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its-my-little-dumpster-fire · 3 years

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Let it Burn ( t w e n t y n i n e )

Billy Russo x Reader, 6.7k

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one, just that it's been a long time coming and I'm equal parts excited and terrified of being this close to the end. So if even one person asks for a nice interlude, I'll friggin do it, because there aren't many sweet moments left. Not that there are any in this chapter? idk. You decide.

Warnings: Death. Talks of death. Violence. Poorly written fight sequences (I'm sorry @the-blind-assassin-12).

Summary: Billy's past comes knocking and you're thrown head first into a future you weren't expecting.

“I’ll get the car,” Matt volunteered the second your little group exited the bar. He was quick to turn away, leaving you with Noah and Libby on the sidewalk. The air thrummed around you with bass tones from leaking out onto the street. Combined with the alcohol in your system, you felt warm despite the chill in the air. Noah had his arm looped around Libby, holding her close and holding her up as her head lulled sleepily into his shoulder. Her hand stuck out, blindly grasping at the air behind her until you caught it in yours and she turned her face to smile. It was good to be with friends. Shocking, how normal it felt to be with people who knew you in college. Libby was there in your dorm room, laughing mercilessly at the sharp tingling in your legs after sprinting through the snow in shorts. A boy at the gym tried asking you out and your eighteen year old brain only came up with the dumbest responses to his flirting, prompting you high tail it out of there before pulling your sweats back on. Matt was there the Thanksgiving after you turned 21, carrying you on his back after too many spiked ciders, when you needed a break. Noah… well thankfully you hadn’t done anything remorseful in front of him that week, a sign you were getting older, but his presence in the group was a welcome one. Even if some days you looked at him and half expected your brother to be in his seat again, rubbing the back of Libby’s neck and calling Matt an asshole for wearing a Tom Brady jersey in public. It struck you that someday soon, these friends would have to move on from you too, keeping you and your brother as memories and nothing more.

Unwilling to let another string of macabre thoughts could kill the lingering comforts of the evening, you glanced up and down the street mindlessly taking in the city you once called home. It certainly wasn’t New York, but it had its own pulse. You couldn’t help wondering if it was the last night you’d ever get there and wanted to soak up every second. In your reverie, you floated away from Noah and Libby, kicking the pavement gently, eyes closed and heart content. Dying girls are allowed to romanticize whatever they want, you reasoned without paying attention where you were standing. It was your own fault that you were nearly knocked over by the broad shoulder of a passerby.

Noah hollered out in your defense, telling the man to watch where he was going, but one look up into familiar black irises told you the “stranger” was watching his step… and yours apparently.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, a smile growing under rounded cheeks and puckered pink lines torn by glass.

You tried and failed to school your features into something slightly less glowy, but your soulmate’s hands were on you, steadying you, just feet from your friends. If you closed your eyes again, it might feel like a normal night out. A double date. Billy propped up against the wall, his arm stretched out over the plastic seating of a diner booth. You next him, stealing french fries off his plate and apologetically kissing his cheek after he slapped your hand away. Noah and Libby would be on the other side of the table, being their own kind of adorable, sharing a milkshake or something like it was the fifties. Oh god, you shivered, imagining Billy Russo in a leather jacket, driving you home after parking over in some poorly lit part of town, where his hand felt completely at home under your sweater.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, squeezing your arms and angling his face away from your friends, so only you could see or hear him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, disappointed your soulmate wasn’t a greaser, but still amazed he made such a brazen attempt to see you before you went home with your friends. “I’m swell.”

Billy chuckled at that, catching the sound in his throat so all that escaped was a huff. He nodded and licked his lips, looking down at the pavement between your shoes. Your eyes were still on his face, darker under the hood he’d pulled up, but you felt the toe of his boot nudge yours affectionately. “Swell, huh.” You nodded. “Alright,” he nodded in the direction of your friends, already releasing you and pushing you back toward them. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Thanks,” you called out, backpedalling until Libby caught your arm again and Noah stared down the stranger like any tough guy should. It wasn’t his fault that he had no idea who he was glaring at. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t linger.

“Russo!” you heard someone yell and immediately your blood ran cold. Libby and Matt were still trying to herd you away from where you’d been so rudely bumped, but you were immovable.

You heard Billy’s hissed ‘shit’ as the man with the thick black beard stalked over from the bar’s entrance. Shit, you repeated in your head, had this guy seen Billy in there and followed him out?

“You got the wrong guy.”

“Nah,” this man shook his head, “I don’t.” A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he approached Billy. “I’d know that fucked up mug anywhere.” He looked your soulmate up and down, all too satisfied with what he found. “Thought I was seeing a goddamn ghost,” he announced, before lowering his voice considerably. “Last I heard, they dragged your ass out of the river…” he scoffed. “Guess not, huh?”

In the presence of a rising conflict, Noah and Libby turned away, tugging you along with them. Your body followed them toward the lit yellow circle under a streetlamp to wait for Matt and the car, but your senses belonged to Billy. Always.

You had to believe that he was armed and clearly more than able to defend himself. Even strolling along the Adriatic, where time moved slower and the locals cared more about their afternoon cappuccino than the scarred face watching the water over your head, Billy had been prepared for the worst. There wasn’t a cell in your body that feared for him in these moments, but the second his name was spoken out loud… there was a new fear. Your life over the last 6 months was not safe anymore, Billy was not safe anymore. Everything you knew up until this point relied on anonymity and that was gone. Your soulmate could survive a street fight, but could he live beyond one where his ability to remain invisible was compromised?

The argument over your shoulder escalated and when you turned back to observe them again, what you found was more startling than a simple scuffle.

Billy was evenly matched and that alone was enough to scare you. He’s Billy Russo. Any conflict that comes his way should be easily snuffed out. He’s been fighting his entire life. First with broken broom handles and the grace of a boy who hadn’t grown into his limbs, but abandonment and terror look a lot like rage against hungry cheeks. No matter how “pretty” he’d been, there was a fight in Billy begging to come out. Surely the fight enticed a young Billy into service. The power, the training, the knowledge that he’d never be a victim again once his fists knew where to strike. With a scope, he could fight without getting his hands dirty. With a Ka-bar… he didn’t seem to mind that either. And you knew first hand that the fight followed Billy home, where his enemies were chosen for him and in exchange, he maintained his power. That Billy shouldn’t have equals, but somehow on this street, an equal had found him.

“They’re all dead,” the man spit then shouted, feet shuffling as he and your soulmate circled each other. “Geno, Todd, Bobby, Moke.” He lunged forward and Billy’s hands came down on his wrist, blocking the blade out in front of him. At first, you hadn’t noticed the black carbon steel in the dark, but when Billy took hold of his wrist in one hand, it was clearly visible under streetlights and gasps skittered through the small crowd gathering outside the bar.

“That’s on them,” Billy ground out, keeping his attacker’s arm straight up over their hands as he went for the knee with his other hand. Off balance, the man was forced onto his back and Libby’s audible gasp pulled your attention at the same time her hands were pulling back on your shoulders. Completely unaware of your own posture, as you stumbled backwards a step, you realized that you’d been moving closer to the fight since it broke.

“You pissed off the Punisher, Russo.” At the mention of Frank Castle, you turned back again, watching Billy’s hand come down on the man’s neck and jaw. You cringed at the way his voice gurgled and strained, but he kept taunting. “Jake’s dead.”

“He’s a fucking tweaker who didn’t know when to quit,” Billy insisted, struggling to dodge a knee to the liver while still pinning his assailant. The knife finally fell from the man’s hand, but neither he nor your soulmate lunged for it as you expected. Two men as deadly as this needn’t concern themselves with a sharp edge when their bodies were well honed weapons. You assumed this man must have been military too, with the pace at which they were anticipating the other’s movements, blocking and striking with disturbingly natural ease. He never would, but a part of you, a very small part, wished Billy would just run.

“Castle wanted you, Billy! Wanted to crush what you started!” Another series of punches that sounded painful. Everytime Billy drew blood, you noticed more of his own, a cut over the eye, redness that would bloom into dark purple before tomorrow. “You were a coward, Russo. Leaving everything you built,” the man was winded and you hoped that meant he’d slow down, but neither of them had that kind of quit in them. Not when face to face with an enemy. “We kept going, we could have run that city! But your buddy Frank Castle wouldn’t sleep until every of the boys was dead. Spunk, Manny, Vincent.” The man spit blood from his red stained teeth as he seethed through the names of fallen comrades. “That psycho went after Jimbo, that dumb kid didn’t stand a chance. I never thought I’d get my chance with Billy Russo…” he laughed, a little manic as that confident veneer he’d worn just a minute ago was broken. “But here we are, Billy. You and me.” He was using Billy’s name frequently and loudly. His eyes were as black as Billy’s and you watched them dart around to the handful of cellphone cameras pointed directly at the scene. The smirk on his face was unsettling and suddenly you knew what was happening. This man didn’t care if he died as long as he took Billy down with him. Billy, observant, but ever the predator was more concerned with eliminating the physical threat than his name going viral. The man wasn’t down for long before sweeping Billy’s leg and rolling away. Knife forgotten and fists flying into every inch of tender flesh, just like they were trained. Behind you, Noah described the scene in alarming detail while on the phone with local dispatch, making sure an officer en route knew exactly where they were needed and everything you were certain of two minutes ago was in jeopardy.

“Borrowed time, remember?” the man seethed, hunched over a heavy breathing Billy Russo who’d just taken a shot to the ear. “It was always gonna end this way.”

Falling from the top bunk and breaking your arm. Graduation. Your parents’ funeral. Your brother and Libby’s wedding. Meeting Billy. Standing outside a building that erupted in flames from the inside. The oncologist sat before you with a sour expression. Waiting for Billy in every new country, wringing your hands as if he might not come. So many life changing moments and yet, they were all a blur. This moment, however, was painfully clear.

You felt the tension in your toes as heeled feet moved toward the fray. The burn in your legs as you squatted after a day standing to accept goodbyes followed by a night of dancing poorly. The knife’s weight in your palm as you adjusted your grip to something that felt more solid. You’d bought cans of soup that were heavier than the blade wrapped in your fingers and that surprised you. No wonder these looked like an extension of Billy’s hand when he wielded them. Despite the relative lightness, you looked awkward holding on to it. Not like Billy. Through the blood rush behind your ears, the heavy throb of your own pulse drowning everything out, Libby’s voice screamed your name. Billy looked shocked, a marvel in itself as it seemed so little could surprise him, to hear your name and his eyes landed on yours, wide, but narrowing as the blade sank into his opponent’s side.

The man wheeled back quickly, his elbow landing hard in your chest and knocking the wind from you. Someone Billy’s height would have doubled over groaning after a shot to the gut, but when you hit the ground, no sounds came out as you tried to call out to Billy. He acted without your cries and while you stared at the ground spinning between your knees, the sound of the fight grew louder, more urgent. As unseen hands guided you back to your feet, your legs shook at the sight of blood splattered on your hands and bare shins. In your struggle, the knife remained in your grasp and the sight of it, shimmering red in moon and street light, made you feel dizzy.

It was Billy to say your name next, loud and strained. When you looked back toward him, he was on his back, thumbs digging into the man’s cheekbones as his head thrashed. The scars on Billy’s face seemed to give way to the veins bulging in his forehead until they were all you could see, evidence of his struggle to take in breath with hands pressing down on his windpipe. The last time you were in this scenario, Billy hadn’t struggled at all. Your attacker was a bum compared to the marine and when your soulmate sliced his fingers clean from his hand, you didn’t even stop to wonder if you’d done the right thing assisting Billy. As if a practiced dance, you approached again with shaky steps, to drop the knife in Billy’s outstretched hand. You watched as a red faced Billy Russo lifted the knife and plunged it directly into the side of the man’s neck. Blood flowed from the artery when Billy removed the blade and struck him again and again. He shoved the man from his body and rose with a face, reddened by blood splatter instead.

The world slowed to a stop as you fell forward and Billy caught you, widening his feet to adjust your body against his so that you both stayed up right. His whispering disappeared into your hair and you heard nothing that was said, until a new voice cut through the night.

“What the hell?!” Matt called your name, wide eyed and confused by the blood covering both you and the man that held you. He’d only been gone a few minutes and everything had gone to shit in his absence. At the sound of sirens just around the block, your eyes flew from your friends back to Billy’s, dark and conspiring as the next few seconds proved most pivotal.

Clutching the front of Billy’s jacket, you jostled him until his eyes fell upon yours. “Don’t you leave me here, Russo,” your head shook desperately, as did your voice. “Don’t.”

Without saying a word, Billy’s jaw tightened and he was off, all but carrying you toward Matt and the car that couldn’t have come at a better or worse moment. Your friend, too noble for his own good, stupidly resisted the man on a mission and Libby shrieked when Billy’s fist landed against Matt’s cheek. He shoved your friend toward the sidewalk where his sister cried and got into the driver’s seat like it was his plan all along. Libby tried to pull you back with them, insisting it was self defense and you didn’t have to run, but one look and she knew.

The second your door shut behind you, Billy pulled away, blessedly unnoticed by the blue lights approaching from the opposite direction. You were shocked when your getaway driver stopped the car after only a few blocks, slipping into an open spot in front of a fire hydrant and stepping out of the car without explanation. He opened your door and pulled you out when you didn’t immediately follow, dropping Matt’s keys in your seat before slamming the door behind you. A half turn over your shoulder and the blue from the responders’ lights bathed the buildings on the corner. You were far too close to be safe, but Billy pressed on, walking so close behind you that his chest moved you forward more than his hands. Around one more corner and it all made sense. There was already a plan in place, a car stowed safely within walking distance of the bar meant to carry Billy away before he was jumped and his identity exposed.

You settled uncomfortably in the front seat of a sedan that -under any other circumstance- would make you laugh to see Billy behind the wheel of it. “We can’t travel like this,” you gestured down to your short dress and blood stained skin. The man next to you made a disgruntled noise, but flipped on the turn signal all the same when you pointed out Libby’s street upcoming.

Billy stood watch at the large front windows, peeking through the curtains suspiciously and giving you commands from the other room. There wasn’t time for you to change clothes, which you hated, but you were allowed 5 minutes to grab whatever you’d need so you shoved what belongings you didn’t have to dig for into a bag, flying from every corner of your guest room. Job’s excitement at seeing you and Billy, together and walking through the front door like you’d been invited rather than pillaging through the flower bed for a false bottomed rock, lasted only the length of the entry before even the dog decided that your frantic packing was too much for him. With your bag slung over one shoulder, you scribbled the quickest apology onto a pad of paper in Libby’s junk drawer, hoping she wouldn’t find it until you were long gone. You trusted she and Matt and Noah to do the right thing, to tell the truth about what they saw. You weren’t sure what to expect of the bachelorette party that watched like a herd of scared sheep, phone out and backs hunched as they gasped and gawked at the death befalling tiny screens. There was time to spare one final glance toward the refrigerator, normal clippings and wedding announcements and grocery lists. Your friends would slide back into their normal lives soon enough. They’d feel the need to mourn again, despite attending your funeral just hours ago, but they’d be forced back into work, obligations, other friendships.

You had no such luxury. There was no normal from here on out. Whatever you thought you’d been running from in Europe was soon to be clawing at your door. It was impossible not to recognize that your journey with Billy so far had been easy compared to what was coming next. He was going to be hunted, while your dying slowed him down, dragged more like. The humble bag of belongings over your shoulder suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and the strap dug into your skin. In your haste to be close to Billy, your desperation to stay with him, you hadn’t stopped to consider what a cruel fate you were damning him to. Libby lit the spark, a guilty smoldering in your chest, thinking about Billy losing you the way your best friend had lost your brother. She was broken and changed, but you couldn’t fathom what Billy would do once you were gone. Torn between wanting to spend every waking second with him until your last and letting him run without you there to complicate his survival, you didn’t notice him moving through the house to find you and hurry you along.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, urging you with his eyebrows and an extended hand, but his other hand was not empty and it amused you more than it should.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seeing the answer for yourself without addressing it. Billy shook his head and furrowed his brows like he didn’t know what he meant. You nodded at his hip, but he ignored the gesture completely, passing Job’s black leather leash from his left to his right hand, and walked out.

“Time’s up,” he announced again without further explanation and the dog behind him was more than pleased to be included. Job had no idea where he was headed or the dangerous circumstances that had brought his two favorite people back to him and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be like Job. You fought back your amusement and nodded solemnly, following Billy and his beast out of your friends’ home, apology tucked into a drawer and bag drawn up over your shoulder. Just before exiting, you stopped at the front door to kick off your heels and slide your bare feet into a pair of Libby’s walking shoes. She wouldn’t miss them and you were in greater need at the moment. This way, you hoped, she’d know you were safe upon entering, even before finding the note with half assed explanations. With the door closed behind you and the hide a key back in its place, Billy loaded Job into the back seat while you settled into the front. It could have been the start of a road trip, if you let it. Man, woman, dog, all piled into a car and headed for the next adventure.

Billy leaned over and you didn’t even try to hide the tears tracking down your face, overcome by the idea that your only normal moments would have to be imagined from now on. Usually one to prefer silence in these complex situations, you were surprised when Billy started to speak. Jose was the man’s name. He’d been involved with Billy’s tiny army, plundering New York City and taking back what they felt was owed to them after sacrificing so much in service. Jose, Billy explained, was the only member of their gang that questioned his decision to leave the game when he did. He didn’t explicitly say it, but her name hung in the air anyways.

“A lot of people died because of me…” Billy continued and you turned to face him in your seat. His eyes were forward, occasionally drifting toward dark mirrors, but never toward you. “Frank… if what Jose said is true… Frankie’s on a fucking spree.”

“Is that any different than before?” you asked honestly. You didn’t know Frank that well, or at all, minus a handful of meetings that always left you feeling nauseous before, during, and after. He was the Punisher, famed for clearing the streets of those that crossed him or his moral compass. Watching the Boondock Saints with your brother was one thing, knowing someone with twice the training and fire power was loose in New York with your soulmate’s name at the top of his list was something else entirely. Billy wasn’t the good guy in this story, you loved him, but your brain hadn’t disintegrated that much yet. Given another opportunity, Frank Castle would end Billy’s life without pause. That wasn’t a fact easily forgotten, or forgotten at all, but knowing that even one person blamed Billy for Frank’s less than judicious behavior was terrifying.

The steering wheel squeaked under the tight flexing of his fingers. You knew him well enough to know that Billy didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, not really. He was smart enough to draw conclusions about how they ended up on Frank Castle’s hit list, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them either. The only thing that worried you was if Billy was looking for a reason to fight Frank one more time, this would be as good a reason as any. You reached over to touch his arm and as awkward as it was to hold onto his elbow when Billy made no moves to reciprocate or accept the touch, you left your hand where it was. Only when Job’s snout shot up from between your seats and bumped the back of his arm did Billy react, dropping his right arm to trap Job’s face between his arm and his ribs. He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time since getting into the car. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but you disregarded the voice in your head that told you not to push him. “You’re not going after him are you?”

Billy’s eyes drifted purposefully back to the road ahead and you expected your question to linger without ever being answered. An unspoken confirmation of your worst fears. “I’ve got other shit to do,” he answered suddenly, releasing Job’s head from its hold and sliding his arm through your hand until your fingers fell in the spaces between his. Billy tightened his hold, fingertips digging into the back of your hand, then let go completely, switching hands to steer with his right. His elbow rested by the window and he cupped his own chin, covering his mouth with his forefinger as if deep in thought.

You. You were the other shit to do. You had to be.

On the one hand, overlooking his choice of phrasing, you were encouraged. He’d planned to keep you around and knew he couldn’t be with you while successfully hunting Frank Castle. That was… nice. In a way. There was a time when Billy’s feud -if you could call it that- with the Punisher took precedence over you and the trust he placed in you. Somewhere over the last year, Billy learned of your importance to him. Of course he didn’t share this as he was discovering it, but the night he held you and forced you to look at the passports he’d secured for you both before blowing Anvil to the ground, he’d laid it out clearly. You meant something to him and without his memories, he had to be sure. Once he was sure, he was all in. Or so he said.

Which made everything else harder. How could Billy Russo be all in when he had no idea what was coming next? A few months in Europe away from the US government and the Punisher, your brain was changing, but that was nothing compared to what he’d have to deal with soon. You and your doctors had discussed end of life expectations, but how much was Billy ready to shoulder. Would he regret his choices when you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore? When you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself? When your throat rattled with every labored breath? When you weren’t sure where you were or who he was? How much of your dying could Billy stand before he took Job for a walk and never came back?

