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sundaysundaes · 4 years

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A Shatter in The Dark

Mark Lee X Lee Donghyuck/Haechan, ft. Taeyong | NC-17 | Smut, Fluff, Action, Angst | Zombie Apocalypse AU

Summary: A lethal virus has killed 90% of the world's population and turns 9.8% into zombie-like, cannibalistic mutants who are extremely vulnerable to the ultraviolet rays in sunlight. And yet, Mark Lee's number one problem is trying to stop himself from staring too long at the way Haechan's jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips.

Warnings: Smut, Major Character Death, Slight Horror and Violence

Also available to read on AO3 here.

It’s strange, Mark thinks, for him to not be able to remember how it all started. Perhaps it’s a way for his mind to release himself from all the traumatic events he has gone through. Perhaps he’s just too scared to even begin to remember the details. Or perhaps he’s just no longer human—not like the way he used to.

“Just keep going,” he mutters to himself—a habit that begins to grow more with each day passing by. It doesn’t necessarily comfort him but it keeps him sane. He needs to hear a human’s voice in his ears, even if that comes from his own mouth.

He has stopped counting days, just like how he’s stopped taking three meals a day. Both for the same reason: to survive longer. His backpack feels heavy on his back and his untrimmed bangs stick uncomfortably to his temple, but he drags his feet along the pavement that’s scorching from the heat of the sun. His throat blazes just as hot, his lips chapped and he needs something to eat.

Back when he was fourteen and his imaginations ran wild from reading too many Stephen King’s horror novels before his bedtime, Mark once imagined how would his town look in a post-apocalyptic universe. He’d visualized the sky with no clouds and thunderbolts striking endlessly. He’d imagined the cracks on the roads with long, tall wild grass growing out of them, as they seek for the sunlight that is now shining bloody red. The air would be toxic, he’d figured, killing everyone who breathes it in without a filter mask and the seas would be dry, making water everyone’s priority and causing civil wars just to get it.

Now that he’s living in a post-apocalyptic world, he notices that it’s nothing like he’d fantasized.

The city of Seoul looks fairly the same, albeit slightly abandoned. Maybe it’s because it’s only been a few months since the outbreak, but the neighbourhood still seems familiar. The plants are unkempt, the bags of dust on the floors are thick in layers, and the pavements are covered with dry leaves. But if Mark closes his eyes for a few seconds, the wind still feels nice on his cheeks, the air still smells like how it does during the end of summer, and he can imagine kids running around down the street. He doesn’t though, because no one around him is alive. He hasn’t met anyone for God knows how long and it’s making him insane.

It’s a fucking ghost town and Mark wishes he could just disappear like everybody else. A few months ago, it was stated that the virus had killed 48% of the world's population. The outbreak had started in Korea as well but his government was trying their best to isolate the island. That was the last news he saw on TV before his mother took the remote control with a quivering hand and turned it off. She turned to her son, eyes trembling in fear, and said, “Let’s pray together. Our Lord will protect us if we pray.”

But Lord’s protection only lasted for two days before his usually calm neighbourhood began to turn into an uproar. The virus had infected one of them and it traveled fast.

Those who had weak bodies, Mark noticed, died within seconds and he witnessed with his own eyes how his father, who had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just a few weeks before, began to bleed from his mouth, nose and ears. It happened so fast, as if something invisible was choking the life out of him and he exploded from the inside. He could remember how his father was reaching out to him, his son’s name on his tongue and Mark stood there in horror, watching his loved one silently screaming in pain with bloody tears running down his eyes before he fell down his chair, smashing his face against the cold floor and gushing out more blood that seemed darker than the night.

Mark didn’t scream even though his mind was so loud; it felt like his brain was going to burst. He thought the virus was infecting him too and it probably was, but as he kept his eyes shut tightly, heart slamming against his ribcage as he counted to ten, he noticed he was fine. He counted again to one minute, then two, then five and he was still the same.

He was… immune. Or at least so he thought.

That was when he began to cry. And when he thought he would stop crying, he cried even harder with his hand pressed against his chest and his mouth desperately gasping for air. He glanced at the way his father’s lifeless body began to rot as if his corpse had been there for days and felt his stomach hurl.

Mark scrambled to his feet, ran upstairs to reach the room at the end of the corridor, praying frantically for his mother to be alive. And when he found her body lying on the bed, he wasn’t sure whether she was. Her body was still warm, her chest was still heaving up and down with the slow breaths she was taking, but no matter how much he tried to shake her awake, she wouldn’t budge. No matter how much he screamed her name, she wouldn’t reply. And no matter how much he cried, she wouldn’t hug him to soothe down his pain.

Hours passed by with Mark sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at his mother with lifeless eyes, and he realized that his surrounding was quiet. Eerily so. Even the dogs no longer barked. He took a look out of the window and shuddered at the sight. Most of the people he knew from when he was still a child, were lying on the streets with bloody faces, mirroring the way his father was on his kitchen’s floor. With shivering hands, he tried to call the police with his cellphone but he couldn’t get connected. The signal was down, both the tv and his radio no longer worked and it just really hit him that the world was ending.

It took him another hour to process everything, but only a minute for him to finally get up to his feet and walk downstairs. He had a shovel in his hand, and dried tears lining his cheeks.

He began to dig.

***

“Sorry for barging in,” Mark calls, but not hoping for an answer, after he kicked the front door open. The wooden floor creaks under his step, and it rings loudly in this empty neighbourhood that he’s not familiar with. But at this point, anywhere looks the same.

He knows he’s not the only person living in the world. If he’s immune to the virus, then there must be someone else—maybe even a colony—who survive as well. He just needs to find them. He always hopes that he gets to meet someone as he wanders from one house to another, but months have passed and he hasn’t seen a single soul except those who lurk in the night. Those with cloudy white eyes and rotten skin, snarling at the thought of consuming human’s flesh. Those he sees a lot, and he’s been trying his best to avoid them at all cost.

These creatures that wander after the sunsets are something that fourteen-year-old Mark would most likely call zombies. They used to be the monsters of his worst nightmares but after witnessing them with his own eyes, even standing up against one of them once in the battle of his life, Mark noticed that they were not as terrible as he’d guessed. Though they look human, they no longer have the sense of smell as they used to and they simply move based on instincts, triggered by the movements of their prey. But they’re freakishly strong and fast, and even though Mark’s pretty capable of handling his own fight during high school, these creatures can easily break his arm and leg at the same time before Mark can even begin. So he survives by keeping a safe distance, shooting them in the heads or right in their hearts—because those two are their only weaknesses—before they even notice him being there and just does his best to hide during night time.

Mark breathes in and curls his fingers tightly around his handgun. It’s really a blessing, he supposes, that he managed to find a handgun with enough amount of bullets in the drawer of his neighbour’s house. And he really does thank the Lord for giving him the chance to learn how to hunt birds back when he was young with his father during summer. He may lack physical strength, but he’s fast on his feet and good with his eyes. Combined with luck, it’s the very reason he’s survived all these months by himself.

Mark avoids dark places where the sunlight can’t reach at all cost, so he usually doesn’t barge into a house with wooden boards covering its windows and doors like this but he’s starving and this was the closest place available that he could get on foot. Maybe someone used to live here, hiding from them by making a temporary fortress of their own house.

He tries calling again, hoping that someone is still alive but he huffs in disappointment when nobody answers. “Better luck next time, Mark.”

