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messrsbyler · 1 year

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hi!

a prompt for your 13 hour trip (that sounds absolutely horrid my condolences go out to you): wills pov during the rain fight

OR either will or mike pov kindergarten swingset thjngie

OR (part 2) byler date at the arcade

~🪱

hi! i chose mike and will meeting in the swings bc i been WANTING to write this scene since so long and this was the perfect moment! thank you for the prompt!!

—

i never saw you coming (and i’ll never be the same)

There was a kid in the swings.

Mike watched him from afar. Around him, mothers came and went, picking up their kids, asking how their first day had gone and kissing their rosy cheeks saying how much they’d missed them. The kids thrashed, trying to get away while laughing, and then went on an excited description of everything that had happened and all the new friends they had made.

Whenever that happened, Mike chose to scoot a little to the side, grabbing the laces of his backpack and pouting at the ground. He shifted his feet, kicking stones and pretending he didn’t hear the giggles.

Mike’s day had been bad, he thought with a frown. He still didn’t understand why he had to leave bed so early in the morning when he had never had to before. It was dumb! He hated school and didn’t want to come back. He would tell his mom. He would pout and whine and even cry if he had to. Whatever it took, Mike wasn’t coming back to school ever again!

His mom had lied to him. Mike sniffed and dried the snoot coming from his nose with a fist. She had said Mike would make a lot of new friends, but he hadn’t. Kids were… weird. They were loud, annoying, and not interested in Mike. But that didn’t matter. Mike wasn’t interested in them either.

He sniffed again and risked a look around. Mike’s frown deepened when he didn’t find his mom around. The teacher, Ms. Stacey, had asked Mike to stay behind when the class ended to say Mike’s mom had called and said she would be a little late to pick Mike up. But Mike still expected his mom to show up soon so they could leave and he could go back to his room, the place he shouldn’t have left this morning.

But his mom wasn’t there. Mike scowled again.

Didn’t Nancy have a thing today? Nancy always had things in school. Mike’s sister was really smart, or so Mike’s mom said. Mike thought she was just annoying with her dolls and tea parties she forced Mike to be part of.

Mike’s little fists clenched a bit more around his backpack. Nancy this, Nancy that. She was cool, sometimes, when she wasn’t being annoying, that is. Right now, Nancy was being annoying making Mike’s mom be late to pick him up.

There were only a few more kids left now, all of them looking nervously around, stretching to their tiptoes and trying to spot their parents’ car, gathering together and chatting a little.

Mike kept looking around as he kicked another stone. And that’s when he saw him. A kid in the swings.

Unlike the rest, he wasn’t looking around. His eyes were casted to the ground, fingers curled around the chains and yellow backpack looking too big in his little body. The next thing Mike noticed was that this kid was… alone. Just like Mike.

Mike tilted his head. Why wasn’t he looking for his mom?

More people appeared around Mike. More kids got picked up and other kids, older than Mike, poured out of school. The place was getting packed and Mike’s stomach was twisting in a knot. He stole another glance at the kid in the swings and made a beeline for the swings. He pushed through the people, scowling when he got pushed, shoving his way through.

A little struggle later, Mike stood next to the swings. His feet scraped on the loose earth, but still, the kid never looked up at him.

Quietly, Mike stepped closer and sat on the free swing next to the kid. The blue one. He gripped the chains and lifted his eyes back to the parking lot. More and more kids kept exiting the building. It was getting a bit loud, and Mike was glad he decided to step aside.

His eyes flipped to the kid. He was short, with straight hair falling on his forehead in a straight line across his brows. Mike kicked another stone and frowned at his feet. His belly felt funny, and Mike didn’t understand why. He clenched his fists until the chains bit her palms and he looked up again.

Mike didn’t like other kids, that’s something he had realised today. They made Mike feel small, even when they were all pretty much the same height, with their frantic eyes and loud voices. But this kid… this kid wouldn’t even look up at Mike.

He looked… lonely. Just like Mike.

Mille chewed on his lip, breathed in, and turned to look at the kid.

“Hi!” He said.

The kid tensed on the other swing. After a few seconds of hesitation, he finally looked up. Their eyes met.

Something weird happened then. Mike… smiled. He hadn’t smiled once throughout the day, mostly scowling and pouting, waiting to be back home so he wouldn’t have to hear about this school nonsense ever again. But there, in the swing, Mike couldn’t help the way his mouth stretched. It was small, and shy, but real and it felt good.

The kid didn’t smile back at Mike. His eyes were wide and pretty, not brown but not green, somewhere in the middle. Mike hadn’t seen a colour like that in someone’s eyes. He decided he liked it.

The wind blew, messing with their hair as they kept staring at each other.

“I’m Mike,” Mike said after a while. When the kid didn’t say anything, he asked, “What’s your name?”

The kid’s eyes flicked to the side then returned to Mike’s. “Uhm… I’m Will,” the kid said. His voice was soft and very quiet. Mike had to lean in a little to hear him.

Mike smiled a bit more and tilted his head. “Hi, Will.”

Finally, the kid smiled back. It was still hesitant and a bit wobbly, and he kept casting his eyes sideways. But he still smiled. Mike felt good about that.

“Hi, Mike.”

“Are you waiting for your mom?” He asked, pushing himself back and forth on the swing. His belly still felt weird, with little tickles that spread to his chest. Making friends was hard and a bit scary.

Will shook his head and some hairs caught on his lashes. He huffed and untangled them with a pout. Mike’s smile widened.

“No. Jonathan.”

Mike frowned. “Who?”

“My big brother. He… Uh… He was supposed to be here by now.” Will’s smile dimmed and he looked down again. “I think he had problems at school again,” Will whispered. He sounded worried and a bit sad.

Mike decided he didn’t like when Will sounded like that.

“Maybe he is just late,” he offered.

Will have a little shrug. “Maybe,” he mumbled quietly.

Mike pressed his lips together and wracked his brain trying to come up with something to say. All he knew is that he liked the way Will had smiled at him before. It made Mike want to smile as well. He wanted that smile back.

“Oh!” He said, maybe too loud because Will flinched and recoiled a little in his swing. Mike tilted his head. “Sorry. But, look! Do you like dinosaurs?”

Mike didn’t wait for a response. He shrugged his backpack off and peeled it open. He shuffled through his notebook and markers, next to the lunch box he’d forced inside the backpack, and there it was. His blue brachiosaurus. Mike beamed and pull it out, chest swelling with excitement. His mom had said he couldn’t bring toys to school, but Mike had managed to sneak it inside his bag last minute while his mom prepared breakfast. Timly, the brachiosaurus, never left Mike’s side. It was his favorite toy, and Mike hadn’t wanted to leave it behind.

He showed it to Will and was more than pleased to see the surprise in Will’s face.

“This is Timly,” Mike said.

“Timly?” Will mumbled in awe.

Mike nodded. “He’s my favorite one. Do you like it?”

Will nodded then, and Mike smiled. “Timly is a brachiosaurus. See the long neck? That’s how I know.”

“Oh.”

“Wanna hold it?” Mike offered it to Will. Again, Will hesitated. Mike was noticing that’s a thing he did a lot. “It’s okay. You can take it.”

Will did with a delicate touch, small fingers handling the plastic toy as if it was made of glass. Apparently, that was also a thing Will did a lot. Where the rest of the kids were loud and a bit rough, Will was quiet and soft, his curious eyes doing most of the talking for him.

“It’s really pretty,” Will said and then blushed. Mike tilted his head and Will blushed more. “Sorry.”

Mike frowned. “Why?”

“Pretty isn’t a boy’s word.”

“Says who?”

The sad expression returned to Will’s eyes. He put Timly in his lap and ran his fingertips across his neck. “My dad,” he whispered. “He doesn’t like it when I talk like that.”

“Why not?”

Will shrugged and made himself even tinier in the swing. “He says queers talk like that.”

“Oh, uhm… What’s that?”

“What?”

“What you said. A queer.”

Will looked up to Mike with his no so green and not so brown eyes. “I don’t know. Something bad.”

“Bad?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. My dad says it’s bad.”

Mike pondered on this. “Bad like… broccoli bad?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Hmm.” Mike stared at Timly and shrugged as well. “Well, I think Timly is very pretty too.” He offered a smile. Will watched him with wide eyes, the red in his cheeks flaring. “I guess we are both bad now.”

After a second, something incredible happened. Will chuckled. It wasn’t a full laugh, but the sound that came from him was so… so pretty and louder than Will’s usual mumbling and whispering. Mike liked it. Mike wanted to hear it again, just because he already knew he could make Will sound like that.

“Hey, Will?” Mike waited until Will looked at him. The tickles in his belly returned, but he pushed them back with a soft smile. “Do you wanna be my friend?”

Another gust of wind ruffled their hair.

Will beamed at Mike and this time his smile was a little wider and a little fuller. It made Mike’s chest swell with pride. Will didn’t look so nervous around him anymore.

“I… I would like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Mike smiled. “Okay! Cool.”

Will nodded, looking down at Timly. “Cool,” he said back.

Just then a honk broke through the voices of the other kids and reached Mike’s eyes. He turned to the parking lot and saw his mom’s car there, with Nancy and her friend in the backseats. His mom honked at him again and waved through the window, telling him to come.

Mike pouted. He wanted to stay with Will for a bit more.

“That’s my mom,” Mike said.

“Oh.” Will sounded as disappointed as Mike felt. “Okay.” He silently handed Timly back.

Mike reached to take his toy, but stopped his hand midair. He looked up at Will. “You keep him.”

Will’s brows shoot upward. “But… but it’s yours!”

“You can give it to me tomorrow!” Mike hopped off the swing. “Timly can keep you company while you wait for your big brother.”

Will stared at Mike with wide eyes and then slowly nodded. “Okay.”

Mike smiled. “Okay, good. See you tomorrow, Will!”

“See you tomorrow, Mike!”

Mike kept glancing back as he made his way to the car and then when he climbed it. He kneel on the seat to get a last look at Will. He was still in the swings, and he was smiling at Timly. Mike noticed… he didn’t look lonely anymore and Mike… he didn’t feel it either.

“Mike, sit down and put your seatbelt on,” his mom said.

“Yeah, Mike. Put your seatbelt on!” Nancy echoed from the back seat.

Mike rolled his eyes, something he had seen his dad do multiple times when his mom talked, and obliged. The car engine purred under him and the car started moving. Mike shoot a last look through the window, keeping an eye on Will until his mom turned and he lost sight of Will behind the houses and trees. He settled back on his seat and sighed.

“So,” Mike’s mom started. “How was your first day, sweety?”

Mike beamed at the window, eyes still trained where Will should be behind the row of houses. “Good,” he said, thinking about the quiet kid in the swings holding his favorite toy. “I made a new friend today.”

#imagine meeting your soulmate for the first time #i adore them and i adore how they met and chose each other and ARGH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH #byler #byler ficlet #byler fic #byler ao3 #byler tumblr #mike x will #my ficlets

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doingthedirtydishes · 1 year

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Struggling with finding happiness in life? Tune out to social media, skip the epitome of incomprehensible psycho-couch-babble and go spend time with a child.

For the last nine months of my life I have been staying in an AirBnB rental in the Maya Riviera of Mexico. It is a worthy setup most preferred and conducive to constantly meeting new and interesting people and personalities. Having a steady supply of fresh people from all over the world ensures there is never a time without someone to serve as a new teacher in my life. Life is a mirror, what we see in others we are ourselves. Sometimes that can be a prickly thorn of annoyance, a lesson on what we need to work on in ourselves, and at others a wondrous gift in disguise. As with living, it is our perspective that counts most.

There is no doubt you will get knocked down in life, of that you can be assured. The question rather is whether or not you decide to get back up. The rosy glasses through which we choose to view the world ultimately determines the outcome. At each crossroad we face this dilemma as ever present. Otherwise, life is outside of your control – don’t take the drama play too seriously. Like water in a river, learn to go with the flow. How we decide to react to our circumstances sets the path to either suffering or growth. Not many on my journey thus far have willingly chose agony, so there is still hope for those in want.

It is not common but every once and a while an adult is accompanied by a child here at our complex. One couple, she, Mexican, he, American, stayed here for a short period; only for the female to return later for another stay, but this time she was accompanied by her eight year-old daughter, Ivanka. She settled in as my neighbor and in due time we all became friends. The daughter was extremely timid and guarded at first, taking only but a few requisite princess and tea chat sessions and gifts of sweets to win her over. As her mother was often busy, Ivanka would have no choice but to roam about the courtyard.

Other than your own rug-rats or children of immediate family, whom you are too close to and also a part of their development, it is hard to see every child with “fresh” eyes. There are so many practical lessons missed as a result. How often do you intentionally go out of your way to spend time with adolescents, watching how they maneuver their instantaneous fabricated reality, observing their selfless actions and surprising reactions, conversing with them at their level about things that interest them, or simply being in awe and wonder at their inherent guiltless disposition on seeing the world as one massive funhouse?

Much time outside while having a refreshing tropical fruit juice, meditation or soaking up some sunrays was spent observing Ivanka at play. Without any electronics or applications to steal away her focused attention and stupefy her to the world and nature all about her, I was in utter amazement the creative ways she found to pass time and enjoy her odyssey of perusal. Nothing is off limits! Kids can give rise to their own worlds of boundless radiance as quickly as an adult worries about impending bills or any other pointless trivialities. Kids are busy conquering their latest dream milieu – and its innumerable iterations.

One evening, as her mom talked on the phone, she occupied herself at the public courtyard table where I was enjoying a cup of newly acquired chai tea shipped from India. She was carrying with her two small dye-cutout red castles, a tiny plastic princess figurine and a large stuffed pink hippo named Oscar. She was in her own little sphere; nothing could take her attention away as she transmogrified herself into the beautifully adorned princess and subsequent scenes played out for my viewing delight. The princess liked to hide inside the castles, when not lazily lounging atop the neck of her best friend for life, Oscar.

What a wonderful way to experience life, with not a worry in the world – gratitude for everything – as it is meant to be – as seen through the irreproachable guilt-free eyes of luminous God-like purity. As is with the perfect divine order of the universe, to kids all things in sight are enchantingly inter-connected, infinitely interchangeable: everything is faultlessly synchronistic, according to their juvenile eyes. As adults we lose the ability to perpetuate the allure and excitement, reverence for the wonderment of the omnipresent supernatural, the omnipotent attendance forever surrounding us on this spinning hot rock.

When the myriad priceless royal scenarios ran dry, off she went frolicking in the rain puddles from an earlier downpour. Nothing mattered to her at that time, succumbed by the instantaneous consciousness of excitement and untold astonishment that aimlessly splashing about in water can illicit – she was living unknowingly in the present. She was experiencing her life in the now, without a care for any distractive foreign stimuli. In sports psychology this is referred to as ‘being in the zone.’ Children do not need to practice mindfulness, it comes preternaturally. They can find untold joy in the tedious hum-drum of life.

Soon after my respite, it was time to head off to the corner market to get some sugary foodstuffs for the evening. I asked Ivanka if she wanted to join me. She finds immense happiness in helping assist others in need. I barely had finished my question and she was already bursting with fiery elation. She insisted on unlocking our front gate and opening the heavy metal door for me to exit safely in my wheelchair. Once at the store, she was unwavering about wanting something sweet. She wasted no time in finding the most decadent chocolate and nut ice cream bar in the store – while grinning an ear-to-ear smile to boot.

She was over the moon that her neighbor not only bought her small delights each day but that he also took her to the store and gave her full consideration of choice over which treat(s) she received. As she was always so well behaved, she was never in lack of favor. She was overflowing with gratitude the whole walk home; replete with absolute authentic gratefulness. We give to others in life to bring them a smile but also because it makes us happy, even releasing feel-good chemical hormones in our brain – a type of a ‘mental-gasm.’ The more you assist others in life, the better you feel. Give it a whirl sometime.

Some other days we would just chat about her day or homework or dreams of the future. It goes wholly without saying her biggest dream is to be a princess, living in an enchanting castle. In the middle of our conversations, as soon as something caught her attention, without haste or hesitation, hurriedly she would run off with a sparkle in her eye – most often to something small an adult would overlook – such as the blossom of a new flower, an unknown bug or an impending rain storm. Nothing is off limits to the imagination of children; mysterious and otherworldly creation is always at the forefront of contingency.

As adults we have lost our effervescent God-innocence, our admiration and fascination at everything our eyes see, the thrill of new smells and adventure of new tastes, the spectacular feeling of living in a world that truly is our playground – we have lost our ability to find pleasure in living life, in appreciating the small things, in not yearning for tomorrow – in our ability to live in the now. We are too busy living in the past (depression) and the future (anxiety). We have been trained like Pavlov’s dog, responding to the bell, under the choking societal confines and rules meant to keep you a caged and obedient robot.

Tat Tvam Asi – “thou art that” in Sanscrit – the relationship between the Absolute and the individual in Hinduism. You are me, and I am you – we are the same, one shared conscious – undefined indescribable mysterious energy: God. We are all in the same boat; when the water rises, all boats rise. Children live their lives God-like, only for the present moment, able to metamorphose no end of marvel and suspend judgment enough to find the divine touch in all things. Buddhists speak on the beginners mind, being a child that knows nothing, seeing the glory of God’s existence and creation enveloping us at all times.

Children are naturally aligned by love; they are born knowing no different. Children are a by-product of what they learn and mimic from parents and peers. Over time this view becomes adulterated with the stresses and responsibilities of living in a vessel – an ethereal body covered in a meat-draped costume, on a hot boulder of magma flying through space; in a life where happiness is incessantly chased but often eluded; in an era with more wealth and access to information in all of history, yet we do all we can to avoid from plumbing the intense chasmic ineradicable depths of our heart and soul to find our “self.”

The mind itself is incapable of answering the bigger esoteric questions of humanity – the riddles of the universe are unanswerable. Dr. Seus considered adults as “outdated children.” Life does not come with an open guide book. If it did, life would be boring: one would never face challenges or obstacles that impel him to find out who he is, essentially what he is made of, or his eventual primary purpose. Neither fruitless exoteric inquiry nor intellect is sufficient; it is only through probing inspection of the heart that one can attain inner peace, contentedness, happiness. Children, with minds still unmolded, innately live thru heart-conscious, spending everyday living by way of perpetual stimuli and emotions, not intellect.

For it is through the profound innocence of solipsism, being the center of the world, that allows for the exploration of the child by dint of interaction with their environment and others, concluding that he is not the world but a part of it – his own little person. Children have no natural inborn prejudices or set ideations of things, people and places – they are pure of heart. This allows them to see others through a prism of love, ultimately teaching them that the world is smiles and laughter. Over time this innocence of sight loses focus to living life and how we perceive it; the mundane daily responsibilities of adulthood.

We are indescribably complex spiritual beings of light, living out this flash of a lifetime in spirit school on earth. We are created in God’s image of pure light, an imperceptible invisible vibration of flawless love, but the farther we suppress the self through the busyness and stresses of everyday life, the multitude of contemptible vices, whether psychological, mental, social, chemical or other, at all times losing sight of the “I” behind the “I,” we corrupt our child’s mind – which is perfectly illustrated by Sri R. Maharshi’s instruction: “Just Be” – therefore inflating the egoic conscious, moreover reducing our supernal sub-conscious valve, and to a great extent constricting the consummate symbiosis, the indelible connection to the Absolute source, our higher-self, our not-self, our cosmic-conscious, our super-conscious, God.