You’d meant to talk to him about it back at the bar- god, could that really have been an hour ago? Hearing Libby’s heartbreak as she talked about losing your brother was too much already. How much worse would it be when the goodbye was drawn out and by the end, he was so sick of caring for you that your departure was more of a relief than a loss?

“Billy, pull over,” you demanded suddenly.

He ignored your warning, but the churning in your stomach wasn’t waiting on your soulmate.

“Billy!”

“We gotta- SHIT!” You felt the car slide over to the shoulder when you lurched forward, hand over your mouth too late as the contents of your stomach emptied through your fingers and onto the thick rubber mat between your stolen shoes. When the car finally stopped, you were quick to exit, heaving twice more before falling backwards. Your butt hit the damp grass and your body slumped into the slope of the ditch until you were flat on your back. Slow breaths pushed whatever was left back down and when you were feeling brave enough to open your eyes again, you focused on a familiar cluster of stars to keep the rest of the galaxy from spinning away. The archer was facing back the way you’d come stumbling, taunting you, daring you to rise and face Billy Russo after throwing up in his getaway car. He could wait a few more breaths. When the sticky sweet scent of alcohol soaked soil wafted up into your nose, you frowned, wiped your wet hand in the grass, and stood, not really ready to face him, but unwilling to lie out in the cold smelling your own sick any longer.

Billy was watching you, one arm bent over the hood while he stood between the door and the driver’s seat. He didn’t strike you as the hold your hair back guy, but seeing him out of the car at all was a surprise. Your embarrassed shuffle back toward the vehicle was met with silence, only the thud of the door closing behind you and the click of your seatbelt broke it. Billy pulled himself back in once you were situated and in a matter of seconds, you were rolling again. The puddle by your feet was even worse than the wet ground you’d left in the ditch and Billy didn’t hesitate to roll every window down. The wind whipping through the front seat did little to cover his scoffing.

“Smells like death.”

“Get used to it,” you murmured back and waited for Billy to reply with something smart. The rebuttal never came, but he sat straight up after it, left fist clenched against his thigh while his right hand kept the car steady. He heard and you knew you’d need to talk to him again, seriously, but the adrenaline was well and truly worn off and the sickness wasn’t exactly invigorating. What a mess. You briefly imagined what Kathleen would say about it all before remembering that your phone was safely tucked into your purse, dropped at Libby’s feet in the middle of the night’s chaos and with it… shit.

“The address,” you said quietly. Billy’s eyes flitted up to the rearview, without responding. “The address you gave me, we can’t go there. Libby has it.”

“I put it in your bra,” Billy stated, already sounding frustrated.

“I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it and…” you gestured vaguely. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were holding it. Maybe when Billy bumped into you on the street? Once the fight broke out, your attention was not on your belongings.

Billy took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head as he dug his own burner out of his back pocket. He nodded to the backseat, “gimme that blue pouch back there.” You turned onto your left hip and opened the duffle he always had with him. Along the front side of the bag, you felt a leathery pouch.

“With the zipper?” Billy hummed and you pulled it out for him. Job whined quietly from the backseat, clearly not pleased that you were rummaging around in his space without even petting him. While Billy had the pouch between his legs, looking for something, you stayed turned toward Job, reaching out to run one of his ears between your fingers. He relaxed again, laying across the bench seat, so you rested the side of your head against your seat to watch him sleep and within seconds, you too were out cold.

Before you knew it, your eyes were flying open at the gentle vibration of the trunk slamming shut behind you. Looking around, it was impossible to tell how long you’d been out. The sky was just as black as it was before, but nothing outside the windows looked familiar and you were definitely in the car alone.

Billy was loading his bags and yours into a gray pick up that was so comically large you weren’t sure his long legs could pull him into the cab, let alone yours. You could make out at least two more men from their silhouettes, black against the glare of the truck’s headlights, exchanging words and something else with Billy before he turned back toward you. Unsure what was happening or who the men were, you waited in your seat for Billy to retrieve you, which soon enough he did. You hadn’t even noticed his jacket draped over your front until he slid it off your chest, placing it back around your shoulders once you were out of the car and standing with him. He didn’t touch you much, didn’t even wait for you before starting his march back toward the truck. You followed awkwardly, dodging the uncomfortable stares from the men he’d just been talking to and helped yourself into the passenger seat with about as much difficulty as you were expecting, especially in a short dress that still had tiny, but pungent vomit splatters on it and needed to be burned. It was probably a faux pas to wear the dress you wore to your own funeral anywhere else and you weren’t worried about missing it. Billy spoke with the men once more, pointing to the car that had gotten you here. The men weren’t interested in the car, stealing glances through the windshield at you. One had the audacity to wink before rolling his neck to smirk at Billy. You watched your soulmate’s face lift in one of his signature snarls before taking a total 180 into a similar sadistic sort of smile. He tilted his head toward the windshield, not even really looking at you before turning back and saying something that made the men roar in laughter. Through the thick glass and over the loud engine, you could hear their response and you were thankful you couldn’t hear what he’d said to be so entertaining. Instead of watching them through the windshield, you turned a bit to look in the backseat. Job was stretched comfortably across the bench, his big block head supported by Billy’s duffel bag, which left his snout right in between your seat and the driver’s. You scratched his head, amazed that the dog seemed to be adapting to this on the run business much easier than you were. He trusted you and he trusted Billy. The details weren’t anything for Job to be concerned with, so he nodded off again without trouble. You could stand to learn a thing or two from the mutt.

By the time Billy was back in the driver’s seat next to you, you had surpassed uncomfortable and settled well into ‘about to throw up’ territory again. The way the mean leered at you was chilling, but the way Billy let them, almost encouraging them, was ultimately what made your insides crawl. His head hit the seat behind him with a thud and he waited until the men, driving the first car away, were completely out of sight, not even the faint red spot of tail lights on the black highway ahead of you.

You had questions. Loads. Who were those men? Where were they going? Whose truck were you in? Where were YOU going? What did Billy say to make them laugh? Were you in danger? Was this always the plan or was Billy really so resourceful to pull off this swap all while you slept next to him?

And yet, none of them came out.

“Billy…” his head lulled to the side, looking at you dutifully without moving any other part of his body. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s huff was clearly annoyed and he straightened immediately, reaching for the gear shift and ignoring you.

“Billy-“

“They were guys from Anvil,” okay one answer. “They’re going ahead to set up a place for us in Buffalo. It’ll take a couple of days, but they got connections to get us across the border. Anything else you need to know?” His stare was hard. Impatient.

You swallowed and nodded. His nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Can we trust them?”

Of all things. That made Billy Russo smile. He licked his lips before answering. “Not at all,” he said, finally shifting into drive. “That’s why we aren’t going to Buffalo.”

The relief you felt at his words was enough to put you right back to sleep, but suddenly you felt wide awake. You even sat up a little straighter, turning a bit in your seat to look at Billy easier. The truck was pointed West, the ugliness of the night left back in Philly. Your poor friends would be left to pick up the pieces of the evening and you suddenly remembered why you’d run off on a grand adventure in the first place. Dying just left so much trouble for the ones left… which reminded you....

“Billy, we still need to talk.”

“I didn’t tell them who you were,” he assured you, derailing your thoughts entirely.

“Who did they think I was?” You asked.

Billy shrugged. “A hooker.”

“And that was believable??” Billy’s annoying smirk said it all, but he took a moment to look you up and down, lifting his eyebrows once his eyes made it back up to yours. “Ugh,” you whined. “Don’t answer that.” You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs as far as it would go. You were still in his jacket, a little black dress that stunk of sweat and booze and vomit, boots that didn’t belong to you. You hadn’t had a good look at your hair or makeup since before Billy fucked you in an office and there was no way your makeup had survived an evening of drinking, dancing, Billy’s rough kisses, manslaughter, and throwing up on the side of the road. The little pull down mirror above your head wasn’t even tempting at this point and Billy’s smug chuckle next to you was bad enough. You shrunk down, wedging yourself firmly between the back of your seat and the door, and Billy glanced over barely containing his amusement.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he teased in that thick accent of his and you glared at him from your little corner, pulling his jacket tighter with your crossed arms. He reached out across the console between you and unfortunately you had nowhere to go. His fingers wrapped around your shoulder and he barely had to tug before you were shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. Billy dipped his hand into the back of his jacket, rubbing your neck as you leaned further in. At his gentle kneading and pulling, you finally relented and let your head fall into his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable angle with the wide center piece between you, but totally worth it when you felt Billy’s lips brush your forehead. “You smell like a 4, but I know you taste like a 8.”

“I’m a 10,” you argued and he laughed above you. His arm was all the way behind your neck now, holding you against him as he maneuvered the giant vehicle with his left hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I dunno about that. How bout we find you a shower and some toothpaste, then I can have another taste, just to be sure.”

You shook your head in complete disbelief. How dizzyingly quick could he switch from hardened criminal on the run to this flirt. Too fast. Hard day behind you and hard conversations ahead, but both forgotten for the time being. The ride was quiet and you were bound to fall back asleep before too long, Job’s snoring behind your head as comforting as Billy’s long fingers rubbing your scalp. Just before consciousness evaded again, you felt Billy turn his face into your hair, mumbling something too low to be understood.You hummed a bit to question it, but were out before hearing him repeat it.

YEAH WE KNOW BILLY. ITS ONLY MOSTLY YOUR FAULT.

Idk how y'all still put up with me and this story. Its too long. You can say it.

General Tags: @something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola @mariaenchanted @the-blind-assassin-12 @gollyderek @suchatinyinfinity @fific7 @beautifuldesastre @elanor-of-imladris @actuallyazriel @malionnes @pheedraws @commanderlola

Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @stories-you-wont-hear @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23 @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @blackbirddaredevil23

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #jigsaw!billy #jigsaw!billy x reader #billy russo fanfiction #ben barnes character #ben barnes character fic #Job is a good boy #that's actually all that matters here

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snelbz · 5 years

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A Christmas Miracle

Christmas in July {Day 4}

Elide + Lorcan

Written alongside the ultimate hottie with a body, @tacmc.

Elide found herself walking through the streets of Orynth once again. The snow had just begun to fall and as cold as it was she couldn’t help but turn her face to the sky and watch the small flakes as they tumbled from the dark, starless night.

A week before Christmas, every shop had its doors thrown open for anyone wanting to come in and see their many wares, try free samples and spend the holiday season with those they loved.

As Elide let a family pass, a little girl sitting on her daddy’s shoulders, she sighed. It was times like this that she missed her family, that she wondered exactly what memories she’d missed out on when her parents had died. She’d been so young she could barely remember them, but Christmas was always a strange time of year for her.

Sure, the holiday itself made her happy, but she ended up spending quite a lot of time by herself. While everyone else went to family dinners and parties, she stayed at home by herself.

Her phone rang, startling her out of her misery.

The only other person as lonely as her this time of year was calling her. The person who just so happened to be the reason she was out so late.

“Hello?” She answered, with a sigh.

“You sound sad,” Lorcan replied, voice low. “You’re not allowed to be sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she said, unable to stop the little smile from gracing her lips. “What are you up to tonight?”

“Shopping,” he said.

Elide froze in her tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. “Did you just say that you’re...shopping?”

She heard his deep chuckled, trying not to think about the way his voice did things to her insides.

“Yes, I’m shopping. And I take it so are you?” “What- How did you-?” She immediately began to look around her, wondering how he knew what she was doing.

There he was, under an awning across the street. He winked at her and she hung up the phone, looking both ways before crossing the street.

He greeted her with a rare smile, one that changed his entire demeanor.

One that he only brought out for her.

“Merry almost Christmas,” he said. “Care to join me?”

“Of course,” she said. “But does it involve food? Because I’m starving.”

“It always involves food,” Lorcan winked. “Then I need your help.”

“With?”

“Secret Santa,” Lorcan said, head tilting to the side, dark strands falling into his eyes.

Elide couldn’t stop the pounding in her chest.

“Who’d you get?” Elide asked. They were playing secret Santa among their friends. Elide had gotten Aelin, and had yet to buy her a gift. Considering they are gathering tomorrow afternoon, both of them were a little behind.

“That defeats the Secret part, doesn’t it?” He asked.

Elide rolled her eyes. “Fine. Food first, shopping second.”

They walked down Main Street and ended up on the Square. Elide looked up at the massive tree in the middle and sighed.

“You’re sighing a lot tonight,” Lorcan observed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Elide nibbled on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to get into it all, didn’t want to throw herself a pity party. She had a ton of friends, all who she was grateful for and loved like family. But they weren’t her family. Her family was gone, and they had been for a long time.

“I get jealous,” she admitted, trying to keep her voice as light as possible while staring at the tall, lit tree. “I see all of these families enjoying the holiday together, and it just reminds me of all the years I’ve missed with my parents.”

Lorcan nodded, no judgment in his gaze as he watched her admire the square’s decor. “I know what you mean. I barely even remember Christmas with my mom. And I never spent a Christmas with my dad.”

Elide finally met his eyes. “It’s strange. How the holidays are always the hardest when they’re meant to be the happiest.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as they walked. The snow began to fall heavier and heavier, so much so that they ducked off into the first restaurant they saw, which happened to have a small general store attached.

“Eat first?” Lorcan asked, just as Elides stomach rumbled.

“Yes, please,” she begged.

She followed him through the maze of people to where a chalkboard sign sat that read Seat Yourself. After finding a two-person table by the window, Elide plopped down and shrugged off her coat.

She hadn’t expected to see Lorcan tonight, hadn’t expected to see anyone. It was a miracle enough that she’d managed to do her hair and makeup before she left her apartment.

The boots and leggings looked good enough under her pea coat, but the ratty, comfortable t-shirt was a little embarrassing, especially when Lorcan removed his coat, revealing a tight, black Henley.

She could see every defined muscle of his chest, arms and shoulders across the small table and she had to stop herself from audibly swallowing. She realized he was staring at her and had most likely said something she’d completely missed while she’d been ogling him.

“I’m sorry, I spaced out for a minute.” She was blushing and looked anywhere but at him. “What did you say?”

Lorcan chuckled, the sound she loved most in this world, and said, “I asked if you’d ever been here before.”

“Nope,” she said, observing the dinner menu in front of her. “Didn’t even know it was here, to be honest.”

Orynth was a fairly big city and had been growing within recent years. There were so many local establishments now that Elide hadn’t been to a good majority of them.

“Me either,” Lorcan said, squinting his eyes as he looked at the menu.

Elide snorted. “I don’t know why you don’t just get reading glasses.”

“I don’t need reading glasses,” he grumbled, pulling the menu closer to his eyes. “I am not an elderly person.”

“I’m going to get you some for Christmas,” Elide joked. “Maybe with one of those little chains hooked onto it so that it can hang around your neck when you’re not using them.”

Lorcan shook his head, and all Elide could see was his eyes light up with humor above the top of his menu.

“I’m 25,” he said, pointedly ignoring her. “Not 75.”

The server came over to take their orders and once she walked away, that comfortable silence came back. After she dropped off their drinks and Elide took a sip of her hot chocolate, she cleared her throat.

“So,” she started. “Secret Santa. Did you get someone you’re close to? Or are you just winging it?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m winging it,” he drank deeply from his cold beer, regardless of the fact that it was well below freezing outside the foggy windows. “I know them. Not as well as I should, but… I don’t know. Shopping for a girl is hard.”

“So it’s one of us!” She said, leaning forward at the table and smiling at him.

Lorcan attempted to stifle his grin and failed. “Don’t even try begging me to tell you, I’m not going to.”

Elide batted her eyelashes.

Lorcan just shook his head.

“Fine,” She crooned, sitting back in her chair, “But it’s going to be hard for me to help you if I don’t know who I’m shopping for.”

“I’m okay with that,” he replied, simply.

Elide scoffed. “Why are you so stubborn?”

“Why do you have to know everything?” He shot back, dark brow lifted.

“Knowledge is important,” she replied.

“So are surprises,” he winked, bringing the brim of his glass to his mouth.

“Ass,” she breathed, looking around at the quaint restaurant. It was clear that the store was the main attraction, but she liked the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant.

Granted it might have been the company she was keeping.

“So what’d you get your Secret Santa?” He asked, finishing his beer and flagging the waitress down. He asked for another, as well as a shot of peppermint vodka. Elide scrunched her nose at the strange request, but waited until she had left to respond.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she quipped. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

“Have you bought your gift?” He asked, after the server dropped the drinks off. Elide was taking a drink of her hot chocolate and shook her head when she finished. He said, “Take another drink. A big one.”

“What?” She asked, eyebrows lowering in confusion. “Why?”

“Just do it,” he chuckled.

She couldn’t deny him anything, even if she wanted, so she did, draining a quarter of the mug. Glancing to ensure the server wasn’t watching, Lorcan tipped the shot out and poured the minty liquor into her drink.

“Lorcan!” She whispered, scolding him. “What are you doing?”

“Try it.” He was smiling, a full smile and the sight of it was like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t. I’m not 21.”

He just leveled her with a look.

She was the youngest of their friends, still on 20 for a few more months, but that didn’t stop her from drinking when her friends were buying.

Elide just rolled her eyes and took a sip from her mug. “If I didn’t know any better I would say you’re trying to get me drunk, Salvaterre.”

Lorcan winked. “Good thing you know better.”

Elide laughed, taking another sip as the server brought their food. Elide took one look at her chicken sandwich before reaching across the table and grabbing a handful of Lorcan’s fries.

He smacked the back of her hand, gently, as it retracted back to her side of the table. “Get your own fries.”

“Why should I when yours are just as good?” She asked, brow raised.

She knew she was flirting, and she loved every second of it. She popped a fry in her mouth and chewed.

They are their meal, talking about this and that, the weird shenanigans that only their friend group could get into, and about what else they had planned for the holidays.

Unsurprisingly, aside from their Friends-mas party, neither of them had plans.

After they (meaning Lorcan) paid their bill, they made their way into the store.

“You know,” Elide started. “I sort of have this tradition on Christmas Eve.” She looked over at Lorcan and saw that he was watching her as they walked. She quickly averted her eyes and ran a finger over cutlery set. “Every year, I make hot chocolate, put on my coziest pajamas, curl up on the couch and watch the Grinch right before bed. And only the original cartoon!” She added quickly and mumbled, “None of this new CGI bullshit.” She heard Lorcan laugh under his breath. “You could come over…” She quickly added. “If you don’t have plans, I mean.”

They paused at a table piled high with candles.

“You’re asking me to come over and watch a movie with you,” he asked, cautiously. “Right before bed?”

Elide’s cheeks were burning and she knew they had to be as red as the cinnamon candle in front of her.

“I’d love to.”

Elise’s eyes snapped to his. “Really?”

“Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Elide blushed and averted her eyes to the table of candles. “Get your secret Santa giftee a candle. Women love candles.”

Lorcan slowly let his eyes fall away from Elide to the table. “Alright. Peppermint or sugar cookie?”

“Sugar cookie,” Elide responded with no hesitation. “Always pick sugar cookie.”

Lorcan chuckled and grabbed the candle, fighting his way back to the check out counter when Elide gasped from behind him.

Lorcan whirled to find her staring at a necklace within a case.

It was a single, brilliant opal, dangling from a dainty chain. It wasn’t large by any means, but it was simple. And it was beautiful.

Elide looked at the price tag and her face fell. Her meager salary from the diner she worked at would never allow her to buy such a luxury. The set amount for Secret Santa of $30 was a bit of stretch for her and this was almost four times as expensive as that. She turned away and headed toward the counter.

Lorcan looked at her retreating form, back to the lit case and then back to Elide slipping into the crowd. After a moment of hesitation, he followed her.

She hesitated as they stood outside the shop.

“Do you want to come over and hang out tonight?” She asked, and quickly added, “if you’re free, that is.”

Lorcan looked over his shoulder, at the large clock in the square. It wasn’t too late, but it was a Sunday night, and work would come early.

Just as Elide was about to tell him not to worry about it, he turned back to her, that small smile on his lips, and said, “Sounds good.”

Elide’s apartment wasn’t far from the street they were on, only a few blocks. Lorcan followed her, heart pounding, although he showed no sign of nervousness. He had never been alone with Elide in her apartment, and the thought had him shaken up.

A light snow had just begun when they began padding up the stairs to her apartment on the fifth floor. They had begun to build apartment complexes in the city higher and higher, and Elide was lucky enough to get a new one with a nice view.