He carefully looks around, making sure he’s safe and alone in the house as he steps toward the kitchen. When he’s certain that everything is under control, he places his gun on the kitchen’s counter and begins to check the drawers, taking every canned food and water bottle he can find into his backpack. He’s so happy to finally find something he’s been dying to drink—a canned watermelon juice—when an arm suddenly circles around his neck and a tip of a spear point knife pressed against his throat.

“Don’t move.”

It takes a few seconds for Mark’s brain to process that it’s a human voice and it’s already sending a relieved, almost joyful feeling all over his body before it finally sinks that this human is now about to slice his throat open with his knife.

“Don’t you think it’s impolite to barge into someone’s house and steal their food?” The human—a man with a voice sounding young enough to be around his age or perhaps younger—asks with a poisonous tone laced on his tongue. “Step away from the counter.”

But despite his snarky tone, Mark can tell he’s nervous from the way he breathes rather raggedly behind him. Mark has learned some basic hand-to-hand combat techniques during his scouting days and he figures he knows how to struggle himself free. He’s just lacking some practices, that’s all.

Well, there’s always a first for everything.

Elbowing the other man hard on the stomach, Mark dips his head down, freeing himself from the other man’s hold and lurches forward to snatch back his gun. Mark already has his gun in his hand but the man steps faster before he can point it to his face. He knees Mark on his stomach, pushing the air out of his lungs and shoves him down to the floor, face first. He punches the gun out of his hand, turns Mark’s body around and straddles him by the waist. Grabbing him by the collar of his black shirt, he lifts Mark’s head high enough in the air so they’re face-to-face.

“Do you want to die, you little shit?!” He screams, knife pressing hard against Mark’s throat that it begins to draw blood. Mark winces from the pain but he takes a moment to see the other man’s face.

He’s young, probably is younger than he is, with a mop of messy ash grey with new brown strands growing at the roots. He has his bangs falling over his big, round chocolate dark eyes. His skin is sun-kissed, and though he sprouts expletives from his mouth, his voice is thin and a bit high-pitched. His features are a bit soft compared to his attitude, and it’s the way he stares at him that stops Mark from moving.

This young man looks terrified beyond belief.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, and he genuinely does feel so. “I wasn’t aware that someone was in the house.”

“I think I made that clear before when I told you to not fucking move.”

“You’re right. I guess my instincts just kicked in. Wouldn’t you have done the same thing, though?”

He opens his mouth to retort but loses his words, and Mark smiles a little at him, earning a low growl and another shout from the other man. “Don’t you get all smart with me. Come here!”

Mark is being dragged down across the room by the back of his shirt, until the man finds himself a rope and ties Mark’s hands together behind his back. He pushes Mark down to the floor, tucks his knife safely to the back of his jeans and stares down at him with cautious eyes.

“Who are you?”

“Mark Lee.”

“You’re weak and skinny as fuck. How are you still alive?”

“I don’t know. Lucky, I guess?”

“Lucky—“ He seems shocked at the nonchalant shrug Mark is showing him. “You’ve never met any of them, have you?”

“You mean other people?”

“You know what I mean.”

Of course Mark knows what he’s referring to. He just doesn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t go out at night,” he says, slightly shivering at the thought of doing so.

“No shit, Sherlock,” He mocks, squatting in front of him so they’re eye-to-eye. “Now if I haven’t made it clear before, this house is too small for both of us. I suggest you leave.”

That’s a generous offer considering Mark did barge in without permission to steal his things, but it’s been so long for Mark to finally see another human—one that does not bleed from their face or tries to eat him alive inch by inch—so he stays still and just gazes at him.

“What are you looking at, you little shit?”

“Are you alone?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you want to come together with me?” Mark asks, and before the other man looks disgusted with his generous offer, he adds, “Judging by the food you have left, you can only stay here for three days at most.”

“Longer than if I come with you, I’m sure.”

“Fair enough,” Mark chuckles and he’s surprised by his own voice. “But you never know, though. We’re stronger in numbers.”

“We’ll be targeted more in numbers.”

“I know how to hide,” Mark assures, and it sounds like a promise, which again, kind of surprises him. “I can keep you safe.”

“I literally just whooped your ass.”

“But I’ve survived this far. Trust me. It’s better if we stick together.”

It’s perhaps the certain, confident look in Mark’s eyes that makes the other man contemplates in silence, or maybe just something else entirely because he asks, “What kind of shit have you been through?”

Mark blinks. “Just like everybody else, I suppose.”

Mark can tell that he doesn’t agree with what he says, nor does he trust him, but Mark smiles again at him and asks, “Can you tell me your name? Or should I start calling you ‘little shit’ as well?”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” The man sighs, running a hand through his hair. It looks kind of fluffy, Mark notices, like a furry dog’s coat, as if he washes his hair regularly. And maybe he does, judging by the honey-like scent that comes from him. That’s probably why he lost the battle. He was distracted. “Just call me Haechan.”

“That’s your real name?”

“That’s just how they call me.” He glooms a bit. “Used to, anyway.”

“Well, you can call me Mark.”

“Nah, I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘little shit’.”

“You’re not very cute, are you?” Mark throws back his words at him.

“I’ll grow on you,” he replies, smirking at him and Mark feels dazed for a second—maybe because he got his head slammed against the floor earlier. Maybe.

“All right, Haechannie. Can I call you that?” Haechan grimaces but Mark continues nonetheless. “Haechannie, if it’s okay with you, I’m starving.”

Haechan stands up, looking at him with a bewildered look on his face. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

***

It’s funny how different it is to make friends during the time when everything is okay compared to when it’s at the end of the world but Mark is enjoying Haechan’s company more than he thought he would. It’s true that he’s not the easiest person to be friends with but when you haven’t met someone alive for months, you’d take anyone you could get—even if that person is a devil in disguise who practically spits fire every time he talks.

Haechan, Mark learns after spending an entire week with him, is the type of person who says mean things but doesn’t really mean it. Who laughs when he’s hurting inside. Who bites back with venom when someone insults him in the slightest way. But also, who sees and cares deeply for others even when he, himself, is needing help.

Mark can tell with the way Haechan secretly throws a blanket over him whenever Mark falls deep asleep on the couch. Or with the way he casually glides a warm cup of coffee down the table for Mark to catch every morning. Or simply by saying, “Watch your steps,” or “Be careful, you idiot,” whenever Mark goes out of the house to find some food and supplies during the day.

After three more days have passed, Mark insists for both of them to move out and Haechan finally agrees, saying, “I hate this house anyway,” even though his eyes do a double-take before he closes the front door.

“Is this your house?” Mark finally asks and he feels sorry for dragging him along like this but it’s for the sake of their safety.

Haechan, to Mark’s surprise, shakes his head and only mumbles, “Just had some memory with it.”

Mark slings an arm around his shoulders. “Then let’s just make another one. A much more fun one.”

Haechan smiles, but it’s bitter.

***

“I can’t believe you’ve never even tried to drive a car,” Haechan says, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple as he tries to hotwire a car. His black sleeveless shirt is sticking to his skin, and his plump cheeks are painted with tints of red from the heat. Mark has to remind himself to look away before he stares too long at how the muscles on his upper arm flex whenever he hammers a flathead screwdriver into a keyhole.

They had to choose between an Audi and a Wrangler, and Mark loved the Audi and Haechan probably did too but he always picked the opposite of Mark’s choice to spite him so they ended up with an eight-year-old Wrangler with a lot of scratches on the side.

“Well, I love walking.”

“What a load of bullshit, Mark.”