The older we get the further removed we are from the feeling of being a child awestruck by our intense surroundings. We no longer see life as simple – we treat it too seriously. We forget that we are all actors in a play of cosmogenic proportions. As you move forward, forging an onerous course on the road less traveled, the eternal quest of illumination of the heart, consider once more being a kid again, finding your inner-child, discovering your inner-Christ, your inner-God-conscious. Finding the child within will evermore reignite your soul and help you find bewilderment in everything you see and experience in life. So what if people think you are strange – the enchanting star-filled possibilities are without limit.

It all starts with being a child. What are you waiting for? Go be a child again. Your Happy Meal awaits!

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout. Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

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Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden, Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

#steven quigley writer #steven quigley blogger #steven quigley #stevenquigleyauthor #stevenquigley #unbreakable mind #unbreakable mind book #unbreakablemindbook #unbreakablemind #doingthedirtydishes.com #doingthedirtydishesspiritual #doingthedirtydishestravel #doingthedirtydishespodcast #doingthedirtydishes

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promenadewithme · 3 years

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Hi Anastasia!

Can I request a Nikolai Lantsov x fem reader with prompt #4 “Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”, please?

Thank you, you're brilliant! 💜

Of course! Thank you so much for the request, Rosie!

Ok, so I may have gone a little overboard with this...I hope you like it, Nikolai is quite hard to write about.

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!Reader

Prompts: 4 (”Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”)

Warnings: fluff, insomnia, overthinking

Word count: 1279

What's best for Ravka

It had been hours since you laid down on your shared bed with your boyfriend and you hadn’t gotten one ounce of sleep. Ever since you were a kid, you had trouble sleeping. You usually started the night tossing and turning, you’d get up and make some tea, lay back down, flip your pillow and, if nothing worked, you’d sit on the couch with a good book to read awaiting morning. It wasn’t until you started sleeping with Nikolai that it got better. Something about his warmth and the comfort you found in it lulled you to sleep every night, but so many thoughts rushed around mind for the past few of days that you simply couldn’t find sleep.

Careful not to wake him, you slowly untangled yourself from Nikolai’s sleeping figure and walked out of the room, grabbing your book, putting on his dress shirt and a coat in the process. You made your way through the Spinning Wheel to the part of the observatory where you could see the mountains and the stars. Everyone was already asleep so you didn’t need to worry about your attire or posture. You slumped down on the floor and opened the book to the last page you read, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate. After reading the same sentence for the tenth time, you closed it and put it down beside you. Pulling your coat closer around your body, you looked at the sky and you let yourself worry about your future.

What happens if the Darkling finds us?

Will we truly be able to end the fold?

How many more people have to die before we cease this?

Will Nikolai and Alina marry? ... what about me?

You had already talked to your boyfriend about this, he seems to think it’s what’s best for the kingdom, to have a saint ruling beside him. He says it will be strictly political and that his heart will always be yours. But I’d be the other woman, wouldn’t I? you couldn’t help but think. Our children would not be recognized as truly his. And what of his children with her? He would have to sire an heir, wouldn’t he?

You knew he loved you, you knew it was best for Ravka, but you couldn’t help the ache in your chest as you imagined your Nikolai kissing her, loving her, marrying her and you being left behind, unwanted and forgotten. Who would want you if he could have a saint?

You were so distracted, you didn’t even notice Nikolai walk in until he was sitting down beside you. “What troubles you, my love?”

You faked a smile and said “Nothing, moi tsarevich, or should I say moi tsar?.” Referring to his father abdicating and sailing the Southern Colonies.

“Darling, I know I’m damnably handsome, but that doesn’t mean I’m not smart as a whip. You only call me that when something is wrong. What is it?” He smirked and you rolled your eyes at the damnably handsome comment, but you knew he was right. Nikolai was almost ethereal under the light of the moon and the stars, his bare chest on display.

“When will you propose to Alina?” with that, his whole demeanor fell apart, leaving only a frown.

“Actually... I already did.” you could hear your heart breaking as he continued. “This morning, after breakfast.”

“Oh.” was the only response you could mutter, but you forced yourself to add “Congratulations on your engagement, moi tsar.” and looked away before he could see the tears in your eyes.

“I don’t think congratulations are in order. She said no.” He replied and your gaze shot back to him, completely shocked.

“She said no? Why would she do that? Does she really think Mal is better than you?” you liked Alina, she was a nice girl, but with apparently no taste at all.

“(y/n), lapushka, do you want her to marry me or not?” he asked, voice dripping with humour.

“It’s what’s best for Ravka.” you answered. Even though he knew it, you couldn’t reveal the truth. You couldn’t simply tell him not to do the best for his kingdom just because you loved him, because you couldn’t see yourself with anyone else but him, because you thought that if he left you, you’d never love again. That would be selfish... Wouldn't it?

“Alina seems to think differently. She says that the best thing for our kingdom is for me to be happy and that it would never happen in a loveless marriage.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the Lantsov emerald before continuing. “My mother gave this to me before she left. I tried to give it to Alina, but she said I should give it to you.”

“Nikolai I-” he put his hand up, cutting you off, and said “Before you say what I know you’re going to say, just let me tell you what I want?” you hesitated for a second before nodding.

“I want you. I don’t care that you’re not grisha, or royalty, or even a saint. I care that I have never loved anyone more than I love you. I want you to be my queen, my wife, the mother of my children, my partner for all my adventures and everything that is to come. The saints know I need you, not just for this, but for everything. I can’t even sleep without you anymore, I woke up because you weren’t there. Everytime I think of a new invention, I want to tell you. Everytime I leave a meeting, I want see you. I think of you all the time and it pains me to realise how selfish I’ve been when it comes to us. I promised you companionship and love, but I’ve been neglecting you for my kingdom, asking you to prioritize something that isn’t yours to reign. Well... yet.” He smiled softly at you, grabbing both of your hands in his. “I want us to make Ravka a better place. Together. I truly think there is no better queen than you.”

“Nikolai, I can’t be a queen! I’m not royalty, I’m not elegant, I can’t dance, I’m clumsy and awkward, the people would never accept me.” you were positive he had gone mad.

“You see, moya lyubov', being a queen is not about being royal or knowing etiquette. It’s about being brave, loving your people and doing everything in your power to make your kingdom the best place for them to live, make it feel like home. You do that to me everyday, you gave me a home, so I know you can do the same for Ravka. I want everything that is mine to be yours. My battles, my glories, my defeats, my kingdom, my heart and my soul, it’s all yours.” he adjusted himself to get on one knee, smiled at you and said “(y/n) (y/l/n), would you do me the honor of becoming my wife and queen?” you smiled, tears streaming down your face.

“Yes, Nikolai!” you exclaimed, tackling him to the floor, both of you laughing.

“Is that my shirt?” he asked, only noticing when your coat opened up a bit.

“You mean our shirt?” you remarked, smirking.

“Of course! Our shirt” he looked up at you with a soft smile before slipping the royal ring on your right hand. “Moya tsaritsa.”

“I love you, Nikolai.” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you more.” he smiled before pulling you both up and saying “We should go back to bed, tomorrow will be a long day with the announcement of Ravka’s queen-to-be.”

Translations:

☆ moi tsarevich = my prince

☆ moi tsar = my king

☆ moya tsaritsa = my queen

☆ moya lyubov’ = my love

☆ lapushka = darling, honey, sweety

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai x reader #nikolai lantsov x reader #grishaverse #grishaverse x reader #imagine #nikolai imagine #nikolai lantsov imagine #nikolai x you #nikolai lantsov x y/n #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone #siege and storm #ruin and rising #leigh bardugo #fluff #engagement fluff #insomnia fic #fic

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whospilledraspberryjam · 2 years

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TWDG Ericson Kids Holiday Headcanons<3

I know the holiday season has passed but I thought this up this morning and just wanted to share!!

It doesn’t snow often at Ericson, but when it does, it’s a big deal. Not just because the kids have to find ways of surviving the cold, but also because it’s fun.

Marlon does tend to stress quite a bit, especially when the first inklings of winter creep into the schoolyard: frost on the grass in the mornings, drafty air seeping through the boarded-up windows. Much of the autumn months are spent collecting firewood and storing it inside to be used for winter, plus harboring any canned food they can find in case the snow makes going on a run too dangerous. But once he sees that the school is set up for the cold, even Marlon can crack a smile at the tiny flurries falling in the courtyard.

Ruby works hard to crochet all year round to ensure they’ll all have enough warm clothes. They collect hats and gloves on runs too, but she just loves adding her own personal touches to all their pieces. Red gloves for Tenn, a violet embellished hat for Violet, a black scarf with flame designs whipping up the ends for Mitch.

They tend to board up the windows even more securely in the winter and use what they can find for added insulation. This results in the use of candles more often, even in the daytime. You’ll often find the kids outside in the snow just to see the sunshine. Mitch is especially skilled at building snow forts for the inevitable snowball fights (and wars) that take place.

Aasim tries to keep a calendar of what days it snows and how much. Historical records and all that.

At night, they tend to huddle around groups of candles for comfort and so they can use less matches. The fireplace in the piano room becomes a favorite hangout spot in the winter. They’ll sit and talk for hours while Louis plays piano or they fire up an old, battery-powered record player, putting on all the holiday hits.

All of the students would definitely exchange gifts. They would likely scavenge all year to find the perfect thing for everyone. Tenn would make drawings of things he’d think they like. Mitch would receive lots of new blades, maybe even a fancy butterfly knife that Aasim found while scavenging. Stale candy bars would be all the rave, and Marlon would work hard to find at least one for everybody. I think Marlon would especially like the gift giving. He never feels like he can do enough to keep the group safe and happy, so seeing the smiles on all their faces would really make him feel good about his efforts. Aasim would receive new paper and maybe a nice fountain pen, plus some non-fiction books to keep up on his reading. Brody would get some new clothes and maybe a silly, oversized sun hat for her beach trip from Violet. Mitch found some snap dragons and gave him to Willy, and he’d spent many of the following weeks throwing them at unsuspecting bystanders as they walked the school halls. Louis would only give out bad gag gifts on purpose, a box of bandaids with smiley faces drawn on them, some stale Altoids, a toilet plunger covered in dinosaur stickers, but it’d all be in good humor. Even Rosie might get a new chew toy or some animal bones to gnaw at if she’s lucky.

Gift giving could get quite emotional when someone found something really good. A copy of a favorite book they had as a child, a stuffed animal that looks uncannily similar to a childhood pet, a pretty ring or necklace. The holidays are so full of nostalgia as is, so gifts like that can really strike a chord. After a few happy tears are shed, however, a smile breaks over everyone’s faces again. Most of all, they’re all just happy to be together.

Mint leaves grow outside the school like weeds in the summertime, and the kids cut and dry them to use them in the winter, adding them to very makeshift desserts and tea-like drinks, just to get a little taste of the holidays.

Louis hung up a stick in one of the doorways and called it a “mistletoe”. The kids had a fun time trying to lead two people underneath so they’d be forced to at least peck one another on the cheek. The Ericson kids with SOs didn’t seem to mind though, and eventually AJ cut it down because he thought kissing was “gross”.

#twdg #twdg imagine #twdg headcanons

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

#tf #draco malfoy #dracotok #tom felton #tom felton x y/n #tom felton imagine #british toms #felton #tom felton fluff #tom felton angst #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #tom x reader #tom felton x reader #dad tom

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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

Text

The Soul Truth

Day 2, Story #1 is by @honouraryweasley12

Title: The Soul Truth

Author: honouraryweasley12

Pairing: Ron x Hermione

Prompt: Soulmates

Rating: K+

TW: none

The ornate doors slid open and Hermione stepped out of the lift, her shoes clacking on the stone floor as she walked forward, head held high but movements stiff. She quickly found that it was best to give off a strong, confident air as she met with various ministries in her new capacity.

She hadn't been in this part of the Ministry often and it was quite unfamiliar to her. All the more reason to keep her guard up.

"Greetings, Minister Granger-Weasley. Congratulations on your victory."

A wizened old man in heavy, dark robes welcomed her, limping forward and holding out a shaky gnarled hand. She took it and met his eyes, which were still sharp—despite his advanced age. A playful twinkle shone out from them, reminding her immediately of Dumbledore.

"Thank you."

He gave her a smile. "Welcome to Archive floor of the Department of Mysteries."

She looked around the cavernous space, taking everything in. She could practically feel the hum of ancient magic reverberating around the walls.

"And you are?"

"I am the Archivist."

"Oh, I meant your name."

He chuckled. "We don't use our given names in this department, just our titles. There is great power in names, as you no doubt know, and we don't want that to interfere with the work we are doing here."

"What should I call you?"

He thought for a moment, before looking up at her. "For today, you can call me… Dave."

She immediately relaxed and shook her head, her face incredulous. "Why Dave?"

"Ah, you see, the power of names. By picking something so simple and informal, your posture and tone changed completely. Had I picked something more formal, you would have responded in kind."

She smiled, immediately taking a liking to the mysterious old man. "Lead the way, Dave. I was told I would be receiving the grand tour."

The two walked slowly through the vast archives, the various rooms and chambers full of different experiments, mystical objects, and parchments.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione stopped to ask, noticing that they hadn't seen a single person, Unspeakable or otherwise, as she was shown around.

"Some of our greatest breakthroughs happen in the early morning or late evening. We encourage our members to work when it best suits them." He squinted at a battered gold watch that seemed to weigh heavily on his wrist. "Yes, 3:00 PM is usually the quietest time of the day down here."

"I see. I do some of my best work at odd times as well."

He nodded sagely. "The quiet mind is often the clearest."

They continued touring through, until they came to a small door tucked behind several suits of armour. It was so old and dark that Hermione wouldn't have even noticed it, had Dave not mentioned it.

"Most Ministers of Magic I've worked with seem to be worried about other objects down here that might help them, but I have something interesting which I think you'll appreciate."

He fished out a small key from within the folds in his robes and turned it in the lock. The heavy door creaked open to reveal a closet-sized space with a single pedestal. On top of it sat a thin, aged book.

"It's my understanding that you are an avid reader, Minister."

"Yes, how did you know?"

"It's my job to know," he added gravely, watching her eyes narrow. He waved his hand dismissively, grinning again. "No, no, I'm only joking. I happened to share a lift with Auror Weasley one Monday morning, and while I didn't mean to eavesdrop, he was complaining quite loudly to Auror Potter that he missed you, because you had your nose stuck in a book all weekend. I mean no offense, of course."

She blushed and rolled her eyes affectionately. "That sounds like Ron alright."

"That's why I thought this might be of interest to you," he continued, gesturing to the pedestal.

She couldn't help but be intrigued as she stared down at the frail old book, her voice dipping down to a whisper of reverence. "What is it?"

"It's called The Book of Souls—though it's just a single parchment. Yet, it's the most dangerous object down here."

Hermione stared at it, her face a mask of awe. "How so?"

"Legend has it that the parchment was created by a powerful young witch, who was being courted by a prince. She wasn't sure if he was her soulmate, for she sensed a darkness in him, so she invoked some very ancient magic to help reveal the truth."

"It worked?"

"Indeed, it did. The parchment was charmed to reveal a small note, riddle, and sometimes even a name to the reader, one that would help them understand who their soulmate was. Unfortunately for that witch, her soulmate was most decidedly not the prince. She rejected his proposal, and as was the case back then, disappeared under mysterious circumstances soon after."

"That's terrible. Then what happened?"

"As the story goes, rumour spread about the witch's parchment, and as with most powerful objects, the lure of it drew out many seekers. Though the object was made with good intentions, it soon led to a trail of darkness and bloodshed. Broken families, obsessions, blackmail, jealousy, and even death. Knowing that kind of unshakeable truth proved to be a valuable commodity, or a lifetime of heartbreak for those unable to meet their soulmate."

Hermione nodded. It sounded very much like the Elder Wand, but more subtle and insidious. One thing was puzzling her though. "I've never heard of this before, and I've studied many books about souls, both ancient and dark."

"Once the Ministry recovered it, they deemed it was too dangerous for this information to be out there, so they've removed all known references to it. Those who had known of it died off, and it was forgotten from memory."

"When was this?"

"Centuries ago. However, as Minister, you are privileged to learn certain pieces of information that the general population is not privy to."

"Fascinating," Hermione replied. She watched as he slowly reached a hand toward the weathered book. "Wait! What are you doing?"

"Every so often I check to make sure it's still under the cover, and since we're already in here, I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. Does… does that mean you've looked at it?"

"Oh no, never. I always look away, as should you."

He lifted the corner for a second, and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but open her eyes to see a word of blazing red ink, before he shut the cover again. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, unable to comprehend the word she saw so very briefly.

"No, it couldn't be."

"What was that Minister? Did you say something?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Everything seems to be in order here. Shall we continue?"

Hermione nodded mutely, the word still burned in her thoughts.

~*~

She cancelled the rest of her meetings and went straight home after finishing with Dave, or whatever his real name was, needing time to collect her thoughts. How could she tell Ron, the love of her life, what she had seen?

She sat at their dining table, absentmindedly stirring a soothing cup of tea when he walked in.

"Hermione, I'm home."

He came bounding into the kitchen, a piece of parchment in each hand and a wide smile on his face. "Look, the kids wrote. Hugo promises he's already started studying for O.W.L.s, and Rosie is nervous, but excited, to captain her first match against Ravenclaw next week."

"That's great," she replied, her voice a dull monotone.

"They even said their classmates think it's cool that you were elected as the youngest Minister of Magic in history."

"Hmm."

Ron looked at her and frowned. "What's wrong? Tough day?"

Hermione pulled out the chair next to her and patted it. "Come sit down."

Ron scrutinized her again. "The last time you did that, it was to tell me you were pregnant with Hugo. Are you pregnant?"

She sighed. "No, please just come here, I need to tell you something, and I don't think you're going to like it."

He sat down, unsure of what was coming. She quickly told him about the Archivist, the tour, and the Book of Souls, before swearing him to secrecy.

"You saw something when he lifted the cover, didn't you?"

She nodded sadly. "I saw a word."

"What did it say?"

"I-I don't want to tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not true. Whatever it says, it's not true."

"C'mon Hermione, please tell me."

"It said… Krum."

Ron let out a laugh. "Oh, is that all?"

"What do you mean? Viktor Krum is my soulmate, and that's all you have to say!?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"That you're upset, that you care that I was destined to be with Viktor."

"Destined? We have two beautiful kids, an amazing family, and great careers. I don't care what some ruddy old book says, the charms are probably wonky anyway." He pointed to his chest. "I know that I love you with all of my heart, and you feel the same."

She slid into his lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I do, you know I do… but…but…"

"What?"

She suddenly burst into tears, burying her head in his neck as she sobbed. "I-I always had this idea in my head that we were real soulmates, if such a thing existed. We met when we were so young, and I've only truly ever loved you. I know it's silly, but I hate that it's not true. I didn't even like Viktor that much."

Ron ran his fingers through her hair and rubbed her back comfortingly. "Maybe it was a mistake or something. You said yourself you only saw one word."

Her breathing started calming down. "I-I suppose that's true."

"We know what happens when a charm or prophecy is misinterpreted."

She sniffled. "It would be nice to know."

Ron gave her a squeeze. "Maybe we should sneak in there tomorrow and take a look."

"We can't just sneak in there! I'm the Minister of Magic! Besides, there was a key to get into the room. I don't know how we're going to get it from the Archivist."

"You're the Minister of Magic. I'm sure you could come up with some reason to be there."

She gave him a dirty look. "I'm not abusing my position like that."