Elide unlocked the door and allowed Lorcan to pass her and go inside. Without being asked, he left his snow-covered boots by the front door. “Nice place.”

“Thank you,” Elide said and smiled. “It’s not much, but it’s just me, so…”

A small, whining yawn from the couch reminded her that it, in fact, wasn’t just her. “Oh, and Oliver. He’s here, too.”

Lorcan chuckled, meandering over to the couch to scratch the small pup below his ear. He wagged his black and white spotted tail in response.

“So,” Elide began, rocking back and forth on her heels. She didn’t know why she attempted to begin a sentence because she had no idea what to say after her awkward and highly uncomfortable so.

“So,” Lorcan repeated. “Is this how you typically hang out with people, or…”

Elide narrowed her eyes. “No need to be a smart ass.”

Because no, it wasn’t. Elide didn’t have a difficult time entertaining others, but Lorcan? Alone with him? At night? In her apartment?

Elide had no idea.

She flopped down on the couch. “What do you want to do?” She looked around the room. “I have Netflix or old video games or books or-.”

“Books?” He laughed and sat down next to her. “What are you going to do? Read to me?”

And just like that, the awkwardness was gone.

She kicked him lightly. “Smart ass,” she repeated.

“Old video games, huh?” He asked, rubbing his jaw. “You wouldn’t happen to have Mario Kart, would you?”

She got up and rummaged through her entertainment center. She turned around and smirked. “Do you want to get your ass kicked on the original or the N64 version?”

It turned out that Lorcan had much more experience on the Nintendo 64 than he’d let on. After beating her on Rainbow Road no less than four times, they’d ended up watching a movie and throwing popcorn at each other. Oliver loved it, because anything that neither of them caught, he got to eat.

At half past midnight, after Elide yawned for the third time in five minutes, Lorcan finally left, giving her a hug and heading back out into the snow. He promised to text her when he got home, but Elide fell asleep before she got his text.

It was a hectic week before their Friends-mas party, and Lorcan had only been able to text Elide a few times. But the night of the Christmas party, when he walked into Rowan and Aelin’s new home and saw her wearing a radiant red dress, the breath was ripped from his lungs.

She caught his eye and smiled, softly.

“You look beautiful,” he said, voice low, as she approached him.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, giving him a head to toe scan. He tried his best to clean up, even though he hated wearing anything that required ironing. He settled on black slacks and a black button down shirt, his hair hanging loosely below his jaw, his chin.

He smirked, if only to try and hide the blush forming on his cheeks. “Can I get you something to drink?”

She lifted the glass of white wine in her hand. “Oh, trust me, Aelin already beat you to it,” she laughed.

“Fair enough,” he said. He inclined his head to the tables where people were beginning to get their food. “Sit with me at dinner?”

“Okay,” she smiled.

He didn’t miss the blush that darkened her cheeks.

They filled their plates with chicken, potatoes, veggies, and some kind of bread that was a lot fancier than anything Lorcan was used to. There was also a green bean casserole, which Lorcan demolished as if it were going to be the last thing he ever ate.

It was a fun night among friends, one that they all would remember for the rest of their lives. Memories were shared, goals were set, and inappropriate jokes from Aelin were dished constantly. They played games and did their secret Santa. Lysandra loved the sugar cookie candle so much that she threw her arms around his neck and pecked his cheek with a kiss. To Lorcan’s surprise, Aelin had drawn Lorcan’s name and his gift was not malicious in the slightest. He’d gotten him a nice black beanie from a brand everyone knew he constantly wore, and a fifteen-dollar gift card to his favorite store that Aelin claimed was to go toward a new pair of boots. In her words, his current boots were hideous.

He had even given her a side hug.

It was monumental.

Lorcan had never seen Elide smile so much. That beautiful smile practically never left her mouth, and Lorcan couldn’t stop himself from staring at it, at her.

She was too good for their world, too good for him. Lorcan knew that, but it didn’t stop him from constantly brushing his calloused fingers along the back of her pale, slender hand.

They were all dancing in the living room, Lorcan’s hands around Elide’s waist as a Christmas carol was being played on a violin over the speakers, when he asked, “Want to head to the back porch? I have a surprise for you.”

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “A surprise, huh?” She glanced across the room at Aelin, who had been watching Lorcan suspiciously the whole night. “Did she put you up to something?” Suddenly, their flirting seemed a little less natural. She stepped back.

He leaned down, his lips nearly touching her ear, and whispered, “No, this is all me, don’t worry about them. Come on.” He threaded their fingers together and he pulled her out onto the deck.

The snow was just starting to fall and Elide was wishing she would have grabbed her coat before they came out.

“Am I still coming over tonight?” He asked, as she carefully leaned against the railing. “Christmas Eve tradition and all that?”

“Of course,” she said, looking up at him. “I even bought new Christmas pajamas and everything.”

“I feel special,” he smiled and carefully brushed his lips against her cheek, a soft twin to the kiss she’d given him earlier. “I might have gotten you a second gift.”

She froze. “But, that wasn’t a part of secret Santa-”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But, you deserve it.”

Lorcan pulled a small, black box out of his pocket and handed it over to her. With shaky fingers, she lifted the top off and gasped. It was the necklace she had been admiring at the store the week before when they were together, the one she would never be able to afford.

“Lorcan, I can’t-.”

“Do you like it?” he asked, brows furrowed. “If you don't, you can-.”

“Of course I like it,” she laughed. “Lorcan, I love it, but you didn’t have to-.”

“Yes,” he said, taking a step closer to her. “I did.”

Elide didn’t blush this time. Instead, she looked up into his eyes, the box with the necklace in it clasped in her fingers.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “So much. It’s beautiful.”

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman,” he whispered back.

Elide rose up on her toes and pressed her lips softly, just once, to his. She no longer cared about the winter chill or the fact that a Christmas party was going on inside and Aelin was probably peering through the back window.

His fingers lightly brushed her jaw, and he pressed his lips to hers again. When she pulled back, she laughed softly and said, “I’ve been thinking about doing that for the longest time.”

He chuckled softly. “I have, too.”

Elide tossed her head back and laughed as Lorcan took the box from her hand and removed the necklace. She moved her hair to one side and he clasped it around her neck.

She fingered the charm and turned around to face him. “Can I ask for one more present?”

The smile on her face, he would’ve given her anything she wanted. “Of course.”

“Kiss me again,” she breathed.

And so, with all of their friends watching from inside, Lorcan Salvaterre pressed his lips to hers.

From inside the house, Fenrys nudged Rowan.

“That’s a damn Christmas miracle.”

#elorcan #elide lochan #lorcan salvaterre #lorcan lochan #throne of glass #throne of ashes and beauty #tacmc #throne of ashes and beauty x tacmc collab #toab tacmc 12 days of xmaas #toab tacmc tagteam prompts

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istheresomebodywhocanimagine · 6 years

Text

Tomorrow Never Came PT. 5

You’re over four decades into the past, and now you’re almost halfway through the year you had to prepare for the attack. Summer has come, and you begin to get into a groove with your routine, but when you step out of that routine for just a moment, something - or someone - finally comes to stop you in your tracks.

Read PT. 1 here | Read PT. 2 here | Read PT. 3 here | Read PT. 4 here

(a/n: I DIDNT HAVE TIME TO PROOFREAD DONT KILL ME anyways hi i’m opening requests again since i should have the rest of the main ones out of the way before the weekend is over)

July in London felt like it always did back in the future – did that sentence even make sense, you wondered? Not that your life was making sense anyways. It hadn’t since March, but at the same time, you’d never felt happier. You had a steady job, lovely roommates, and you were slowly figuring out how you were going to save your mother from a most undesirable future.

Anyways, July was in full swing, and the weather being up in the 70s to match the year had you in high spirits. Freddie and Roger were in high spirits too – they had finally played a show with Deacon as the bassist, and they’d raved about it for days afterwards. Suddenly, they were begging you to come see them play. They’d only played a few gigs here and there since you’d met them, and never with Deacon, so they desperately wanted you to see them in action.

You’d considered, of course. Although you’d gotten over the initial shock of being in cahoots with Queen, going and seeing them perform would certainly be a daunting check off of the old bucket list – after all, who else born after 1995 could say that they’d seen the original lineup of Queen play in some dingy, underground London pub? Hint – nobody. But at the same time, you worried. How would that affect the future of Queen? Would your presence make someone miss a note or forget the lyrics, inciting an argument that broke up the band before it even began? They were all testy fellows, for sure, and there was no telling what your presence alone could set off.

Roger, though, was incessant. And you couldn’t blame him – this band was his life, his dream, and he wanted to share it with you, one of his closest friends.

“It’s late tomorrow night, surely you can skive off work early?” Roger complained, tossing a fry into his mouth as you rolled your eyes. You’d explained this to him a hundred times over, and honestly, you were beginning to get tired of it. He batted his eyelashes, purposely accentuating the alluring blue of his eyes as he practically stared you down. “I mean, this is the first day you’ve had off in weeks.”

“Rog, I’m the only closing person out front tomorrow night. I’m afraid I can’t.” Pouting, he looked down to his plate again and let his shoulders sag a bit. He was awfully melodramatic today, and you couldn’t help but laugh and shake your head. “Nuh-uh, no amount of crying like a baby is going to make me lose my only job. I’ve got to pay rent, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, throwing a burnt crisp of a fry at you and giving you the stink eye as he continued to eat. He was seated across from you in a cracked vinyl-upholstered booth at some burger joint you’d heard him mention once or twice. It was a bit out of the way for you, so you’d never stopped by, but he’d insisted on it tonight – Freddie was out with Mary and you didn’t want to cook tonight. “I swear, you work every day. Don’t you ever want a break, love? Your feet have got to be killing you.”

He was right on that, your feet did ache like no other nowadays. You’d tried switching up shoes to make it better, but nothing could combat the hard concrete that was underneath the tile of that café. The wince that contorted your face when he said that answered for you, and a knowing smirk graced his lips as he crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, arching a blond eyebrow in challenge. “That’s not the point, Rog,” you dismissed, a warning tone to your voice as you picked at your fries, your stomach starting to feel a bit full.

“I think it is,” he replied in a sing-song voice, lifting his nose at you for a moment before laughing. “Come on, Y/N, one night won’t kill you! Ask that greasy bloke that’s always giving you one-liners to cover. He’d do it for the chance to breathe your air again.”

It was tempting, and you hated how right he was today. He was making good point after good point, and you were quickly running out of defenses to avoid what you were probably going to do anyways. Looking around, you tried to stall, and you scanned the restaurant for anything to help you. A family waiting for their food. A young brunette girl sitting at the counter 10 feet away from you, talking with the chef. A salt-and-pepper-haired man, older looking, sitting a booth or two behind Roger and reading a newspaper. Nothing. Sighing in defeat, you reached for your napkin and wiped off your hands as you grumbled, “I suppose I could do that. He’s in tonight, anyways.”

Cheering, Roger grabbed his napkin as well and wiped at his face so quickly he almost knocked his hat off, his big doe eyes alight with excitement as he tossed enough money to cover the tab down on the table. He scooted out of the booth, almost crowding you in his eagerness to go over to the café. “Come on, I want to hear what the oily old chap has to say today. Maybe I can learn something from him.”

“You’re something else, Roger,” you laughed, rising out of the booth and grabbing your purse before pulling it over your shoulder. “And don’t even think about taking notes from him. He’s a disgusting pervert and you’d get slapped in an instant if you ever tried to use any of his lines.”

“They work so well on you! After all, you do have his schedule memorized,” he teased, poking at your side in fun as the two of you exited the burger place, Roger holding the door open for you before following you out onto the sidewalk. You gave him a warning look, and he whined as he fell into step with you, heading down the sidewalk together. “You know I’m joking, don’t be such a prude. I’m funny and you know it, admit it!” Throwing an arm over your shoulder, he reached up with his other hand to mess up your hair, receiving a gentle smack on the wrist for it.

“You’re such an arse sometimes, truly!” you laughed, trying to fix your hair in vain before just giving up and letting it blow back into place from the soft breeze that filtered around the corners of buildings. Stepping out into the street, you two looked like a regular couple to the untrained eye, especially when you wrapped an arm around his waist, clinging on to the white button up/suspender duo he had on. His arm was casually dangling over your shoulder, holding you to his side and bumping hips with you as you both walked. And though Roger’s scrawny figure wasn’t an imposing sort, you did feel like he offered you some blanket of security that way – you felt safe, impossibly safe, in his arms, and that scared you.

This part of the city was a bit unfamiliar to you, but you’d heard your mom mention it once or twice, and you suddenly felt a pang of sadness in your heart as you missed her dearly. You missed her smile, the way her eyes nearly closed when she did so, and the way she said your name – it was relaxing, and you hadn’t heard it in so long. And that laugh, when you said something really outrageous, the way it twinkled – God, it made every second here worth it. You loved your mom dearly, and if this was the way to bring her back, then you were determined to succeed.

Lost in your own thoughts, you felt as if you were in a daze as Roger led you down an unfamiliar street, lined with carts touting fruit and other goods for sale. An array of smells battered at your nostrils, overwhelming you with stimulation as you glanced around, taking in the sight and feeling a significant sort of loss at the fact that something like this was so rare in the 21st century.

And that’s when you heard it. Her voice, followed by that unmistakable laugh. You thought you were imagining it at first, but it was so present, so real, that you found yourself clutching on to Roger for dear life as your head whipped around, searching for the source of the sound desperately.

You found her. There she was, chatting away with a vendor who was talking her up and trying to convince her to buy just one more peach for the road. She was laughing at the flirty smiles being sent her way, her smile the same as ever, just framed by a younger, less troubled face. Roger noticed your frantic change of demeanor, and he looked down at you with a curious expression on his face. However, you gave him no time to ask questions as you ducked down, practically forcing him into the nearest alleyway and using him as a human shield when she turned away from the vendor, heading straight for where you just were. Peeking around him, you watched as your mom wandered off, vibrant, glowing, and so unbothered by life. Troubling, how the years had changed her.

Roger stood still, baffled by your behavior in the last 30 seconds but patiently waiting for an explanation as kept his arm around your shoulder. You’d turned his back to the street, so now he was leaned against the back wall of a building and mostly shielding you from view. You held him stationary with a firm grip on his arm that was leaned against the wall, your other hand still grasping his shirt like it was your lifeline.

Realizing how tightly you were holding on to him, you felt your cheeks burning as you pulled your hand away, mumbling softly. “Sorry. Er, thought I saw an ex out there. Didn’t want to see them.”

“Oh?” Roger said, suddenly interested when you’d brought an ex into the equation. “You should have told me! I could have given ‘em a serious case of jealousy, signed with a big old smooch from ol’ Roger Taylor himself.” The smirk on his lips was undying, and you fought off a smile as you rolled your eyes playfully, heading back out to the street with him now that it was a bit safer.

“Talking about yourself in the third person is weird, you know?” you pointed out, and Roger dismissed the suggestion with a wave and a scoff. “Plus, you’ve got a lot of nerve thinking that I wouldn’t smack you silly for kissing me out of nowhere.”

“That’s what they all say,” he teased, and you groaned in mock disgust as you started to head down the sidewalk with him again, heading back towards the café

The next night, the pub was noisy, as expected, and the crowd clamored with anticipation as the time for the boys to play grew closer. You’d given Roger and Freddie good luck hugs, and then headed back out to grab yourself a drink before the show started. Settling for a pale lager, you found a seat at the bar that was close enough to the stage that you had a good view of all of them, even if it was from a side angle. Turning around, you leaned back against the bar as you took a drink of the beer, observing the makeshift stage. Roger’s drums were already set up, ready to go, and some small amps littered the space, not looking completely ordered, but you knew that it wouldn’t matter anyways.

After you had a good portion of your beer gone, you saw Roger take the stage, his golden blonde hair flying over his shoulders as he quickly mounted the throne, sending a quick side glance to you and grinning before nodding as the rest of the boys took the stage. With hardly any introduction at all, they were off.

Of course, they didn’t need an introduction. Half of this crowd was here specifically for them, and the other half had most likely heard about them at some point tonight. Everyone was buzzing about Queen, the outrageous garage band that just came out with a new lineup and stole the show with their brilliant recorded demo and scarcely-muted flamboyance.

The buzz was all for a good reason. Queen’s stage presence was incredible, and they played like professionals on stage at Wembley, not four scrappy young guys who fought over who got the last of the crisps. They were a whole, a cohesive unit that played as one, and you found yourself so entranced by their work that you hardly noticed the man who’d seated himself next to you, ordering two lagers.

“Would you like another drink?” he asked, snapping you out of your focus and drawing your attention to him. The dim light made it hard to tell, but you felt like you’d met him before, and you squinted a bit before glancing at the bartender as he sat two beers on the bar. “It’s on me.”

“Thank you, you didn’t have to.” You smiled warmly, briefly forgetting about the boys as you finished off your first beer and took the one offered to you. If you hadn’t seen the bartender pour the drinks, you may very well have told this man to fuck off, but you were in a good mood, having had the day to relax and take your mind off work. So, you decided to entertain whatever was about to happen. From what you could see, he wasn’t bad looking, and even if it was terrible of you, you wouldn’t mind screwing up the past a bit in order to get laid by some random person who’d probably never have an effect on your future. After all, it had been four months, and you had needs just like everyone else. “What’s your name?”

“My name?” he asked, turning a bit towards you as he pursed his lips. “My name is Anthony. Yours?”

“Y/N.” You held out your hand, offering it for a quick shake, and he took it gently, his calloused one dwarfing yours as you continued to smile at him. “You here for the band?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, leaning an elbow on the bar as he glanced at the boys, who were playing one of their last songs. “I had to come here for different reasons.”

“So mysterious,” you laughed, leaning forward a bit and also resting on the bar as you sipped your drink. “What reasons, may I ask?”

He gave you a queer look, and then looked back at the band, his eyes settling on Roger for a moment. Following his line of sight, you also found yourself staring at Roger, admiring the energy he put into his performance – he was truly master of that drumset. Turning back to you, the man suddenly looked worried, age lining his face as he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. “You don’t belong here.”

“What?” You were taken aback, thoroughly confused by what he’d just suggested. Here you were, planning on going home with the man, and suddenly he was accusing you of being in the wrong place. Last you checked, this was the bar Queen was playing at. You assumed you had the address right, considering the boys were literally on stage right now.

“You don’t belong here! Get the hell out of here, go home.”

“W-what are you talking about?” you stuttered back, a bit nervous now and backing away as you sat the beer down on the bar. He was scaring you, his voice and words far too sure and serious to just be some random drunk convincing you to shag him somewhere else.

“Go back while you still have time. You can’t keep this up,” he demanded. When you remained stunned into silence, he sat his drink down as well and tugged you off the barstool with a firm grip on your arm, dragging you to the back corridor as the boy’s set ended. You looked back at Freddie and saw that he’d just caught the tail end of whatever you were doing, but he misinterpreted it wildly and gave you an encouraging thumbs up as you disappeared around the corner. When you were out of earshot of pretty much anyone, he finally stopped and made you face him.

“What’s your fucking major malfunction?” you spit, shrugging his hand off and stepping away from him. You got a chance to look at him in the slightly brighter light, and realized it was the man from the restaurant yesterday. In fact, you realized you’d spotted him around often in the past few months, at the café, on the street, in your building. “Are you following me, you creep? I ought to-”

“Y/N, you’re not supposed to be here, you and I know it!” he interrupted, cutting you off with a firm voice. “Go back to your time. You’ve put everyone in danger here.”

Stunned, you couldn’t think of any response as you tried to grapple with the fact that there was a middle-aged man telling you to go back to the 21st century, that you didn’t belong here and you were fucking up royally by being here. “Who even are you?” you asked apprehensively, not sure what in the hell to think of this man. “What do you want from me?”

“My name isn’t Anthony. It’s Weston, and I’m from the future too. I know you went through that fucking closet, and you need to go back through it right now, before you put everyone you love in danger, including those guys.”

Your mind was reeling, thinking of hundreds of questions per second as you tried to get a handle on the situation. This man, Weston, whatever his name was, was from the future, and he knew you. He knew that you were putting people in danger, and he knew about the closet. “How do you know this? How can I even trust you?”

“That man – the singer – Freddie’s dead,” he countered quickly. “That proof enough?”

“Everyone dies,” you pointed out, his eyebrows furrowing as you called out his weak point.

