst, fluff, swearing, friends with benefits -> lovers,

Also, excuse my handwriting in this, as well as the lyrics (theyre mine and already in a released song, (aside from the my head hurts; thats for plot)

It was the usual, by now.

He would come home from practice, or hanging out with the boys, and then have you waiting for him, ready for him, to take care of him. It only really took one call; a message even, and you were both there for eachother, but dont get ahead of yourself y/n, you arent in a relationship.

Since highschool, you were both close, really close, but not in a relationship sense. Both of you produced music together and danced together, and even now after he has debuted, it just easier for him to have you; no strings attached, plus the world already knew you as 3rachas friend; a producer that made sure they would eat and rest, stays around the world thanked you for that the most.

Basically, somewhere along the line, Jisung and yourself became more than friends. You became friends with benefits, and unfortunately for you; like the plot of the 2013 Smuts on wattpad, you had fallen for him.

You had fallen for Han Jisung.

Would you ever tell him? Definitely not. Especially since after everytime you both hang out alone, he always thanks you so much for being his friend and understanding his situation, saying he loves how things always are.

“Y-yeah! Its fine” you smile at him as he puts on his clothes, after getting a call from JYP to come to practice earlier than he expected, to which he jumped up and got into the shower.

To be quite honest, the sex was distant. It was passionate, but quite clearly he was distancing himself from being intimate, he would never call you by anything other than your name, no pet names, and hed always take you from behind, never looking into your eyes. It was rushed, and rough, and although you found it incredibly hot and arousing, the emotions, rather the lack thereof, made you sad. It stopped you from enjoying it as much, you loved being close to him, and since he obviously didnt like you like you liked him, this was the closest youd get to it, to him.

It wasnt fine, as he shut the door, mumbling a goodbye and a promise to call you later, your hips hurt, you couldnt walk properly, and your heart ached. It ached for him, because of him.

You reached for your laptop beside you, wincing at the shocks of pain in your hips, before starting to make something, you needed to get your emotions out.

You work on a beat, the notes holding a sad feeling in your gut as you manage to get up from the bed, chucking on one of jisungs shirts that he had left from countless sleepovers, because even now, with the benefits part, he was still your best friend. You waddled your way to your studio, one that was often used by chris and changbin, as well as jisung, as when one of your songs you produced blew up; you could afford an apartment with a personal studio.

You sat down in your chair, cursing at the way you relaxed at the smell of jisungs shirt, before letting the beat play around you, adding in some tonal melodies ontop, before scribbling down some lyrics.

Time had flown by, and you got caught up in the process, the melodies and lyrics meaning so much to you, that tears ran down your face, your heart hurt, and this was how you were going to let it out.

Your phone had been going off in your room for ages, too caught up, you failed to recieve the messages from jisung, and in a panic, he travelled to your place.

Apon entering your apartment, he was met with a heavy bassline, but a slow, almost sad melody- contrast to your usual upbeat songs.

Jisung had liked you since he met you, but when he decided he wanted to persue being an idol, a producer, he knew he could never date- at least not in the public eye. You were his best friend, and after one night when you got closer, you both never looked back, friends with benefits was something that suited you both; well, judging by how quick you were to agree on the title; it suited you at least.

He wanted you to himself, he could only think of having you always in his arms, calling you his own, rather than the plaguing thoughts of you in a bed of someone else, but who was he to tell you not to? You werent exclusive, he made that clear. He groans at his stupidity, before walking to your studio, the lights were off as always, but he saw you hunched over your desk, the music blaring through the speakers next to you.

“Y/n?” He called out, before turning the music down, being left with your broken sobs as his eyes widened. You looked up in surprise, to find him standing there, wiping your eyes and attemtping to smile.

“Hey- jisung!” You said trying to be happy, which only made him more concerned.

“Whats wrong?” He said immediately,

“N-nothing, just writing something.” You tried to convice yourself you were fine for a moment, hiding the lyrics under your arms.

“Youre crying?” He moved closer to you, “and this is a sad song, y/n, you dont write sad songs, whats up?” He pauses, playing the devils advocate “boy troubles?”

You could only dryly laugh, “yes, actually”

Jisung felt his heart drop, before moving closer to you, trying to peer at the lyrics, watching you hide them. “Can i read?” He asked softly.

“No.” You said without looking at him, making him more confused. He tried to grab them, moving around, but each time you covered it, until he grabbed it from you.

“Jisung- just give it back-“

He held the page in his hands as he read it,

“Who is it?” He said softly, genuine care in his voice.

“Just give it back!” You stood up, making his eyes fall to your smaller figure, the shirt immediately recognised as his own.

He couldnt help but smile at the way you jumped to try and get it back from him, your cheeks pink, tears in the corner of your eyes.

“So you like someone? Maybe we should stop this” he gestured at the both of you, trying to conceal his hurt.

“What?” You said softly, your eyes widened.

“We should call this quits, us, ill find someone else” he was being casual, he knew it would hurt you, but it hurt him that you liked someone else, while he fucked you into the mattress every other night.

“Jisu-“

“You know, i thought i liked you, for a little while. I wont hide it. But, id hate to be the guy you liked if you fucked someone else while writing sappy song lyrics about them.”

He was being mean, really mean.

“I dont like you anymore, and were done.” His voice was cold, and the tears kept falling from your eyes, wide open with shock.

“You- I- the lyrics-“ you tried to speak softly, but he was mad. “Am i not good enough for you? Hm? Do i mean nothing?” He kept going.