"I don't mind abusing my position, as you put it. Maybe I can say I'm researching something for a case."

"No, Ron. What if you get in trouble?"

"Who am I going to get in trouble with? Harry? You?"

"That's not the point. We swore we'd never take advantage of our roles for our own gain."

He sighed. "Fine, you're right. Sneaking in it is, then. It'll be like the good old days! A secret mission, breaking into places we have no business being in. An ill-formed plan. It'll be fun."

She smacked him on the arm. "Those days were terrible."

"Aren't you curious though, to find out the truth?"

"Of course I want to know the truth! I don't want to go through the rest of my life thinking Viktor was my soulmate, when it's clearly you."

"As sweet as that is, we clearly only have one choice."

Hermione shook her head. "Fine."

"Good, things like this are much easier when you're agreeable to them," he smirked, nudging her playfully. "You said 3:00 PM was when it was empty, right? Meet me in my office tomorrow at 2:55 PM, and we'll head down there. I'll just tell Harry we're going to a broom closet or something."

"Ron!" Hermione screeched. "You'll do no such thing."

"It's perfectly plausible. It's not like we haven't done that before."

She blushed, unable to count the number of times they'd had fun at the Ministry. "Alright, fine. 2:55PM at your office."

"Good. Now, I'm starving. I'll whip up one of your favourites. I bet I'm a better cook than ol' Vicky. What do Bulgarians even eat?"

"Not funny, Ron."

~*~

The next afternoon, Hermione was found pacing in front of Ron and Harry's office, much to the fear of the recruits who were stationed outside the door. It wasn't often the Minister of Magic would show up unannounced, muttering under their breath.

The door swung open and Ron sauntered out, his lips upturned in a smug smile. Harry's face had gone a shade of green from what he'd just heard from his best mate.

"Hi, er, Hermione," Harry greeted her awkwardly. "You two… um… have fun."

Mortified, Hermione could only return a quick wave before grabbing Ron's arm, hauling him toward the lifts before she was forced into any further interactions with Harry.

"I honestly can't believe you told him we were going to go shag."

"I literally told you I was going to say that."

"I didn't think you actually meant it." She let out an exasperated snort and pinched the bridge of her nose as they entered the lift. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?"

"You are the Head Strategist of the Auror department. Surely you must have thought of something!"

Ron shrugged his shoulders and grinned. "We'll make it up as we go. Seems to work best for us."

"I don't like this one bit."

The ding of the bell signalled they had arrived.

Ron clasped her hand, their fingers entwining. "Let's do this."

The doors opened and they were greeted with utter silence. It was as if the entire floor was abandoned, which it likely was.

They crept forward, trying to make as little noise as possible before finally reaching the same spot she had been the previous day.

Hermione turned the handle of the door, and to her surprise, it was unlocked.

"Hey, look at that!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Ron," she hissed. "Keep on the lookout."

He nodded and stood in front of the armour blocking the door, ensuring that Hermione couldn't be seen, in case they were interrupted.

Hermione took a deep breath, her heart pounding. Whatever it said under the cover wouldn't change anything between herself and Ron, but she needed to know for sure.

Her fingers paused for a second, lightly gripping the frail corner, her body tense. She delicately opened the book, the bright red ink bursting into view, almost glowing in the small, dark chamber.

Her greedy eyes flew over the words that were revealed.

"I knew it," she whispered.

Ron suddenly poked his head in. "Everything alright?"

"Perfect. Everything's perfect and wonderful!" Her giddiness couldn't be contained as she closed the ancient text.

"I guess this means you aren't going to chuck me?"

"Never."

"What's it say?"

Her pink cheeks were starting to hurt from her wide grin. "Your soulmate will first love, then hate, a Mr. Viktor Krum."

"That confirms it. See, nothing to worry about."

"Oh Ron, I'm so relieved. I knew it couldn't be true. This whole thing is ridiculous, but I'm still glad to know it's always been you."

Ron nodded. "Me too."

"We should leave before we get caught."

"Not so fast, it's my turn now."

"What?" Hermione asked sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Might as well take a look while I'm here."

Hermione stepped back, biting at her bottom lip—a sure sign of anxiety. "But… but… what if—"

Ron cupped her cheeks in his large hands and gently kissed her. "It doesn't matter what it says, I love you and only you. Trust me."

She nodded, before resuming his place as the lookout.

After a moment, she heard him chuckle and close the door behind him.

Hermione whispered urgently. "What did it say?"

"It said my soulmate will be a nightmare."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Thank goodness. I don't think I would've been able to handle it if it wasn't me."

"It's always been you. I thought you'd have learned by now."

"I know, I never should have doubted it."

"Can you imagine if we'd learned this information when we were younger? We might have been able to get together much sooner," Ron remarked.

"Or we'd have made an even bigger mess of things."

"True. It doesn't matter in the end though, does it? We figured it out and we've done pretty damn well for ourselves."

"We have, Ron. I love you."

"Love you, too. We'd better get out of here before someone sees us."

The two quickly retreated to the lift, having successfully completed their mission. A minute after the doors had shut on the snogging couple, an old man slowly made his way toward the chamber and pulled a small key out of his robes, locking the heavy door.

As it's appointed guardian, he had vowed to never look in the book, and he had kept that oath. That didn't mean he couldn't use it's power in other ways. Past Ministers, those inquisitive few who had the intelligence to understand the book's worth, often revealed something in that moment when he checked the parchment, for good or ill. Usually it mattered little to him, but not in this case.

He paused for a moment, before extracting a small glass sphere from the same pocket as the key. A sphere he'd kept with him for many years, since he was a young man working with prophecies in the Department of Mysteries. Knowing Minister Granger-Weasley was coming to take a tour was the perfect opportunity to solve a mystery he'd been researching for the better part of seven decades.

He held it up to the light, the familiar swirls of mist dancing in the globe. He had long since memorized the prophecy, which had been made by a seer almost a hundred years earlier. His colleagues at the time had dismissed it, because like many visions, it was almost impossible to determine what the seer was referring to.

He had kept this one, for it always gave him hope. He never thought he'd actually solve it. Yet here he was, still alive and able to record this last surviving prophecy in the annals of history.

He turned it over in his hands, the glass still unblemished.

"Magic," he whispered, "such a wonderful tool."

He stared at it again, reciting for the last time the fates encompassed within.

"Two soulmates, brown and orange, will form a triangle with black to defeat evil. Through many trials the two will forge a love so strong it will be unbreakable, and their strength will reshape the world."

He let out a final chuckle, his long-held desire now confirmed by the soulmates themselves. He lifted the glass to his lips, his breath fogging up the shiny surface.

"Prophecy fulfilled."

The sphere melted away into nothing, the outcome recorded somewhere else in the archives. He shuffled away back to his office, his eyes sparkling, and his heart lifted with hope.

#chudley canon fest #chudleycanonficfest #hp canon pairings #hp canon pairings romantic #romione #ron x hermione

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miss-bridgerton · 3 years

Text

for real l anthony bridgerton x you l part one

word count: 1,887 words

pairing: anthony bridgerton x you

author’s note: part 1 finally! it’s not much going on, but this is just the beginning.

taglist: @fact-fictionx @alainabooks143 @michael-loves-chickens @misstonybridgerton

summary: Everyone knew that the Viscount was a rake. Except for, apparently, three young women who clung to his every word. Anthony Bridgerton was in fact charming. But he was absolutely terrible at dating three women at once. Some would call him a dunce for doing so. Others might call him a hero. Adelia Byron called him dead when she found out. Set out on revenge, she and the other two young ladies, Bette DuPont and Siena Rosso, decide to transform a lonely bakers girl into someone who can break the heart of the Viscount.

PART 1: THE SOCIETY PAPER THAT CAUSED A SCENE

YOU HAD NO IDEA that a gossip column would be the cause of a brawl in your family’s tea shop and bakery: The Fancy Teapot.

Overly priced earl grey tea? Oh, absolutely.

Chairs that pinched the bottoms of debutantes and their mammas? Pinched bottoms surely caused nasty sneers a plenty.

But the latest gossip from the squares’ paper? You certainly didn’t see that coming.

It was all because of the Viscount. Lord Anthony Bridgerton was indeed charming. He had that smile that they all seemed to fawn over. His hair was swept in all the right places. And he was a British nobleman.

What more could a young lady want?

You rolled your eyes at the words that frequented that paper. What more could a young lady want? Well, for starters, you wanted freedom. You wanted to bake. You wanted to explore different cities. Eat exotic foods. Tell stories to your future nieces and nephews of your adventures. You didn’t care about marriage, no matter how many times your sister-in-law pushed it on to you. You just simply wanted to. . .experience life.

Unlike the young women who frequented The Fancy Teapot. They were all scouring for eligible unmarried men. It was what they were taught. It was all that they knew, really.

And two debutantes who enjoyed sipping tea in The Fancy Teapot had no idea that they were both courting the Viscount. Until it came out on paper, that is.

It was a sunny spring morning and the social season had sprung in London. You loved the social season for the money it brought the tea shop, but you absolutely loathed the social season for the debutantes and their snooty behavior. They were all perfect. Beautiful gowns. Rosy pinched cheeks. The stink of wealth swarmed them like bees attracted to honey.

You had none of those things. You came from a working family. You came from two different countries. Your father had travelled to (a country of your choosing) where he met your mother and they fell in love and married within a week of him being there. Your father had convinced your mother to leave everything behind to be with him in London, but her one condition was to open a tea shop and bakery.

He clung to his part of the condition. Soon after opening the shop, your older brother Jack was born. Five years later, you were born. For a short while, it was the four of you. Kids running through the tea shop, experimenting with teas, you found the love of baking with your mother, and your parents were still so madly in love it was almost embarrassing. Sadly, your mother became ill and passed away two years ago.

The death was stricken. And hard on you. But it was your father that you and Jack worried after, for it was almost as if he became a different person. As if he lost a part of himself when your mother died. He tried to drink his sorrows away at the pubs, and fancied spending too much money on gambles and bets.

That morning, he was nowhere near the tea shop, probably somewhere betting on poker chips, when you had to break apart two debutantes from nearly mauling each other.

Adelia Byron was with her friend, Cressida Cowper, at a small table near the colossal windows. She didn’t say thank you or even acknowledged your existence when you set down her steaming chamomile tea and slice of cornish hevva cake. You rolled your eyes at the way she gloated over the attention she received at the Warwick ball. Adelia was still on a thrill from two nights before, where the touch of the Viscount’s hand on her back as they danced was still on her. She dreamt of his gorgeous eyes. And when she saw the bouquets of roses addressed to her that morning, she was in total bliss.

Her friend, Cressida, was jealous. Adelia knew it. And if there was something Adelia Byron was known for, it was that she enjoyed bragging. Her father was a Baron, which made her quite eligible for marriage to a Viscount. She had elegant features: Dark red hair, stormy eyes, high cheek-bones. She had already received three proposals but Adelia knew what she wanted. Who she wanted.

Simply put, nobody else would do. She was going to marry the Viscount. And God help her and anyone who got in her way.

On the other side of The Fancy Teapot, situated at a round table underneath an elegant painting by your brother Jack, was Elizabeth DuPont and her overbearing mother, Colette. Elizabeth, often called Bette, was the daughter of The Marquess of DuPont. So her marriage to a man of great wealth and a powerful title was extremely vital. To her mother, at least.

Bette was fond of the Viscount. He swept her away with his words, he was impressed with the way she could speak French and German, and the kiss he laid upon her gloved hand sent a thrill through her body. She couldn’t bear to tell her mother that when she went out to the balcony for a quick breath of fresh air during the Warwick Ball, she was accompanied by Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

Her mother would have been furious. She wanted Bette to charm the Prince - not the Viscount. She wanted her daughter to marry a title higher, not a title lower.

You had just set down two tea cups of herbal tea at their table when one of the young newsie boys stopped by the Fancy Teapot to drop off the new Society Paper.

“Hey, Sam,” you greeted the ten year old boy. He often was the one who sauntered in here to deliver the paper and he did it eagerly, knowing fully well that you were going to give him some free wrapped biscuits, like always.

“Y/N!” He greeted with a boyish grin. “What’s on the menu today? I hope it's something drowned in sugar!” He said excitedly.

You laughed and grabbed the box of warm treacle tarts from under the front counter. “It’s not drowned in sugar, but I think you’ll still enjoy them,” you told him.

He grinned widely. “You’re a real magician, Miss Y/L/N!”

You smiled warmly as the little boy went off and you were so busy handing over his desserts that you didn’t even notice, Dorothea, your sister-in-law, completely captivated by the latest Lady Whistledown’s writings.

“Bloody Hell,” she muttered, leaning her back against the counter and reading the paper. A mama and her daughter were standing by the counter, awaiting some assistance and looking very peevish. You sighed at how unobservant Dorothea was.

You took care of the customers and then turned to Dorothea, who looked as if she had acquired the most scandalous news.

“Y/N! Have you read this yet? It’s so scandalous!”

“No,” you replied, though you were a bit curious. “Who is it about?”

“The Viscount.”

“Hard pass,�� you replied.

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “You are impossible. It’s not just about him but about the women he’s apparently leading on. And,” she took a moment to look around the tea shop and then in a hushed tone continued, “two of them are in here. Right now. Unaware of all of it!”

Well, surely just a peak at the new Society Paper wouldn’t do any harm. You grabbed the paper and took a look:

At the Warwick ball Thursday evening, Viscount Bridgerton was seen dancing with not one eligible young lady, but two. Now, I assume you dear readers know quite the reputation of our charming Viscount, as this behavior isn’t quite unusual. If you are familiar with the season’s doings, dancing with eligible suitors is normal.

Except Lord Anthony Bridgerton was seen with Miss Bette DuPont awfully close on the brink of the balcony and also seen later that evening with a certain opera singer, Siena Rosso, nuzzling her neck in a dark corner of the opera house.

How will the ladies take this embarrassment? Well, this author predicts that Miss Bette DuPont will turn a rather shade red and Miss Adelia Byron’s eyes will flash with a colour quite similar. Miss Siena Rosso will probably be locked up in a bedroom with the Viscount to even notice.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS,16 APRIL 1814

Oh, brother, you thought. This better not cause anything stupid in here -

“HOW DARE YOU!!!!”

You and Dorothea looked up in bewilderment at the sudden outburst. And there it was. Lady Adelia Byron, looking absolutely furious, clutching the society paper, and standing over Lady Bette DuPont who was sitting at her table, looking between a mix of surprise and confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” Bette said to her appalled.

“You!” Adelia yelled. “You are involved with my suitor! How dare you?! You - you - harlot!”

Bette’s jaw dropped but it was her mother who spoke. “My, I never! That is quite unladylike behavior, young lady. My Elizabeth is not some harlot, clearly you cannot read because you have been thoroughly mistaken.”

Adelia rolled her stormy eyes and handed over the paper. Bette hastily read it before gasping, throwing a pretty gloved hand over her mouth.

“This cannot be true. My Lord would never do such things.” Bette told her.

“My Lord?” Adelia mocked. “He’s not your anything. I am going to marry him. So this little rendezvous is finished.”

Bette raised a brow. “I don’t think so,” she simply replied and took a sip of her tea.

Adelia looked as if she was going to chuck that steaming tea pot at the young lady’s head, so you had no choice - you had to get involved.

“Ladies, please, there is no need to act in such a manner,” you told them. They both looked in your direction, looking at you as if you were just a nobody. As if they were thinking, who the hell are you and who makes you think you have any say in this?

You cleared your throat. “He’s just a man,” you tried to explain.

Adelia snorted. “Idiot,” she said under her breath.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You know, instead of getting mad at each other for something neither of you two were unaware of, you should be mad at him. Instead you are fighting over the tosser. Now that is an idiot.”

Both girls’ jaws dropped at what you said. But both didn’t say anything in retaliation. Instead, Adelia lifted her head high and walked away with what dignity she possessed and Bette went back to her tea, ignoring her mother’s angry stares.

Dorothea was nearly bursting in astonishment and the tea shop, which went quiet during the whole argument, went back to the bustling noise it always had.

All went back to normal. Until later that evening.

While you were cleaning up and closing down The Fancy Teapot for the day, you found a folded napkin at the same table that Adelia Byron sat with Cressida Cowper. Inside was a perfectly scrawled note addressed to you.

Not many people can inspire me, but you, Miss Bakery girl, did. Visit my estate as soon as you can manage. We have a lot to discuss.

X Miss Adelia Byron

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony bridgerton headcanon #mine #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #bridgerton fanfic

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namjoonchronicles · 3 years

Text

late | th

↳ genre fluff, established relationship, dad Taehyung

↳ words 4k

↳ summary a trip back to hometown for a friend turned into something memorable which embarked something deep in Taehyung’s heart.

↳ notes i discussed the premise of this story with my good friend @hellotherehoneybee and based on her ideas, i prolonged the length and added some plots to push a heavy turn so appropriately, the summary here is thanks to her.

↳ warning mentions of childbirth, vivid descriptions of the scene, major character death

↳ song taylor swift ‘gold rush’, imagine dragons ‘levitate’, taio cruz ‘telling the world’, taylor swift ‘ you’re in love’

“Taehyung… tea?”

Sand cuffed the shore. Half painted coast on the canvas. The wind blew rather harshly and every strike of wind, Taehyung’s wild mane of hair ruffled against themselves. They were long enough to cover his eyes but it didn’t stop him from painting the colours on his canvas. He blinks at the view of the sea and how it doesn’t change despite the years passed by. He wore slippers with an open toe, a baggy shirt and baggy trousers. His eyes looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Sunken cheeks and empty eyes, his jaw was immaculate and his face was crafted by God. He is beautiful in this light. So beautiful.

“What are you drawing so seriously?” you asked. But no answers from him. As it should.

Six, maybe ten years back, this caravan was parked here. Pair of hands raised to the ceiling. The sunlight sieved through the blinds. The pair laced themselves, and toyed around. The make out of the knuckles under this light, showed how veiny his hands were than yours. Small chuckles and soft whispers accommodate the serene and tranquil moment. The caravan was parked by the sea. His easel leaned against the kitchen counter next to the sink. His whole body covered yours as you snuggled in bed. You thumbed his supple cheeks and traced the shape of his lips as he lay half-awake. You ran your index finger down the slope of his pretty nose and counted his eyelashes, you lined the edges of his brows and ran your hand through the locks of his brown hair that looked lighter in the sun. He moans sweetly at your touch.

You proceed to trace your fingers down the helix of his ears, his excellent jaw lines and chin. There's prickling hair ends at the chin and you thought that he might need a shave. You remembered how bad he was at shaving. You even suggested that he should stop shaving all the way. The smile he had on when you said it was priceless. Then he remembered that society wouldn’t have allowed him to live. Taehyung’s eyes half-opened at the stimulating touch. He breaks a smile in his sleepy state and he crunches his nose at the view of you. You swore, you had never seen anyone that beautiful. He nuzzles into your face and neck, planting kisses where he can and he spoke, in his drowsiness, “I’m so sleepy.”

He gets on top of you and buries his face in your neck. Through lighthearted giggles, you say, “You’re heavy, big bear…” While making no effort to push him away. He feels like a weighted blanket you always wanted when you’re younger. Warm and snuggly. Gentle and tender. He smells like a pillow and his hair is soft. He loves it when your fingers thread through his hair, just caressing the glorious length, he’ll make sounds that are so lovely. You brushed your lips on top of his head and one arm around him. They never meet the total length of his shoulders because they were too broad. So you end up scratching the fabric of his thin shirt. Had the weather been warm enough, he would have rather slept in his skins. You whispered softly, as you felt him drifting back to sleep in his new found comfort, “If you don’t get up now, we are going to be very late…”

And we won’t be able to help around like we planned.