“Fine. Freddie died of pneumonia in ’91, when I was a teenager. You weren’t even a fucking thought yet. Happy?” You were quiet, and he took that as a sign to continue, sounding more and more frantic as the moments went on. “Now you really need to go home, back to whatever you’re trying to fix, because it can’t be fixed. Stop while you’re ahead. Reset. Forget this ever existed, and go live a normal life.”

What was he saying? Could you really be doing this for nothing? Why was he telling you these things, and how did he know about your plans? Your mind was a raging torrent, flooded with all kinds of anxieties that had been building up since that dreary day in March when you first met Roger and Freddie. But how much could this man really know? You were literally on the path to save your mother from something horrid, and how could he tell you to pass on that?

“You’re mental if you think I’m not going to fix things by doing what I’m doing,” you scoffed finally, pushing him away as you began to walk away from him, done with the baffling conversation. You had already made a mental decision to ignore his demands, to write him off as a phony. But he caught up with you, hissing a warning in your ear as he failed to make you stop.

“You keep going and you’re going to destroy them! Your family, Roger, Freddie, everyone! They’re all going to come crumbling down with your plans if you keep trying to mess with the past like this!”

But you were gone before he could keep going, flipping him off with a steady hand as you made your way back through the bar. However, you couldn’t ignore the heavy weight settling in the bottom of your stomach, making you drag a bit as you went out the front and around the side of the building to where the boys were loading up their equipment.

“There she is! God, you look flushed,” Freddie pointed out, smiling mischievously as he took your face in his hands. He looked you over for a second before chuckling. “Was he that bad?”

“Who?” you asked, already blanking on what he was talking about. Sometimes, Freddie’s conversations were so one-sided you couldn’t even begin to understand them.

“That man!” he laughed, letting go of you before wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you towards the van. “You two were quick, he must have been a wham-bam-thank you ma’am kind of chap. You know, I never pegged you as one to like older men, but I guess I can kind of see where he was cute. Was he big?”

“God, Freddie, shut up,” Roger groaned, lugging his kick drum from the sidewalk to the back of the van as he shot the two of you an annoyed look. Putting the drum in the van, he continued to look slightly miffed as he loaded up his set, carefully packing everything away so it wouldn’t get damaged, but he looked as though he was bothered, somehow. Something was off with him, and you couldn’t even begin to tell what it was, but you knew you had to set the record straight.

“We didn’t do anything,” you corrected Freddie. “He tried to get me to go home… with him. But I said no.”

“Shame,” Freddie pouted, letting go of you before glancing to Roger, who was just out of earshot. “I was really enjoying driving him crazy. Oh well.”

“What?” you asked, your cheeks heating up as Freddie shrugged and walked off towards Roger, stopping him with a gentle hand on the arm and whispering something to him. A considerable amount of annoyance erased from Roger’s face, but he feigned apathy as he shrugged, walking towards the van again, where you were awkwardly standing, not sure what to do with yourself. What had just went on in the bar had rattled you a bit, and Roger noticed that you were a bit off as he packed away his cymbal.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he remarked, stopping in front of you and pulling out a pack of smokes before offering one to you. Usually, you’d abstain, but you accepted the offer right now, needing an oral fixation to take your mind off of everything. Holding out his lighter, you perched the cigarette between your lips and leaned forward towards him, looking up to watch the dim light of the lighter’s flame reflecting on his eyes, which were fixated on the end of your cigarette. His free hand was cupped around the flame, keeping it from blowing out as you inhaled, lighting up the end and nodding to him in thanks as he looked up to meet your gaze.

After staring for a moment, he nodded back and looked down, putting a cigarette between his teeth and lighting it as well, then nodding towards the van. Both of you perched in the back as the other three headed inside for a drink, leaving you two behind in the dark alleyway, your only company each other and probably some disgustingly huge rats by the trash cans. This was uncharacteristic for the both of you. Usually, you would talk each other’s ears off, never running out of things to say. But something was off. You were scared. Roger was unaware. The conflicting emotions played off of each other just like the boys did on stage, mutually working to create a jarring silence that scared the living hell out of you.

“You guys were fantastic.” You finally spoke, taking a drag and holding the smoke for a moment before exhaling slowly. Looking over, you saw Roger leaned against the side of the van, facing you, and you mimicked his position, facing him and pressing your feet up against his as you watched him quietly. “Really smashed it up there.”

“Thank you, love,” he replied, giving you a small smile before he took a drag, closing his eyes and letting his head rest back against the plastic covering on the inside of the van. “I’m just happy you finally came out to one of our shows. It’s about time.”

“I should have dropped by one a lot sooner,” you admitted, taking another drag and exhaling it quicker this time, still observing him quietly. He was a bit sweaty from the show, his shirt partially unbuttoned and revealing more of his slender, scrawny build that you still couldn’t believe belonged to one of the greatest rock drummers of the century. Wavy golden blond hair fell over his shoulders, a bit damp with sweat, but still smooth and shiny under the moonlight. You were momentarily distracted by a couple passing by the van, laughing, and you redirected your focus to them, not wanting to lose yourself in Roger’s good looks for the thousandth time. Or maybe you did. It would be something to keep your mind off of Weston, after all.

“Did we look good up there?” Roger asked, distracting you and pulling your focus back to him as he opened his eyes, staring across the open space at you. His eyes were analytical, searching your face for a reaction as we spoke. “I’d like to think that I’m the show-stealer, but that’s kind of hard when you’ve got a big ass cymbal directly in front of your face. Really kills my vibe.”

You laughed, looking back out to the sidewalk and shaking your head as you conjured up the image of them on stage again, chewing on your lip. “I don’t know, I kind of thought Brian’s hair was hard to miss. And Deacon? He’s bound to be the show-stealer in general. Girls dig that wholesome, innocent thing he’s got going on.”

“What in the hell!” Roger complained, laughing with you as he kicked your foot gently. “He’s not an innocent little boy, he’s literally the saltiest man I’ve met on this our side of the Earth and he’s got you believing he’s an angel. God, what’s a handsome, charming guy like Roger Taylor got to do to get a little recognition and praise around here?”

“You’re speaking in the third person again,” you reminded him, and he groaned before flipping you off, taking another drag.

“Bugger off, you Deacon-lover. I ought to kick you out of our flat for that one, that hurts.” You snickered as he put on a faux upset look, avoiding your gaze so he wouldn’t laugh. After a moment, he had to continue. “You know what? Deacon does have good hair. I’ll give him that. But what else does he have that I don’t? I have redeeming qualities, right? Right?”

You were quiet, letting him simmer as he caught your gaze again, waiting impatiently. When you didn’t answer, he huffed and started crawling out of the van, tossing his cigarette on the ground and stomping it out as he stood up. “No, Roger, I’m taking the piss!” you laughed, moving to dangle your legs over the edge of the van and also put out the butt of your cig as he stood half-turned from you, unsure whether to trust you or not. “I’m serious now, promise.”

Sighing, he turned back around and leaned against the door that hung open in front of you. It creaked a bit as he leaned on it, but it didn’t seem to alarm him, so you dismissed your worries about the old clunker genuinely falling apart. The veins in his arms were more prominent as he crossed his arms, giving you a look that you were convinced was actually, truly upset. He must have been a bit more sore about the subject than you’d expected which baffled you. Roger was a gorgeous man, and had plenty of attention from women, so the fact that he was convinced that Deacon was more of a ladies man than him was almost laughable.

“I’m asking this seriously, friend to friend – why do girls like Deacon so much more?” His eyes searched your face as he spoke, desperate to find a reaction to hang on to, and you realized he was as serious as he could get.

Plus, he didn’t mind getting to stare at you - he enjoyed it more than he’d like to admit, mainly because Freddie would kick his ass if he admitted it. Unbeknownst to you, they’d made an agreement on the day you moved in that you were off limits for him, but every day, you made the rule harder and harder to abide by, and Freddie was obviously no help either.

“It’s definitely mainly the shyness,” you admitted, swinging your legs back and forth as you looked up at up, glad to have a petty distraction from the man named Weston. “Girls love a tough egg to crack. And Deacon’s never around our place much at all. He’s definitely far more mysterious than you-“ you noticed Roger started to look irritated, so you backtracked a bit, “-which isn’t a bad thing! Some people are just quiet, like him. So girls see that and think, ‘Wow, a soft guy? Wonder if I can-“

“What are you talking about?” You heard Deacon’s voice around the corner of the van, and he emerged moments later, joining the two of you as you grinned up at him, Roger thoroughly annoyed at this development.

“Hey, John!” you greeted warmly, patting the spot next to you and trying not to laugh as Roger rolled his eyes, grumbling. “We were just talking about you, actually.”

“Oh,” John mumbled, looking a tiny bit nervous as he sat in the back of the van with you, sitting a respectable distance away and offering you a cigarette. You looked at Roger with a knowing look, which set him off when you gladly accepted, thanking him.

“Piss off! I literally just offered you a ciggy and Deacon gets all smiles for doing the same thing? God, women make me sick sometimes,” Roger ranted, his voice high-pitched and defensive as he kicked a small rock, grumbling to himself as he stalked off towards the pub’s side door, leaving you with Deacon.

“What did I do?” Deacon asked once Roger had gone, looking at you with a baffled expression. You looked over at the fresh-faced 19 year old, laughing and reaching over to wrap your arm around him, patting his head and holding him in a side hug for a moment.

“Don’t worry, you did genuinely nothing. That’s more than enough to set off Rog. Gotta love him.”

PT. 1 PT. 2 PT. 3 PT. 4

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ladyknightleyisundercover · 6 years

Note

I love your Abbottom! Could you write some more, for Neville's birthday please? :)

Now on AO3!

“And he still has absolutely no idea?”

“None at all,” Hannah says, and they exchange conspiratorialglances which they quickly wipe off their faces as Neville re-enters the room.Augusta Longbottom wipes invisible crumbs off the coffee table, and Hannah smoothsout invisible creases in her skirt.

“Thanks again for the cake, Gran,” he says. “And I’lldefinitely get a lot of wear out of those new wellies. But I think it’s timefor me and Hannah to go—our reservation’s at seven.”

“Yeah,” Hannah cuts in apologetically. “About that. Neville,I’m so, so sorry but whilst you were in the bathroom, a message came throughfrom the pub. Everyone who’s supposed to be on tonight has come down with somebug, and they’ve got absolutely no one there, and it’s such a nice day thatthey’re bursting at the seams. Tom practically begged me to come in—there’s noone else, and he’ll have to close otherwise.”

His intense disappointment is clear, but, to his credit,thinks Hannah, he doesn’t for a moment suggest that she refuse to go in andhelp out, even though it is hisbirthday and the two of them have had this meal booked at the newly-opened andvery fancy restaurant at the other end of Diagon Alley for weeks.

At least as far as he knows.

“What a bummer,” he says.

“I know,” she sighs. “But, look, what I was thinking was,you should come in with me, and then the minute it looks like it’s gettingquiet or if Tom manages to contact someone else, we can go to our table, and—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Neville says. “I don’t mind staying tokeep you company, Gran. I couldn’t help but see those greenhouses earlier—yourflutterby bushes are in a terrible state, and I could get a headstart on pruningthem back.”

“Come on, you can’t spend your birthday doing that,” Hannahsays, cajoling. “Look, I bet Tom’s just exaggerating. I’ll help him out fortwenty minutes, get things calmed down, and then we’ll head off. You just comewith me, and we’ll leave as soon as we can.”

“Honestly, I don’t mind,” Neville says. “There’ll be otherbirthdays, and besides, there’s Harry’s party tomorrow and we can’t miss that.You just go and do your job, and I’ll see you tonight. You don’t mind mestaying, do you Gran?”

Hannah shoots a look of panic at Augusta Longbottom behindhis back, but she underestimates her. “Neville Longbottom,” the older womansays severely. “I do mind very muchthat you are going to leave your young lady in the lurch like this! If thingsare as bad as Tom says they are—and, poor dear, he sounded absolutely frantic,and at his age, too, that can’t be good for his heart! Anyway, if things are asbad as he says they are, you should absolutely go and lend a hand. And if, asHannah suggests, it’s actually much better, the two of you can leave early, andhave a wonderful evening almost as planned. She’s a very sensible girl, yourHannah, and you’d do well to listen to her!”

“Well,” Neville says, shrugging, “I guess I can’t argue withthat. To the Leaky?”

“Thanks, love,” Hannah says, reaching up to kiss him on thecheek. “And I’m sorry things aren’t going to go as planned. You’re onlytwenty-one once, I know, so I’m sorry it’s turned out this way.”

“There’ll be other birthdays,” Neville shrugs. “It’s fine.”

She squeezes his hand. “I’ll floo through first, and see youthere when you’ve said goodbye to your gran properly. Goodbye, Mrs Longbottom!”She widens her eyes slightly, trying to add a thank you, and she thinks Augustagets it, because when Neville has his back to her, busy helping Hannah into thefireplace, she gives her two big thumbs up, and Hannah has to bite the insideof her cheek to stop herself laughing out loud. She steps into the floo, statesher destination, and scrambles out as fast as she can at the other end.

“Finally!”

“We were beginning to think you’d got lost!”

“Is he coming?”

“How long have we got?”

“Everyone, QUIET!” Hannah roars, with the practised ease ofa bartender. She breaks into a smile at the sight: all of Neville’s friends,crowded into the Leaky, standing in front of a huge banner with Happy BirthdayNeville (courtesy of Dean Thomas) and stacks and stacks of presents. The wholeold-DA crowd is there, along with loads of their other friends and relations,and Ginny and Harry are stationed behind the bar (open, courtesy of Harry) togive Hannah a night off. “Neville’s on his way,” she adds, slightlyunnecessarily. She grins. “Thanks, everyone. Now…lights?”

She addresses this last to Ron, who obligingly flicks hisDeluminator, and the pub is plunged into darkness, the curtains having beendrawn in advance by some thoughtful person. They wait for a beat—for two beats,three, and then—

“Hello? Ow! Bugger. Why’s it so dark?”

“SURPRISE!”

Ron flicks the lights back on, and everyone cheers—then laughs,seeing how genuinely surprised Neville looks. They all start singing thebirthday song as Lavender and Parvati bring out a cake, complete with 21candles, and Neville, still stunned, glances over at Hannah. She smiles,pushing him forwards towards the cake. He takes the surprise well, waving andnodding and winking at people, but as they finish singing, and give him threecheers, he reaches behind and loops a hand around Hannah’s wrist, holding ontight. He blows out the candles, starts thanking people, chatting and laughingwith them, but the whole time, he doesn’t let go of her hand.

Everyone converges on them en masse, and he blinks. “HEM HEM.” Everyone turns, and looks backover at Ginny, now kneeling on the bar. She rings the little bell there. “Thebar is now officially open!” There’s a slight pause, then at least half oftheir friends surge towards it. Ginny looks delighted, jumping down andpositioning herself behind the Butterbeer taps. “I’ve always wanted to dothat!”

Lavender and Parvati procure a knife from somewhere andstart slicing up and handing out birthday cake; Harry and Ginny are doingsterling service at the bar, and the rest of their friends are lining up towish Neville a happy birthday and to hand him gifts. He’s just thanked Hermioneand Ron for the hand-knitted scarf (complete with tiny mimbulus mimbletonia print) when there’s a slight gap in the sheernumber of people headed towards them, so he turns to Hannah, properly, for thefirst time since he got to the pub.

“What,” he asks, unable to keep the smile off his face, “isall this about?!”

“Well,” says Hannah. “D’you remember a few weeks ago, when Iasked you what you wanted to do for your birthday?”

“…honestly? Not really.”

“Let me fill you in…”

It had just been a passing comment really. School wasnearly, but not quite, out for the summer, so she’d come up to see him atHogwarts during the day on her break. He’d been frazzled, caught between aclass of second years and fourth years, neither of whom—officially, atleast—were supposed to be slacking off, as they were both returning as normalnext year. But, with only three days left of the school year, everyone was hyperactivewith excitement and badly behaved, and keeping them under control had been achallenge. When she’d asked him about his birthday, in a vague attempt todistract him from his woes, he hadn’t really been listening.

“Oh, you know,” he’d said, waving a hand. “Whatever. I’m notfussed. We’ll be going out the day after, anyway.”

“We will?” Hannah asked, slightly confused. They had noplans that she could remember.

“Yeah,” he’d said, talking more to the Mandrakes he wasgrowing than to her. “Harry always does something for his birthday; we’ll goalong to that the day after, and so will everyone else. There’s no pointarranging something else, and asking people to come—no one will want to be outtwo days in a row.”

He hadn’t said it maliciously, she was keen to point out toHarry, later. He didn’t secretly hate Harry for stealing his limelight; hedidn’t mean it maliciously, and he certainly wasn’t disappointed that that wasthe way things were. He was just stating the facts. Harry, always generous tohis friends, always threw a party for his birthday, and with Neville’s beingthe day before…well, it just didn’t make sense to invite the same people outthe day before. So Harry had had the big party, and Neville had done somethingquiet the day before. That’d just been how it had been, since they finished at school.

Harry had been genuinely horrified, though, that Nevillemight feel put out by this, and it had taken Hannah and Ginny quite a while totalk him down. When they finally had, Harry had immediately suggested that theythrow a party for Neville this year and let everyone know it was him, notHarry, they were celebrating.

“Great minds,” Hannah had said, tapping her headconspiratorially. She had happened to catch the two of them in the Leaky bychance later that evening, after seeing Neville, and she’d had plenty of chanceto plan something before stumbling across them.

“How about,” Ginny said slowly, sipping her Gillywater, “howabout we make it a surprise party?”

“Like I say,” Hannah said, “great minds. I was thinking wecould ask the usual crowd, only get them to come on the thirtieth, not thethirty-first.”

“But we could tell Neville we were going to have it on thethirty-first, for Harry,” Ginny said, nodding enthusiastically. “And you couldtell him that, I don’t know, the two of you were going out for dinner orsomething on his birthday—”

“Exactly, and if he heard anything from anyone else, if theylet it slip by mistake, he’d just assume they’d be talking about the next day,”Hannah replied. “The only thing is: where would we have it?”

Ginny blinked. “Yeah, it’s not like we know anyone who ownsa pub or anything,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Hannah.

“I don’t own the pub,” she replied. “But, okay, sure, you’reright. If I asked, Tom’d close it for the night for us lot. He books outfunctions all the time. We could have it here.”

Ginny clapped her hands. “It’s settled then!” she’d said,beaming at Hannah.

Harry had immediately offered to cover the cost of an openbar, and Hannah had arranged the food. When they’d told everyone the plan, allof their friends had been in immediately, promising to keep it all a secretfrom Neville.

And they all promised other things, too.

To make a banner, like Dean had. To bake a cake, likeLavender and Parvati. Lee Jordan had offered to bring his decks and DJ; GeorgeWeasley had offered balloons and party poppers and other such items from theWheezes’ party range. People who didn’t have something to offer asked what hewanted for his birthday, or just promised to turn up, looking delighted at thethought. And Hannah had been so touched by how much everyone cared forNeville—but not as touched, she knew, as he would be.

Now, the party’s been going on for a good couple of hours,and everyone is having an absolutely amazing time. Hannah knows this becauseeveryone keeps coming up to her and Neville, and telling them so. They alsokeep buying him drinks—or at least pressing Harry to give him another.

“Don’t worry,” Harry tells her, “I’m switching every otherone with water. I’m not having him be massively hungover for my birthday.” Hetips her an enormous wink as he says this, but she knows he’s kidding, becausefor his birthday, he and Ginny have a reservation for dinner at the fancyrestaurant, and, he says, are looking forward to a quite night for a change.She’d watched, earlier, as Neville had gone over to him, and Harry had slappedhim on the back and said something to him which made him laugh, and she’dsmiled, even though she couldn’t hear it.

Over their months together, Neville’s told her a thing ortwo about Harry, and this old prophecy, and the life he, Neville, could haveled. She knows how they’re tied together, those two boys—but she’s glad Nevilleis who he is. She’d stick by him no matter what, if it came to it, but shedoesn’t think she has it in her to be a Ginny Weasley.

Who is, she notes, doing a fantastic job at the bar. If shedidn’t have ten Galleons on the Harpies winning the League again this year,she’d try to poach her. Neville is currently dancing the Hippogriff withLuna—everyone is giving them an incredibly large berth—and she’s so enthralledwith watching them that she doesn’t notice the person come up to tap her on theshoulder and say hello—at least at first.