“What—it’s true! And also, it’s expensive, okay? I don’t steal expensive things. It makes me feel guilty.” Mark tries to add some common sense which makes Haechan roll his eyes in return. “Besides, I don’t have a driving license yet.”

“Neither do I, wimp, but I still drive.” He chucks out his screwdriver with a proud smirk on his face. The car’s engine is running loud—too loud for Mark’s liking but as long as it’s daylight, they should be fine.

“Driving without a license is irresponsible.” Mark puts his seatbelt on as he sits next to him on the front seat with his backpack tucked between his legs. “And dangerous.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right, I better stop before I get arrested by the nonexistent police officers around here.”

Mark sighs. There’s no winning an argument against this kid. They bicker more often than not, and just when they reach the end of their bickering, they will bicker again over a new topic and it really just goes endlessly but Mark is enjoying every second of it.

Haechan drives like a mad man to the point that Mark has to close his eyes and swallow the vomit that’s about to erupt from his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Haechan-ah, shouldn’t you slow down a bit?!”

“Why, because there’s traffic ahead?” Haechan snickers, turning the car window next to him all the way down and smiling as the wind ruffles his hair. “Loosen up a little, Canada, you need to live and enjoy the moment.”

Mark wheezes and almost faints when Haechan suddenly makes a u-turn just for fun before he steps on the gas again, blasting through the empty road. They’re now crossing the Seongsu Bridge, which overlooks the infamous Han River and weirdly enough, the entire place is empty—not even one car in sight—and Mark remembers how the government tried to isolate the country and lock people in their own houses to contain the outbreak. That’s probably why.

“I am trying to live,” Mark says as he clutches his seatbelt tightly with both hands. “Which is the more reason why you should be care—BRAKES, HIT THE BRAKES!”

And Haechan does, almost at the last moment before their jeep jumps into the river. The rest of the bridge has collapsed and Haechan was too busy looking at how clear and big the river was to notice the part where they’re about to fall off the edge.

Well, fuck, Mark thinks, so this is why there are no cars around.

Mark looks at Haechan with the most menacing, sadistic glare he’s ever made in his life. The younger man, in return, only grins mischievously and says, “Oops?”

They begin their search for a place to stay with Mark sitting behind the wheel this time. Haechan constantly whines and whines and whines about his driving not because he’s bad at it—he’s actually pretty good though Haechan won’t admit—but because he’s too fucking slow.

“Who the fuck drives twenty miles-per-hour on an empty street?!”

“People who nearly died from driving too fast, that’s who.”

“I hate you.”

“I’ll grow on you.”

They take a stop at the gas station to fill up the tank and Haechan steals three bags of Cheetos, four bottles of beer for himself and one bottle of mineral water for Mark because you’re the designated driver and Mark punches him on the shoulder.

***

“This house is nice.” Haechan settles down on the leather-clad sofa, throwing his bag on the floor and propping his legs on the table. “I think we should just stay here and never move out. Ever.”

It is a nice house. It’s not particularly huge, and it doesn’t have a second floor or a balcony which is completely fine. It’s safer that way, and it also has a basement with a comfy couch, a pile of board games, and a wine cellar. They can really use that to hide during critical moments, but he better checks it thoroughly first because again, those… things really enjoy dark places.

“We’ll see about that,” Mark responses, exhaling in relief when he’s sure that the place is safe. No zombies in sight. No trace of blood or human flesh. Just a nice, warm house with ultra-wide flat-screen TV and the latest version of PlayStation. Yeah, they probably should just stay here forever.

“Haechannie,” Mark starts but finishes early when he sees the young man sleeping with his puffy lips slightly parted. Mark smiles, he must’ve been so tired. They have been wandering for hours after all, trying to look for the best place to stay. But the sun is setting, and they have to cover all the windows and the doors to make sure that the zombies won’t be able to hear their voices or see their movements during the night.

“Haechannie,” Mark says, softer this time as he leans closer. “Haechan-ah, wake up. We still have work to do.”

There’s this sound that Haechan makes, somewhere between a soft moan and a sultry whine, that makes Mark feel a bit weird but he pushes the thoughts to the back of his head when Haechan slowly opens his eyes.

“Ugh,” he says, yawning, “You again.”

And Mark chuckles a bit. “Sorry, were you expecting someone else?” It was supposed to be a joke, but Haechan freezes at his words. “Haechannie?”

“What?” He asks, trying to act as normal as possible but Mark catches on. “Stop calling my name like that, it’s gross.” He stands up before Mark can blurt anything else and immediately says, “Come on, start working. I wanna sleep early.”

They sleep in different rooms like always, only this time, Mark spends his night staring at the ceiling and wonders whether he said something wrong earlier. But no matter how much he visited his memory and replayed the conversation, he still couldn’t find his fault. He remembered the hurting look Haechan had on his face, though, and it bothered him so much that he began to lose sleep.

The next morning, Mark feels even worse not solely because he didn’t catch much rest but because Haechan looks like he’s been crying himself to sleep.

“Are you okay?” Mark asks, staring at the other man’s face as if Haechan is about to turn into a zombie.

“Are you okay?” Haechan is clearly trying to distract Mark away from him. “You look like you haven’t slept for years.”

“I was…” Mark fumbles with his words. “Distracted, I guess.”

“With what?”

He doesn’t answer and Haechan spends a few seconds analyzing him before he finally sighs and grumbles, “I guess we both have secrets. I’m gonna make some pancakes. Want some?”

Mark lightly nods though his heart still lays heavy in his chest. But if there are things he can’t tell, then maybe Haechan does too. Maybe all they need is time.

But time is limited in this world, even more so than before.

***

“Have you taken a shower yet?” Haechan asks with a towel hanging around his neck. His hair is damp and he sniffles with his nose slightly red from the cold. “No, wait, let me rephrase that. Have you ever taken a shower?”

Mark begins to count the little holes on the wooden floor underneath his feet to avoid looking at the way Haechan’s jeans are hanging dangerously low on his hips, or the droplets of water that drips from his chin to his bare chest.

“Get dressed, Haechan-ah, aren’t you cold?”

“No, the heater is on.” But he still sniffs as he picks up his hoodie. “Look, I know I’ve been calling you little shit but that doesn’t give you the authority to actually smell like one.”

“Huh,” Mark takes a hold of his shirt, sniffing against the fabric. “Wow, I do kind of smell.”

“Kind of? I’m shocked that these zombies haven’t found us already from how god awful you smell.”

“Don’t call them zombies, you’re being rude.”

“What the fuck do you call them?”

“Sick people?”

“Jesus Christ, I literally can’t with you.” He sits down next to him on the other side of the couch, pressing his back against the furniture and stares at the ceiling. “What are we having for breakfast today?”

“Canned food.”

“Dinner?”

“Canned food.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Wait, I think we can eat…” Mark doesn’t finish right away, making sure that Haechan has a hopeful look blossoming on his face. When he does, he finishes with, “Canned food.”

“Aaaaaah~” He whines in the way Haechan always whines which sounds kind of childish but endearing to Mark’s ears. “I’m so tired of having fucking canned foods every day!”

“Be grateful that we have food.”

“I’d be more grateful if we have real food. Can’t you make yourself useful for once and cook something?”

“We don’t really have the ingredients.”

“Then I guess, we’re going shopping.” Haechan huffs before he glances at the slightly taller man. “After you take a goddamn shower.”