Jeju’s beaches are breathtakingly beautiful. Especially in Handam. Where the waters are brilliant blue and the skies azure. The black rocks, rubbles, kissing the shore. It would make a fine painting, this scenery. Taehyung poked his head out the caravan door at you,

“I thought you said we’re late?”

You glanced over your shoulder and gave him a sheepish smile. Jogging lightly back into the caravan, you pinched his sides as you walked in.

In fact, you weren’t late. You were not late at all. Taehyung’s eyes had always been inviting. Beautiful brown irises so encapsulating they almost felt unreal. It was those eyes that your friends recognised. They quickly adopted him once he carried in all the groceries like he is one of them. The crowd roars as they see you because they know it will shrink you. You were never good at crowds, so you covered your ears and physically shrunk while laughing till your eyes turned to crescents on their own. Quickly, the host came to the rescue, gathering you in her arms and calling off those people that are bothering you. At once, Taehyung had disappeared to make new friends and greet the old ones.

“A baby shower, this late?” you stared at your friend, Junhee quizzically. She pursed her lips and stared off to the corner of the room while tucking your arm in hers.

“I wanted an excuse to see my good friend,” she said with a cunning grin, then she cowers, falls silent in a sudden, her palm rubbing over her swollen belly. Nine months in, any day now. You knew in your heart that it was a bad idea, but still, her husband, Jimin, felt like it was okay to hold these gatherings for her. Jimin would do anything to make her happy. Then, she hisses. And you start to cower over her, pulling the chair closer for her to sit.

“Is it the contraction? Has any contraction happened today?”

“No, this is the first…”

Junhee seemed to have calmed down after she rested. You still wanted to talk to Jimin if you had the time, asking why he’d think it was a good idea to hold the party anyways. You had your answer when he walked in, snapping the fridge door open for a cold drink refill.

“She looked so miserable these past few days, I just wanted to see her smile,” Jimin carried two bottles of fruit punch as he brushed shoulders with you. Then, a toddler came crawling in, on all fours, stopping just by your feet and falling onto her bum and sat. Her twinkling eyes ushers you to carry her up.

“Where did you come from, little one?” You cooed. She curls up to your neck, and starts babbling. Then you suddenly felt her little hand roaming around your clothed boobs, and when she felt she found the tip, she began suckling. And you laughed out loud. Loud enough to have everyone's attention on you, including Taehyung’s. The baby’s mother rushed to you in her loose ponytail, handling another two slightly older children that were at her feet. One is tugging at her blouse and the other wailing so loud, you became concerned. You helped her into a nursing room, Jimin’s wife had prepared. It was a short tattling walk away from where you were. The baby was hungry. She’s four months old and today was her first day out since she was born and was brought home. You were glad that the number of guests didn’t scare one bit.

Taehyung had distributed the barbecued sausages to the kids around. He had the sharp sticks taken out and was helping to blow the heat from the sausages from one of the kids. He looks pretty much at home with everything. It’s probably been awhile because he finally saw you out the room carrying the baby, her little stodgy fingers curled around your thumb and she is gurgling. What a beautiful sight it was. It seemed you might have heard his thoughts when you looked up to the side and had the baby waved to Taehyung. He chuckles through his nose and crinkles his eyes at the little one, making a funny face. The little toddler extended her short petite arms and grabbed air repeatedly at Taehyung’s presence. Then you motioned her closer to Taehyung.

“I think she wants you to carry her…”

“Me?” He sounded unsure, uncertain, but, he brushed invisible dust off his palm on his butt and, “It’s been awhile but. Okay.” Arms open, collecting the toddler in.

The pinkish hue of her skin, her soft supple cheek, her little angel hairband, and twinkling, gleaming smile. Taehyung memorised her scent like a wolf would to a pup, with his eyes shut, his nose nudging on her softness. His arms held her gently but firmly. It felt like there was only him and the baby, he shut every other sound. When he held that baby, there’s stillness in the air, the noises ceased to exist, the visions clouded and the heaven’s hinted; it was his calling. It felt very much like sinking and flying at the same time. It was as if the world stood still, the time stopped and the anticipation grew. A lifetime in a second. Gold rush, a dam broke and first rain in the desert. Taehyung eyes fluttered open to the view of the baby’s rosy cheeks and immediately searched for you. Any semblance of you.

But you were kneeling by Jimin’s wife laying body on the floor.

Taehyung padding over the wooden balcony into the living room. In daze, Taehyung passed the baby over to her mother and closed into you. Your mouth was moving but for some reason, his brain couldn’t string the words. You were screaming but he heard nothing until seconds after.

“Call 911!” You ordered. There was a puddle of water where she once stood.

Meanwhile, you’re massaging her tummy. Jimin’s at the other end, and people pooling in to watch. The men are asked to wait outside with the kids for the ambulance. Taehyung had his hand on the house phone, and as he tried to arrange his words, his attention flew to you and your alarmed eyes. Your lips read,

“Speak slowly… clearly.”

The dial tone ended and, “We need. Ambulance. Birth. A woman is giving birth, please send in an ambulance.” He turns to you again and right now, you have all the ladies lined up.

“Okay, listen. Towels, all of it, blankets, pillows, sterile gloves, plastic bags, and Jimin,” you listed. Everyone spreads around to get everything. Towels from upstairs, blankets from the laundry room, pillows from the guest room and plastic bags from the kitchen drawers. Even Jimin who was outside waiting for the ambulance is being carried in by Jungkook. Taehyung handed a plastic cup of water. Jimin has his wife’s head cradled in his lap, padded with pillows and she’s holding her hand.

“I told you this was a good idea…” she joked, “I only trust her around…”

“I have only delivered a baby once in my life and that was in nursing school, that does not mean this was a correct choice, Junhee…” you half scolded her.

“I wouldn’t have it in any other way,” she said with a big smile before she hisses in pain and clenching around Jimin’s fingers. Then she groaned till veins were popping on her forehead. Jimin kept on peppering kisses and wiping her sweat with warm water. She continues to wretch and shiver. She felt cramps in her abdomens, churning. So she retched. What a relief she had her husband on the side. Jimin’s whispering words of affirmations and it really helped her calm down. Although she is really not far from giving birth. She is 9 centimetres dilated.

“Where is the ambulance?” You asked in a rushed tone.

“Any minute now!” Someone at the door informed.

That’s not good enough. She will be 10 centimetres in no time and if the ambulance isn’t here by then, the baby will drown. She is perfectly ready for vaginal delivery, you grab a towel, place it underneath her openings and tell her to push until she feels the contraction. Work with the contraction and push as hard as she could. You also massaged to make sure the baby’s head was out first. From the physical examinations, the baby’s head is visible. All that’s left to do is for Junhee to push. You thought her the breathing method, and counted with her. Even Jimin’s following suit.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. You can do this…” you reminded her, “And then we’re gonna go again, okay?”

“I think I’m going to vomit…” Jimin fetches the bag from the side and vomits. Taehyung gulped, watching the fiasco from the side. He watches his wife carefully guiding, and assuring and giving space towards the mother to feel as comfortable as she can.

Junhee was obedient and she was cooperating. She was entirely under your care. You can see from her eyes that she trusted you with her life. She had been, ever since you knew her. And now, she entrusted you with her life and her baby’s life. Junhee delivers a big push and this time the baby slides out into your arm along with it’s placenta. The detachment is healthy, and you quickly glance to the time, on the grandpa’s clock on the corner,

“Someone note the time!”

“3:47PM!”

You placed the baby on his mother’s arm, a healthy baby boy. Another warm towel on his tiny body and his mom’s tired laugh. He is red and warm and crying, lungs are not congested. But still you need to wait for the ambulance. You placed the placenta into the bag Taehyung opened and told Jimin to hold them up. You refused to cut the umbilical cord without proper tools. It’s not sterile here to do so and there’s no medical back-up should anything go wrong. You told everyone to stay put until the ambulance arrived. Taehyung caught your eyes from across the room and slowly, you drew a smile on your face, contradicting his worried one. And again, in this lifetime, even when he was most concerned about you, you told him with your eyes that you’re okay. Even at this distance.

“Who delivered the baby?” the ambulance personnel yelled, his voice seeped in, through the windows to you, while you were cleaning up the living room.

Taehyung rushed to the door with a panicked look on his face and you sprinted out.

They gave you the scissors.

“The ma’am wanted you to cut the umbilical cord instead of the father, will you do the honors?” The man in medical assistant uniform smiled at you. You took the scissors in your hand and you glanced up at her, tears welling up in your eyes and you cried, “Yes, of course, yes…”

“She’s a retired nurse, I never once worried about my life when she’s around,” Park Junhee boasted as she was carried into the ambulance. Jimin climbed in, too. You followed the ambulance close while Taehyung drove Jimin’s car. It’s to help them later, if Jimin needs to return home. Taehyung left the car parked in the hospital parking area and climbed into your shared caravan. He offered to drive. And as he was driving, and talking about how cool you were as the night fell, he heard nothing from your side. You had already fallen asleep. Defeated by the tiredness. He stops at the same spot this morning and lowered your chair. He fetches a blanket from the bed and tucked you in warm. You moaned and switched to your side. He leans over you and plants a firm kiss on your head. As you swam deeper in your slumber, the stars twinkling in the sapphire blue sky, the moon stood witness to the feeling Taehyung had over you. He lowered his own chair to watch you sleep with a smile and fondness in his eyes.

His soft curls fall over the hood of his eyes, touching the bridge of his nose as he clamors in renewed emotions he felt for you. Such pure love, the kind that authors would write about in novels, many years ago. He is so in love, his feet are levitating from the ground it seemed. One of those wishes thrown at the shooting skies had come true. Broken pieces of him, finally held together, and the last piece was in a form of a person. He extended his arm to reach yours, and you took them in like a soft toy. He gladly cuffed himself to you, it's been his fate. Lips, body and soul, is yours. The bell resonated from the far back of his mind, of when soulmates found each other. His heart thumping so loudly he feared you might have heard them. You have stirred something inside him he doesn’t quite understand yet. Rain or snow, storms or deserts, it's your hand he wanted to hold. He wants to create a home so comfy for you and maybe, in between you two, a baby that’s both his and yours. Someone to carry his name. Symphonies of violin when he watches you sleep. Like an orchestra coming together.

Walking down the street in the morning, you wore beige knitted cardigan, hands intertwined. He swings your hand with a big toothy grin on his face. His soft curls flying in the wind, his deep chuckle sparking your insides with excitement. You wanted to choose a gift for Jimin and Junhee’s baby boy who is now at the hospital. With this man’s hand who made your heart ascend in the small of your back, it felt like you could do anything. An older woman who was also a customer in the small shop gave you both a big smile.

“Newly weds?” She asked.

“Why? Do we seem like so?” You asked her warmly.

“We've been married for almost 2 years now…” Taehyung corrected her.

The older woman chuckled, and then her smile faltered, crestfallen on a vision it seemed, “Such soulmates are rare… You looked so good together, such a beautiful couple…” Taehyung wanted to buy a small necklace for the older women. He grabbed one that caught his eyes and dashed out the shop’s door, but the old woman had disappeared.

“She walked really fast for someone her age…” Taehyung spoke to himself, squinting hard at the distance in both directions. To see if there’s any semblance of the friendly old woman anywhere. It’s like she vanished. When he returned to the shop, you asked him to buy you a glass ball with a bear reading and confettis inside. It was nothing special for Taehyung but you wanted it so he bought them without much thought. In the caravan, it was placed on the dashboard with a double tape, securely glued.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we have our own little one?” Taehyung stared at his friend Jimin, cooing his little baby.

“Could we?” Your smile faded as you bore into the view of the glass. You turned to him with a broken smile, “At my age?”

“You’re not as old as you think you are…” Taehyung said. And did he prove them well. Nine months later, you were holding his arm as you walked out of the apartment door with Jimin’s wife on the phone, telling you that she had arrived. Unlike her, you wanted to be at the hospital when the water broke. The same beige cardigan you wore on her child’s birthday,you wore today. It’s already old and strings were coming out at the ends but you insisted. Taehyung carried you bridal style into the car, towels ready. His arms were yours to clench on and while you were groaning, he was biting his lips at the same force. You clawed into his flesh as he calmed you down. Jimin was driving and his wife was teaching you the same breathing method you taught her. You plastered your face into Taehyung’s neck. Hair stuck into your forehead as you sweat profusely, fighting through the incessant pain.

“Please hurry Jimin, please hurry…” Taehyung begged.

“I have the hazard lights on, we will make it on time, don’t worry bud…” Jimin said in a rushed tone.

In the delivery room, Taehyung was dressed in all blue, masks and gloves, just like the doctors and nurses. There’s only his eyes, but you recognise them so well. One look, in that delivery room, meant only for you. Light hearted jokes and hand held tight. He pressed his lips on your whitened knuckles the whole time. His tears fell like diamonds as he watches you push with all your strength, a baby that is his. No words exchanged, but you saw enough. He was in love, so direly in love. Memories flash in the back of your mind, under clenched eyes, kisses on the sidewalks, love declarations under the heavy rain. The way he lifts you to the sky in that storm, slowly sliding you down his body, enough for you to place your forehead on his. His wide gaping smile, drenched in the night under the lamp post, warm wafts of breaths escaped his lips. You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him hard. You couldn’t hear what the midwives are saying, but you know one thing, this is the ultimate gift you could give the man that has given you everything.

One last push, and a shrilling tiny cry accompanied. Taehyung looked at you and linked his forehead on yours. You’ve gone pale. So pale. Your lips were blue and your eyes were drooping. You are coming in and out of consciousness. The doctors had to lead Taehyung out of the delivery room, they had to perform operations. You were too tired to continue pushing. But before he leaves, you brushed your lips on his left cheek, and you tell him in your last bits of strength,

“I-I love you. So-so much...Thank you…”

Taehyung’s hand was separated from yours. He was grabbing air just as yours were holding out.

Today.

“Taehyung, tea?” His mother greeted him. He and his easel in use. He shook his head. And from inside the caravan. Small pair of hands curled on the handles, to push the door open. Carrying a beige cardigan. Four feets putting on shoes and padded to their father. With brown irises twinkling at Taehyung’s back, no older than four years old, Taehyung glanced over his shoulder and spread his arms. One in each arm.

You watched them from the caravan, and it felt like you were right there. You could almost touch him, his hair, the slope of his nose. The babies. The babies are all grown. You could almost smell the sea. The breeze you knew so well. But you can’t.

Six years ago.

Taehyung returned home with the babies. Dressed in all black, he has to head back out again, to send his wife. When he returned, he saw the babies sleeping on their side, covered by the beige cardigan. He rushes outside to where the caravan’s were. His mother caught him just in time as he fell to the ground, shivering and calling out your name repeatedly. His mother cradles him in her lap.

“Release, my child. Release your agony…” Taehyung’s mother cradled her baby boy in her arms and Taehyung let out a cry, heart-thumping, guttural screaming cry as he let out the grief he had kept in the silent since he saw your casket lowered, six-feet underground, a baby in his arms, sleeping, coddled in her late mother’s knitted cardigan she wore when she was at the hospital, trying to have her. Taehyung looked up at the sky that strangely bright day, and a single drop of rain fell to the left side of his cheek where his wife had kissed before she went away.

God is neither late nor early.

God took one of His angels back home to Him. Left two behind in Taehyung’s care.

196 notes · View notes

voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

Of Deadlines and Drama

For @jontim-week Day Three: Late

Rating: T

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Jon’s has trouble with his expenses. Tim helps out.

“Late again? Really, Jon?”

“I know, I know!” Jon types as fast as his shaking hands will allow, but it’s no use. It’s Wednesday and its half past twelve, meaning Rosie will not be accepting his expense report under any circumstances. She’s a stickler for deadlines- at least, when it comes to Jon. They’ve never been on the best of terms, but ever since what Jon has deemed ‘The Incident,’ she’s been downright unpleasant.

“I thought you set an alarm this time!” Tim says, coming over to lean against his desk. Tim has an alarm for everything - waking up, eating, exercising, going to bed. Jon doesn't know how he stands it. “I didn’t hear anything go off.”

“I might have told you I set one,” he winces, avoiding Tim’s eyes. “And then forgot to.”

“Jon, Jon, Jon…”

“Don’t triple Jon me!” he snaps, attempting to focus on the meaningless numbers in front of him. “I’m stressed enough as is. God, Elias is going to kill me…”

“Why are you trying to impress him?” Tim plops down in the chair beside him and props his feet up on Jon’s desk, raising an eyebrow. He looks infuriatingly handsome in his button up and sweater, a look that Jon has tried to emulate, only to achieve ‘overworked librarian.’ “The only person you should be trying to impress is me. Your boyfriend. The light of your life, the reason you get up in the morning-”

“The reason these are going to be even later than usual,” Jon snaps and knocks Tim’s feet off of the desk with a sharp elbow. Tim yelps and throws Jon a hurt look that he tries and fails to ignore. “I’m sorry. You did tell me to set an alarm. It’s just...these things get away from me.”

“I know.” Tim’s face softens as he scooches his chair over and leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “How can I help?”

“You can convince Rosie to accept these. You’re very persuasive.” He turns and gives Tim his best doe-eyed look, though he already knows the answer.

“I am persuasive, aren’t I?” Jon ignores his preening. “But that’s not going to work. You know as soon as she sees your name…”

Jon sighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Yes, I know.”

“What did you do to her, Jon? Run over her dog? I know they scare you, but still...”

“They don’t scare me,” Jon lies, pointedly looking away. “I just...would rather not have them near my person. And you know I can’t drive.”

“What then?” Jon says nothing, focusing instead on chipping away at a small scratch in the wood of his desk. The whole thing’s rather embarrassing, and he’s gone this long without telling anyone. Tim moves his chair even closer, nudging it against Jon’s and squishing him into his desk. He’s effectively trapped.

“C’mon. Pleeease?”

Jon sighs at the wheedling tone. “I...may have snapped at her.”

“You do that with everyone, though. Unless you said something especially heinous...” Another nudge to his chair.

“And then... stumbled.”

“...okay?”

Jon closes his eyes. “And spilled my tea all over Elias’s mail.”

Tim guffaws, as expected, and Jon can feel his face warm. It certainly wasn’t his proudest moment, he can still hear Rosie’s screeching and his own stammered apologies. “That’ll do it! God, I wish I’d seen that.”

“It was incredibly embarrassing, and I’m glad you didn’t. Elias wasn’t in, thank god.”

“You could’ve gotten it all over one of those posh suits he wears.” Jon shudders at the thought. Elias is fastidious about his appearance, he would’ve been fired on the spot. Starting to feel claustrophobic, Jon pushes back against Tim’s chair to give himself breathing room and tries to refocus. He’s dawdled long enough.

Tim hums. “Hmm, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He tucks his head over Jon’s shoulder, probably eying the obvious errors in his report. Jon’s never been good with numbers.

“Rosie doesn’t accept expenses after twelve, that’s true. But…” Tim trails off, definitely relishing in the small twitch in Jon’s eye when he does it. He enjoys riling him up, and he’s very good at it. Jon contains the urge to elbow him in the stomach.

“But what?” He’s starting to sound like a broken record.