She works out pretty quickly that Harry and Ginny had toldHagrid about the party, who in turn appears to have informed a few of hiscolleagues—who are, of course, Neville’s colleagues too—about the party, andshe thinks its lovely that they’ve turned out for Neville. Still, it isn’tevery day that you have to try to hold a conversation with your oldTransfiguration teacher stroke boyfriend’s current boss after several glassesof elf-made wine. She likes to think she’s doing a good job, as Professor McGonagallis nodding along and answering her questions normally, and she’s just asked herif she’s seen Professor Sprout recently, when—

“SUPRESSOR MCGONAGALL!” Neville lurches over to them,beaming. “How LOVELY to see you. Many happy returns of the day.” He hiccups,still beaming, and Hannah hastily turns her laugh into a hacking cough.

“Many happy returns of the day to you, too,” theHeadmistress replies, masking a grin of her own. “But, please. I’ve told youbefore—do call me Minerva. And if that is too much, Professor will do nicely.”

Neville nods. “Of course. Yes. Good.” He hiccups again,closes his eyes, then seems to visibly sober up. “Oh, Merlin. Hello, Minerva.Have you come to fire me for being drunk and in charge?”

“My dear Professor Longbottom, need not worry. You areclearly not in charge of anything,”Professor McGonagall says, smiling. “I have come, however, to wish you a veryhappy birthday.”

Neville thanks her. “I’m so glad you’re not going to fire mefor brining the good name of Hogwarts into ill-repute,” he manages, a sentencewhich would impress Hannah at the best of times, let alone right now.

Professor McGonagall eyes him beadily. “I would onlyconsider that you were bringing the good name of Hogwarts into ill-repute if I heardthat it was your birthday and you were notsuitably celebrating,” she says. They take a moment to work this out. “As itis,” she gestures around, “you seem to be doing a fine job. Well done. I shallbe sure to mention this on your Annual Review. Now. Do you think it might bepossible to get a small Firewhiskey?”

“Coming right up,” Harry, who has been listening in, says, pullingout a glass and a very full bottle. “Just say when!”

Hannah meets Neville’s eye, and the two of them burst intolaughter yet again. “Come on,” Neville says, “let’s dance.” He pulls her on tothe dancefloor, and they sway together for a moment. “So,” he says, “you didall this?”

She shrugs. “I had help,” she says.

He kisses her, softly and quickly. “Thanks,” he says.

She smiles, and kisses him back just as quickly. “You’rewelcome,” she says. And then, “You deserve it.” And the party goes on—and on.

#abbottom #neville x hannah #neville longbottom #hpfic #my writing #OKAY SO i do apologise that this has taken...over a year #but i do hope you like it!!#i wrote the first three paragraphs last july #and the rest in about forty minutes tonight #so like...i might wake up and hate it tomorrow morning #but in case not--HERE IT IS! :)#and thank you for saying nice things! <3

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everythingjonsa · 7 years

Text

Snowed under by your love - Chapter 4.

Okay so this one came by pretty quickly to me but am not sure if the next one will come out at the same pace. Thank you all for all the love and encouragement you’ve been showering me with. It’s the reason why I keep writing.

My jonsa soul sister @kitten1618x who is my alpha and beta is truly meticulous and thorough in her editing and I am not happy with my writing until she is. So thank you very much, Love!!

Special mention to @becky217 for the prompt response and feedback. @fedonciadale @accuritefish @littledove @mommyandherblog @icequeen28 @hopepeaceandblackgirlmagic @geekprincess26 @lanamv96 @vervainqueen7 @annarosym @treehillraven23-blog @iqqsgonnabeokay @broadwaysprincess @trinuviel @justbrie @castalya @jami-elite @sestamibi-baby @cute-poison20102014 @hyojung12 @sweatysnow @vale110391 @tamica76 @longlivetheyoungwolf @teddyduchess @riahchan @bethnoel @amnex @twilight-sparx @nina2406 @nat111love @eternallyvain @tayanassayag @ronarch2671 @yol101 @unimportantpoetry @myownblueworld @graceverse @m-s-21 @vitvill98 @sansajons @poprox012-blog @devonmorgan1 @redwolf1283 @strangebirds1202 @ralphy246 @littlebird-whitewolf Thank you all for the replies, comments, likes and reblogs..

Because I am not yet on Ao3 and I’m not sure if you’d like to be tagged, please feel free to to leave a reply or message or ask if you’d like to be tagged. Thank you so much for your patience!!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Sansa let the warm water run down her hair, in the shower. Today had been the toughest day of her life and, she was physically, mentally and emotionally drained out of every single ounce of energy. Can one really outrun destiny? I guess not, she thought. Karma was a bitch and it did come to bite you in the ass. She’d known when she had made the decision of raising Lyanna alone that if the day ever came that Jon Snow found out about his daughter, both their lives would be irreversibly changed. She had panicked when Jon told her about dragging her to the court about Lyanna. Her mind had painted before her, a thousand scenarios of Lyanna standing in a witness box, Lyanna being interviewed by strangers and so many other scary situations for her little baby that she’d forgotten that Jon COULDN’T BE SURE that Lyanna was his. And she had slipped. She had given him the conformation, he was looking for. She’d told him Lyanna was his daughter, after almost five years of keeping the fact hidden from him. And Jon had reacted exactly like she had expected him to react. In fact, knowing Jon Snow, it could’ve been far worse.

He’d wanted his daughter, from the very minute he’d realised she was his. Why do you want her now, she’d ached to ask him, but knew as soon as the question arose in her mind that, it was rather unfair of her to do so. Hadn’t she herself wanted her baby? From the very moment, she’d known she was pregnant, from the very first flutter she’d felt in her womb?

Sansa had also known there was no point in deterring Jon or arguing with him about Lyanna. Nothing she said or did was going to change his mind about having his daughter in his life. She’d seen the determination in his eyes and she’s known that it was more sensible for her to just resign to the fact that this is how it was going to be from now on. Jon wanted in, and there was no way on earth, she was going to be able to stop him. Not that she wanted to. Unbeknownst to Jon, a great burden had been lifted from Sansa’s heart. She’d never liked keeping Lyanna a secret from Jon and now, she didn’t have to.

But suggesting that they go to Winterfell?? THAT WAS UNEXPECTED. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut when she remembered their argument over his suggestion.

“Pack your bags??” Sansa had been outraged at his audacity. “I hope you do realise that you can’t be ordering me around, Jon Snow. I do have a choice whether or not I want to go.”

Jon had literally snarled at her. “Exactly like I had a choice, five years ago, whether or not I wanted my daughter?” He had inched closer to her and she thought all her cognitive abilities had come to an abrupt halt. Damn the man, for having such an effect on her even after five long years. His breathing was very irregular and she could see the fury flash in his eyes. “You should be thanking me that it’s not much worse for you, Sansa Stark. But if you keep your ego aside for a moment, you’ll see that it’s actually a good thing to happen for Lya.”

Sansa hadn’t, for the life of her, been able to understand how this could work in Lyanna’s favour. She’d dreaded thinking about how Robb was going to react if she EVER told him. A shudder ran down her back and Jon had moved away, pulling a chair to sit down. He’d pulled one for her to sit on too, but she had stubbornly refused, like a petulant child. Jon had simply shrugged and continued talking. “All the stories that I’ve heard from Lyanna, in whatever little time that I spent with her, have been about her Uncles and Aunties and Granny and Grandpa and her cousins which can only mean that your family is very much a part of her life and she obviously loves them a lot. It’s rather evident, therefore, to me at least that if I am going to be an active part of her life and so are they; we’re going to have to meet eventually.” Jon interlinked his palms and placed his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward, his face filled with disquiet. “So why wait for it to happen? Besides, I’ve been running away from facing your father for years now. I don’t want to anymore.” Sansa had remembered that fateful day all too well and she could see in Jon’s eyes that he did too. “You can tell Lyanna, that we’re going to Winterfell with her Uncle Robb’s friend. We’ll sail to White Harbour and drive down to Winterfell from there. It will give us a lot of time together. Once we’re in Winterfell we’ll …. ummmm…. talk to your family, and then slowly break it to her. She’ll have the people she trusts, around her. It’s the best place for her to be, really.”

Sansa wondered how the ‘talk to your family’ bit was going to work out. She knew that her mother and father would be civilised about the whole thing, at the very least. Bran was going to be himself, probably wearing the ‘I warned you this would happen’ look on his face. Arya was undoubtedly the right person to talk to if Sansa was even going to entertain this mad idea. Rickon was perhaps going to be the first one to hug Jon but Robb? Once again, Sansa dreaded thinking about how Robb was going to react. Jon didn’t have a clue how fiercely protective Robb was about Lyanna and how much he’d hated Jon for everything that happened. But he’d never admitted any of this, not even to himself. But Jon did have a point. Lyanna felt most at home, at Winterfell. She was the eldest Stark grandchild. Robb and Talisa’s Ben was just two months younger than Lya but they got along with each other like house on fire, just like their fathers had once. It was also where Lya had come to realise that she didn’t have a father like her cousins. She invented stories and told them to Ben about her imaginary father who was fighting monsters in castles so that he could come back to her. Ben, who adored Lya, believed every word she said. It was their ‘not-very-secret’ secret. She loved playing big sister to Anna, Lilly, George and Nymeria. She’d often begged Sansa to move closer to her family and her cousins. If she were to discover that she had a father too, like she’d always wanted and imagined, it was really in her interest that it happened at Winterfell.

Jon had probably seen the resignation in her eyes. He’d risen up from where he was sitting. “I’ll call you tomorrow morning, Sansa, and I’m hoping you’re going to have an answer by then.” The firm look had come back on his face when he slowly prowled towards her. “If you and Lyanna don’t come with me, I’ll go to Winterfell by myself and bring them all down here, even if I have to wage a war to do it, and then tell Lyanna myself that I’m her father.” He brushed past her and opened the door to leave but not before he told her, “And don’t think, even for a second, that I won’t do it.”

Sansa turned off the shower with a start. The worst thing that could ever happen, was Jon going to Winterfell all by himself. It was a risk she couldn’t take. Who knows what might come tumbling out of her family members mouths in her absence. Jon Snow must never know, why she did, what she did.

Sansa wrapped herself in a towel and got out of the bathroom. She towel dried her long red hair and changed into her PJs. Sansa then slowly tip-toed into Lya’s room and watched the serene expression on her daughter’s face while she slept. In spite of the emotional roller coaster that Sansa had experienced today, she couldn’t stop herself from smiling. When Lya was awake, Sansa often wondered when she would go to sleep so she could get some work done and maybe have some time for herself. But when Lya finally did go off to sleep, Sansa got bored of the silence and the absence of the melodious voice that said ‘Mummy’ every single minute. Were mothers always so conflicted? She knelt down beside her daughter’s bed, carefully ran her hand over her forehead and kissed it, resisting the temptation to do it a hundred times more. How was Lya going to deal with Jon’s presence in her life? What kind of a father would Jon be?

She already knew the answer to that, she thought as she quietly went back to her room. Jon would probably take some time, but he would be the best ever father Lyanna could hope for. Just as he had been the best ever friend to Robb and Theon, the best ever brother to Arya, Rickon and Bran, the best ever son to Ned and Catelyn Stark. Jon had always kept his distance from her and she hated it. Sansa knew she was partly to blame for this distance. She had always behaved cold and indifferent around him. Her siblings, especially Arya, had hated her for this coldness she had shown towards Jon. But neither her siblings nor Jon, had ever known the REAL reason behind her indifference. Sansa had had the hugest crush on him, from the very first moment that she had set her eyes on him. Her heart would start pounding, her pulse racing and her palms would become sweaty when Jon was around. She had been scared her siblings would figure out her true feelings. So had she feigned indifference and dislike to cover up the crush that was festering inside her heart like a wound that wouldn’t ever heal. She had tried her best to get him to notice her in a not so obvious manner, wearing the best of clothes, trying to look as pretty as she could. Unfortunately for her, Jon had always seen her as Robb’s kid sister and nothing else.

It had gotten worse when Jon had started dating girls. Sansa had been heartbroken. She vividly remembered the first time Jon had shyly introduced his first girlfriend, Val, to the Starks. Jon was living with them, then. Val was a stunning blonde beauty at 16, and Sansa, who was only twelve, felt gangly and ugly in front of her. She’d thrown a terrible temper tantrum about a spinach pie and had been grounded for a day by her mother, who was appalled by the fact that her otherwise lady-like girl, had behaved like a hussy. Robb and Arya had tried to speak to her but she had shut them away. She’d always struggled with her feelings for Jon, as she was too fearful to talk to her siblings about it, worried that they would judge her for having these feelings for someone who was like a brother to the rest of them. She had never had an outlet to vent her frustration and that had made things worse for her. When Jon and Robb had turned 18, they had both wanted to move out of the Stark mansion, especially Jon but her father had put his foot down. Finally, a truce had been drawn. Robb and Jon would move to the outhouse which was very much in the premises of the mansion. This had made things worse for Sansa, for now when she went to meet Robb, many times she encountered Jon alone and she didn’t know how to behave around him. Like Robb, Jon had been extremely protective of her and Sansa wondered if any boy would ever have the guts to ask her out, with the reputation that preceded her.

Sansa got into her bed and stacked the pillows for her to rest her head. She sighed and thought about how she’d gone on a dating spree when she’d turned 16, to retaliate against Robb’s machinations to protect her and to convince herself that she didn’t really need Jon Snow. But every boy she’d ever dated proved to be disappointing, if not disgusting and she’d pined more and more for the one boy, she couldn’t have. Finally, things had come to a turn when she had started dating Joffrey Baratheon, a boy who was equal parts disappointing and equal parts disgusting. Robb had thrown a fit, when he came to know that Sansa was dating Joffrey, which had encouraged Sansa to mute the voice of her conscience, and continue dating Joffrey, in rebellion. She still remembered that fateful night, so clearly.

Sansa straightened her knee-length black skirt and green blouse. She was very happy with how her outfit had turned out. Today was her special date with Joffrey. He’d promised to surprise her by taking her someplace special. He’d promised her father, that he’d bring her home on time. Sansa came down the stairs and the first person she encountered was her brother Robb, who was glowering at Joffrey like a big grey wolf. Next to him sat Jon Snow, who looked broodier than his usual self. He must’ve sensed her presence for he looked up at that precise moment and their eyes locked. In all the four months that she’d dated Joffrey, Sansa had never felt so charged and light-weighted at the same time as she felt now, with just one look from Jon. He took in her appearance, slowly giving her a once over and when his eyes returned back to hers, they looked darker and stormier, if that was even possible. Sansa stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away from him.

“Sansa, you look ….” Started Joffrey, getting up from the couch to offer her, his arm, but Robb growled and Joffrey recoiled a little bit, then rolled his eyes. “Ummm… This is a pretty dress. Shall we go?”

She could still feel Jon’s eyes on her. Of course, he disapproved of Joffrey. Why would he not? Robb didn’t like Joffrey, so it was obvious that Jon would follow suit. He had never vocally expressed his dislike and so Sansa was taken aback when she heard him say, “WAIT ….” She turned back to see him get up from his place and walk towards them. Jon was twenty now, piling on muscles by the day and looked menacing in his favourite black T-shirt and Black jeans that he usually wore, matching the black of his mood. He gave her a tentative look before glaring into Joffrey’s eyes with absolute purpose.

“If you try anything funny with her, golden boy” he paused, a muscle working in his jaw, “Anything at all..” He repeated looking at Sansa again, and she felt dizzy with the intensity in his grey eyes. “You will wish, you were never born….” And with another terse look at the two of them, he stormed back into the house leaving Sansa totally and utterly shocked. It was all she could think about, on her way to some party that Joffrey was taking her to.

Apparently, ‘a party at one of his friend’s house’ was Joffrey’s idea of a special date and Sansa was thoroughly disappointed with him. Her thoughts, however, kept drifting back to Jon. It was so out of character for Jon, to have threatened Joffrey, the way he had. She had been too stunned to even react like she would’ve if it were Robb who had issued the same threat. Robb and Theon were the most aggressive of the three. Well, if truth be told, Theon was just plain stupid, Robb was the aggressive one and Jon was the more level-headed of the three, who usually bailed them out of fights, or stopped them from getting into one.

Sansa continued to be lost in her thoughts about Jon, when she suddenly realised that something was terribly wrong with her. She was feeling awfully dizzy and she’d not even consumed alcohol. Had her drink been spiked with something? Joffrey was now giving her a sly look and all warning bells started going off in Sansa’s brains. In spite of the numbness that was dulling her brains, she thought fast and hard for an escape route.

If Sansa was anything, she was a survivor. She smiled sweetly at Joffrey and told him she wanted to use the Loo, and he had obviously not suspected a single thing. Sansa summoned every single ounce of her willpower to pretend that she could walk steadily but the minute she reached the bathroom, she bolted herself inside.

She reached into her purse and took out her phone to dial Robb’s number. It was unreachable. She couldn’t even see the numbers on her phone correctly. Frustrated and extremely petrified at whatever Joffrey had planned for her, she pressed the phone assist and yelled ‘JON’ into it. Sansa went to the bathtub and lay down in it, hoping against hope that Jon picked up the phone. He did, on the first ring. “Sansa??”

“JON!” Sansa yelled into the phone “I think Joffrey has spiked my drink. My vision’s blurred, my head is spinning, I can’t even stand on my feet.”

Jon swore so harshly that Sansa was surprised he knew to swear at all. “Don’t move from there. I’ll be there in exactly five minutes.” He cut the call. Even in her daze, Sansa remembered that she never told Jon where to come and get her. She tried to get up from the tub and staggered to the basin when she heard some commotion below. It sounded like furniture was being dragged around the house and someone was hammering the wood a lot. Sansa splashed water on her face and drank at least a few litres in an attempt to flush whatever was in her system. After what felt like a few centuries later, a knock sounded on the bathroom door.

“Sansa…” Jon’s voice came through from the other side. Relief flooded her entire being and Sansa ran unsteadily to the door, unlocked it and flew into Jon’s arms without waiting for him to offer that comfort. Whatever Jon was about to say, had frozen in his mouth, just as he had, when she hugged him. This was the first time that she’d ever gotten this physically close to him. In the next instant, she felt his strong arms go around her, gathering her more securely against him, almost lifting her off her feet. She felt him press his lips against her temple and she was lost, lost in the sensation that was Jon Snow. She nuzzled against his cheek and inhaled his familiar scent. She felt like, this is where she belonged; this is where she was always meant to be; that she had found her haven. But the moment was lost as quickly as it had come, for Jon pushed her away from him with a slight jerk. “Sansa, are you alright?” he said, his breath coming out in huffs.

Sansa took a while to focus on him. He had thrown a black leather jacket over his previous attire but what really caught her attention was his bloody fist. She immediately reached for it, but he drew his hand away. She looked at him furiously. “What did you do to him?”

Sansa saw that violent look come into his eyes. “The less you know, the better. Come now, let’s get you home.”

But Sansa refused to budge. Suddenly a thought nagged at her brain. “How did you know where to find me?”

Jon rubbed his eyes with his fingers. Thankfully, his other fist looked intact. He looked extremely uncomfortable when he answered her. “Robb, Theon and I followed you here. It was Robb’s idea.” He added, when he saw Sansa’s shocked expression. “And you should be thankful we did. He was planning to put on a show for his friends with you, the bloody motherfucker.” Jon spat the words looking angrier than Sansa had ever seen him look. Sansa felt a sudden wave of nausea overcome her and her anger at Robb for having followed her on her date instantly disappeared. She should thank her stars for having a protective, interfering and loving brother like Robb in her life. What would’ve happened if he had decided to leave her alone, just like she had told him to, a million times?

“Before you ask me” Jon’s heated voice broke through her thoughts and she looked at him. “Yes, Robb and Theon were right here. They’ve taken those assholes to the police. Robb asked me to take you home.” Then suddenly, he turned his anger on her. “What the hell is wrong with you, Sansa? Why are all your boyfriends, miserable twisted fucks?”

Jon’s face was now inches away from Sansa’s and maybe it was the drug still acting up in her system but all her anger at Jon was coming back to her. She rolled her eyes. “Because obviously, I’m not dating the person, I desperately want to date.”

Jon’s expression changed and he creased his brows in confusion. “There’s someone else you want to date?” He took a firm step towards her. “Why don’t you then?” His words sounded harsh. Jon clearly did not trust her choice.