Mark can no longer remember when was the last time he took a shower—and a nice, warm one at that—so he almost weeps in joy when the warm droplets rain down on him, washing all the dust and fatigue away from his body. He stands still, enjoying the warmth before he reaches out for some soap and lathers it down his skin. He notices he has some bruises along his arm from where he tripped down the stairs yesterday, trying to help Haechan carry a medium-sized cupboard to cover the front door. I can’t believe you couldn’t even keep yourself up even when I’m practically handling all the weight, Haechan scolded him with both hands on his hips and it makes him smile at the thought.

But the bruises remind him of the pain he felt and pain reminds him of his mother. Of the way she suddenly jolted her eyes awake after five days had passed. Of the way she bared her teeth, lurched herself toward him, and tried to bury her fangs and peel the skin off his body. Of the way he shook in horror, screaming in pain and the way he begged her to stop.

And of the way he sank the kitchen’s knife to her chest and kept it that way until she stopped moving.

“What took you so long?” Haechan asks when Mark finally steps outside the bathroom after half an hour has passed. He observes the look on his face before he adds, “How can you look even shittier after taking a shower? Your eyes are swollen.”

Mark rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah, I kinda cried while in there.”

“Because the shower was so good?”

“Sure.”

And Haechan doesn’t contribute any further, perhaps because of the way Mark looks like it’s something private they should both leave out of the conversation. Or maybe Haechan simply doesn’t care, Mark can’t be sure.

Mark doesn’t recognize the neighbourhood they’re in, so he lets Haechan leads the way to the nearest supermarket. The morning sun is warm on his skin, the leaves on the trees are turning orange and Mark can finally smell autumn after so long. He has grown tired of summer. It’s about damn time.

“Oh, I actually know this place,” Mark mentions, as they park their car a few feet away from the building.

“Congratulations, you just won at life,” Haechan utters flatly, taking three sheathed knives from his backpack and places them around the belt of his jeans.

“Must you be so rude all the time?”

“Just messing with you, Canada. Chill.”

“Why don’t you take any guns with you?”

“Because guns run out of bullets pretty fast. And these,” he stops with a smirk on his face, twirling a pocket knife around his fingers, “don’t.”

“Can you teach me sometimes how to use that?”

“And what do you have to offer, may I ask?”

Mark contemplates in silence. He really doesn’t have anything that might interest him, so he decides to joke about it. “My body?”

To his surprise, Haechan’s eyes grow wide and he doesn’t speak a word and it’s so weird because it’s supposed to be a fucking joke.

“I… I was just—” Mark splutters, blushing at his own antic. “I was just kidding.”

“It’s not funny, Mark.”

“Sorry.”

And Haechan lets out the loudest sigh ever before he steps down the car, leaving Mark inside looking like a goddamn idiot that he is.

“Okay, so,” Haechan straightens his posture, standing in front of the entrance door with his machete lays firmly on his hand. “Do we need a plan?”

“I still think this is a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on, Mark,” Haechan whines. “Yes, I know we can barely get any sunlight inside the store but we’re not going to take long. We’ll just grab some things and run back here. Even if there are zombies in there, they’ll be burnt to a crisp the second we’re outside.”

“But—”

“Marrrrkkkkkk.”

“Okay, okay, fine!” Mark pushes his hair back with one hand in defeat. “I’ll go first,” he says, cocking his handgun. “You watch my back.”

“Why do you have to go first?”

“Because I’m older.”

“But you’re shittier than me.”

“With a gun on my hand? Not as shitty as you’d think.” Mark smirks, and he thinks he sounds cool but by the way Haechan is staring at him, he realizes he’s not. A flashback of Haechan completely overpowering him even when he had his gun came back to his mind and he winces at the thought. “Okay, so, you wanna go first?”

Haechan sighs, taking a step forward. Mark trails after him soon after.

Mark remembers this place, knows every aisle like the back of his hand from how often he accompanied his mother to stock up their groceries every weekend. It doesn’t look like what he’d committed in his memory in the slightest, though. The lights are still on, but they’re flickering here and there and ceramic tiles are mostly covered with liquid stuff coming from bleachers, oils or something Mark can no longer tell. Most of the shelves are empty and a lot of goods are thrown all over the place, but fortunately, they’re not ruined.

Mark analyzes the place as best as he can with Haechan leading the way, doing the same. Everything seems fine and he can see Haechan’s shoulders relaxed a bit after a while. Swirling his knife around his fingers, he says, “I guess we’re alone.”

Mark nods. “All right,” he puts his gun on safety. “Let’s shop.”

Haechan says he wanted to eat some pasta for a change, and Mark follows with a hum. Anything other than canned foods sounds good these days. They stroll around the aisle, taking the necessary ingredients into their bags along with some toiletries and an abundance amount of water bottles.

Mark notices some board games when Haechan is busy flipping through pages of a Playboy magazine and he takes one that suits Haechan’s taste so they can spend more time together.

Mark freezes at the thought. Since when did he begin to want to spend time together with this pain in the ass?

“Yo, little shit,” Haechan calls, and Mark sighs. “Come here for a sec.”

Mark sneaks a glance over Haechan’s shoulders and feels his heart stops for a split second. “That’s—”

“Blood,” Haechan finishes, exchanging glances at him. “We’re not alone.”

Mark is still processing it down when a loud noise suddenly comes from two aisles behind them. With his heart jumping to his throat, Mark keeps his hands steady and points his gun forward. Haechan looms behind him, taking a long knife from the back of his shirt in another hand and stands alert.

“If it’s more than one, we run.”

“Don’t order me around, you little shit.”

But at this point, Mark knows how much Haechan depends on him and will follow his order in a heartbeat, which is kinda cute and reassuring, Mark thinks, as he swallows his breath. He’s prepared for the worst but what comes along is—

“It’s a dog!” Haechan claims, tucking both of his knives back around his belt and squats down on the floor next to Mark. “Come here, boy!”

It’s a Yellow Spitz, Mark notices, or a Nureongi people used to call. It has a short coat with patches of yellow and a melanistic mask on its face. By the sound of Haechan’s call, the dog comes running toward him with its mouth opened wide and its tongue lolling down.

“Ouch!” Haechan is laughing, enjoying the forceful tackle from the excited dog, and rubbing his hands along the fur. “Who’s a good boy?” He asks, rubbing the tip of his nose to the dog’s. “Yes, you are, you are a good boy—wait, no—“ Haechan grimaces when the dog licks his entire face, saliva blabbering over his skin but he laughs it off.

Mark stands on the side with a smile he secretly keeps to himself. He has never seen Haechan looking so young and open, like a child on his first trip, and it amuses him. “I didn’t know you could look like this,” he comments. “You should smile more often. It’s cute.”

Mark’s a bit taken by the look that fleets across Haechan’s face for a split second, and he swears that he just saw him blush but it’s too short to be sure about it.

“Maybe if you grow some fur, I will,” Haechan merely comments before he sticks his tongue out at him.

Mark only playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“Can we keep him?” Haechan’s asks as he cups the dog’s face and nuzzles their noses together. “You are so cute!”

“No. What happens if he barks?”

“But he doesn’t bark.” The dog suddenly barks two times and Haechan immediately wraps his fingers along its jaw to keep its mouth shut. “Or I can just do this whenever he does.” The dog growls, trying to wiggle itself away from Haechan’s grip. It suddenly looks nervous, almost terrified.

“Haechan,” Mark insists, “He’ll only attract attention. You know we can’t—”

“MARK, WATCH OUT—”

It happens so fast that by the time he realizes what’s happening, Mark is already on the ground, his back pressed against the ceramic floor with a zombie on top of him, baring his teeth and clawing at his skin. It’s in the form of a middle-aged man, in a cashier uniform with cloudy white eyes and dark veins covering his skin.