“But she doesn’t actually give them to Elias until three or four.” Tim smirks at his affronted gasp. Jon’s never been that late, but Rosie’s always going on about ‘deadlines being very important to Mr. Bouchard’ and ‘I’m sorry I just can’t accept these so late, I’ve already given him the pile.’ Jon’s wallet has paid the price for this on more than one occasion- he counts on those reimbursements, and it often leaves him short on cash for the rest of the week. Tim will pick up the check on those days, waving off Jon’s protests and trying to assuage his guilt. Before he can start raging about the newly-discovered arbitrary deadline, Tim cuts in.

“But if I distract her, you can slip them in her little pile and she’ll be none the wiser!” Tim gives him a cheeky grin. It’s...not a bad plan, but Jon’s hesitant at the thought of pulling one over on his boss’s secretary.

“Or I could just wait until she goes to the bathroom and do it then.” Tim’s face falls at the suggestion.

“Or I could distract her.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. They haven’t been on an investigation in weeks, and he always gets restless when they’re cooped up in the institute. And a bored Tim is a dangerous Tim.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! This way we can control the scenario, make sure you have enough time to get in and out.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “And what if she sees through your antics?”

Tim gives a dramatic gasp, rearing back in his seat and just barely missing a passing librarian. “Are you doubting my acting skills? I’ll have you know you aren’t the only theater kid in this place. And I didn’t want to bring it up, but...you owe me.”

Jon’s heart drops. Of course. Jon can’t coast along on his boyfriend’s paychecks, that’s asking too much. It’s his fault he’s in this predicament, and honestly, he should be thanking Tim for even offering.

“For bailing on that stakeout.”

Jon pauses, and promptly dismisses his guilt. “I was sick! From a cold you gave me, might I add-”

“Technicalities.” Tim waves a dismissive hand. “C’mon. Do me a favor. Let your boyfriend save the day. Please?” He does his best impression of a kicked puppy, and Jon’s almost afraid he’ll go down on his knees to complete the look.

“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring the answering cheer. “If you must. But how are you going to-”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Tim winks, jumping up from his seat and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Leave it to me. Finish those up, and I’ll be back before you know it.” He’s already halfway through the door before Jon can say thank you, and only pauses to call back “Have Sasha check for typos! Love you!”

Jon scowls at the snickers that follow this statement, and turns back to his screen. The numbers blurred together, and he’s pretty sure he’s subtracted when he should’ve added. It’s a wonder he ever gets these done at all.

“Sasha? Can you look at this for me?”

_________

Tim promptly comes back with coffee (which Jon knows he hates) and cronuts, dropping one off at Jon’s desk. “She won’t be able to resist,” he promises with a peck to Jon’s cheek. “When you see us in the hallway, that’s your cue!”

In spite of himself, he starts to feel a little excited. Tim’s exuberance is contagious, and while not as thrilling as an investigation, Jon’s not above a bit of petty revenge. Not even revenge, really, more justice for the pain and suffering of his bank account. And not ten minutes later, Tim and Rosie are chatting amicably as they walk past the library, cronuts in hand. He feels the slightest bit of envy at how easily Tim can make friends, but tamps it down as he tiptoes up the stairs and over to Rosie’s desk. Elias’s door is thankfully closed.

And her desk is...empty. Immaculate. Nothing but a tiny notepad and her usual knickknacks, not a paper in sight. Fuck. Had she already given them to Elias? Is Jon too late? Did Tim waste money on coffee and cronuts for nothing? Calm down, he tells himself, willing his heart to slow. Just...have a look around.

He tries not to feel too guilty as he rummages through her mail trays and under her place mat. There’s nothing too personal, though he averts his eyes at a list entitled New Year, New Intentions. It’s when he finally turns to the drawers that he sees it- the corner of a file folder, sticking out of the bottom drawer. Please be it, please be it. He tugs it out, wincing at the small tear it causes and aha! He’s found it. A pile of neatly clipped expense reports is nestled inside, and all he needs to do is stick his in the middle where she can’t see and he’ll be fine-

“Jon?”

The voice startles him so badly he lets out a little yelp, the folder flying from his hands and papers littering the floor around him. He puts a hand on his chest to calm his racing heart and turns around to find Elias, who’s just caught him snooping through his secretary’s desk like a little thief. Jon didn’t even hear the door open. Oh god. I’m fucked. I’m fired.

“I-um, h-hello! Elias.” He gives an awkward little wave and immediately curses himself for doing it. It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten what normal people do with their hands. “I was just...looking for a pen. T-To write Rosie. A note.”

“A note.” Elias raises one eyebrow, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe a word coming out of Jon’s mouth. To be fair, Jon wouldn’t either. When put on the spot, Jon can’t lie to save his life. “And this file…?” He bends down to pick up the folder clearly marked ‘Expenses’ in bold, black print. Jon winces.

“It...fell out?”

“Oh, Jon.” Elias tuts, and Jon refrains from full body flinching. He has a particular hatred of being scolded, and especially by Elias, of all people. The man he’s desperate to impress, who holds his job in his hands. “There’s no need for the ruse. Deadlines aren’t exactly your strong suit, are they?”

“No,” he mumbles, the words barely audible as he struggles to meet Elias’s eyes. He loves having his flaws pointed out to him. Loves it. “I’m sorry.”

“However, you do fine work.” Jon blinks and there it is- a rare, indulgent smile. It’s incongruous with those strange, cold eyes, but it makes Jon feel better all the same. “You’re one of our best researchers. But if you want to move up in the world, timeliness is of the utmost importance, yes?”

“Y-Yes,” Jon stammers, nodding his head up and down like a puppet. Move up in the world? Jon’s never considered himself ‘promotion material,’ but the thought that Elias thinks it possible fills him with excitement. You do fine work, he said. Fine work! “I’ll do my best.”

“Of course.” Elias offers the folder to Jon’s trembling hands, and gives him a conspiratorial smile. “This, however, can be our little secret, hm? I believe I saw Rosie and Mr. Stoker in the break room, but I think they’ll be back any minute. Best to tidy up before she notices.”

Jon can’t help the beam that spreads across his face. “T-Thank you, Elias. Really. It won’t happen again-”

“I know it won’t.” Elias gives him a brisk nod, suddenly all business, and turns back to his office, shutting the door briskly behind him without another word. Jon takes that as his cue to scurry across the floor, grabbing up the papers as frantically as possible while taking care not to crumple them further. It takes him a few moments, but he manages to get them in order and tucks his own into the pile. He places it carefully in the drawer he found it in, corner sticking out just as before. No Rosie in sight. Thank god.

With that, he bolted. Best not to be spotted anywhere near the scene of the crime.

______

“Did it work?” Tim rushes into the library, talking entirely too loudly and plopping down on Jon’s desk, sending pens flying. Jon chooses to ignore this. “I brought Rosie her favorites, gave up my choicest gossip to get her out of that seat. Told her if Elias overheard he’d go mental.” Tim pauses to consider this. “Actually, that might’ve been true. It involves a copier and a certain someone-”

“It worked,” Jon quickly cuts him off. He doesn’t need any more info on whatever...that was. “Thank you. But Elias caught me.” Tim looks at him incredulously, as if surprised he survived the encounter. “And he was...okay with it? I mean, he told me it couldn't happen again, but he said ’it’s our little secret.”

Tim blanches at the words. “What?”

“He also said I did fine work,” Jon admits shyly. “I didn’t know he paid attention to me, but-”

“Hang on, ‘our little secret’? Fine work!?” Tim shrieks and Jon hurriedly shushes him, looking anxiously around the library. No one pays attention, used to their antics by now. “What’s that supposed to be, a euphemism?”

“A euphemism? What on earth could that be a euphemism for?”

“I don’t know!” Tim waves a hand around dramatically, and he actually looks a bit put out. Is he...jealous? Jon can’t help the small smirk and Tim notices it right away. “Don’t give me that! I don’t like the way he looks at you. Sasha’s noticed too. It’s downright creepy.”

“The grey is a bit disconcerting, I’ll give you that.”

“It doesn’t match his face! Weird, right?”

“Anyway,” Jon says, eager to cut off yet another tangent. “Your plan worked.”

“Not really.” Tim pouts, kicking his feet out like a toddler and turning away with his arms crossed. Only Tim can manage to make the petulant look work on a twenty-eight year old man.

“Yes, really!” Tim doesn’t turn around and Jon internally rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. “Look, I’ll get my check next Friday with everyone else. And then I’ll take you out to dinner. How does that sound?”

That did it. Tim tilts his head towards him, gives him a playful smile. “Gonna romance me, Sims? Pull out all the stops?”

Jon returns it. “All the second-rate sushi you want.”

“You’re a prince among men.” Tim hops off his desk and gives his forehead a kiss. Jon’s partial to those kisses and he can feel himself melting at the touch, even as his smile turns wicked.

“I could ask Elias if he’s free as well-”

He doesn’t manage to dodge the pen that flies his way, but he doesn’t mind. Jealousy’s not a bad look on Tim.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103509

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #jontimweek #precanon #established relationship #is this ridiculous and dumb? sure #do i care? no!#we need some low stakes alright #this podcast stresses me out enough #no warnings here i believe

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wannabemobwife · 3 years

Text

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield, Family!Rosie Holland x Family!Harry Holland (idk really how to do pairings because most characters have interactions with everyone)

-Warnings: Hospital scenes, sadness, blood, typos

-Words: 4.1K

-Key:

Y/M/N = your middle name

Y/L/N = your last name

Y/B/T = your blood type (if you don’t know you can pick a random one, there is O-/+, AB-/+, A+/-, and B-/+)

A/n: I have a too much fun writing the hospital scenes sorry. And before you at me for a second coma, it isn’t one. Some people just take longer to come out of general anesthesia.

Chapter 11: Leave a Light On

Words: 4K

“Oh my god, she still has a pulse” said one of EMTs in the copter.

“Tell the hospital to have as much Y/B/T on hand when we get there.”

“We got you, Mrs. Holland.”

Everything was a blur. You were taunted by your consciousness ebbing like the tide. One minute you were awake, the other not so much. Noises and smells seemed louder and stronger as your sight was stripped from you. A constant buzzing gave the hint of a helicopter, you were rescued. You wanted to give up at that moment. All your energy had dissipated over the hours of waiting. Giving up would make all the pain go away.

But at what cost? You wanted to see Parker’s and Rosie’s smiling face once more. You wanted to see Tom again. Tell him you loved him because you aren’t so sure he truly believed you the last time. You wanted all these things but it seemed you were meant for a different path.

One without pain, struggle and hurt. One that has only known of peace, bliss, and tranquility. One you ready to say goodbye to and the other hello.

Something beyond yourself was keeping in the position you were in. Struggling to bring oxygen to your lungs, bleeding out liter after liter from your side you were ready and needed to give up. Someone else wasn’t ready.

“Mrs. Holland can you hear me?” A doctor said, shining a light in your eyes to see if you were responsive.

“Mrs. Holland, we are going to take good care of you.”

“Oh, wow... she’s soaked entirely through her bandage. I need all the bags from the blood bank of Y/B/T you can find. She could die of exsanguination any moment.

“Tom,” you whispered.

“What was that? Did you hear that?” Asked the hospital staff, working above you. You reached up weakly, to pull your oxygen mask off for a second.

“Tell Tom I love him, please,” was all you could choke out before a terrifying but familiar sound filled the room. A monotone beep. You were coding.

“I need a crash cart in here. Charging to 200… clear,” called out the doctor. Your body jolted up with the force of 200 joules.

“Charging to 300… clear.”

“Charge to 400, CLEAR,” the doctor screamed.

“Charge to 450—.“

“Doctor we aren’t supposed to give that high of a shock,” informed one of the surgical interns.

“I don’t care, this woman needs to see her kids again… Clear,” The doctor said, delivering a final defibrillation. Your heart rate returned to normal, a steady pulse still weak but there.

“Doctor, she has a pneumothorax (collapsed lung) on her right lung,” said one of the medical personnel using the ultrasound. “Shit, we need to get her to the OR now. Let’s move. I’m not going to let her die on me.” The doctor explained.

A plane ride that was only supposed to be 2 hours and 15 minutes melded into what felt like days. No word from Harry or anyone had come about you and Tom. They all landed and took a car to the hospital. It was enough waiting by then, all they knew is that both of you were found. Neglecting to mention dead or alive.

“I’m here for Tom and Y/N Holland. They were airlifted in. Can we see them?” Nikki asked the person at the front desk.

“No hablo ingles, lo siento,” said the receptionist

“IS THERE ANYBODY HERE WHO SPEAKS ENGLISH?” Dom screamed. “Yes, I do. Did I hear you say you are here for Tom and Y/N Holland?” Asked a man clad in a white lab coat.

“Yes. He’s my son and she’s my daughter-in-law. These are their kids.” Nikki explained gesturing to Parker and Rosie.

“Well ma’am if you’ll follow me. I can tell you in private.” “No, whatever needs to be said, they can hear. They want to hear.” “Still follow me to a private waiting room please, your son is in there. Everyone can come,” the doctor concluded. “Alright then,” Nikki responded, following the doctor to a private waiting room.

“Harry.” Rosie said, seeing her favorite uncle.

“You made it, I’ve been waiting for you guys to hear an update.” Harry was so happy to see the rest of his family. “It’s bad, it was really bad,” Harry explained somberly. “Enough with the dilly dally, just tell me. Is my son dead?” Nikki couldn’t take the waiting anymore.

“They were both brought in barely conscious. Tom had lost some blood due to an open wound on his femur, he has a severe concussion, a few cracked ribs and a small knick on his kidney. He is currently in surgery, they are fixing his kidney. The most he will have is a few stitches but, we are very confident he’ll pull through,” explained the doctor.

“And my mom?” Rosie asked.

“Y/N is currently in surgery, she has protruding wound to the abdomen, a collapsed lung, broken ribs, and a severe concussion. She lost a lot of blood, almost dying of exsanguination. She is in surgery to treat her abdominal wound and her lung. Our biggest concern is sepsis, we are worried an infection caused by the elements will occur.”

“So she’ll be okay, right?” Parker questioned.

“She wasn’t conscious like Tom when they found her. In her case the amount of blood she lost might have stopped bringing oxygen to her brain. If she survives the surgery—“

“If?” Rosie gasped, starting to cry.

“Rosie, let him finish,” Parker snapped.

“If she survives, we don’t know when or if she will wake up. We can only hope for the best. I promise to come back with any further updates.”

“Thank you doctor,” said Nikki.

“I need some tea or coffee or a drink. Anyone else?” Sam said, Dom nodded in response.

“I’ll join you and dad,” Paddy said following Dom and Sam out of the room.

Parker was trying to keep everything inside. He actually appreciated the uncertainty of it all, the longer it went on the longer he didn’t have to hear a definitive answer, that you and Tom were dead.

Parker mainly tried to comfort Rosie but that position was filled once Haz and Henry got to the hospital. It was only 30 mins til another doctor approached them.

“Your son is out of surgery. He is resting in room 302, we are just waiting for him to come out of general anesthesia,” came in another doctor with news.

“Thank you. And my daughter-in-law?”

“She is still in surgery,” informed the doctor.

“Ok, thank you. I’m going to go check on Tom. Parker come with?” Nikki asked, she didn’t want to be alone seeing Tom lie in a hospital bed.

“Sure,” Parker said, following Nikki through the door.

“Harry, you’ll stay here with Rosie,” Nikki called out.

“How you doing, Roo?” Harry asked, moving towards Rosie’s side.

“My mom calls me that,” she said, unmoving towards Harry’s love.

Rosie was still like a statue. But her mind was very active, traveling from place to place. Just waiting for someone to update her on your condition.

“I know. She’ll pull through, Rosie.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Cause I know your mom. For as long as I can remember she has always been the strongest person in the room.” Harry comforted her, draping an arm over her shoulders. “Your dad is convinced she is indestructible. Sure, she has gotten hurt in the past but she has always bounced back. Hasn’t she?” Harry encouraged.

“Yeah, she has,” Rosie sniffled, wiping her nose with her sweater’s sleeve.

“After everything she has survived, she is still here,” Harry asserted. “When she and your dad first were dating, they’d like to scare each other. Tom must’ve pulled something like 20 guns on her. It was really funny to watch,” Harry grinned.

“Tell me more stories please,” Rosie perked up at the anecdotes.

“Well there was that time when your mom told your dad about being pregnant with both you and Parker.”

“I already know that one.”

“Ok, let me think… oh. One time we pulled a prank on her. All of us, me, your dad, Sam, Paddy and Haz. She was supposed to speak at this benefit promoting something… I want to say a disease… maybe climate change… who cares,” Harry began. “But she is better at it now but she used to be so scared of public speaking. That night at the gala, she had a panic attack and Tom went to comfort her backstage, while the boys and I all went into her purse and switched out her speech for the joke one we made.”

“She went on stage and broke in to a laughing fit. All her nerves dissipated as she stood up there, cracking jokes from left and right. It was really funny because she was so scared she would read whatever was written on the cards. She did end up making a fool out of herself, but it was funny nonetheless. She was so mad at us, she avoided Tom for a week,” Harry finished, reminiscing of that night.

“Wow, that’s mean. Like really mean,” Rosie remarked as his story came to an end.

“No it wasn’t. It was funny, she’ll laugh about it now if you ask her.”

“Was she as mad as she has been lately?” Rosie inquired.

“What do you mean?”

“Mom and dad have been fighting a lot… I’m scared they won’t be able to work it out. I’ve never seem them like this,” Rosie cried, fighting back a fit of sobs.

“Roo, those two? Are you kidding me? They will work it out, they always have.”

“But that isn��t a guarantee.”

“Rosie, your mom and dad have been written in the stars since the beginning. Nothing will ever break them apart. And almost dying really brings people back together. I wouldn’t worry Rosie, they’ll be ok,” Harry consoled her.

Rosie really needed to hear that. Something to get her mind off all the death and sickness that surrounded her. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye. She needed you to hold her once more.

“Mrs. Holland, Y/N is out of surgery now. If you’ll follow me I can take you to her room,” a doctor said to Nikki as she was stroking Tom’s hair, waiting for him to wake up.

“Oh thank god, thank you. Parker do you want to come?” Nikki asked.

“No, I think I’ll stay here with dad. In case he wakes up. I’m not ready to see her like that anyway,” Parker mumbled, needing every excuse to not walk into your room.

Nikki just nodded in response. Nikki was there when Rosie was in her coma and she knew you liked to talk to her as if she was there, so she did the same.

“Hey, Y/N. I’m sorry this happened. The doctors have warned me that you might not wake up and I’m here to tell you that’s not an option. Your kids need you. Tom needs you…. He won’t be able to live without you. None of us will,” Nikki said, holding you hand. As soon as Rosie got word, she was already there. Standing in your doorway peering at your sunken body.

“Mom? It’s Rosie…. It’s your Roo,… why isn’t she waking up?” Rosie came barging in. She’d never seen you in a state like this.

“Mom? Mommy, please,” Rosie said, starting to shake you a bit.

“Rosie, come here,” Nikki said, pulling her into her arms. “She’ll be ok. All we have to do is wait.” Nikki concluded.

In Tom’s room, Parker was still there by his dad’s side. Everything had gotten massively screwed up. He was betraying his own dad and Tom didn’t even know.

“Parker?” Tom croaked out, slightly moving.

“Dad, I’m so glad you are okay,” Parker lunged to hug him.