Sansa gulped at the disdain she heard in his voice. HE, was responsible for this. She was bursting from within. “Because, he doesn’t want me.” The truth hurt her, but she said it anyway.

Jon looked at her for ten long seconds and then scoffed, shaking his head. “What kind of an imbecile, wouldn’t want you, Sansa Stark?”

Sansa’s heart was pounding against her rib-cage. By some stroke of luck, an opportunity had been presented to her, to finally say what was in her heart. Did she have the courage to go through with it? Sansa took a step forward. She would’ve fallen had Jon not held both her arms and steadied her.

Blue eyes were locked with dark grey ones “Would you call yourself an imbecile, Jon Snow?”

Jon looked like he’d been punched in the face. He narrowed his eyes, then looked shocked and then looked confused. “Sansa….” He said after what seemed like an eternity. “You can’t possibly mean what you said.”

Sansa felt stung, rejected. What had she expected anyway? She tried to wriggle out of his grasp but he didn’t let her escape. It was a futile attempt anyway. He was far stronger than her. Fury and frustration bubbled inside her. If she’d come down this far, she might as well go all the way. So she looked directly into his eyes and said “I like you, Jon Snow. Deal with it.” And she kissed him.

She threaded her fingers through his dark silken curls like she’d always imagined in her dreams, and pressed her lips to his. His lips felt soft and warm and she wanted more. Jon still stood like a rigid cold statue and Sansa suddenly realised the folly of her actions. This was definitely going to be the most embarrassing day of her teenage life. How was she going to face Jon, after today?

Her grip on his hair slowly slackened. She was about to move away from him, when he suddenly held her face in his palms and devoured her mouth in a ferocious kiss that sent tremors through her entire body. It had to be SHOCK, thought Sansa desperately. Jon was kissing her. THIS WAS HAPPENING FOR REAL. Sansa was soaring above the skies as Jon’s kiss made her feel dizzier than the drug she had accidentally consumed. There was an entire orchestra playing inside her body as Jon’s mouth worked expertly over hers. Sansa’s hands travelled from his hair to his neck to his corded shoulders where she held on to him for dear life. She felt hot and cold at the same time. Never had she, in her entire dating history, been kissed so passionately by a boy like Jon was kissing her now. Jon’s fingers were now tangled in her hair and he angled her head slightly to deepen the kiss and she arched into him. His tongue was now doing the exploring and Sansa moaned loudly as she kissed him back with the same intensity.

The next instant Jon had withdrawn himself from her muttering “Shit… Shit …Fuck… Shit…”

Sansa shut her eyes to stop the tears from flowing, because she knew all too well that the moment, however beautiful it was while it lasted, was over.

“I am a bloody lout…” Jon was cursing himself and in general. He looked utterly disgusted with himself. Then he turned to look at her. “I am sorry Sansa….b-but this … us… This can never happen. Ever… You are Ned’s little girl. You’re Robb’s sister.” Jon cringed at the very mention of Robb.

“Jon, there’s nothing wrong with what happened.” Sansa said, hoping against hope that he could stop seeing her as Sansa STARK. “Just because I’m Robb’s sister….”

“Sansa…just stop, please” Jon moved away from her, running his palm through his curly locks. “This was …. an…an aberration… Please don’t talk about this again.”

An aberration? He’d called the best kiss of her life an aberration? “You are a bloody imbecile, Jon Snow!” Sansa had yelled at him “I hate you more than anyone else in this world.”

And hatred she had felt, for herself, thought Sansa, as she drew the covers up to her chin, wiping the lone tear that had fallen out of her eye when she was lost in her memories of her past. For her utter inability to hate him. He’d brought home Ygritte, his new girlfriend the very next day and Sansa’s skin had turned to porcelain, and no one except Bran had noticed. He had been just fourteen, but was extremely intuitive. He had looked at her and Jon several times during that cursed dinner, which was nothing but a blur in her memory. She hadn’t displayed any emotion outwardly, but something inside her had shattered that day. A realisation had dawned upon her; one she would never be rid of.

A realisation that she would remain utterly and irrevocably in love with Jon Snow, to this day, until her last day!

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jonsa fic #Jon x Sansa #sansa x jon #jon and sansa #my fic #Snowed under by love #chapter 4 #my post

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adamprrishcycle · 7 years

Text

So because it’s Adam’s birthday tomorrow, have some birthday pynch! Happy birthday boyo 🎉

It had been years since Adam had had a nightmare about his childhood and his mind had been his own for so long now that he’d forgotten how it felt to lose control. He reached for his phone that lay on the table beside his bed and he wiped the sweat from his hairline with the back of his hand.

His phone lit up the small space in which he sat. It was July 3rd. Since falling asleep he had slipped seamlessly into his 29th year and here he was now, clutching at some semblance of reality, pulling himself up to keep his toes from dipping into the past. His bedroom, usually so familiar, now hid sinister shapes. He watched the door with the same dread that someone would come bursting through it at any moment, or maybe the real fear was that no one was going to come through it at all.

He missed his friends.

It was getting on to 4am now and the sky was growing lighter. The birds were making a lot of noise outside but it was nothing compared to the buzzing in Adam’s head.

But the buzzing was also coming from Adam’s phone. It was a text message. He saw the name of the sender in a blur.

Happy birthday adam

Everything inside Adam twisted up which wasn’t unusual. Being involved with Ronan Lynch in any way had Adam constantly coiled up like a spring. He was bad for Adam, that’s what they’d decided, or it could’ve been the other way around, Adam couldn’t remember. They were just bad for each other and that had been the end of it. But it was never truly the end.

He didn’t hesitate before replying. It didn’t make sense to hesitate anymore.

Thanks. You’re up early

The reply was near instant.

So are you. Doing anything today?

Adam crossed the room to open the blind that was half closed over the window. It was brighter outside than he’d first thought.

Nothing planned yet, he replied. He hadn’t meant it as a hint but he knew how Ronan would read it.

You working?

No not today

***

Adam didn’t recognise the dark blue Range Rover when it pulled up. He admired it naturally, but he didn’t recognise it until Ronan climbed out of the drivers seat.

“Since when do you drive one of these?” He asked, trying not to sound too impressed. The paintwork shone in the sunlight like the car had just rolled out of the showroom.

“Since this morning when I woke up,” Ronan said with a sly grin. Of course he’d dreamt it.

“What about the BMW?”

“It’s back home,” Ronan shrugged and then he tucked the keys into his pocket and looked up at the apartment building where Adam lived. He’d lived here for about 5 years now and for one of those years, Ronan had practically lived here too. Adam wondered if he was thinking about that as he gazed up at it.

It was getting on for 5pm, the unbearable heat of the day was beginning to subside and Adam was glad of it. He’d been to the gym earlier on and pushed himself until he saw stars. It was the only thing he knew would stomp out the dream he’d had last night from his mind. Intense exercise always cleared his head, that and Ronan. He was lucky enough today to get both.

He invited him upstairs and offered him a drink. He’d stocked up on beer just for the occasion but he wasn’t about to let Ronan know that.

Ronan looked around as if he hadn’t been here a thousand times before, poking at books on the shelves and lifting lids off boxes and jars and anything he could get his hands on. He chatted idly as he did it and Adam could hardly keep up.

It had been 4 months since they’d seen each other last and Adam’s one-track mind was focused on that. He didn’t know how Ronan could be so animated and casual.

“Oh shit,” Ronan said suddenly, stopping in his tracks and turning to face Adam who was sat on the armchair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box, tossing it over to Adam who caught it. “Happy birthday,” he added.

“What’s this?” Adam asked, turning the box around between his fingers. He knew it was a gift but he still found it hard to accept them, even now.

“It’s just something small for your birthday,” Ronan said, “it’s not everyday you turn 29 after all.”

Adam looked up at him, trying to suppress his smile and failing. He opened the box carefully. Inside was a small pocket watch. It ticked and whirred and Adam picked it up to get a better look. It was dirty-gold and it felt warm in his palm but he knew he must be imagining it.

“Thank you,” he said softly as he admired the small clock. He would never quite be over the way Ronan continuously surprised him.

Ronan shrugged again. “So how have you been?”

Adam put the pocket watch back in it’s box and set it down on the side. “Small talk? Really?”

Ronan frowned. “No I’m genuinely interested in how you’ve been.”

“Are you?” Adam asked and instantly wanted to take it back. He sounded bitter and he hated it.

Ronan’s frowned deepened. “I didn’t come here to do this again.”

Adam wasn’t entirely sure what this meant exactly but he didn’t bother to question it. “What did you come here for then?”

“To see you,” Ronan said, “for your birthday.”

Adam had to stop himself saying something else. He adjusted his thoughts and tried to smile. “It is really good to see you.”

“I’m just glad you let me come over,” Ronan said and Adam felt the accusation in his voice even if he hadn’t intended it. It was a hundred texts and phone calls saying you’re shutting me out and it was the days and weeks afterwards filled with the most violent of silences.

Adam wiped his hands on his thighs and Ronan finally sat down on the couch with a huff. Adam waited a few seconds before speaking again.

“I had a nightmare last night,” he said.

“What about?” Ronan asked.

“My dad,” he answered and he watched the way Ronan watched him. His face was unreadable, expressionless. He was waiting to see how Adam felt about the situation before choosing how to react. It was something he’d grown into where before everything used to send him into a blind rage. The only giveaway was his clenched fist.

“I haven’t had a dream about him for years,” he went on and Ronan still didn’t give anything away.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked.

Adam laughed despite himself, “not really,” he admitted.

“Then we don’t have to,” Ronan said and Adam waited a beat but he didn’t say anything more than that.

It was strange to watch him sitting there, the one person who Adam had learned to be totally comfortable with, and to be unsure how to approach him, how to initiate some form of physical contact. He craved it and he didn’t want to think about what that said about him. He hadn’t spoken to Ronan in 4 months, hadn’t touched him in 5 and now all he wanted was this.

“Well what shall we do?” Ronan asked, “do you wanna go out?”

“I’m turning 29, not 21,” Adam said and Ronan laughed.

“We’re not old yet, Parrish.”

“Well I wanna stay in,” Adam said and Ronan picked up the bottle he had put down on the table in front of him and took a gulp.

“Fine by me,” he said, “you’ve got plenty of beer in.”

“Exactly,” Adam said and a silence fell again. It wasn’t awkward, it was just there and it bothered Adam a lot.

“Gansey wanted to come with me today,” Ronan said finally.

“Gansey?” Adam echoed, “why?”

Ronan shrugged. “He’s your friend, it’s your birthday.”

“But you didn’t bring him?” Adam said questioningly.

“No,” Ronan said and he looked down.

“Why not?”

“Well I wanted you to myself,” Ronan said, smirking as he looked up, “and I know you didn’t just invite me round to sit and drink beer.”

“Maybe not,” Adam admitted. “Does that make me a bad person?”

Ronan sat forward. “It’s your birthday.”

“And then what?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay then,” Adam said and he was grateful when Ronan stood up and approached him. He leaned down and Adam’s heart pounded in his chest as he kissed him, his hands on either arm of the chair.

“Why have you made me wait for this?” He asked as he pulled away again.

“You know why,” Adam replied quickly, he had no interest in talking and he stood up, forcing Ronan to step backwards. They were face-to-face now and Adam leaned in this time and he kissed Ronan, one hand slipping up to hold his throat lightly.

“Do I?” Ronan asked, placing his hand over Adam’s and pulling away from the kiss.

“Shut up,” Adam said and then he was lifting Ronan’s shirt up and over his head.

“I’d forgotten how controlling you were,” Ronan said, throwing his shirt onto the chair behind Adam and accepting more open-mouthed kisses.

Adam’s hands slipped down and he took hold of Ronan’s waist, squeezing his hips and pushing him backwards.

“Coach or coffee table?” He asked breathlessly and Ronan huffed a laugh into his mouth and pulled away, his fingers hooking over the front of Adam’s waistband.

“This is supposed to be about you,” he said and he began to undo Adam’s belt and he smirked as he did it. “So,” he went on, removing the belt and dropping it onto the floor, “coach or coffee table?”

“Coffee table,” Adam answered and he let Ronan spin him around and push him down onto it. He knelt down between his spread knees, his hand tracing the inside of Adam’s thighs, teasing him.

“This is your real present,” he said and he ran his hand up over Adam’s crotch, pausing there. “I’m not even gonna make you beg.”

#yes I was too lazy to finish it #but at least I'm actually posting SOMETHING #like I get a gold star for that at least come on #living for future pynch with issues #pynch #adam parrish #ronan lynch #trc #the raven cycle #fic

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

Text

Sticking with the Schuylers (Interlude 4)

We had so much Church discourse the other day that he had to get something of of the deal. (A reminder that this is a modern AU). In any case...Grey’s Anatomy once did an episode titled Japril the Movie...I present to you Johnica (wtf would their name be help me) the Movie.

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Tagging: @linsnavi @butlinislin (I got the tags to work finally bless)

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

John Church is not a man of many words; for years he had been deemed as mostly stoic, a social pariah destined for nothing more than solitude. Not that he minded. No, even at a young age he had preferred nothing more than his own company. The Americans just didn’t get things the way he did. They never understood his humor, or even the things that he said. His tongue was often tied in a knot and suctioned to the base of his mouth, his face reddened by the sting that came along with laughter and squished up, taunting expressions.

His life in England had been fine-great, even. Schooling had been the best part of it all. From kindergarten on his marks were high and his usually quiet nature brought about excellent reviews from his teachers. His social life consisted of friends he’d grown up with; private school mates who’d been mucking up their khakis and playing recreational football from the day they could walk. They all lived around the same little block of identical brick townhouses, the kind that were so squished together that walls were shared with neighbors and windows were only in the front or back of the house. John and his friends were frequent flyers on that cobblestone street, moving from house to house in what they pretended to be the life of gypsies, or pirates bound to the land. Life in England was familiar; comfortable.

John immediately set himself apart in his schooling by taking the advanced math class. His grades had been enough to warrant a letter accompanying his transcripts, praising his smarts and his ability to decipher complex word problems. His mind is different, they’d said. What they should have said is that he is different. And although he had close friends, a good family, and a peaceful childhood, it never felt like enough.

Aside from his group of pre-determined friends John sought solitude; the peace of a quiet night, his little back bedroom littered with model cars he liked to build. Everything was better as a puzzle-a riddle waiting to be solved. Putting things together had been his strong suit in this sense. His father often could not buy the model sets faster than John could build them. So some nights, with no homework to be done and nothing to tinker with, he would sit by his bedroom window with a plan in his mind. At eleven, he’d had it all figured out. He’d finish school with high marks-high enough to get into Oxford. It was an end goal his parents could brag about; ‘our son wants to go to Oxford.’ His mother would get a particular shine in her eyes every time she said it, one that transferred seamlessly through the air to him on clouds lifted by his dreams. It held him up, kept him to a standard he could not ignore. Oxford was his end goal, but then there was more. In his quiet house, with his hushed and stoic family, eleven year-old John Church wanted nothing more than approval. He wanted nothing more than pride.

So when his father earned a fellowship at the New York Presbyterian hospital, he’d smiled and nodded and let them pack up all of his things into cardboard boxes. “It’ll be alright,” they’d said; “This is a wonderful opportunity.” And his father had smiled, and rubbed his fuzzy-haired head, and taped up another box. Quiet, solitary John would be moving to the big city. He was less than thrilled.

Being the new kid was something he anticipated as a rough experience; there wasn’t a novel he’d read that had depicted the occurrence as pleasant and life-changing, at least not in the beginning. His hopes were low when he walked into his first day at the school in the Upper East Side, bearing khakis and collared shirts not unlike the ones he’d been wearing his entire life. If life was going to continue changing, at least his uniform wasn’t. The hot burn of eyes on him carried him through the halls on rapid feet, moving from one place to another in the form of retreat rather than excitement. He felt none of the bubbling, tingling wonderment described so delicately in the novels he’d read on the plane. The beauty of a new place, the opportunity to start fresh…John had never wanted any of that. Exciting, at this point, meant nothing more than agonizing. Twelve years old seemed to be the worst age to start school.

Twelve year old John kept his silence and his privacy when he moved to America. He kept the knack for puzzle solving, although now it was complex equations in math class rather than model cars. Those had been left in England, an uncharacteristic nod of disapproval to his father’s decision. John remained stuck to one group of friends, those who’d also made the football…no, the soccer team. And although he wasn’t that great at the sport, it carried him into just enough of a social life to squeak by. He wasn’t popular. He wasn’t a nerd. He hung in the threshold of it all, quiet and gangly and gaining nothing more than a life he hadn’t wanted and a few rounds of pre-pubescent pimples.

Middle school went this way; an assortment of awkward moments squished into a vignette of unwarranted trips to the dean’s office (John, of course, being completely innocent in the pranks of his teammates) and walks down to the deli for sandwiches and giant cookies after school. He enjoyed the scheduled time with his friends-it was less of a hassle to socialize when their circle held more friends, where he could sit back and laugh without worrying about contributions to the conversation. Even though they were not the bike riding, puddle splashing boys he’d shared his childhood with, these kids were alright. Trips to the deli became ritual he actually looked forward to. In time the uniform bearing, joke throwing soccer boys finally felt like family; even if they got him in trouble too many times to count.

The deli is where John Church’s life in America grew fuller, more vibrant. As twelve turned to thirteen, he was met with the news that his father had taken a position as the interim head of neurology at the hospital. It was good for his father, who was beaming when he came through the door that night with the news. It was good for his mother, who’d joined a circle of moms from the soccer team, and relocated her therapy practices to an office uptown. John smiled at their happiness, their success. If they were happy, he could be happy too. He would stay as long as they needed him to.

At thirteen, he finally felt himself wearing that beaming grin his parents sported so often. He began to understand.

He’d been at the deli with his teammates, drinking lemonades and splitting giant cookies and causing a harmless sort of ruckus. It wasn’t too crowded that afternoon, the only traffic coming from the typical sets of people they’d see every day. There was the mother and her four children, looking frantic and scattered as her little ones begged for treats and touched everything in the shop. Then there was the group of men on their bikes, who looked over at the soccer team with a sort of reminiscent pride that had them joking about their future. John and his team sat in their regular booth at the same time every afternoon. These people were familiar, a sort of community in their own right. That’s why, when the unfamiliar faces strolled in, all eyes turned toward them.

She led the small pack, a well-conducted cocktail of confidence and protection tucked into bootleg jeans and an orange top. She wore her hair in an assortment of tiny braids moving down her back, with beads that clicked with each of her steps. John looked on in wonder, even when the conversation between his friends began to die down and the room grew silent. The braided girl held hands with two others; a fairer-skinned girl stayed closer to her side, not much smaller than her in height. She surveyed the room with a smile and kept close to the other two girls, greeting the man at the counter with a soft voice. Their other companion was small, with a voice that filled the deli as the oldest of the three shook her head.

“I only promised you one ice cream, Peggy, not three. Daddy only gave us enough for that.”

She tugged the two girls through the line with a purpose, letting them each pick something out before paying. He still hadn’t stopped looking, even when the girl noticed him and his friends. She rolled her eyes, glancing between her companions before moving in their direction.

“Is there anything else you boys have to do than stare?” Her eyes were a hard accusation as they scanned the table, the other girls following shortly after. He was immediately intimidated, but his friends were not shaken. In fact, one of them even cracked a confident smile.

“Have fun in Bermuda, Angelica?”

“We did, thanks.” John attempted to hide the pique in interest he’s sure he’d begun to show. This girl is unusual; she does not flaunt herself in front of them. She doesn’t throw herself at their table, or bat her eyelashes…her tone is even and even a little harsh. The way she held herself was refreshing. He smiled too.

“Do you guys have a game this week?” It was the girl in the middle, with sleek hair and a moon-shaped face, who spoke next. This time, John responded.

“We have one tomorrow and another on Saturday.”

“You’re new.” Angelica turned her attention to him and his face grew warm. His throat closed, his words stuck between the tip of his tongue and the inside of his mouth. They clogged his brain until all he could do was shrug his shoulders. His friends watched. They snickered. He understood why this girl doesn’t know him; he’d never seen her before, although she seemed to know all of his friends. But then, she seemed to know everybody. She and her friends (her sisters, he would be later corrected) had been called by name by everyone in the shop, a place he’s been nearly every day since joining the soccer team two years ago. The more he attempted to rationalize, the redder his face grew. Why doesn’t this girl know him?