Luckily, Mark already has his hands in front of him, pushing that thing as far away as he could manage but it’s too strong. The zombie roars, spraying saliva mixed with blood onto his face and Mark immediately throws his head to the side. “Fuck!” He hisses, kicking it several times with his knee but it won’t budge, until suddenly a knife makes it way to its head, pushing through its brain and ending its life for good.

Haechan stares at Mark with horrified eyes, before he kneels down in front of him and immediately checks his face.

“Did you get his blood in your mouth?!” He asks frantically, worried to death by the look of it, almost like it was him who just got sprayed with zombie’s blood.

“I don’t think I did,” Mark says, still feeling quite dizzy.

“Spit it out!” Haechan shakes him desperately by the shoulders. “Spit everything out! Now!”

Mark doesn’t understand why he’s so afraid—because aren’t they both supposed to be immune to the virus?—but spits out a few times just in case. He rubs the back of his hand against his mouth before he turns toward the other man. “Thanks for saving me.”

And Mark thought that Haechan was going to sigh loudly at him and call him an idiot little shit for a few times on their way home, but what he does is lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around Mark’s shoulders.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs almost in a whisper, before he pulls back, clears his throat and adds, “You little shit. You’re lucky you have me saving your ass.”

Well, Mark supposes, he’s partially right about his thought. “I am.”

Haechan blushes again, but he doesn’t let Mark see.

“Come on, we should get under the sun,” Haechan says, offering a hand which Mark gladly takes. “If there are more of them, we should be safe as long we’re outside.”

“Still want to take that dog with you?”

“Shut up, little shit.”

***

“Come on, you have to pick truth,” Mark says, with a guitar on his lap, playing random chord that matches Haechan’s hums. It’s still two hours away before the sun sets and they have been spending the entire day just lounging around watching old movies and playing stupid board games. “It’s called Truth or Dare for a reason, Haechannie, and I’m already out of ideas of what kind of dare you should do because apparently, you have no fear—or shame for that matter—when it comes to it.”

“You’re just not creative enough,” Haechan says, smirking to himself because he’s undefeated when it comes to taking a dare. Whenever Mark tries to humiliate him, it ends up with Haechan humiliating him instead. “Okay, fine, truth it is. Give it to me, you little shit.”

“You do realize that I’m your hyung, right?”

“Well, then, give it to me, Little Shit-hyung.” Haechan snickers and Mark throws his shoe at him.

“When’s your birthday?” Mark asks, munching a chocolate cookie.

“That’s your question?” Haechan exclaims. “Shit, Mark, I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I just want to know you better!” Mark laughs when Haechan starts throwing Cheetos at him. “What is so wrong with that? You know you’d never tell me these things if I didn’t force you to do it.”

“Fine, geez,” Haechan succumbs, “Sixth of June.”

“Wait, let me put that in real quick.” Mark takes out his cellphone from the pocket of his jeans. It can no longer make calls or surf the internet, but it can come in handy to keep himself on track with dates and times. “Sixth of June,” he mutters to himself as he taps his thumb on his phone screen.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m adding your birthday to my calendar.”

“Yes, I know, Mark.” Haechan rolls his eyes impatiently. “I mean, why?”

“Why?” Mark laughs a bit, looking at him bewilderedly. “‘Cause we’re friends, you idiot.”

“We are?” Haechan dramatically gasps, which earns him a kick on the knee and he whines loudly about it.

“I just think we should celebrate it together,” Mark continues without a care. “Well, starting next year anyway, since we’ve both passed our birthdays by now. One sec.” He holds up a finger, running his thumb on his screen again. “Sixth of June. Little Shit’s birthday. And save.”

Haechan glares but doesn’t make any remark on it. “What’s there to celebrate about?” He questions flatly. “The world is ending, if you haven’t noticed.”

“And that’s your reason to not celebrate birthdays?” Mark snorts. “I know you’re boring but I never thought you’d be this boring.”

“I am going to strangle you.”

Mark kicks him playfully on the knee again and they begin to wrestle until they become hungry. After quickly heating up some leftovers from the night before, they head toward their bedrooms.

“Stay quiet, little shit,” Haechan says, as he leans against his doorframe. “And if you’re gonna jack off—“

Mark throws a pillow on his face. “Just go to bed!”

“Okay, okay,” Haechan chuckles. “See you soon, Mark.”

“See you soon, Haechannie.”

Before Mark knows it, those words they say to each other become some kind of habit that they do every night. And the more they say them, the more they become like a promise for one another. It’s something that Mark needs, he realizes, because now he has someone to look forward to see in the morning. Someone with smiles as warm as the sun. And Mark can forget, at least for now, the fact that he’d lost everything and try to stay alive for another day.

***

Autumn is about to end and the weather is terrible for Mark during the night, as he can barely stand cold. He can turn on the heater, of course, but it will probably make too much noise so both he and Haechan agree to just slip under the duvet, and wrap as many blankets as they can find around their bodies.

Mark jolts awake when he hears his bedroom door being opened with a soft creak. His ears are now trained to keep himself alert at night, even with the slightest sound. He has one leg down the bed, ready to do whatever it takes to survive if a zombie comes barging in. His handgun lays safely under his pillow and it will only take a second for him to grab it. He had tampered his window with wood boards on the first day they’d settled here, but the moonlight still somehow sneaks in between the tiny spaces, giving very little light into the room but it’s enough for Mark to notice that it’s only Haechan, standing with his pillow pressed against his chest, a blanket around his body, and a pale look on his face.

What happened? Mark asks, moving his hands and fingers in a sign language they have both learned to survive. Is something wrong?

I can’t sleep. Haechan says, and Mark can’t really tell within the darkness of the room whether it’s a blush appearing on his cheeks or it’s just the moonlight playing tricks on him. Can I stay here with you?

Mark nods, and Haechan walks close, settling himself down on the carpeted floor next to the bed. Mark taps his shoulder and when Haechan looks over, he nudges his head toward the bed.

Come up. It’s cold.

Haechan nibbles on his bottom lip, hesitation in his eyes, but he finally stands up and wiggles himself under the blanket. Mark scoots over to give him as much space as he can, and they both end up staring at the ceiling, awkwardness and silence filling the air.

It seems like a minute has passed by but it feels like forever and Mark is about to throw up from how fast his heart is beating and he’s asking himself why the fuck am I feeling like this when Haechan suddenly turns over to his side and whispers his name.

Mark can feel his own body stiffen but he tries his best to relax. He turns to his side as well, facing him. “Hmm?”

“Can I move closer?” He asks and Mark’s stomach does a flip. “So I can hear you better, I mean.”

“S-sure.”

And Haechan moves close—close enough for Mark to breath in his scent, to know that he uses the same shampoo as he does even though there are three different kinds of bottles in the bathroom, and it somehow smells way better on him and Mark doesn’t know what to do with it but it distracts him so much.

“You okay?” Haechan’s voice is soft and lacks the usual snarky tone he usually laces his sentence with. Mark nods, a bit shakily and the younger man giggles quietly. “I know it’s uncomfortable sharing a bed with another dude but bear with me this time, will ya?”

“It’s…” Somehow, Mark’s throat feels like burning. “It’s not uncomfortable.”

Something gleams in Haechan’s eyes and Mark has to look somewhere else so he doesn’t fall deeper into that pair of chocolate brown eyes more than he already does.

“So, uhh,” Mark clears his throat. It’s weird that even when he’s whispering, his voice still breaks from how nervous he is. “Is there a particular reason why you can’t sleep?”