“Me too, buddy,” Tom said, gritting his teeth to mask the pain.

“How’s mom?” Tom asked, praying you were still alive. It had been a rough night. Images of your half-dead body leaning against him for support plagued his memory.

“Umm… you should see for yourself.”

“What room is she in?” Tom asked, jumping out of bed.

“Dad, I don’t think it’s such a good idea you get up,” Parker exclaimed.

“Parker, don’t you dare stand in my way.”

“Mr. Holland, you’re awake — woah, you can’t get up. Your stitches could rip,” the nurse spoke with a thick Spanish accent.

“I don’t care. Let me see my wife,” Tom yelled.

“You may need to sedate him,” Parker said cheekily.

“Fuck that,” Tom cursed.

“You aren’t doing anything to me till I see her,” Tom asserted, the nurse just nodded in response and brought him a wheel chair.

Parker wheeled him through the hospital. He was about to face his fear as well as Tom. It both being the fact that you were dead and not longer living. They weren’t ready for that.

Tom came into your room and it was like a time machine. All those times he was walked into a room similar to this one with the white walls, white sheets, bright blinding lights and the machines that beep to no end. He was taken back to every time he had seen you lying in a hospital bed.

All the times he knew he hadn’t protected you. All the guilt and anguish came flooding back. Washing over him like a tsunami.

He walked in to see everyone gathered around you. Rosie was sitting on the left side of your bed, clutching your left hand and Henry was next to her keeping an arm around her shoulder. Tom didn’t care about them anymore, all that mattered was you.

“Dad, you’re awake!” Rosie cheered, as she saw Tom in the doorway.

“Yeah baby, I’m okay,” he said, holding Rosie close to his chest.

“I’m scared, dad. I’m scared she won’t wake up,” Rosie cried.

“I know. I am too.” Tom responded, his eyes still fixed to your lifeless figure.

“You know it was just a 5 weeks ago, you were lying a hospital bed just like mom. And she was holding on to your hand just like you are to her. And if you woke up from that, I can promise you she’ll wake up from this,” Tom encouraged.

“You really think so?” Rosie queried.

“I know so.… You know what your mom loves to tell me?”

“No. What?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“It sounds like her,” Rosie chucked to herself.

“Yeah, it does.” Tom did the same, he was the one keeping you here. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. 17 years was nothing compared to lifetime he was destined to have with you. Nobody accounts for the times where something so drastic happens that it can change your entire timeline.

Nobody believes they will die tomorrow or get hit by a bus anywhere. People just live in day to day life thinking that they have a 100 years to go.

You’d think by now, he’d gotten used to seeing you in a hospital bed. Maybe grown accustomed to it. On the contrary, every time he’d see you like this he’d go weak at the knees and beg to switch places with you. To be the one lying there, on death’s door, not you

Every time he has made a promise, your life has been put on the line. You are constantly caught in the crossfires. Tom slowly remembered why he hated hospitals so much, especially when they were associated with you.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Nikki said, motioning for everyone to clear the room so it was just Tom and you.

“Hey, darling. I told you we’d make it. We had two choices either we died together or we made it together.” Tom began, trying not to cry.

“Y/N, I’m standing here and I’m okay. So it’s only a matter of time before I see you again. We promised it would be us together. Don’t you dare go back on that promise from ages ago, I’m supposed to go before you. Ok? It’s supposed to me. You promised me.”

“This one that you have to keep. I know it might be nearly impossible to, love. But there is no but or if, there is only you waking up and seeing me. Seeing your husband who loves you more than life itself. Seeing our two beautiful kids. I know I haven’t been your favorite person lately, so don’t do it for me. Do it for them, Parker and Rosie. They need you, more than they know.”

“Alright princess, it's only a matter of time. I’ll see you soon.” Tom finished, pressing a kiss to your forehead. One of longing, he just wanted to see your smiling face again. He let himself go completely, breaking down the flood gates. Tears started coming and they didn’t stop, they couldn’t.

Haz peered through the open door, to see Tom crying over you, he immediately jumped into best mate mode and went to comfort Tom.

“Hey. It’s ok. You can let it out,” Harrison said, pulling Tom into his arms.

“I was so awful to her Haz. I let her think I cheated on her so she wouldn’t be mad about Rosie and Henry,” Tom cried out.

“Why? What did you do? You know what, that’s not important right now. The point is she will pull through.”

“She could be dying and the last moment I can only remember with her is our fight. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”

“She’s not dying, Tom. Y/N has survived much more than this and promise you, you will say hello again.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Tom said, taking a line from your vernacular.

“Come on, let’s get some coffee… Here, hop on. I’ll push you,” Haz said, grabbing Tom’s wheelchair

“For fucks sake, you aren’t pushing me. I’m not some sick, crippled patient.” Tom exclaimed.

“Well… you did just get out of surgery.”

“I don’t care. I’m not going to let my helicopter crashing be the reason I can’t walk and I am looked at with pity.”

“Alright Tom, I believe we were going to get some coffee.”

“I don’t want to leave her alone,” Tom whispered.

“Rosie will be in here in a moment,” Haz explained.

“Ok.. Roo, can you go sit with your mom while I get your dad some coffee?” Haz asked. Tom still didn’t want to leave you but he knew you would want him to eat something.

“Yes, I’ll keep her safe.”

“I know you will, baby… Hold it. Hey Henry, can I talk to you?” Tom said, holding Henry back from entering the room.

“Dad,” Rosie said, sternly.

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Tom said pulling Henry to the side.

“I’m sorry Tom.. um I mean Mr. Holland but I love your daughter more than anything,” Henry stammered.

“I just wanted to say thank you for being there for her when.. you know,” Tom admitted.

“Of course, I love her very much. And if the time every comes where I plan on marrying her I will ask for hands in marriage,” Henry promised.

“Woah kid, slow down. This is permission to date. No talking or even thinking about marriage, you understand. Also wear a fucking condom.”

“Yes, sir. Understood… Thanks Tom.”

“You’re a good kid, Henry. She’s in good hands,” Tom grinned, Henry just smiled and returned to Rosie. Returning to his rightful place, in her arms.

“Haz, did you bring me a change of clothes. I need to get out of this fucking gown,” Tom chuckled.

“Are you sure that’s a good ide—“ Haz started but was soon cut off.

“Eh, eh,” Tom interrupted giving him a harsh glare.

“You are not weak, I get it. Yeah, they are in my bag,” Haz concluded.

Tom said, “Thank you,” in return.

The waiting was back and it was killing Tom once again. This time he wasn’t waiting for both your impending deaths, just yours. It was eating him from the inside out.

You didn’t have enough time together. It wasn’t enough. Tom desired more, he needed more. All your favorite moments of you played through his head. Like he was watching a movie of his life with you, his love story.

One specifically, the day he proposed to you. It was hard to top his happiness that day.

All the days leading up to it he was distant and flighty. It worried it you greatly. Was he planning to break up with you? You were consumed with never-ending negative thoughts about your relationship.

It had been a while since you and Tom had a date night. He’d blown you off a few times to plan out the perfect proposal, afraid he’d let the question just slip out somehow. However, that was unknown to you so all you thought was, he’s an ass.

Tom was in his office, planning out how he was going to do it. What he would wear, where he would propose, what would he say. What would you say? He was nervous wreck.

“Haz, I can’t have anyone come in here ok?” Tom ordered. He must’ve practiced it 7 times. Getting down on one knee and declaring his love for you behind closed doors.

“Understood, Tom,” Haz said, giving him a cheeky grin as he closed his door. Not even 10 mins later, you came barging in through the front door. In a fury because Tom hadn’t returned any of your calls.

“Where is he?” You asked Haz. “Y/N?” He said, confused as to why you were here. Well, you did live there.

“Where’s Tom? I have to talk to him,” you asserted. “Why am I asking you? Of course, he is in his study,” you replied to your own question.

“NO, you can’t go in there,” Haz said, following you to Tom’s office.

“And why not?”

“He’s in a meeting.”

“What meeting would he have a 10:30 at night… Unless?” Your heart sank at the possibility of Tom not alone in there.

“Unless what?”

“He has a woman in there doesn’t he?”

“Umm.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go. You won’t see me around anymore. He chose her over me,” you said, trying not to cry. But you weren’t going to put up a fight.

“Y/N it’s not like that,” Haz called after you, trying to stop you from walking away.

“Then what is it Haz?”

“I can’t tell you?… Just go in there and see for yourself.”

“I don’t want see them.”

“Just do it,” Haz ordered, you eventually agreed. Opening the door to a very well-dressed Tom down on one knee holding a blue velvet box in his hands.

“People always spoke of soulmates and I didn’t believe them. But then I found you. And I had never been so happy to be proven wrong. Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N you make me want to be a better man. You are my inspiration for everything. I can’t ever imagine living without you. Will you marry me?” Tom said, oblivious to you standing right there.

“Yes,” you said without hesitation.

“No! No, no. You weren’t supposed to see that. Haz I told you to guard the door,” Tom yelled.

“Yes, Tommy. I’ll marry you”, you continued, hoping he’d hear you.

“God, it's ruined now. I’m so sorry. I had this huge plan take you to the London eye,” Tom apologized profusely, running his hands through the curls atop his head in frustration.

“Tom, you're not hearing me. I want to be your wife,” you exclaimed, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

“You do?” Tom surprised at your answer.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been saying. YES!” You screamed. Tom immediately grabbed you twirling you in the air and kissed you with all the love and passion you deserved. He had been neglecting you so he wouldn’t spoil it.

He put the ring on your finger. It looked as though it was home. You were his and he was yours. Nothing could top that moment.

Thinking about you and the time spent together. It made it that much harder to say goodbye.

Tom was brought out of his trance as you stirred, starting to wake. All heads and eyes turned towards you.

“Y/N. Honey, it’s ok. You were in a helicopter crash. You’re ok. You’re ok. I’m so happy to see you,” Tom whispered, tucking the hair out of your face.

The moment you came to, your eyes widened and a look of panic adorned your face. You were completely lost. Unaware of all your surroundings. You managed to croak out three words. Not an “I love you,” not words of love, quite the opposite.

“Who are you?”

A/n: Alright, Y/N lived. As I promised, there are 17 chapter in this series, 6 more to go. I will start writing the sequel series once all these chapters have been posted, even though I have it already planned out in my head lol. New chapters every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @dummiesshort @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#mob!tom #tom holland #tom holland au #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagines #tom holland mob au #tom holland series #tom holland x reader #mob!tom holland #mob tom #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland masterlist

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doingthedirtydishes · 1 year

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Enjoy the read. 💙💚💜

Struggling with finding happiness in life? Tune out to social media, skip the epitome of incomprehensible psycho-couch-babble and go spend time with a child.

It all starts with being a child. What are you waiting for? Go be a child again. Your Happy Meal awaits!

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

the prince.

knj / myg / jhs / ksj / pjm / kth / jjk

the first time jung hoseok met the commander’s daughter is on the training ground.

at the age of 9, she’s swinging the wooden sword like she’s meant to dance on the battlefield.

she welcomes him with a different kind of enthusiasm than those noble kids do when the palace arranged for them to meet at tea time.

she grins as she charges at him and she laughs when he trips on air as he’s about to strike her.

“you’re pretty good for a beginner.” she says and he pouts.

“i can’t even hold a sword properly.”

she stands in front of him with her tiny, calloused hands on her hips as if she’s about to fight him, “you’re willing to learn and that’s more than i can say for the other spoilt brats. especially the princes.”

little does she know, he’s one of his father’s princes.

he meets her again and again and again. so much so, he’s memorized her little tricks of looking at the opposite direction she’ll struck him, of her attentive eyes on his facial expressions and of her grin widening as she delivers her finishing blow.

even if he saw it coming, he could never block it.

he ends up sitting on the dirt ground, looking up at her magnificent beauty as the sun casts a halo over her body.

“you improved,” she says and she always says this after the final spar of the day, hand outstretched to help him up.

with his heart thumping inside his chest, he takes her hand knowing that he’ll attribute to the rosy flush on his face to the intense training session they just had.

and he thought he’d go on attending the training and blushing like a complete idiot like this for a long time.

“i’m joining the war,” she announces a bit too casually, “i won’t be as good as my dad but even the higher ups can’t ignore my skills.”

hoseok like to think of himself as a mild tempered person. doesn’t dream too high and always wishes for the best of those around him.

but when he heard that his -

his -

fuck.

he doesn’t even know what they are.

but when he heard that she’s joining the war, he ended saying something he shouldn’t have.

it starts with a “don’t go”.

to which she responds with a ruffle of his hair, “don’t worry, i’ll come back with the enemy’s head for the emperor and you’ll be able to say you’re friends with the war hero. isn’t that something to boast about?”

“how sure are you that you’ll come back?” it’s the first time he’s ever looked straight in her eye when they’re not swinging wooden swords at each other.

she’s an expert who well and able to hold a real sword. the only reason they spar with a wooden one is because of hoseok.

he knows he’s still lacking.

he knows he won’t make the cut even if he tried enlisting.

“...doubt my skills, are you?” she’s saying something but he’s barely listening.

“the war...it isn’t a playground. you could get killed!” he explodes like a ticking time bomb.

the next time he sees her is at the farewell parade, the sun rays trapped in the glint of her silver armor.

all he recalls is her grin down turning and her eyes widening as she locks gaze with him.

her, as a loyal subject and him, as the prince whose country she’s going to war for.

it’s the first time he’s seen tears in her eyes.

hoseok goes on weeks without the news of war but when a messenger arrives, it’s never a news to celebrate about.

“what news of the battlefront?” he struts right into the chancellor’s office like he owns the place.

“your highness, you can’t keep asking me classified information just to make sure your sweetheart is still alive and well.” namjoon sighs.

when doesn’t even deny the reason he’s flushed pink at the word and continue to wait until namjoon relays what he came here for, the latter looks down grimly.

“one of the two youngest lieutenants was reported to suffer a serious blow in the abdomen.”

hoseok thinks his heart drops, words of the letter he received from her last month detailing her excitement for being appointed the youngest lieutenant along with a comrade, burning at the back of his head.

it’s around three weeks ago that he stopped receiving those crumpled up pieces of papers and child’s scribbles.

he goes on like a ghost, drifting through the palace. the wooden sword hangs on the wall of his room. he hasn’t been training for a long time. not since he heard the news of her possible death.

he confines himself to the library where he buries himself in bled scriptures and a world far away from the reality he’s forced to face.

that is, until he receives her first letter in a long while.

she’d been promoted to commander where she was able to fight alongside her father.

‘i didn’t think having a to fight with my father on the battlefield would be this hard. i’m always worrying about him. i think i know now why you were so against me joining the war.’

as she’s doing her best in the war, hoseok, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, finds himself joining hands with the chancellor, advising the emperor of the internal affairs and filtering out the corrupted nobles.

he wants you to come back to an empire you can say you’re proud of fighting for.

the war lasts for five years.

the next time he sees you is when you march in with your commanding army, the head of the enemy’s general presented to the emperor.

“what is your wish? i shall grant you one for ending the war.” seokjin’s delighted voice booms across the throne room.

she doesn’t look up, doesn’t even look at hoseok who’s eyes are pricking with tears as grounds himself.

he can’t be running over and hugging you like he’s seeing a ghost.

“sire, i may appear insolent for asking this.” her voice’s changed.

it lacks the sun that shines brightly overhead.

“ask away!”

“i wish nothing more than to stay by his highness, prince hoseok’s side.”

“hmm. hoseok? not my youngest brother, taehyung, the crown prince?” seokjin rubs at his nonexistent beard.

she denies any other relation with the princes besides hoseok.

the news of the commander and prince hoseok being childhood friends turned the palace upside down. rumors of hoseok aiming for the crown starts to spread with the war hero swearing her loyalty to the third prince.

but the emperor knows of his heart.

and it beats only for her.

for his commander.

“when i said i wanted to stay by your side, i didn’t mean this.” she comments, throwing herself on the silken bed, the pristine white dress taking up all the space.

“i can have the maids prepare another room for me.” hoseok stands a few feet away from the bed as he tries to make small talk with the love of his life whom he’s never talked to for five years besides through letters.

“my prince, i didn’t say i dislike the arrangement,” she grins, beckoning him over.

and he walked straight into her trap.

she pulls him down as she shoots up and traps him underneath her. the white dress wrapped around her body makes her look like a war angel sent to pass judgment onto him.

as she lowers her face to his, he feels his heart thump in his chest.

hoseok thinks he wouldn’t mind being trapped in her prison of embrace for the rest of his life.

(”you’ve gone rusty, husband,” she asserts just as his wooden sword hits the ground.

“y-you see, i’ve been busy attending to other matters,” for the first time, hoseok sees his life flash before his eyes as he tries to appease the flames in his wife’s eyes.

“then, we have a lot of catching up to do.” she grins a grin that has his heart thumping in a different way.

“i don’t suppose you mean to do that over tea, do you?” he dares to ask.

suffice to say, he goes to the palace for work barely able to move his legs properly the next day.

“wives, am i right?” namjoon laughs.)

#bts scenarios #bts fics #bts fanfics #hoseok scenarios #hoseok fics #hoseok fanfics #hoseok fanfiction #bts fanfiction #hoseok x reader #bts x reader #hoseok smut #bts smut #sonder

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aereres · 3 years

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Still Into You - Mitch Marner

Summary: When Y/N agreed to join her older brother at the Marners' for Christmas, she didn't expect to find herself infatuated with her brother's best friend all over again.

A/N: I am so excited to post this ngl... Anons, here’s the Mitch fic!

Word Count: 3,4k

Warnings: drinking, maybe some swear words, lots of teasing and flirting, maybe some angst?

"God, this is bringing back High School memories," Andrew mumbled under his breath, a smile on his lips as he drove through the snowy streets. The landscape was a mixture of tall trees and mountains, some clouds blocking the view of their peaks.

"You guys came here often?" You asked your brother, noticing a rather large house just a few miles away.

"Every summer," Andrew said, taking another turn as he gave you a quick look. "We used to throw the biggest parties ever, before Marner left,"

"And you didn't even invite me," you tsked, pushing your beanie on the top of your head when he pulled up inside a driveway, your eyes scanning the fancy mountain house before you.

"Try to be nice, okay?" Andrew warned you, pointing a finger your way as he left the car. You lifted up your middle finger when he turned your back to you to knock on the front door, and you finally left the car to grab your bags.

"Oh my God, Andy! Hi!" You recognized Bonnie's voice, a smile forming on your lips as you looked at your long-time family friend hugging your brother tightly. "I haven't seen you in ages,"

"Hi, Bonnie," your brother chuckled, gently pulling back to hug her husband. His smile grew even larger when Mitch appeared, the two best friends finding themselves in a tight embrace as they laughed in chorus.

"Oh, Y/N," Bonnie sighed happily, pulling you in a hug and kissing the top of your head lightly. "I'm so happy you could make it, honey,"

"Thank you for having me," you smiled, hugging Paul when he greeted you. You met Mitch's eyes, a smile forming on your lips as you found yourself in front of the old friend. His features had changed from the last time you'd seen him, he was built, and he definitely looked taller. His smile was still the same, though. The one you had loved so much.

"Hi," he said lightly, opening his arms for you, letting you go after a couple of seconds. You took in the insides of the house: the tall Christmas tree, the fireplace in the living room, the large windows, and the soft lights that illuminated the various rooms. It felt... cozy.

"Anyone wants hot chocolate?"