“Not really new, I moved here two years ago from London.”

“Oh. Well, new to the team then.”

“Two years on the team, too.” His friends were now near giggling, if one could call the irritating sound of freshly-teenaged teasing a giggle. There’s that feeling again, the need for model cars and rainy weather and his little back bedroom. Her sister Eliza apologized to him immediately, flustered for something she hadn’t even started. Angelica took no hint from this. Instead, she nodded.

“Well then, just new to me I guess. Your name?”

“John. Yours?”

“…Angelica Schuyler. I guess I’ll see you around, John.”

…

By fifteen, life in England felt like a distant memory. It was near enough to call upon, to access in his memory as if it had just been yesterday. But John was aware of the fact that England had just been a small fraction of his childhood. At this point, with his father in a completely blissful (and unusual) state and his mother gaining new clients every day, he understands that the interim piece of this move isn’t so temporary anymore. And at this point, he began caring less and less about moving back.

From that first meeting in the deli, John had realized that Angelica was in his grade. At fourteen, she was in three of his classes. She sat herself next to him, taking steady notes and chatting with him in between. He enjoyed her company, the way she filled the room with conversation and kept her opinions short and not-so-sweet. There was always a point to be made with Angelica, who took most of life in stride and threw back whatever was given to her with a vengeance. She was loud, and unapologetic. And as her father’s political popularity grew, hers did socially.

She never ignored him.

John Church was still quiet, and shy. He still believed in his ‘scheduled socialization’ ritual. But then, things grew to be different. He didn’t mind when Angelica showed up at his house unannounced. He answered her sporadic calls, listened to her rants and gave his feedback. And then, she’d asked him to get ice cream with her.

“…As a date.” She’d said, with her eyes set and one hand resting on her hip. “I think I want to date you.”

…

At seventeen, John Church had his life completely figured out. Angelica Schuyler was the source of his epiphany, standing by his side even after two years together. Life seemed so different now, in a place where the taxis and the deli and museum dates had become familiar. And he’d eased into it, this transition, in a way that when somebody mentioned London, he realized he hadn’t been missing it-or thinking about it-at all. This was his home now. She was his home. While his father gave lectures on difficult procedures and his mother pestered him about college he worked his way through the subway; through an afternoon job he’d insisted on getting so that he could do things properly, spend money that was his own. Most of it went to Angelica, anyway. That’s what made him happy.

She walked through her life just the same as she had when they were fifteen. Angelica Schuyler was a form of tropical storm he’d been lucky enough to chase. He hung around her brilliant words, billowing like clouds above her and shaped in the form of her opinions. She was the outgoing one, with the ability to craft a sentence from mid-air and send it flying through a room of diplomats who were always waiting to catch it. John watched this all in awe, always wondering just how she was able to captivate so many people, to change so many opinions. And at this age, in the second year of their relationship, John craved that power. Not for himself-he liked quiet, he enjoyed it. At seventeen, he wanted the power of persuasion to change his father’s mind from making a decision so unlike himself that it physically pained him.

“We’re moving back to London.” His father was firm; terse. A dispute at the hospital had set him this way, to where he felt he could no longer even stay in the same city as the doctors that had wronged him. When John agued, he pushed back twice as hard. There was no breaking this man. Richard Church had always been set in his ways. There had been no discussion about leaving London, and now there seemed to be no clear way for John to stay in the city.

He fought. As the days grew closer to their moving date he became a boiling, tense sort of angry his father had never seen before. He slammed doors, and stormed through the house, pulling pieces of behaviors from what he had seen on television. No longer could he feel the pull that had been with him since childhood. His father’s excitement as he packed up their things was not beautiful, or inspirational. It did not fill him with longing to please. There was something else on his mind, something bigger.

She’d always been bigger than anything else in his life.

Which is why, when she’d agreed to leave town with him for the weekend in protest of the move, he nearly cried. She’d spent just as much of these days compiling argument after argument of why John should stay, at least finish out his last year of high school in the states. Then, at least they’d have more time. Then, they’d have a year rather than one month. Angelica couldn’t handle the idea of his leaving; John read her filtered conversations and hushed tones as such, and he’d been right. She carried herself differently upon hearing the news. She was heavier. They spent their summer nights unable to be separated. They became a single entity instead of two people. She’d always said she’d never act in such a way.

She’d snuck him into their pool house in the Hamptons a day before they decided to skip town. He’d cooked her dinner, and when her parents left he’d gotten a shock when Angelica bounded out of the bathroom wearing something lacy which left more skin exposed than covered. He’d said they didn’t have to do anything but she’d insisted, quoting poetry by strong women in a whispered voice and convincing him that two years had been a long enough wait to have sex. That was followed by a night swim, and a declaration, and a plan to show their parents just how serious they were.

It surprised John just how easy it was to get away from his parents; to feel no remorse and to bask in the glow of Angelica’s company. They were seventeen when they decided to run away together. It was only a weekend-a fraction of their history-but even then he’d known the truth. He didn’t need his father’s pride, or his mother’s half-cracked smile. No, what John Church needed more than anything else was Angelica Schuyler by his side.

At seventeen, their jaunt had made his parents so angry, so infuriated, that they’d decided John should stay in the states. Their reasoning made no sense to him; he was happy here, shouldn’t a punishment mean taking something away from him instead of giving him what he wanted? His parents had always been book smart, too busy to treat John as a child and now too wrapped in themselves to care whether their form of punishment would work. He did not complain. He barely said a word until he got to the Schuyler mansion, throwing himself at Angelica and relaying his parents’ words to her. His father was disappointed, and Phillip Schuyler hated him, but none of those things mattered. He would not live his life to please other people. He would live his life for her smile.

At eighteen, he tossed his acceptance to Oxford in the trash and cherished his letter from Columbia. His parents were disappointed. He didn’t care. John made new dreams, goals involving business and remaining in the bustle of the city-this city-for the rest of his life. His problem-solving mind worked wonders with the curriculum he was given and the internships he fought hard to earn. And Angelica, she was a spitfire meant for nothing but law. Her arguments were still as compelling as the day they’d first met, at thirteen years old.

They stayed together. Against what everyone else had said, and predicted, they’d stayed together. It wasn’t as much of a hassle as his friends had made it out to be. They understood each other, Angelica taking note of his quiet spells by granting him privacy and shielding his heart. He stood by her rants, and her arguments. He bought them an apartment, and a fish, and he kept the words he’d never fully said. He’d promised her, through the context of his smile and the commitment he swore, that he would stay.

Now, at twenty-three, he wants nothing more than to leave. Not her; no, never her. In the early morning hours, when Angelica still sleeps peacefully against him, his eyes train themselves on the ceiling. His mind wanders. His heart, which had been so full for so long, feels an incredible pull he hadn’t felt since childhood. The petrichor emerging from the cobblestone streets, pairs upon pairs of yellow rubber rainboots causing droplets of fresh rainwater to litter their clothing, staining it with mud and a dampness felt for the rest of the afternoon. He recalls the pace of life, slower and more introspective than the rough and busy days in New York. And he’s not so sure what this tugging on his heart is until London flashes through his mind for the rest of the week. These are not just memories; this is longing.

His parents are thrilled that he’s chosen to extend his studies at Oxford. Their golden boy has finally come to his senses, finally realized what is right for him. If they harbor dismay over the news of Angelica’s acceptance they do not voice it, which makes John’s heart swell with pride and love and anticipation. His childhood dream is coming true, and the girl he’s loved since high school is going to be right by his side.

For now.

Angelica comes home in a flurry one night, leaving a sparse greeting at the door before running her tropical storm path through their bedroom. She fills a duffle bag with things, ranting about something he can’t decipher until he finally asks her. Eliza is living by herself now. Something must have happened with Alex. She needs to be there for her sister. It isn’t until she’s halfway out the door that she realizes the candles he had set up, adorning the small kitchen table with the meal he had cooked her the night they had first slept together. Her eyes scan the scene, frantic and searching and not quite reaching the reaction he had hoped. They are glossed over, almost, with an indescribable depth that lingers on the surface. It pulls everything from Angelica, stashes away her feelings and replaces them with something else; protection. He knows what she is going to say before she does so he waves her off, blows out the candles and calls it a night. He watches her run to her sister without a second thought, the night of their eighth anniversary. He writes it off as just another night, another fleeting moment. He writes it off until they’ve had the discussion ten times over. Angelica wants to go with him. She’s excited. She just hasn’t had the chance to tell her sisters yet.

It’s a thorn in their side, this weight that drifts heavily over them. It’s a conversation held almost nightly over dinner, with straight tones and exasperation. Angelica has always been his light, a storm he’s wanted to follow. Now, he’s not sure what is happening. Now, the longing for London grows even stronger.

“What’s holding you back?” He asks her this during a particularly long argument, where she has done nothing more than talk circles around herself. She’s just spent another night at Eliza’s, keeping her company. He doesn’t mind it. He loves that she is close with her sisters. However, when she still has not told the person closest to her about the move that is happening in just a few months, he knows that something is wrong.

“What’s keeping you from telling her? You tell your sisters everything so there must be a reason that this particular piece of information has been hidden for so long.”

“I mean I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of stuck.” The words, trapped in her throat, come barreling out all it once. She means to control them, hold them back and let them ring through the air with some semblance of strength. Instead, a shaking begins. Her voice cracks.

“Stuck how?”

“Stuck as in I don’t know if I even want to do it anymore!”

There is a longing, a pull toward his family and his country that John hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d been so excited to return, to acclimate himself into a life he had once loved fully and without care. He’d spent years in America, years wondering when he could go home until finally he had made this country his home. He had dropped the opportunity to return for her once already, at seventeen. He’d dropped everything for her; her family instead of his, her Christmas, her tropical storm shadow.

“I’ve dropped everything for you.” There is a quiver in his voice that resonates clear through their apartment. He holds himself steady, showing offense only in the way his timbre drops and his eyes narrow; slightly, just enough to be noticed.

“Excuse me?”

“I love you, Angelica. I love our home, and your family, and this life, but I…when is it going to be my turn?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what you think! It means hey, I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time rearranging plans and getting tickets together, and re-buying them when you used the money on your sister. And now-now what? Once again you’re going to drop everything, even something that’s very important to me, for Eliza.”

“If you think for a second that I wouldn’t drop everything for her, then you don’t know me.”

“I do know you, that’s the problem.” He throws his hands into the air, carving tracks into the floor where he paces back and forth. He takes a moment, breathing steadily, before settling himself on the couch. He pats the space next to him, inviting her to do the same. John holds her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to this-to showing you everything that England has to offer-for such a long time. I know that Eliza is going through a lot, but I also know that she’s a strong person. She has people here to hold her up. It doesn’t have to be just your job anymore.”

Angelica purses her lips, closing her eyes to let the silence of the moment drown her thoughts. She can still feel John’s presence next to her; the way he stares, attempting to give her confidence where she needs a clear head. He has always been her rock, and she’s always been Eliza’s. She’s never had to choose. Expectation fills the room with a thickness too heavy to stand. There is a line between what is expected of her and what she needs to do. Its thin red trigger point stares at her, burns her with its dagger. And with each passing moment with her feet on either side, everybody is burnt. For once, Angelica is speechless. John shakes his head; her hesitation is proof enough for him.

He’d never minded being a drop in her brilliant ocean until he’d realized what it felt like.

�

#hamilton #hamilton au #angelica schuyler #thanks for your patience everyone #moving is not fun #mine: swts

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honeydroplet · 8 years

Text

Golden Desires (M)

word count ; 4.1+k words

genre ; smut, romance, slight fluff

summary ; Kim Eunji (19) is an A star student in her university who keep her status clean...unlike her roommate, Jeon Jungkook (21).

warning(s) ; prosistute!jungkook, collagestudent!OC, age gap (?), smut

The annoying beams of sunlight woke up Eunji from her long slumber that morning. Normally, it would have been the creaking and banging of Jungkook’s bed frame clashing up against her wall, so the sensation was peaceful for once. She rolled on the other side so that the light wouldn’t be in her eyes anymore, hoping to gain at least fifteen more minutes of sleep, but her body went off the bed length and fallen to hard floor, blowing the air out of her lungs.

Groaning in pain, Eunji fluttered her eyelashes open at the harsh impact and quickly got off the floor, stretching her arms high above her head and let out a high pitched noise of awakening. Her voice was stuffed up so she cleared her throat before getting on her bare feet. She pushed her back forward and cracked the spine before trudging towards the kitchen, her feet sticking on the polished hardwood until she touched the vanilla creme carpet. The nineteen year old girl poured a bowl of cereal and as she walked her way to the table counter, she saw a girl about her age, eyeing Eunji with black tousled hair in knots and she was only in her red and white laced lingerie, a red wrinkled oversized flannel, unbuttoned and her upper body was covered in dark spots. She definitely must be one of Jungkook’s customers. Eunji let out a long sigh at the dazed girl. The confused teen opened her mouth to say something but Eunji cut her off by hitching her thumb to the left and replay her instructions to every customers who spend the night with Jungkook. “Exit’s that way if you’re wondering. Take the elevator down to the lobby and you can go call a cab to take you home.”

The stranger closed her mouth and looked at the door Eunji was pointing to. She turned her head toward Eunji, giving her a slight smile before exiting out the complex. Eunji rolled her eyes and turned back to her breakfast. Not a minute later, a loud yawn echoed from the hallway. Turning her head towards the noise, she was greeted by her roommate, half naked, jeans unzipped and hanging from his hips so she can see his defined v-line, entering the kitchen. “Morning Eunji.” The raven haired male greeted the pre-teen girl seating at the counter. Eunji looked up slightly in reply. “Morning.” The girl’s eyes traced the male as Jungkook made his way to the refrigerator and took a long chug from the orange juice jug. Unlike the stranger, Jungkook looked very…attractive. Not by the fact that Jungkook was wearing a fraction of the amount of clothing the girl was. The way his adam’s apple bobbed up and down by every chug, his eyelashes fluttering like angel wings, and the way the orange juice was oozing out of the corner of his mouth and slithering down to his toned abs. He was just the definition of sexy. Hell, Jeon Jungkook could make anything he touch looks sexy. “You sleep well?” Jungkook asked, as he placed the jug to its original place and Eunji went back to her breakfast. “For once, it was good.” Jungkook nodded and grasped a handful of grapes and sat next to Eunji, both not saying a word. About another few minutes passed until Jungkook broke the silence by slamming his head down hard on the tabletop and cursed under his slightly minty breath. “Shit!” Eunji looked up from her bowl of milk to see the older grunting. “What’s wrong this time?”

“That fucking bitch didn’t pay!” Jungkook grabbed a fistful of his hair in rage. He kept punching the marble counter, causing my bowl to vibrate from the harsh impacts. “Calm the hell down!” The brunette teen remarked before getting up and place her bowl in the sink. “You don’t understand! This is the fourth time this week.” Jungkook walked to Eunji, whining like a puppy. “If Kiseop hyung finds out, so help me, he’ll rip off my cock and make me choke on it!”

“Not my problem. You’re the fucked up prostitute here.” Eunji replied as she turned the water off and place down the bowl to soak. She didn’t approve the job Jungkook is doing, but as long as he pay for the water bills on time and his sexual life doesn’t interfere with her, Eunji could care less about the pretty boy. “Please Eunji-ssi! Won’t you help me out here?!” Jungkook begged trying to make eye contact with the teenager. The teen set down the cloth she was using to dry her hands and finally made eye contact to the older man. “I’m not leading you money if that what’s your thinking.”

Jungkook pouted. “Why? You know I’m worth it!”

“Really, Jungkook?”

“I’ll give you whatever you want!”

“I’m not interested in anything that you could possibly buy for me.” Eunji pointed her forefinger at the half naked male. “Look I know you don’t do one night stand, but come on! Don’t tell me that you are not interested by this!” Jungkook flexed his arms and display his body to the female. Eunji eyed the male up and down. The flawless milky skin, the toned abs, his belly button piercing, the attractive jawline, his trademark smile, the mini tattoo of the feather on his tailbone, those brown doey eyes, his silver graduated lobe piercings, the always-perfect hair. Honestly, Eunji would have just dragged Jungkook to his room and let him fuck her like there’s no tomorrow. But Eunji has more dignity than that. The teen leveled her eyes with the raven haired male and walked away from Jungkook. “I’ve seen better!” She directed her way to the bathroom. “You know what, Kim Eunji? Fuck you!” He hissed at Eunji. “You wished Jeon Jungkook!” Eunji yelled back, sticking her middle as she slammed the door behind her, making the argument halt.

It was about 2:30 by the time Eunji arrived back to her house after her classes in college. She had her history test on Monday and she needed every last second to study - also including the next four hour shift she has at the cafe she works at. She grabbed her house key from her pocket and plugged it into the door. But before she could turned the doorknob, the door opened inward and for the second time today, Eunji was glared upon a stranger, but this time a male.

“Well look what we have here.” The boy standing at the door, tracing his eyes on Eunji’s feminine body like raw meat. Everything about this man made Eunji want to punch him in the face. The boy’s dark brown hair was sticking out everywhere. His shirt was torn up and didn’t looked like it’s been washed for decades. He had a pocket full with twenties and a pack of cancer sticks, making Eunji realized that he was one of Jungkook’s stands. Eunji rolled her eyes at the man and as she did so, the male grasped on her wrist and dragged Eunji into the house. She was stared at about five or seven men and women, waiting for their turns. The smell of wine and tobacco overdosed the room, making Eunji cough a little from the pungent smell. “Hey, Jungkookie!” The brunette yelped to Eunji’s roommate, whom must be in another room. “Is this the girl you’ve been babbling about?” The girl snapped her head at the male, trying to get out of his grip but there was no use.

“You’re a tough one, are you?” Smirking at Eunji, the male pulled her closer. “Hey! How’s about you sleep with me instead if you don’t want to have sex with Jungkook.” The rude male smirked with slightly whiten teeth towards the teenager. "As if anyone would be willing to have your dick shoved in their ass, Hyunseung…” A voice from the hallway muttered and everyone’s head turned to see Jungkook standing in the room with his arms crossed. “You were begging when we first met, Kookie.” The guy, whom name was ‘Hyunseung’ looked at the elderly and glared at him. “That’s why I make everyone one pay like you do.” He narrowed his eyes at Hyunseung. “Now back off.” Jungkook threatened. “Why? I think she wants me.” Hyunseung lightly kissed the back of Eunji’s neck and younger twitched by the touch. That made the pretty boy snapped. Jungkook walked up and pulled the two apart, keeping the male’s tattered shirt in his balled up fist. “I said back off, Hyunseung!”

Before Jungkook could turned his head toward Eunji to ask her to leave, she was out of the door, without any warning.

Eunji sighed when she saw the clock struck to 11 o'clock. The cafe has been closed for more than four hours ago. She turned back to her biology textbook, eating a slice of key lime pie, still wearing her

She was about halfway finished with the book when the ringtone of the front door alerted her that someone entered the shop. “Sorry we’re closed now. Please come back at 9.” She said as her nose was buried in the crack of the pages. “Then why are you still here?” Eunji was startled by the familiar voice and whipped her head to see her roommate with his arms crossed with one eyebrow raised. “J-Jungkook?!…”

“At your service,” Jungkook replied not breaking his expression. “Now, why are you here? I thought your shift ended a few hours ago?” He questioned again. “It did. But I needed a quiet place and I’m sure I couldn’t focus if I’m hearing you moan for hours, banging against my wall. Plus I didn’t knew how long your 'friend’ was going to be there.” Jungkook gave her a look. “So what, you were planning to stay here all night?”

“No!” The youngster shot back to the male. “I-I was going to give you a more time and if they were still there, I would a kicked their asses to the curb!” Eunji growled beneath her teeth. “You? You almost got raped by a pervert!”

“He didn’t rape me!”

“Yeah, because I was there to save your petite little ass!”

“Okay…” Eunji tsked. Then a thought popped into her head.“Wait a minute, why are you here?” Jungkook shrugged. “You didn’t come back home and I kind of got worried sick about you due that I’ve blowing up your phone with text messages so I walked here to see if you were alright.”

“You were worried about me?” Eunji blinked in disbelief.

“Of course I was worried, what do you take me as? A cold hearted person?” Jungkook uncrossed his arms and looked at the female. “You’re my roommate! If anything happens to you then I would have get my ass broken to pay for every bill myself!” Eunji laughed at his joke. “I’m touched…Wait, you said you called me right?”

Jungkook bobbed his head as a reply.