“Why so formal, Mark Lee.” Haechan snorts. “Must there be a particular reason for us to sleep together?”

Mark almost chokes at Haechan’s poor choice of words. Almost.

“How many hours left till dawn?”

“Umm,” Mark checks his phone, making sure he covers the light with his pillow. “It’s actually around two hours from now.”

“Well then, you’ve slept enough,” Haechan says, propping his chin on the pillow as he stares at him. “Accompany me till morning?”

“Sure, why not.”

And so he does, exchanging whispers in the dark and changing topics from one nonsense to another. Talking with Haechan is relaxing, Mark notices, though more often than not, it ends with an argument but he enjoys arguing with him. It feels like he’s learning more about him, more about the real Haechan—the one who is acting almost as young as a child—and not whatever it is he’s trying his best to be. And Mark is always happy to learn something new because he’s been studying Haechan’s figure over and over for the last few days and it’s tiring to be distracted by the shape of his pretty lips, or the cute tiny mole he has on his neck, or the sway of his hips when he walks.

“Are you sleepy?” Haechan asks after silence starts to grow within them and Mark curses inwardly. How the hell can I sleep when I’m so distracted with the way I can feel your breath on my neck is what he has in mind but on the outside, he just gives a nonchalant shrug and says, “Not really.”

“Good then.” Mark swears he can feel Haechan’s smile in his words and he can also feel the way he snuggles a tad closer, seeking his warmth. “Hey, Mark?” Mark hums in response. “How come you’re alone? I mean, someone as nice and frail as you can only live so long in a world like this without company.”

“I’m not sure whether you want to compliment me or insult me.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

It’s sincere and genuine, the way Haechan says it, and Mark raises an eyebrow, finally looking into his eyes again. “That’s a first. I thought you didn’t care about me.”

It’s Haechan’s turn to break off their gazes. “Believe me, I don’t. It’s just out of curiosity. Wha—is it so wrong? Stop looking at me like that!”

Mark bites his bottom lip to contain his laughter. “You’re cute.”

“Shut up!”

“Well, if you’re so curious about it,” Mark teases and Haechan pushes his palm against his face to wipe off his grin. Mark wraps his fingers around Haechan’s wrist to keep him away but he holds it a little bit longer than he’s supposed to before he lets go.

“I was staying with my parents when the outbreak happened,” Mark begins, locking his eyes at the ceiling and he can feel Haechan’s gaze scanning his face but he doesn’t dare to look. “Someone near my house got infected, and it traveled so fast that by the time I realized that the virus was airborne, people were already dying. And I—” Mark stops to take a breath, closing his eyes for a moment as the flashback hits him like a wave.

Haechan doesn’t say a word, but he reaches out to tangle his fingers around his under the blanket and Mark blinks at the touch before he smiles to himself.

“I watched my dad died,” Mark finally says, and it’s easier than he expected to be, probably because Haechan’s warmth is seeping into his skin. “It happened so fast. He was sitting on the dining table, already looking pale because of cancer that took him apart day by day, but the second he got infected, it was like something was exploding within him. And I watched him crumble, watched him reaching out to me for help and I just stood there. Watching him.”

Haechan holds his hand tighter. “There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

Mark smiles weakly at him. “Thanks. I just wish I did something for him, you know? Like, hold his hand and tell him I love him, or something.”

“You were stunned.”

“I was just weak and afraid.” Mark unconsciously curls his fingers a bit harder that Haechan begins to wince but he doesn’t say anything about it. “I was so afraid that I’d die, just like him. It was until I found out I was immune that I began to cry and regret the whole thing. I’m the worst, aren’t I?”

Haechan shakes his head, whispering, “I would’ve done the same. Maybe even worse,” he adds a chuckle and it’s so genuine that Mark begins to feel like the heavy pain in his chest is being lifted little by little. “And your mom? What happened to her?”

It’s the question he’s been dreading the most but Haechan’s voice is silky smooth in his ears, and his touch is scorching against his skin, and as Mark breathes in his scent, everything becomes clear.

There’s a first for everything.

“My mom—” It still feels like he’s suffocating, so he intertwines his fingers with Haechan’s a little better to distract him from the pain. “When she got infected, she fell into a deep sleep. Like she went into a coma or something. And I was relieved because I thought she was going to wake up and smile at me again. I thought that her body was healing. I didn’t realize that she was… turning.”

Haechan’s breathing is steady while Mark’s is catching fire. “Mark, look at me.” And when Mark is too lost in his own thoughts, Haechan cups his cheek and forces him to look at him. “You’re okay. You’re with me now.”

Mark’s eyes are shaking but he gradually finds back his pace, finally able to catch his own breath. “I’m with you now,” he whispers back and Haechan smiles.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” Haechan says, rubbing comforting circles on the side of Mark’s face with his thumb. “And I kinda have a hunch on where this story is going.”

“You—“ Mark wets his lips. “You do?”

Haechan’s gaze is intense but gentle enough to wash Mark’s anxiety away. “All I have to say is,” Haechan starts, “We all have our sins. What you did was based on instinct. You were trying to protect yourself. Anyone would’ve done the same thing so stop blaming yourself.”

Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until Haechan wipes a tear away from his cheek. “You’re innocent, Mark Lee,” he assures, smiling at him. “You’re just living in a shitty world, that’s all.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mark says, smiling a little to himself as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, washing all of his tears away. “Who are you and what have you done to my snarky-ass Haechan?”

“Your Haechan?”

Mark blushes. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Haechan’s eyes gleam in a teasing manner. “What way then?”

Mark clears his throat. Hopefully, the night can cover how nervous he looks right now. “So, what about you?” He begins, putting his best effort to change topics. “What kind of sins have you committed that you start getting nightmares at night?”

The easy-going, reassuring facade Haechan tries to put on all night falters within an instant and this time, in the darkness and the silence of this room, he chooses to be honest.

“No,” he starts, exhaling heavily. “Nightmares happen only when you’re asleep. What I have happens when I’m awake.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s not something I want,” he murmurs quietly. “But I guess, it’s something I need. Otherwise, I’ll go crazy. I am going crazy.” He locks their gazes together, smiling like he’s on the verge of crying. “Would you mind hearing me out?”

Mark will listen as if his life depends on it and he promises him that in his heart. He nods.

“Promise you won’t judge me?”

Another nod.

“Promise you won’t leave me behind?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Haechan still looks unsure, but the more he takes in Mark’s feature and every detail of his expression, the more he wants to let go—to finally succumb to his sin, to hear someone say, “It’s okay, I forgive you. We all have our sins. We are not different.”

So in shaky whispers, he begins to tell the story and Mark listens.

Haechan was not alone before he met Mark. He had a family. He had a sister, only younger than he was by two years, and he’d loved her. He’d loved her so much that when his parents started to collapse, he took a hold of her hand and drag her to run without looking back even when his mother was still screaming his name, asking him for help. He knew it was too late to save them, but saving his sister was not.

Her sister, just like him, was also immune to the virus and Haechan thought everything was fine. They could still live and be happy together. So they began to wander during the day, and hugged each other to sleep during the night at an abandoned house, sharing headphones to mute down the snarling sounds of the creatures lurking around under the moonlight. They were okay. They were alive.

Until one day, when Haechan was too busy getting supplies from the kitchen, her sister wandered by herself toward the basement of a new house they found. Haechan didn’t know about it, wasn’t careful enough to check, and when he heard her scream, he realized it was too late.