“Get out” you whispered, eyes full with tears.

“What?” He was taken aback, you had never told him to leave, even during arguments.

“I SAID GET OUT”

And he was gone,

He took the paper with him, reading it in pain and ager the whole way back to the dorm, slamming the door behind him as he entered.

Chris was the first to talk to him, asking what was wrong. The boy crumbled in his arms, explaining everything, even mentioning how you two were friends with benefits, making chris surprised yet it suddenly all clicked.

“Let me see the lyrics”

As chris held the lyrics up infront of him, jisungs eyes widened as he saw a name scribbled on the back, immense guilt filling his entire being as he lost all air from his lungs.

“H-hyung move- move your hand for a second-“

Dread filled him, as he immediately got up, running as fast as his legs took him down the hall, out the door and out onto the street, running to your house, with tears in his eyes.

“You fucking idiot” he whined to himself as tears fell down his face, the colder air from winter bit at the skin on his face, but he kept running, until he was at your door, walking in, and running straight to your studio, finding you lying on the ground, crying your heart out and from experience, having a panic attack.

He immediately ran to you, picking you up and taking you to your room, placing you on the bed, looking at the way your eyes widened at his presence.

“W-why-“ you tried to speak, but he just held you tighter, pulling your body against his in a tigh hold, arms around you, squeezing you against his chest, your face pressed into his shoulder, as he cried into your own.

It would always calm you down, his hugs. Whenever you had panic attacs when you were younger, jisung was there, there to squeeze you and make you realise youre not alone.

“Im here- im here baby- shh-“

Endless petnames flew from his mouth as he helped you calm down, his nimble fingers wiping your tears away gently, his eyes reflecting your own.

“Im an idiot-“ he started slowly,

“Yes you are” you said softly, voice broken.

“I deserve it if you hate me, y/n. Im so sorry, even all this time id been using you because i thought you didnt like me enough to go out with me- and because of my job , i thought this was the closest id get to having you-“

“You have me” you whispered softly, making his eyes widen. “I felt the exact same way, you dumbass “ you said, looking up at him.

“So i could have been making you mine this whole time, taking you out, but all ive done is fucked you roughly, never said anything and had no emotion, all the times you said you were fine-“ his eyes widened again at the realisation of how it must have hurt you, confused you.

“Baby i am so, so fucking sorry.”

You held him closer to you, tightening your own grip as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning warm heat onto the surface.

“Ive never kissed you?” He suddenly said, breaking the silence, moving from his place on your chest , gour hands slipping from his soft locks of hair. You had talked for a while, sorting out how you felt and what you wanted, and then lay in silence, in eachothers arms for a few hours.

“No, you haven-“

He cut you off, pressing his soft lips against your own, his right hand cupping your jaw as he let himself wiggle between your legs, laying ontop of you and covering your body with his own, the feeling of him finally pouring all his love for you out, yourself doing the same, sent you both into an overflow of emotion, he pulled back, observing the way your cheeks tinged pink, his eyes locking with yours as he admired them, the view of you pinned beneath him, hair flowing our around you, made his heart skip a beat, his eyes landing on your now swollen lips from the kiss, warmth filling his being as he admired your beauty.

“Youre so beautiful, y/n, your eyes, your lips, your hair, your smile, your laugh, your jokes, your little pout, the way you stumble sometimes when you walk-“ he was blabbering, he knew it, but your heart filled with so much happiness, “i notice it all, i really do love you y/n. Be mine?”

“Im yours” you said softly, making him smile.

“Now to do this properly..” his hands dragged your underwear down your legs, removing his shirt from your frame as he undressed himself.

You immediately got onto your hands and knees, making him chuckle, immediately grabing your hips and pushing you back onto the bed, your back against the sheets as you gasped in surprise at his show of strength.

“I want to watch you as i make love to you, i want to watch your expression as i fuck this tight pussy, make it mine, youre mine, right?”

You nodded, making him smile down at you lovingly, pressing his lips to yours as he kissed you passionately, his fingers trailing down to your heat as he felt your wetness, his eyes widening is surprise “youre so fucking wet, you needed this huh? Making love is much better, i agree, im harder than ive ever been right now baby” he groaned, before letting one of his fingers enter you, slipping inside before moving so his hips are inline with your own, kissing up your neck to your lips before pushing himself inside of you, his hands holding your hips down against the mattress as he bottomed out, a whine falling from his lips as you whimpered into his ear, his brows furrowed as his lips found yours again, smiling against them as you did the same. “Feels so much fucking better, knowing that youre mine, baby.”

Bonus, 2 months later:

“This is such a good song, Chris, whats the chorus?” Your voice was happy as jisung held you close to him, his arms around your waist as you both sat on the couch in your studio, cuddling into eachother.

“I got inspiration from you two drama queens really. “

“Really?” You both turned to eachother, looking in eachothers eyes, finding nothing but happiness in eachother.

“Yeah, I used some of yours actually y/n.”

“Thats fine, you gave me some last season.” You reassured, smiling.

Chan smiled and pressed play on the chorus of the song, the lead up including a muffled audio scream, before you heard it;

“My head hurts”

Side note:

I actually write, make and produce some music too, so i felt quite close to this story. The emotions running wild whilst writing can really get heavy, and i actually do find myself crying whilst recording a demo, or writing the score, its the same with writing a fic, dont worry if its angst im crying along with ya, its just passion and heartache mixed together in a cocktail of emotions.

Lmao thats another one of my lyrics, ok ill stop thankyou for reading

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