-----

Mitch was trying to keep his eyes off of you. The light of the fireplace was hitting your body just right, and he could have sworn you were the prettiest sight on earth. It had been years since he had last seen you, leaving you with a quick 'goodbye' and an excited smile on his face.

It had been the night before the draft, he could still remember it. He said goodbye to all his friends, left the girl he was seeing with a kiss, and came to see Andrew one last time. You had happened to stand by the doorway, catching the last few glimpses of their bone-crushing hug as they laughed. Mitch had walked past you, ruffling your hair with a chuckle before walking towards the front door of your door to go back home, ready for his new start.

Since then, he had barely spent time home, missing not only the growth of his entire family, but also of his closest friends which, in some ways, involved you, too.

The braces you had once worn were gone, your short hair had become long, framing your face in the best possible way, and your younger version had left to let the new you take over. You were a sight to see.

"Marner, eyes on the game," Andrew snapped him out of his trance, tapping his thigh with his controller and pointing at the TV. His best friend had beaten him another time, making him scoff softly.

"Man, and I thought I got better at videogames," Mitch joked, slipping his phone out of his pocket to check some messages. Andrew stood up, stretched for a couple of seconds, and looked at his sister.

"I'm going to bed," he stated, running a hand through his dark hair. "We gotta throw a party, man, like the old times,"

"Sure," Mitch mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he saw the little smile that formed on your lips. "I'll try to find a way to get my parents out of here,"

"Cool," Andrew said, ruffling your hair and making you scoff softly before leaving the room with a small 'goodnight'. Silence grew between you and Mitch as you kept your eyes trained on your book, your heart beating out of your chest.

"It's been a while," he admitted, running a hand through his hair as his eyes found the fireplace. "I've missed you,"

You smiled softly, looking up at him as you shut the book. "Everyone missed you, around here," you chuckled. "How's the big NHL life going?"

"Busy," he sighed, letting his neck lean against the back of the couch and close his eyes. "Just constantly training and having games, but it's rewarding. School?"

"Dropped out of college," you chuckled. "I mean, now I got a job, so it's not that big of a deal,"

"Oh wow," Mitch teased, stealing your book and smirking your way. "So, nerdy Y/N is telling me she dropped out of college?"

"I wasn't nerdy," you mumbled as you tried to reach for your novel, stepping on the tip of your toes and following him around the living room. He let you get your book, his hands placing themselves against the wall behind you, caging you between his arms and the nearest wall.

"Oh really?" He whispered in your ear, your body so close to his you could feel his warmth. His nose touched yours, the smirk still painting his lips as his hazel orbs stared deep into yours. "Your glasses were cute, back then,"

The noise of a door opening made him scramble away from you, your brother's heavy steps making their way down the stairs. "God, I am thirsty," Andrew mumbled under his breath, totally not realizing what had been happening just seconds prior.

"I-I'm going to bed," you stuttered, gathering your things and letting your adrenaline-filled body lift itself up from the couch. "Goodnight,"

You didn't register their answers as you made your way to the guest bedroom as quickly as you could, shutting the door and sliding your back against it. Your breathing was heavy, hands shaking as the events replayed in your head. Mitch was just so close, his words just so teasing, he had you wrapped around his fingers.

But you were so sure you had moved on, you were so sure that your tiny, stupid crush on him had been over when he'd left, when many other girls had started to gain his attention. You were sure that you had been over what once was a teenage crush on your brother's best friend.

You clearly were not.

-----

The lights of the lampposts outside the mountain house reflected inside Mitch's room. He had been lying awake for what felt like hours, his thoughts making it impossible for him to sleep. Three days into the Christmas getaway and things were already going messy for him.

The vacation was supposed to bring him out of the chaos and anxiety that filled his head, to make him relax, to let all the stress that was his normal life aside for a couple of weeks. Yet, his love life had decided to make an appearance, turning his plans into old, stupid thoughts.

You had left his mind when he got drafted, he was going to be honest. He didn't expect to feel the exact way about you as he felt when he was a teen, he didn't expect his old crush to come back when he saw you after all those years.

The feelings inside his body were foreign, from the way his heart would start beating loudly when he'd see you around the house, to the way his fingers would tingle after he'd touch your skin. He couldn't understand his own body, and it frustrated him.

He felt as if he was standing in the middle of an empty, dark room, where he couldn't understand what was happening around him and to him. He was confused, and he needed to know what he was feeling for you, what his heart needed.

He closed his eyes, fisting the bedsheets as he clenched his jaw.

Mitchell Marner hated being confused.

-----

Mitch skated slowly on top of the iced lake, puffs of warmth leaving his mouth as he and your brother passed each other a puck, just like the old times. Mitch was laughing loudly, throwing his head back at something Andrew had said, his rosy cheeks looking as adorable as you remembered them.

Bonnie handed you a cup of warm tea before going back to the living room, leaving you to stand by the backdoor to look at the boys. Mitch's eyes caught yours as he skated around, a small smile never leaving his lips as he got off the ice, Andrew following right in tow.

"Damn, it's cold out there," Andrew mumbled while they got rid of their skates. Your brother walked past you to reach the fireplace, your eyes finding Mitch before you moved towards the kitchen.

You grabbed the sugar container and a spoon, turning your back to the entryway and getting deep inside your thoughts. A hand on your hip brought you back to real life, the feeling of a firm chest against your back making chills run up your spine. You spun around to face Mitch, your hands flattening against his chest.

"What are you doing, Mitch?!" You whisper yelled.

"Just, you know, reaching for a mug," he said, the smirk you knew too well adorning his features. "What are you doing, princess?"

You fluttered at the name, biting on your bottom lip as he kept his body close to yours. Your mind went into overdrive, thoughts filling your head as you got lost in his pretty eyes. You needed to understand.

He pushed a stray hair behind your ear, smiling at you when you blushed lightly. "Mitch, what are we doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's-" you motioned between your bodies. "What's this? You leave me hanging, tease me,"

"Ever heard of flirting, Y/N? Or is Andrew that protective?" Mitch smirked, watching you bite on your bottom lip as you looked at him. "I could tell you had a crush on me when we were kids, and maybe now it's slowly getting mutual,"

You looked at him in shock as he moved around the kitchen, filling up his mug with tea, adding some sugar to it, grabbing a snack. "You-"

"I mean, I saw you as a little sister back then just because I didn't want to fuck things up with Andy," he said, leaning against the counter to look your way, his smirk replaced with a small, soft smile. "But now we grew up, Andrew has more important things to focus on, and you can't stop leaving my mind,"

He leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your cheek, making you heat up and gasp softly as he grabbed his mug. "Gotta go, now," he smirked your way. "Oh, and we're throwing that party on Thursday,"

Thursday. Christmas Eve.

"Alright," you sighed out, your heart beating out of your chest. He sent you a wink as he left the kitchen, your body still buzzing from his contact. You took some time to get yourself back together, biting on your lip before you made your way towards the living room, joining your brother and the Marners.

'Home Alone' was playing on the TV when you took place next to Andrew on the couch, picking at the skin around your nails as your long-forgotten tea sat in front of you.

"You okay?" Andrew asked, his eyes scanning your features before settling back on the TV. "You've been weird these past few days,"

"I'm fine. Just missing home, I guess," you mumbled, feeling Mitch's eyes on you, already knowing he was smirking. You almost groaned out loud at the thought of him having you wrapped around his fingers, at the thought of being so at his mercy.

"You'll be fine, you just need to relax," Andrew sighed. "The party this Thursday will probably make you feel better,"

You nodded your head absentmindedly, not noticing your brother's worried glare as you silently kept your eyes on the TV. You zoned out, the laughter from your companions becoming background noise as you fell back into your train of thoughts.

The trip was supposed to be a way to relax, and yet, there you were: panicking over Mitchell Marner. Your brother's best friend. Everything about what was happening was wrong, starting off with the fact that Andrew and Mitch had been friends since day one.

"You just need to relax," were Andrew's words, the ones that were playing on repeat in your mind. And what better way to relax than to join the party? Cute guys, drinks, music. It would have been enough to calm you down and figure things out with Mitch.

There was no way you'd miss the party.

-----

Mitch was deep in his thoughts, his phone pressed against his ear as he looked out of the window. Auston was talking about something that had happened to his sister the day prior, laughter coming from his side as Mitch looked at the snow.

"Man, you're never this silent," Auston sighed, making Mitch shut his eyes and bite back a groan. "I know something's happening, so spill,"

"You better not tell a soul," Mitch said, biting his nails. Auston tsked from the other side of the line, urging his best friend to finally start talking. "Alright, you remember Andrew? My friend from home?"

"Yeah,"

"He's with us for Christmas, and-" Mitch sighed softly, getting ready for his teammate's endless teasing. "And his sister is over, too,"

"Oh, God. You like her, don't you?" Auston whisper-yelled. Mitch was silent, which brought his best friend to conclusions. "Mitch, your best friend's little sister?!"

"I've liked her for years, but I've settled for other girls because of her brother," Mitch explained, rubbing his forehead as he tried to explain the situation better. "But now she's back, looking as pretty as ever, and I just can't help it,"

Silence came from Auston's line, making Mitch's heart beat a little faster than usual. "Aus?"

"I mean, I know you like her, and I know you wouldn't try to break her heart or mess your friendship up," Auston sighed. "Just- be careful, Marner,"

"Uh- yeah," Mitch mumbled.

There was a beat, silence being the only thing coming from both lines. "I gotta go now, man," Auston sighed. "I'll see you soon, okay? Don't fuck things up and ask her out,"

"Alright, bye," Mitch said, ending the call and letting his body fall on his bed. Surely, catching feelings for his best friend's younger sister had been a problem from the start, but he was sure. He was sure that, that time, it wasn't going to be just a game.

-----

The loud bass was enough to snap you out of your thoughts, making you take one last look at yourself in the mirror before leaving your room. People were already crowding the living room, the smell of sweat and alcohol reaching your nostrils and making you wince softly.

You took in some of the familiar faces while you slowly made your way towards the kitchen, your only goal being getting yourself a drink.

The countertop had been transformed into a makeshift bar, different types of alcohol sitting on top of it, waiting to be used. You poured yourself something heavy, just the right mixture that could make you forget about the events of the previous week.

Your eyes fell on the people in the living room, especially on Andrew, who was dancing with a random girl. Next to him stood Mitch, his arms wrapped around two different girls, his large smile on his lips.

Your stomach churned, jealousy taking over you as you stumbled across the house and reached the improvised dance floor. You swayed your hips to the music mindlessly, hoping you'd catch someone's attention and, hopefully, give Mitch a taste of his own medicine.

A pair of hands settled on your hips soon after, resting against the soft material of your skirt and pulling you to a warm body. The stranger's lips were close to your neck, his breath fanning against your shoulder as you moved against him. Wrapping your arms around him, you kept your movements sensual and teasing, your own hands running over your curves and feeling yourself up.

What was supposed to be just one song turned into two, another body taking its place behind you and dancing with you as you lost the concept of time. When you looked around and noticed that Mitch had gone missing, you fell back into your senses, throwing your empty cup inside the closest bin.

As you wandered around the house, you took notice of the people surrounding you, from the beautiful girls, to the boys you swore everyone had a crush on in High School. In the corner stood your brother, a shorter girl wrapped in his arms as the two made out, his hands dangerously close to her ass.

You shook your head, chuckling to yourself as you grabbed your coat, ready to head out to take a breather and chill down. As you stepped outside, you noticed the sound of the hot tub, a long sigh leaving your lips as your heated face met the cold air.

"Hot inside, huh?"

You snapped your head around, noticing Mitch's body inside the warm water, his eyes closed as he talked to you.

"Uh- yeah," you mumbled, biting on your lip as your eyes ran over his tattoos, his strong chest, his muscled thighs.

"You should come in, it feels great after dancing,"

"I'll die of hypothermia, Marner," you scoffed, turning back around to face the view of the mountains, the snow already making your feet cold. "And I don't have a swimming suit with me,"

"I'll keep you warm, Y/N," he smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Just- sit on the edge, I know you're starting to freeze,"

You rolled your eyes, awkwardly walking towards the tub and taking place on the warm edge. You took off your shoes and let your feet fall inside the warm water, a sigh of relief leaving your lips.

"See? I told you you would be just fine," he said, his hand toying with the hem of your skirt absentmindedly.

"What are you doing here, Mitch? This is your party,"

"Got bored, I guess," he mumbled. "And I didn't want to see you with those douches all over you,"

You chuckled coldly, wrapping your arms around your middle to keep yourself warm. "You were all over those girls, I had to give you a taste of your own medicine,"

He laughed under his breath, his hazel eyes finally meeting yours. "There's nothing holding us back, why are we playing hard to get?"

"I don't know," you whispered, your toes grazing the skin of his thigh as you moved around. "I don't understand if you're doing this for fun or if you want me for good, I can't have my heart broken again,"

Mitch looked in front of himself for a second, facing the mountains and the snow that surrounded him before looking back at you. "There has always been something about you, ever since we were kids. I've always tried to push it back because of Andrew, but now, after all these years, I can't just help it anymore,"

You looked at him, squealing when his hands found your smaller back and brought you inside the water, positioning your body on his lap. "I know that you deserve better than me, that you deserve someone who's always present and there for you, but maybe things will finally work out for us,"

"Mitch, just-" you whispered, closing your eyes as you took in his words. "Don't break my heart,"

He leaned in, his promise embedded in his kiss as he let his body lean into yours. Your hands found his cheeks, holding him close to you as you melted into his arms, the whole world around you disappearing. The music that was playing inside the house vanished, and so did the people, leaving only Mitch and you in your own universe.

You pulled away only when your lungs started to hurt, screaming at you to breathe in some air. Your eyes stayed closed as your forehead rested against Mitch's, his hands soft against your skin. "I won't," he whispered, his swollen lips brushing against yours.

"I promise I won't,"

Taglist: @thirsthy-bitch @bellaguarneri @celestialblae

#mitch marner x reader #mitch marner #mitch marner fic

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merci-bitch · 3 years

Text

My Sweet Little One part II

Rose The Hat x fem!reader

Warning(s): swearing, slight abuse, PDA?

Words: 2,5k

A/N: It has been quite a while. Hasn’t it? Haha. Well there might be a part 3 to this. It’s not as long as the first part which is 8k, and I have no idea how to make links so sadly I can’t link it here. ;/ . Hopefully there will more stories coming soon!

I made Y/N mine, alright. And everyone knew it, for sure. The next night she laid in my bed, I made her scream my name until her vocal chords were raw and made sweat crack across her place physiognomy.

No one could have her body the way I do, specially that loathsome rube. But he doesn't matter now.' I told myself. Though I wanted to make him pay. Rip his heart out and eat it on a silver platter after making him after making him suffer. Who the hell does he think he is? Laying his hands on my Y/n. They might both be steamy but he should see me. Oh yes, I am a cathedral compared to his small amount of steam.

"Rosie?" Y/n's voice pulled me out of my self induced trance. "Yes love?" I hummed. "You were zoning off again. Is something the matter?" I loved hearing the sweetness in her voice. It was like music to my ears.

"No darling, I'm quite alright." I smiled and placed my lips against hers and gave her a soft kiss. 'If only she knew though.' I thought to myself but shoved that aside for the moment. I could feel her soft hands gently caressing my bare skin and moved closer to her. Normally I preferred being the big spoon but on this moment, I didn't quite mind. She was home now and has been for quite a few weeks but still, I missed her.

"You're sure?" I nodded and ran my hands through Y/n's hair. "You're so pretty. You know that right?" She nodded and I smirked. "There is no one quite like you." Y/n's cheeks flushed cherry red and I chuckled. "No shame, darling. I only speak the truth."

"I know." She gave me a small smile that made me swell up inside. "Have you thought about my offer?" Y/n let out a sigh and I sat up. "I have but-"

"But what?" I tried my hardest not to sound angry. "When you stabbed me before, you told me it was for steam?" I nodded cordially. "Is that...what you guys eat?"

"Does it matter?" I expected to have her argue with me a little bit but surprisingly she didn't. Which I was thankful for. I took Y/n's hands gently in my own and kissed them. "Look, I know it's hard for you to wrap your head around but their pain is our gain. Don't you want to have a life with me? Unconditional bliss?"

She looked down as she slowly sat up and started fumbling with her hands. I wanted to say things, but I didn't want her to run away again. I didn't want to lose her again. She was mine, and only mine.

—— You don't know what it's like, not knowing who you are. To have lived in the shadows and to have travelled this far. Now I've seen a flashes of fire and echos of screams. But I still have faith, faith that someday my memories will come back.

In my dreams, it's all real. And my heart has so much to reveal. And my dreams seems to say, 'don't be afraid to go on, don't give up hope, come what may.' I know it will all come back! One day!

In my dreams shadows call. There's a light at the end a hall. Then my dreams fade away, but I know it will all come back one day. I just remember, rain against the windows. Sheets upon a bed. Terrifying nurses whispering overhead.

It was all strange. Rose, everyone. They say I was found on the side of the road. It had recently rained. In the darkness and cold with the wind in the trees. A girl with no name, and no memories but these above. I don't know a thing before that. Traveling the back roads, sleeping in the wood. I was always taking what I needed, working when I could. Keeping up my courage, foolish as it seems.

In my dreams I've always dreamed of a city. I dream of a city beyond all compare. Is it Paris? Paris... A beautiful river, a bridge by a scare and I hear a simple voice whisper, 'I'll meet you right there in Paris.' Paris.

Dancing bears, painted wings. Things I almost remember, and a song someone sings. It's almost December. Once upon a December. Someone holds me safe and warm. Horses prance through a silver storm. Figures dancing gracefully and across my memory.

Far away, long ago. Glowing dim as an ember and things my heart used to know and things it yearns to remember. And a song someone used to sing.

Heart don't fail me now and courage don't desert me. Don't turn back now that we're here. People have always said, life is full of choices and they aren't wrong but they never mentioned fear. Or how the world can seem so vast. On a simple journey to the past.

Somewhere down this road. I know someone true is waiting. Years of dreams just can't be wrong! Someone's arms will open wide and I'll be safe and wanted. Finally a place where I belong. Well, starting now I'm learning fast! On my journey to my past.

Home, love and family. There has to be a time where I had them too. I wouldn't be complete until I find you. But always one step at a time. One hope, then another. Who knows where this road may go? I wanna go back to who I was. On to find my future. There are things my heart still needs to know. Yes! Let this be some kind of sign and let this road be mine. Let it lead me to my past, and bring me home. At last!

—

"So, when the fuck was you gonna tell me."

"Hm? Tell you what my dear."

"Cut the sweet act Rose."

"What's wrong with you? Did they tease you again? You want tea?"

"Oh fuck you."

"Watch it."

"Watch it?! You have some fucking nerve Rose."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. The fuck did you think was gonna happen?"

"Seriously, what do you mean Y/N."

"Did you think I was gonna forget your words? Think I was gonna forget how useless and worthless you called me?"

"Y/N, I-"

"Shut it. I know exactly what you said, I'm not stupid or will I ever fall for some cover up you're calling this. I was happy without you!"

"You would never survive without me!"

"I did perfectly well for 10 fucking years Rose!"

"You call that happy?! With that Danny? You call that happy Y/N?"

"He loved me! He took care of me! More then you'd ever done, he took me for what I was. He picked up the pieces you broke."

"You better watch it. I don't mind killing you myself."

"See, this is exactly where you and I are different. I spend years not fitting in but thinking it was fine. Cause you were 'there' and cuddled me. Did you ever really love me? Cause you're blaming me for everything here, when it actually was you who fucked it up."