There was a zombie, trapped inside the basement that crawled out when she opened the door. It was so fast, jumping on top of her and ripping the skin on her arm with its teeth. Haechan was so frantic that he began to stab it multiple times on the face, tearing its face apart again and again and again until his sister embraced him from behind and begged him to stop. Haechan held her in his arms like he’d never held anyone before and he thanked God for letting her stay alive, though badly injured.

Because he thought her injury would heal.

He thought she wouldn’t get infected because she was immune.

But when she became paler and paler with more days passing by, Haechan began to worry. Her skin began to rot little by little, and her stench was so strong that Haechan began to hold his breath whenever she was close. Black veins were creeping up her skin and she lost her beautiful brown eyes soon after, having them changed into a pair of cloudy white eyes.

Haechan was so afraid by the look of her that he began to apologize. Sorry, I’m sorry, please forgive me, he said again and again as he wrapped a scarf around her mouth, stopping her from calling his name. She was begging for him to spare her life and yet he held his knife firmly with both of his shaking hands, and he plunged it toward her chest.

She died in his hands, along with a part of him.

“She was still human when I killed her,” Haechan confesses, his voice quivering. “She kept asking me why, why are you doing this but I kept going. I can still remember how warm her blood was on my hands. I was so afraid. I was so afraid of her.”

Mark does not speak during his story and he finds himself lost for words when Haechan grows quiet. The silence is deafening and he knows he should say something, anything, but he’s busy trying to understand the look on Haechan’s face.

Their breathing matches each other’s and Haechan quietly laughs, “You know, it’s weird. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry but—”

And he breaks apart in the way Mark never sees anyone does.

Haechan’s whole body shakes as he gives his best effort to muffle his scream by biting his lower lip hard enough to the point it almost draws blood. He covers his face with both hands, sobbing furiously to his palms and even if he tries his best to be quiet, Haechan is still making noise.

And Mark wonders whether it’s because of that very reason of survival or it’s just really something he’s been wanting to do every time Haechan beams at him with that blazing smile of his, but he finds himself reaching forward, tangling his fingers around the strands of Haechan’s hair and pulls the other boy forward until their lips meet in a frantic kiss.

Haechan’s eyes grow wide for a good couple of seconds and Mark finally comes back to his senses when he notices the way the other boy stiffens in his arms. Haechan has momentarily stopped crying due to the sudden surprise, though the tremor of his previous sobs is still there and he’s looking at Mark with these huge, mesmerizing round eyes, with nothing but confusion and shock on his face, and Mark begins to ask himself what the fuck did I just do.

“Fuck, I—” Mark has never struggled this hard to find the right word in his entire life. “I didn’t know why—”

But he probably doesn’t need to say anything, because Haechan is taking the rest of his sentence into his own mouth, and tasting Mark’s feelings directly with his tongue. He’s being forceful, pulling Mark close with all his strength until the other man stumbles upon him and they’re pressed together chest-to-chest. Haechan has his hands circling around the collar of Mark’s shirt, smashing their lips together and they kiss hard and fast, tasting each other’s—owning each other’s—mouth until Mark is breathing his breath and Haechan is breathing his.

“More,” Haechan gasps, teeth nibbling against Mark’s bottom lip. “More, Mark, please.” And Mark just crumbles, moaning against his mouth and takes every soft whine that comes from Haechan into his memory.

None of them care at this point if they’re being too loud, so it’s really their luck that the sun has risen outside, its light seeping through the window, basking them with warmth but none of them need it. Not with the way Mark is hovering above him, his hands slipping under Haechan’s sweater, running his fingertips along the golden skin and emitting more moans from the other man.

“Haechannie.” Mark has his earlobe between his teeth and he sucks at the soft skin, before peppering kisses down the column of his neck. Haechan arches his back, grinding their hips together and begs him to, “Take my fucking clothes off, Mark.”

Clothes are scattered on the floor within an instant, and as Mark sits on his lap just for a few seconds as he pulls his own shirt over his head, Haechan is already latching his mouth on his stomach, licking a stripe up his chest before he pulls Mark down on top of him again.

“I want to feel you,” Haechan breathes out between gasps, “I want to feel all of you.”

“Calm down,” Mark says, softly smiling against his forehead “I’m not going anywhere.”

And they stop just to take a thorough glance at each other’s face now that the light is bright enough for them to see properly. Haechan traces his fingers on the side of Mark’s face, as if he’s a sculpture waiting to be adored, and it takes all the control of his body not to kiss him again right then.

“I’m really glad I met you,” he whispers as he brings his lips to Mark’s, pausing momentarily, just to add, “You little shit.”

And Mark laughs into his mouth but only for a moment before passion starts to take control of him again and he’s moaning, “Haechannie, Haechannie,” directly to his ear as they rock their hips together.

***

It’s already midday when Mark opens his eyes, sitting on his bed with a blank stare as if his soul just left his body. He thinks he just had the most pleasant dream he’s ever witnessed in his twenty-one years of living, but when he notices how his pillow smells like honey, realization hits him like a wave.

It’s not a dream. Haechan was really here.

So he jumps down his bed, trips over his own clothes and swears under his breath as he tries to dress as fast as he can. He stumbles out of his room, running toward the kitchen where he finds Haechan sitting on the kitchen’s counter with his legs dangling in the air.

Haechan’s eyes slightly grow wide at the sight of Mark standing gawkily in front of him with his terrible bed hair, but he quickly gains control of himself. “Morning,” he casually says, raising the red colored mug he always uses, “Coffee?”

Mark curls his fingers around the fabric of his sweat pants. “Okay.”

It’s awkward. It feels so, terribly awkward that they begin to tense every time one of them breathe a little too hard, or sip their coffee a little too loud. Mark is sitting on the opposite of Haechan on the dining table, like how they usually do, but it feels like the earth is about to swallow him whole.

“Haechannie!” Mark begins, a little bit too loud that they both flinch at the sound of his voice. “About last night—I-I mean, this morning—when we—”

“Do you regret it?” Haechan’s voice, unlike Mark, is much steadier, almost too formal, even. But after spending months with him, Mark can tell that he’s about as nervous as he is.

“Reg—no, of course not!” Mark has his eyebrows furrowed together. “Do you?”

Haechan looks away, taking a sip of his coffee as he murmurs quietly. “No.”

And silence comes in again like an old friend and Mark despises it so much because it’s making him insane. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Haechan sighs, scratching the back of his head and Mark finally notices that oh, he’s just embarrassed about it.

“I don’t really know how to face you,” he admits, blush spreading from his cheeks to his ears. “I didn’t think we’d end up that way.”

Mark opens his mouth but unsure of his words. “Then…” he whispers, uncertainly, with throat feels like blazing in flames. “Do you want to pretend it never happened?”

Haechan seems taken aback. Shocked, even, to hear Mark proposing something like that. Scowling a bit, he places his mug on the table with a loud thud and walks closer.

“Haechan—”

His kiss is more teeth than anything else and Mark freezes, not knowing what to do as Haechan climbs into his lap, twisting his hair around his fingers. It’s suffocating, the way Haechan kisses, but Mark likes it so much that he doesn’t mind if Haechan takes all his breath away with his.

After a good minute has passed, with a string of saliva connecting their parting lips, Haechan asks between heavy breaths, “Do you want to pretend this never happened?”

“Fuck no,” Mark replies in an instant and this time, he’s the one who takes Haechan’s breath out of his lungs.