“Then how come my phone…?” She dug into her pocket to see her buried in text messages and multiple voice messages. “I forgot I turned off my phone so I could study.” Eunji kept on staring upon each message with a smile across her face. Surprisingly the other was worried sick about her. “So will come back home?” Jungkook asked Eunji who was grabbing her stuff in her backpack. “That depends, are your clients gone?”

“Yeah, I kicked them out an hour after you left.”

“Why?”

“Because after you left, I got the courage to call Kiseop about quitting. Of course he blew some steam but we finally made an agreement” Jungkook hitched his thumbs into his pocket nonchalantly. “You- what! You can do that?” The girl was having trouble wrapping this around her mind as she hung up her apron. “So let me just get this straight, no more one night stands?”

Jungkook shooked his head.

“No more half naked people roaming around our house?”

Again, Jungkook shook his head in agreement.

“And you’re not a prostitute anymore?”

“Well about that…”

Eunji looked at him, shocked.

“Jeez I’m just pulling your strings,” Jungkook chuckled. “After they left I went out and got a full time job at the music shop about an hour away from here.” Eunji gasped at the male. “Really?”

“I started on Sunday.” Jungkook announced and Eunji just smiled like an idiot. “Jungkook! That’s amazing!” The teen threw her arms around his neck, hugging him with all the strength she had. “Thanks…” The brushing of his breath against her skin snapped Eunji right back into reality and she quickly pushed Jungkook away. “S-sorry…” The girl looked down as her cheek bloomed into a radiant red color. “Don’t be,” Jungkook painted his trademark smile as his arms coiled around his roommate’s hip and looked into her eyes. “I like being close to you.” Eunji’s eyes were as big as saucers, her heart racing. “Really?” Jungkook nodded. “In fact, why don’t we get more closer…” Before she could replied, Jungkook slightly tilted his head and smashed his lips on her petite one’s. Eunji was awestruck by the older’s bold move. Jungkook’s lips were so moist and softer than Eunji could have imagined but she felt it was too risky. The teen tried to push away the male but Jungkook had a good grip around her waist and his lips were stucked on her like glue. As much as Eunji tries to back away, the pretty boy was one step ahead of her.

Eunji went so far that she was practically crawling on top of the table in chances to detach her with the raven haired male so she brought her hands to the older and shoved Jungkook off of her. The two stared into each other eyes for what seem like an eternity, chest falling up and down, hearts beating up against their rib cages. By the look in Jungkook’s eyes, he was overpowered with lust and sexual desires while Eunji’s was still in searching mode, believing that this is just dream. The teen was trying to think of any reasons to not be doing this with her roommate. But in those few moments, she couldn’t think of one good solution whatsoever why she can’t so Eunji forfeit and relinquished herself to what her body’s been begging and prayed for a long time: Jeon Jungkook. Without warning, the teen wrapped her arms around Jungkook’s neck and pulled the man’s irresistible lips back to hers. Her eyes were closed as she shoved her pink muscle from the older. She hadn’t realised until now that Jungkook wanted to this more than she did. But by the way how Jungkook was looking into Eunji and his hand roaming around her pink uniform, it was clear that Jungkook was begging for Eunji’s body as well.

As their hands continued to roam around one another’s bodies and tongues wrestling, lust was overdose in their body. There was heat and passion that neither of them had for such a long time. It was final that each other wanted to do one another and we’re going to get what they desired for. “Can I?” Jungkook smirked as he slowly unzipped Eunji’s maid costume. “Why not…” the brunette whispered back to black haired male, her hands placed on the tea table. A small chuckle escaped from Jungkook as he quickly unraveled the annoying fabric to see her beautiful laced bra, covering her mound. He hadn’t wasted any time to admire in girl’s smooth rich skin and attacked her hardening nipple with his lips. Eunji didn’t even try to even soften her moans, she want to let the male know how much she been wanting him and only him. Once the ex-prostitute finally realized he given enough attention to Eunji’s chest, Jungkook hitched up Eunji’s skirt to see her panties soaked. Jungkook pulled off everything excepted for her white socks and spread her legs to see her wet clit. The teen didn’t feel embarrassed at all, but when Jungkook was hypnotized by the beautiful teen’s organ, the blush started to flow into her face. “Your face matches your lingerie.” He blew hot air against her sensitive area, making her squirm in delight. “S-Shut up..” Eunji covered her eyes with her arm as she could felt Jungkook’s nose nuzzling in her folds. “I’m gonna make you feel good, sweetie.” Jungkook swiped his tongue at her folds, and later started to make a rhyme, making Eunji a moaning mess, Jungkook was bobbing his head up and down, sucking her dry, memorizing the sweet nectar that was spewing slowly. He went back to her clit, humming a song to vibrate the wiggling organ. Eunji felt like her eyes were about to rolled behind the back of her head and her hands were holding onto Jungkook’s hair for dear life.

“Jungkook I feel like I’m about….to…” Jungkook felted her clit throbbed around his plump lips and quickly let go of the wet, hot clitoris. “I can’t let do that, Eunji-chan.” Jungkook teased as he ripped his black tight shirt of him and pulled down his pants and boxers together, his erection pointing towards Eunji. “Do you need a little help there?” Eunji smirked as she pointed at Jungkook’s friend, going down on her knees. “If you insist.” Without a second to waste, Eunji shaped her mouth to an “O” shaped and slipped the organ inside her mouth and looked up at the pretty boy who was holding on the table. Eunji’s first lick sent shivers down his spine. Her first suck sent Jungkook to Cloud 9. Pleased by the reaction she got, Eunji went faster and faster making Jungkook more weak to his knees. Jungkook started bucking his hips rapidly. “Eunji p-pull out….” She didn’t listened on purpose and added in a humming noise to the concoction making Jungkook lose his mind. Jungkook bites his lips hard enough to taste the blood and grasped Eunji’s hair, pulling her mouth off of him with a loud “POP!”

“You’re such a bad girl…” Eunji was later pinned on top of the table, her legs spread wide open. “Kim Eunji…I want to fuck the sense out of you.” Jungkook rubbed his hardening erection on Eunji’s wet pussy. “Then show me.” Eunji pecked Jungkook’s lips and wrapped her arms around his shoulder. “Do you have condoms?”

“You’re talking to a retired prostitute! Of course I have protection with me.” Jungkook dig into his back pocket to behold a black packet in the air. Eunji took the plastic wrapper and teared it with her teeth. He grasped on the plastic condom and securely coated his cock with the plastic, pumping it a few times. “I’ve been waiting for this day to come!” He looked into Eunji’s hazed eyes. “Jungkook, just fuck me alright!” Eunji cupped her roommate’s cheeks and Jungkook smirked. “With pleasure.” And with that, Jungkook grabbed on both side of the teen’s waist as the tip of his cock disappeared into her pink, puckered hole. “Fuck!” Jungkook sworn because of Eunji being tight and the heat was so different, yet Jungkook found that he could thrusted inside the younger easily. And to be honest, Eunji didn’t looked like she was in pain…at all.

“J-Jungkook…” Eunji moaned, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Wow, you really have fingered yourself really well.” Jungkook mutter once his balls were lodged inside the youngster. Eunji’s eyes blinked. “H-How did you…”

“Come on, I’m your roommate and I hear you moan once in awhile, plus you don’t do stands and I know you don’t have a boyfriend so it was kind of easy to connect the dots!” Jungkook smirked at the dazed Eunji. By the time he finished his last word, without any warning, the older male rammed inside the teen, knowing that she could take it. Eunji yelped, feeling the ping of pain shooting through her back with every thrust Jungkook made - she would definitely be feeling that in the morning indeed.

As Jungkook was repeating his action of pulling out so that the tip was inside and then pounding all the way back in hard, the teen collapsed on her elbows, touching her back on the cold table. The roommates took a while to catch their breath until Jungkook’s eyes were locked on something nearby. “Are those kitty ears?” He reached over to captured the pink furred feline ears with two silver bells on each corner and laughed hysterically. “I’ve never seen this before. How come you never wear this?” Waving the headband at Eunji, the teen bites her lip, looking away. “Because I feel…like a…”

“Like what?”

“A…slut…when I wear that. Plus people look at me weirdly.” That made Jungkook softly chuckled at his roommate’s cuteness. “Well,” Jungkook then turn Eunji’s head and placed the accessory on her head. “I think you look beautiful…” Jungkook looked at his cute feline teen and pecked her nose as he kept on thrusting into her. He alternated between bursts of fast and furious rams, and stretches of slow and deep ones - the bells on Eunji’s kitty ear kept clashing every time their skin slapped together. The teen’s eyes rolled close, Jungkook’s cock rapidly hitting against her g-spot, making Eunji feel like her was melting with the addictive sensation. Eunji slurred a few pleads of “More!” and “Faster!” while moaning Jungkook’s name in the café, letting it echo in the hallways. The air around them was get hotter and they yelped loud enough to wake the gods but they didn’t care one bit.

Minutes passed before Jungkook felt his groin throbbing vigorously. He wanted to keep going on, he also wanted to experience what he’s been waiting for.

“Shit! I’m gonna come, Eunji.” Jungkook choked on his words as Eunji nodded and swung her arms around his shoulder. “O-Oppa…J-Jungkook Oppa~I’m gonna come t-too…” The kitten moaned, arching her back, ripping the skin on his back and that was enough for Jungkook and Eunji to come at the same time. Jungkook rode out his orgasm, rolling his hips into the kitten maid, until his penis was wet and flaccid. The room finally became silenced as Jungkook pulled out his motionless cock out of Eunji’s penetrated hole, which was still lightly twitching a bit. “Eunji…” No answer. “Eunji?” He looked down to see the girl fast asleep in a cat pose, making the older male smirked and pulled out his phone to snap a photo of the beautiful sleeping creature.

“You’re such a good girl…Eunji…”

Something weird was brushing on the back of Eunji’s neck hair which made the teen woke up from her slumber. She stretched her arms wide, as she swung the covers off of her, she spread a smile across her face. Jungkook was quietly sleeping with his arm latched around her half naked body. Eunji laid back down to see the gorgeous man, that at last Jungkook was just hers now. Eunji curled up next to him, smelling the scent of his milky white skin until Jungkook snapped his eyes slowly, rubbing his eyes to see Eunji who still had her kitty ears from last night. “Good morning, Kitty!” Jungkook smiled and pecked his roommate’s lips. “I guess it wasn’t a dream after all.”

“What?”

“Last night at the café.” Jungkook pulled out a sly smirk and rubbed his nose against the others. “I have the painful scars to prove it.” Jungkook rubbed his back as Eunji cocked her eyebrow up. “You’re in pain? My whole torso ripped into half thanks to you.” They both laughed and Jungkook held onto to Eunji’s chin. “You were asking for it.” They both kissed once again and cuddled into their arms.

“Jungkook?”

“Yes Kitty?”

“You still didn’t quite answer my question about why you quit being a-”

“Because I wanted to be with you…” Eunji blinked a few times at the older male, who was turning on his phone. “You quitted for me?” Jungkook nodded as a response. “Well you said and I quote: 'You would never date anyone like me!’. I want you, Kitty! I want you to be the person I wake up with, spend my days and nights with, and sleep with.” Jungkook confessed to his kitten, making her speechless. After get back out her trance, Eunji leaned forward and captured the other’s lips passionately until she spot something in the corner of her eye. “Jungkook?” She unlatched her lips from Jungkook. “Yeah?”

“What’s that on your wallpaper?” Jungkook looked at his phone to see Eunji’s nude photo he took as his screensaver. “It’s you.” He smiled with confidence to the pouting girl. “Jungkook, delete that! Now!” The kitten whined into her lover’s eardrum. “Why? You look so horny in this one!” He smirked and smashed his lips against his lover's, starting their Gods know how long make-out session.

#honeydroplet #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #bangtan #bangtan boys #jungkook x oc #prostitute!jungkook #kim taehyung #park jimin #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #min yoongi #kim seokjin

136 notes · View notes

dailyaudiobible · 6 years

Text

12/23/2018 DAB Transcript

Zechariah 4:1-5:11, Revelation 14:1-20, Psalms 142:1-7, Proverbs 30:21-23

Today is the 23rd day of December. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian and there's a lot going on around here, right? This is the threshold of a shiny, sparkly, new week. This is Christmas Eve Eve and it also happens to be the last Sunday in the season of Advent. And, of course, the season of Advent ends tomorrow with Christmas Eve and the bells toll at midnight. And, at least according to the tradition, we greet the Savior at Christmas. So, if you’ve got the Advent wreath going in your house or, you know, the candles are being lit at church or whatever, today is the Joy candle, representing the joy comes after a long wait for the Savior to arrive.

Song:

O Come O Come Emmanuel - Nicole Mullen

Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel

O come, O come, Emanuel,

and ransom captive Israel

that mourns in lonely exile here

until the Son of God appear.

Refrain:

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel

shall come to you, O Israel.

O come, O Wisdom from on high,

who ordered all things mightily;

to us the path of knowledge show

and teach us in its ways to go. Refrain

O come, O come, great Lord of might,

who to your tribes on Sinai's height

in ancient times did give the law

in cloud and majesty and awe. Refrain

O come, O Branch of Jesse's stem,

unto your own and rescue them!

From depths of hell your people save,

and give them victory o'er the grave. Refrain

O come, O Key of David, come

and open wide our heavenly home.

Make safe for us the heavenward road

and bar the way to death's abode. Refrain

O come, O Bright and Morning Star,

and bring us comfort from afar!

Dispel the shadows of the night

and turn our darkness into light. Refrain

O come, O King of nations, bind

in one the hearts of all mankind.

Bid all our sad divisions cease

and be yourself our King of Peace. Refrain

So, we have this brand-new shiny week out in front of us. And this week will certainly encompass the Christmas holiday. So, it's a unique week that's in front of us, but one thing is constant, and that is that we take the next step forward every day no matter what the day is. No matter what's going on we center ourselves in the Scriptures. And this week we’ll read from the Christian Standard Bible. Of course, we’ll pick up where we left off yesterday in the book of Zechariah. Today chapter 4 verse 1 through 5 verse 11.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word and we thank You for bringing us to this point in the year. And it's shocking sometimes to look forward and realize we’re days away from a brand-new start, a brand-new year, because it seems like we just began this journey not too long ago. And yet You have brought us day by day, step-by-step to this point where we are at one of the most important days of the year that we celebrate and commemorate the world over. But this day, Christmas, represents one of the most profound and impactful things that have ever happened in human history. And, so, we prepare our hearts as we move into this new week with Christmas Eve upon us tomorrow and Christmas Day. There's a lot of festivities, so there’s a lot going on, there’s a lot of running around, there's a lot of last-minute preparations, there’s all kinds of ways to be completely and utterly distracted from what is really going on here. And what is really going on here is a mystery. And, so, Holy Spirit, come and allow us to have space in our hearts to contemplate the longing for a Savior, and the arrival of a Savior. And we thank You, Jesus, for that very thing, for Your arrival and for Your life and for Your redemption. The world has never been the same and we certainly aren't the same because of it. So, come Holy Spirit as we enter into these next few days. Keep us rooted in and what these days represent, not only to our lives and our families but to humanity. Come Holy Spirit we pray. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.

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This is the beginning of the final full week of the year 2018, right? And that obviously includes, you know, everything that’s going on today, it includes Christmas Eve tomorrow, and Christmas Day, Tuesday. So, those days are kinda spoken for. So, we’re like running out of days. We’re moving our way rapidly toward the end of the year and in the end of our time spending this year in the Bible. One week from tomorrow will be the last day that we have to read from the Scriptures in 2018. So, yes, right now everything is all Christmas as it should be. And, yes, let’s immerse our self in everything that the wonder of the season can bring. And I wish…hope, hope, hope, hope for you and your family and everyone that you love…and may you enjoy this final Sunday of Advent and moving us into Christmas Eve.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. And there is a link that lives on the homepage. If you’re using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, no matter the season and no matter what's going on we are a community and we are here for each other. If you've a prayer request or comment, 877-942-4253 is the number to dial.

And that's it for today I'm Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hi Daily Audio Bible family, this is Anna from Los Angeles California and I wanted to give a praise report. There have been people paying and I’ve felt your prayers for my health, for my hair to grow back, for my skin to clear, for my digestive problems to go away. And I have to say, praise Jesus, I am experiencing healing. My hair is growing back. In fact, it’s growing close to an inch a month and I’m just so excited to have this restored. Also, I’ve been asking everyone to pray that my female relationships have been restored. I lost three female friendships this year and every single one of those relationships is starting to be restored. Specifically, two of the women reached out to me without me contacting them and asked for forgiveness. And praise the Lord that He’s the God of restoration. Please continue to pray for Cameron. He’s the young man that I was involved with and because we’re in different places with Christ we cannot be together but continue to pray. I have so much hope for him. Pray that God would set him free and bring him into the family of God, bring him home, and bring us back together in restoration and wholeness. Lord God, I thank You that You are the God who heels and You are the God that answers and I’m claiming Psalms 65:5, it says that God is faithful to answer our prayers. So, thank you for praying in Jesus’ name. Lord we bless you.

Hey everyone, it’s Margo from Australia and I just heard the message left by the Prodigal and I just want to say to you, I’ve been in a similar place. I have been wanting to suicide quite a number of times and God has brought me to that in the most miraculous…well…in the most amazing way. It didn’t happen overnight supernaturally, but if God can do that for me He can do it for you. He doesn’t love me anymore than he loves you. I didn’t deserve His help and neither do you but God does it because He loves us. There is hope for you prodigal. There is hope because there is always hope with God. You may have hit rock bottom, but you know what that means? That means the only way to go now is up. I am going to be praying for you because my heart breaks for you. It’s clear you’ve had a terrible year. Can I encourage you to absolutely immerse yourself in the word of God? I’m talking burying yourself in the Bible every chance you get because that is where your hope and your joy will come from and the Lord will speak to you. He did it for me and He’ll do it for you. Every chance you get, read the Psalms, say them out loud, it’s a form of spiritual warfare, throwing in Satan’s face. Read the Psalms, the Psalms of David. David was where you are right now. King David has been in that place. Did you know the story of what happened with King David? I encourage you to read it. He did terrible things and got himself into a terrible situation and yet the Lord brought him out and he did it, I think, largely through praise. So, not only bury yourself in the word of God but also pray with Him daily even when you don’t feel like it. I will be praying…

Hello from beautiful Cincinnati Ohio, it is Daniel Johnson Junior and I am calling, it is today the 21st of December and I was listening to the prayer requests and I heard the message from the Prodigal and I just stopped the program and called in here. I just want to pray for you and also to encourage you. First of all, you know that you need help. You know that there is hope because you’ve reached out to this community. And you know that you really do not want to take your own life. And I am just begging you, I’m begging you to see through the lies that are being told to you by the enemy so that you can live and thrive. We were made more than just to survive we were made to thrive. And I think that’s my word for next year for myself. Yes, I have been down, and I have had times of…myself…some of what your experiencing. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling…it’s just…but I know that you have to believe that there is just hope because you would not have reached out to this community. In the Scriptures, anytime that someone has taken a life it has always been looked at is not a good thing. Judas, King Saul, his armor bearer. Those types of things, all those were not looked at as a good thing. And if you decided to, you know, take your own life, it is more…you’re going to hurt more people then you really realize. You are so much worth…you are worth so much more than you realize, and I just want to encourage you and I pray for you. God, please help, reach out right now into this brother’s life and encourage him Lord. I pray this in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Good morning Daily Audio Bible family, this is Dave from Southwest Florida. I called in a while back just about financial problems with the business and my wife’s father. Every time it seems that I call in there are breakthroughs, almost instantly. And I don’t mean to treat this like a drive-through but it seems like your prayers are very, very effective. Thank you. I’ve been involved in a program here in Southwest Florida for several years called Gator Wilderness Boys Camp that works with troubled youth. They had a counselor tragically killed Sunday night. We had just spent several hours with him and after we left he got on his motorcycle and was hit head-on by a truck that came over into his lane. He was taking care of 8 boys 24 hours a day. He was a parent basically to them. Also, there have been other staff members who have been coming under attack. One has a brain tumor, had a brain tumor, he just had surgery. Another has testicular cancer that spread to liver and lungs. And then there’s also a young lady who works there in her early 20s that developed heart problems. It just really seems like the place is coming under spiritual attack. But please, please pray for them. Again, the name is Gator Wilderness Boys Camp. Thanks.

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