"I fucked it up?! You were the one who was so fucking ungrateful!"

"Ungrateful?! I have a fucking soul!"

"No, you don't! Cause you fucking sold it to the devil. You're not human. We turned you Y/N!"

"Excuse me what?"

"What?"

"No, don't change subject. What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Did you fucking turn me without me saying you could?! Rose what the fuck!"

"What, you're mine. Just had to claim you. You'll be fine."

"Fine?! I don't wanna feed of dead kids Rosie!"

"They're actually quite delicious."

"You're fucking sick."

"Didn't stop you from fucking me."

"I didn't really have a choice."

"I didn't fucking rape you."

"Nah, it felt like it."

"You screamed my name out of pleasure."

"How come you were so sure of that?"

"I saw it, I saw your mind."

"What if that was just for play?"

"Oh, fuck you."

"I'd kill you if you tried."

"Oh, sweetheart. I'd like to see you try."

"Come at me."

"You can't be serious."

"Come kill me Rose."

"No."

"Coward."

"You're a bitch. A fucking bitch."

"Yet you put up with me for years. Took me back in when I was vulnerable. Loved me, well. Kind of. You held me close to you. Favorited me. So technically, I was your bitch."

"Exactly. You're my bitch."

"I was, not anymore."

"You'll always be my bitch. You're so weak for me, nothing will change that."

"Rose-"

"Begging already? Hm. Get on your knees."

"What?"

"Now!"

"Never."

"Get on your fucking knees before I make you."

"Make me then."

"You're playing with fire Y/N. I fucking hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. We've all heard that. How about something new?"

Before I knew it, her hand was wrapped around my throat. Holding me up in the air. Not a single piece of happiness or softness in her eyes. It was just dark. Her whole face was filled with anger. The veins in her throat showed as she strained. Her jaw clenched. Her hand squeezing harder around my throat. More and more air was ripped from my throat.

"You'll learn your fucking place. You disgraceful little piece of shit."

Her fingernails started to dig into the skin of my neck and my vision started to blacken out. Clawing at her hand. Choking on whatever air that was left in my lungs.

"R-Rosie-"

"Hm? Can't really hear you, my dear."

Her hand tightened even more and I felt my limbs go lump. Everything going dark.

"I don't know Abra. She's been gone for so long. She was missing when I came back from the bathroom at the cinema. You haven't seen anything?"

"No, I've been trying. It's like Rose is cutting her off from us."

"I just hope she's alright. She doesn't deserve all this."

"I know, but we'll find her."

—

"Sweetheart? Hey, wake up."

I felt someone slap my cheek. Groaning in pain, moving my head away. Slowly opening my eyes.

"Rose?"

"Yes, I'm right here."

"What happened?"

"My dear child, you passed out. You had a nightmare from sleeping and got up and started crying. Then you just dropped."

"Really? I don't remember."

"Oh, don't worry. I've got you."

Rose put her arms around me and pulled the covers over us, giving my forehead a kiss. I couldn't put my thought to it. Was that really what happened? I shook my head and snuggles close to Rose. Breathing in her scent. Relaxing. Smiling softly and looking up at her.

"What? What are you smiling about."

"Nothing."

"Come on, I can see there's something."

"I just -"

"Yes?"

"I love you, Rosie."

"I love you too Y/N."

—

"Rose? Is this really how it has to go?"

"Yes, my dear. Now come on. Stab her."

"I-I don't know, it's just a child."

"What have I told you before?"

"I-, their pain, our gain."

"That's it. Now come, feed your family."

Rose's hands were on my waist, her nose brushing against the back of my neck. I slowly raised the knife in the air. Feeling a sort of deja vu. Had I done this before? I couldn't have. Despite the child's cries, pleas and begging Rose was right. Their pain was our gain. I had to do this to feed the family. The true knot was my family.

Muttering a soft 'sorry' before stabbing the child. Stabbing it over and over again. Hearing both Rose's and Crow's laughter behind me. I felt angry for some reason, the child in front of me was the beat for my anger. The piece to take out all the unknown anger. Again and again. Until there was nothing left. Dropping the knife, shaking.

"You did so great, look at all that steam! Well last for weeks! If not even months. Good girl."

Rose gave me a wet kiss and stroked my cheek.

"Rosie?"

"Yes, my love?"

"Have I done this before?"

"What? Stabbing a child?"

"Yeah, I got like a deja vu."

"Well, haven't we all wished to kill children?"

Her carefree laughter filled the air. It didn't make any sense, but it had to.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Don't be so sad now, poppet. You did well."

"It just feels weird. I was a child too once."

"We all were. But now we are adults, we are the true knot. We live as more powerful then pathetic rubes. You said so yourself."

"I did?"

"Right you did."

"Oh, I can't remember much."

Rose stroked my cheek again and pulled me against her. Rubbing my back and watched the moonlight with me. It was silent. Was it nice? Was it confusing? Was it awkward?

"I just, this doesn't feel right."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like I've been walking, but with my face turned to the sun. This weight on my shoulders. And I feel as if I need to run. I do what I can to please you and the others, I just feel like an outsider."

"This is your home, can't you hear freedom calling? Calling you to stay. Don't you feel it in your bones? You belong here."

"In the morning before the sun starts shining, we gotta start moving again, can I drive with you?"

"Always."

—

"So I'm gonna stand up, and take my people with me. Together we are going to our brand new home. Far across the river. Do you hear freedom calling? Calling you to answer their prayer."

"That's what you got?"

"Yes, it was all I could find out."

"It's not really helpful."

"I know, I don't know what's going on. Before it was so easy to track her."

—

"I go to prepare a place for you."

Rose watched you sleep. She knew it wouldn't be long until your memories would come back. Her and Crow had been talking about what to do with you. She didn't want to kill you. She did love you, but if she had to she would kill you. You were steamy but she didn't know if it was that good. She had only tasted it once, but it was only little bit.

It had tasted like flowers. For some reason each time Rose would think about it. She would feel this, this heavy feeling in her chest. She didn't know what it was. It couldn't be guilt, could it? No. Of course not. Rose The Hat never had guilt. She was a strong a confident woman. Powerful. The queen bitch of castle hell.

Rose O'Hara knew guilt, knee pain and specially weakness. Rose The Hat could never dream of getting on her knees for anyone.

If she had to kill the one thing she loved. She fucking would.

#rose the hat x reader #dan torrance x reader #doctor sleep

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janeofcakes · 3 years

Text

Soulmates: How John Met Sherlock...Again Chapter 7

Happy Friday, my friends! I'm so sorry for making you all wait so long. It has been a busy week with lots of travel and time with the kids. Parts of me are SO sunburned. Haha! I hope all of you are having as much fun.

This chapter is shorter than some of the others, but it's a good one and I think you'll agree that it moves things in a positive direction. Let me know what you think at the end!

---

The fresh produce aisle at Tesco is far too busy for three o’clock on a Thursday afternoon. John Watson inches his way in between two older women to grab some apples with a minimum of dirty looks. Once he extracts himself again, he glances down the way and debates on how he’s going to get his hands on some oranges. After a moment of seriously considering bananas instead, a hole clears out in front of the display and he hurries to it. John just slips in before a woman speaking loudly on her mobile can take the spot and she glares at him all the while until John has his bag of oranges. He knows her type - can’t be bothered to wait for anyone else or show any consideration - so he makes sure to take his time and gives her a false friendly grin as he turns to walk away.

John heads to dairy and the refrigerated sections for milk, cheese, yogurt and eggs. He takes a jaunt through frozen foods and catches the bread before starting down the coffee and tea aisle. Plucking two of his favorite kinds of tea off the shelf, he makes his way to the coffee. How he and Gracie managed to run out of so many things at once, he has no idea.

The coffee section is as ridiculously full as fruit and veg was, so John waits off to the side a minute or two until it clears out. His eyes are scanning the shelves for his brand when the corner of a basket pokes him in the side. When he turns his head, he is greeted by the face of the loud woman from before. John can’t stop the frown on his face and she must remember him too because she gives him a sour expression before turning her back on him. John turns back to the coffee and tries to tune out her noisy complaints to the poor bastard on the line.

John just has the coffee he wants in his hand when a basket shoves up against his back again. The woman’s shrill voice still in his ear, John rounds on her with every intention of putting her in her place. He has dealt with more than his fair share of pompous idiots over the years and will not put up with it in bloody Tesco.

“Do you mind?” John demands, every inch of him exuding Captain Watson, but he stops before saying anything more. The rude woman is a good six feet away and heading up the aisle, nearly shouting into her mobile. It couldn’t have been she who bumped into him. To John’s surprise, directly in front of him and holding the offending basket is Greg Lestrade. John blinks once, a movement mirrored on Greg’s face as they stare with slackened jaws.

“John? John Watson?” a grin blooms on Greg’s face in an instant. He moves his basket aside and offers his hand, which John shakes without hesitation. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Hello, Greg,” John greets warmly. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been bloody years,” Greg exclaims as he shifts right to let a shopper pass by. “How have you been?”

“Well, bit of a rough start, but good. Very good,” John tells him, angling left for a passerby.

“Glad to hear it,” Greg remarks with a nod.

“What about you?” John asks before Greg has the chance to continue. “I heard you got a promotion, Chief Detective Inspector.”

“I did at that,” Greg laughs good-naturedly. “I don’t get out into the field quite as much. Paperwork’s a bitch, but it gives me time to take a day off for shopping. It’s good for my DIs to muddle through on their own every once in a while.”

Greg pauses a moment to let a woman with a pram pass and John mirrors his motions. The aisle seems twice as full as when John set foot in it.

“And you?” Greg asks when they have a bit of room again. “You’re back for good?”

“I am,” John puffs up his chest, genuinely pleased. He had wanted to move back to London as soon as Mary left. “Sort of inherited a practice from an old friend, so here we are. My little girl and I. Gracie. She’s eight now.”

“Fantastic. You’ve settled in and all? Been here a little while then?”

Before John can answer Greg, an irritable man pushes past them and they both find themselves a little off balance and cursing.

“Bloody hell,” John says loudly as the bloke hurries on. When he turns back to Greg, the CDI is holding his basket in the space between them to allow more room for people to pass.

“Look, you’re almost finished, yeah?” Greg begins and John nods once. “So am I. No perishables and you can run yours home. We’ll meet for coffee in an hour. D’you know the Division Cafe?”

“I do,” John replies, relieved for the good fortune of Greg’s picking a place he is familiar with. “Sounds great. I’d like to catch up, but what the hell are you going to do for an hour while I drop this lot?”

“Take a leisurely walk to the cafe,” Greg chuckles as they start for the front of the store to cash out. “It’ll give me a chance to check in on the office.”

“Oh no, don’t do that,” John jokes. “No need to spoil your day off. I don’t want to be responsible for that. How will I sleep tonight?”

“All right then,” Greg tells him wryly. “I’ll just tag along with you. We’ll have plenty of time to get back up to speed before we even get there.”

“If you insist,” John is delighted by the suggestion. He has truly missed the CDI over the last ten years and often considered phoning to talk, but never did follow through. Now with Greg in front of him and plenty of time on his hands since Candace is scheduled to watch Gracie after school, he is loath to refuse his friend anything.

“I do insist,” Greg laughs as he places items on the conveyor belt for checkout, “and I’m buying.”

John grins and shrugs.

“Who am I to refuse?”

The next hour passes quickly as they catch a cab to John’s flat and make their way to the cafe. Not a moment is spent in silence. John tells Greg all about Gracie and their flat in Bath. He touches on Mary and Rosie, but quickly jumps ahead to the move back to London. For his part, Greg fills John in on his biggest cases over the years with an emphasis on those that brought about his promotion. By the time they reach Division and sit down with coffees, Greg has just gotten to the cohabitant Sherlock had mentioned in the park. John has the sneaking suspicion that Greg wanted to wait until he was sitting down before mentioning it, so it should be pretty good.

“I heard you were with someone,” John sips from his mug. “Anyone I know from the old days?”

“Uh, yeah,” Greg answers, running his hand up the back of his own neck and wearing a sheepish smile. “Mycroft Holmes.”

“What?” John’s eyes are wide. His lips remain parted in disbelief as the right corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smirk. Greg shrugs in affirmation. “Now that I did not expect.”

“Five years now. Actually,” Greg hesitates and John can tell he is trying to contain a really brilliant smile, “I asked him to marry me only last Sunday.”

“Oh my god. Congratulations,” John declares. “Greg, that’s fantastic news! Tell me, has he mellowed over the years?”

“He has, actually,” Greg answers, reigning in his laughter. He bites the inside of his cheek and looks John over with trepidation in his eyes. His friend eyes him quizzically from behind his mug. Decision made, the CDI picks up his own cup and brings it to his mouth as he says: “Being a doting uncle helps too.”

John swallows and places his coffee cup on the table between them. His brows arch briefly before falling again.

“It’s hard to imagine,” John says ruefully, not meeting Greg’s knowing gaze.

“No more than his baby brother having a child,” he remarks easily, watching John closely. The doctor shoots him a sharp look and chuckles under his breath as he leans back in his seat. With a sardonic smile, John looks down at where his hands rest on the table with his fingers wrapped around the mug of dark liquid.

“That’s the understatement of the year,” John mutters. He raises his eyes to his friend’s face to see Greg’s lips turned up on one side in a crooked and very amused smirk. John doesn’t say a word, giving him ample time to explain.

“Is it?” is all Greg says, his smirk growing more satisfied. John huffs a quick laugh and shakes his head slightly. Straightening up in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table, John fixes Greg with an incredulous face.

“Come on,” he begins and is unable to keep the touch of a plea from his tone. “You can’t say something like that and not fill in the blanks.”

“What? He didn’t tell you?” Greg replies coyly, turning his cup on the table and picking it up by the handle.

“You damn well know he didn’t,” John huffs again. “We ran into each other at the bloody park after ten years of not speaking.”

“Yeah? And whose fault is that?” Greg mutters grimly.

John stills instantly, lips parted with words that die on his tongue. Greg doesn’t look angry exactly, but he certainly isn’t pleased. Of all the people John expected to hold onto any animosity toward him, Greg Lestrade wasn’t even on the list.

John takes a shaky breath and closes his mouth. How can he even explain? It doesn’t even make sense in his own mind anymore. He swallows audibly, the very beginnings of sweat blooming at his temples. Greg is asking him to do what Sherlock could have in the park. What he still could, but probably never will. Not the Sherlock John knows.

“Mary was done,” John’s voice is choked and quiet. “With London and the surgery, but most of all with Sherlock. Revealing her secrets to me was the last nail in the coffin.”

“Funny you should say that,” Greg leans forward, his eyes ablaze and his voice low. “She shot him, John. She killed him. Stubborn bastard brought himself back from the dead and for what? His best friend to run off with his killer.”

“She was my wife,” John croaks barely above a whisper. “She was carrying my child.”

“You were married for all of two months,” Greg’s brown eyes are hard and bore into John’s very being like a hot poker. “She was a liar from the beginning.”

Greg clenches his teeth as if to stop himself from saying something and John has no doubt the words would cut him to the core. The muscles beneath the skin stretched across Greg’s jaw work constantly as he struggles to keep his cool in the crowded cafe. He sits back ever so slightly, pulling his elbows closer to the edge of the table, his intense gaze pinning John to his seat.

“When she left you,” Greg growls, trying to keep his voice even, “you could’ve called him. Hell, you could’ve done it before that. You knew where he was. You knew his number. He had no idea where you were and it nearly destroyed him.”

Silence hangs heavily in the air between them, even with the noise of the milk steamer and patrons all around. As much as John wants to look away in shame, he cannot break away from his friend’s furious glare. The source of Greg’s ire is suddenly crystal clear. Sherlock may have refused to hear Mycroft’s news of John’s life over the years, but Greg obviously hadn’t and it fueled his anger as time went on. John clears his throat, wincing at the sting of its sudden dryness.

“He started using again?” John’s heart sinks to his feet as he asks it. He had hoped against hope that Sherlock wouldn’t fall into oblivion without him. Greg lets out a mirthless laugh.

“No, he didn’t bloody use,” the words are a sneer and his lips curl. “But he was miserable. He disappeared into the flat for months and looked like hell when he resurfaced. He worked cases, but he was on auto-pilot until he met Jessie.”

“Jessie?” John asks, desperately curious. This, this is what he wants most to know. Olive’s mother. Sherlock’s wife? Where is she? Who is she? How did they meet? John has a thousand questions and now he knows for certain that Greg holds all of the answers. John need only ask, or so he thinks.

“No,” the CDI shakes his head and leans all the way back in his chair. He chews on his lip and puffs out an angry breath. “If you want to know, you’ll have to ask him. I’ll be damned if I give you an easy out.”

“You’re right,” John breathes out his shame in a sigh. “Anything I want to know should come from him.”

He raises his troubled eyes to Greg’s face and sees some of the anger on it has dissipated in favor of irritated approval. John straightens his spine and scrubs his hands through his short, silver-blonde hair. Pressing his lips in on each other, he inhales deeply and shakes his head.

“God, how I failed him, Greg,” John murmurs. Words he has thought often and never actually uttered. “I was so tired and felt betrayed and he kept saying I should stay with Mary. That I should forgive her because she’d actually saved his life by shooting him. It’s such bullshit.”

“He wanted you to keep her close for Rosie’s sake,” Greg tells him. His eyes are softer than they have been since they walked in the coffee shop. “And for yours. He knew you would never live in 221B again, but you and Rosie were worth it. I don’t think he realized Mary would convince you to leave.”

“Her final revenge,” John mutters angrily as Greg sighs.

“Just...don’t make the same mistakes twice, John. Don’t shut him out,” Greg advises sagely, finally raising his coffee cup to his lips again and taking a quick sip. “Olive says she and Gracie want to have a playdate at the flat, but you’re holding them up.”

John watches Greg uneasily. Memories of 221B start skipping through his mind and with them, feelings he has left buried for ten years. John shakes them away and wraps his hands around his own mug.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” John says.

“It won’t be easy,” Greg tells him, placing his cup on the table. He leans in and fixes John with a very serious gaze. “Stop running, John.”

With those three words, John’s mind clears. The simplicity of it is stunning and utterly heartbreaking. How many years would he and Sherlock have been friends again if John had just faced his fears, accepted responsibility for his mistakes and reached out to the detective? What the hell had happened to him and when had he let go of Captain Watson? John had lost half of himself all these years and never seemed to take notice. Sure, he had thought that Sherlock didn’t care anymore, even after Rosie died, but when had the man’s moods ever stopped him from horning in before? He punched him in the face as a cover, fucking wrestled him to the ground because he was angry with the git. He tried to comfort Sherlock when he thought he was in love with Irene Adler, for Christ sake. John Watson...always by his side and ready to kick the shit out of anyone who would touch him.

Filled with a new resolve, John squares his shoulders and meets Greg’s eyes. His own are determined and set, the decision made. He will accept Sherlock’s invitation and take Gracie to his old home. Maybe he’ll even invite himself in for tea and see if the man who was once his best friend will allow him back into his life. Maybe Sherlock will let him try to repair their friendship. God, John hopes so.

---

All I can say is Greg Motherfucking Lestrade, the dark horse in this story. Hell, yeah!

Thank you so much for all the love and support. I definitely wouldn't be here without all of you! Love, Jane

@johnlock-rocks

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #sherlock loves john #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #John loves Sherlock #Mystrade

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