They sleep on the same bed every night but only embrace each other during the day because Mark is getting exceptionally good at it and Haechan is having trouble keeping his moans to himself. They still share kisses in the dark but Mark always places his palm over Haechan’s face and pushes him away whenever it gets too much.

They haven’t moved out of the house even after the season has changed and Mark is getting an eerie feeling of being followed. “They’re triggered by movements and sound,” Haechan comforts him as he sits crossed-legs on the couch with a game controller in his hand, “So as long as we’re dead quiet during the night and stay out of sight, we’ll be fine.”

“You’re right,” Mark agrees, though his heart still feels heavy in his chest. “I don’t know, I just… I can’t help but worry, that’s all.”

“Yes, because that’s you. All you do is worry.”

“I have been doing something else in the last few days, actually,” Mark says, suddenly leaning forward from behind the couch and whispering close to his ear, “Or rather, someone.”

“Fuck you,” Haechan says but his lips are turning into a cheeky grin. “Keep doing that, and I’ll attack you again.”

And Mark teases again because they both know that’s what they want. It’s funny how the world is ending and yet Mark feels like he’s complete. As if everything just fell into places. And seeing Haechan writhe underneath him, as he thrusts in and out, is something he could never even dream to have in his previous life.

Haechan is quite possessive, Mark learns, by the way he nips at the juncture of his neck until purplish bruises bloom along his skin. Mark knows how much Haechan likes to sink his teeth on his shoulder when Mark hits that spot deep inside him, and he loves it when he can make Mark groan at the pain, muttering, “Fuck, that’s so hot—you’re so hot—” before he takes Mark’s bottom lip between his teeth again. It’s as if he wants to make it known to the world that he belongs to him, even when they’re the only two people in the world.

“Donghyuck,” Haechan suddenly says, out of the blue as they share French toasts for breakfast.

“It’s Mark, actually.”

“No,” Haechan laughs, almost spilling his coffee. “My name, you idiot. Lee Donghyuck is my real name.”

“What?!” Mark complains, feeling utterly betrayed. “After all this time, you’re just telling me now?”

“Well, I like the way you say Haechan,” he explains. “So I don’t mind if you call me that. I just thought you should know.”

But Mark is still kind of upset about it and he still does for the rest of the day, until Haechan sits on his lap that afternoon, attempting to wash the pout off his face with something exciting and Mark leaves no time to waste. He calls Haechan’s name—his real name—whenever their hips meet together and Haechan blushes and begs him to stop, telling him it’s weird, but Mark still continues because somehow he can feel Haechan tightening around him when he does and Mark likes to see him crumble into a moaning mess that he is now.

***

“You’re shit at cooking, Mark,” Haechan grumbles with his eyes still bleary from sleep. He stabs his fork not too gracefully to something that Mark called as a decent-looking sunny side up. “Look at this.” He glares at the burnt white egg. “I mean, seriously, what the heck is this?”

“It’s food. Now shut up and eat your breakfast.”

“Okay, Mom.” Haechan rolls his eyes, grimacing dramatically at the man who sits opposite him when the piece of food enters his mouth. “Yuuuuuummmm.”

“Shut up,” Mark shouts but he can’t stop himself from laughing. Haechan is so annoyingly hilarious and he whines about Mark’s cooking every single day but never even tries to offer any help or take charge of the cooking duty for him. Mark never gets upset about it, though, because Haechan looks cute when he pouts and if it takes one plate of his bad cooking to see that adorable pout on his face then Mark will serve his decent-looking sunny side up every day.

They eventually stop conversing to be able to chew on their foods properly and Haechan has his eyes busy scanning the PlayBoy magazine he stole from the supermarket the other day. Mark has his gaze on his plate as he plays with his egg’s yolk using his fork, but his mind is somewhere else.

“Haechannie?”

“Hmm?”

“I think I love you.”

Haechan’s fork flies out of his hand and ends with a clatter on the floor. Mark’s terrible fried egg is still half-chewed on his now half-opened mouth and it’s not an attractive sight in the slightest but Mark looks at him as if he’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I—Y-you—” Haechan, the sharp tongue Haechan, never stutters in his twenty years of living and Mark is somehow proud of himself for being able to drive him to this point. “What the hell are you talking about—why—”

“Because I do.” Mark’s tone is so serious that it feels like he’s reading the news or reading the result of the latest presidential election. “I have been for quite some time. I just wasn’t sure you felt the same so I kind of keep quiet about it.”

And Haechan can only stare, and stare, and stare until he realizes that it’s better to just stay silent and do what his body tells him to do.

Mark is forced to stand on his feet before a pair of plump lips attack his own in a mind-numbing kiss. It’s a bit messy and Haechan tastes like the breakfast he just ate but Mark sighs against his mouth and lets him pull his shirt over his head.

Mark pushes his plate away from the table so Haechan can sit on the edge and tangle his legs around his waist and when it slips down to the floor, porcelain breaking into smaller pieces, he pays no mind because Haechan is now laying down on the dining table with his shirt going up to his chest. He pulls Mark down by the neck, and forcing him to grind his hips against him.

“You’re unbelievable,” Haechan gasps into his mouth, running his teeth along Mark’s lower lip. “Couldn’t you have picked a better moment to say that?”

“Sorry.” Mark’s lips part in a silent moan when Haechan slips a hand underneath his sweat pants and teases him over his underwear. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I woke up and it started driving me insane so I just had to say it.”

“Fuck, Mark, you’re so unfair.” Haechan takes a hold of Mark’s hand, leading him to where he wants to be touched and softly whines when Mark indulges him. “Tell me more,” he gasps, clawing against Mark’s skin as they rub their lengths together. “I want to, ah fuck, hear more, Mark, please.”

And Mark doesn’t hesitate one bit when he praises him, complimenting every little part, every little detail. I love you. I love your honey-like scent. I love your smile, and this mole you have on your neck. I love the way you say my name.

Haechan is powerless under Mark’s words, begging and writhing for Mark to pound into him until he sees stars and Mark is more than eager to comply. I love the way you moan. I love the way you arch your back. I love you, I love seeing you like this. You’re so pretty, Haechannie. So fucking beautiful.

And Haechan comes hard on his stomach with his teeth sinking at the crook of Mark’s neck, muffling his moan and he pushes Mark back to his chair, crawling between his legs and taking Mark deep into his mouth.

“Fuck.” He takes a handful of Haechan’s ash grey hair, slightly thrusting into his warm mouth and whimpers at how sexy Haechan looks on his knees, cheeks hollowing as he sucks him hard and fast. He has surprisingly long eyelashes, Mark admires, with small tears trapped between them from how hard Mark is hitting the back of his throat.

Mark’s about to come undone, low groans appearing at the back of his throat when Haechan suddenly stops and takes him out entirely, only giving kitten licks at the tip. Mark mewls with his eyebrows knitted together, begging Haechan to stop being a fucking tease and Haechan just grins against his skin because that’s simply what he is—a tease—and Mark is conflicted between loving and hating that trait of him at the same time.

Haechan eventually stops torturing him and sucks deep and slow the way he knows Mark would like it until Mark is spouting nonsense from his mouth, pushes himself forward abruptly and comes into his mouth. Haechan exhales heavily as he waits for Mark to finish, enjoying the low grunt he’s emitting before he swallows everything down. A little bit of his essence drips down his chin and Mark immediately apologizes with a stutter, pulling Haechan carefully into his lap and wipes his mouth with gentle strokes of his fingers. “You all right?”

Haechan looks up at him from under his bangs, his eyes half-lidded with lust as he takes two of Mark’s tainted fingers and places them between his lips, licking every bit of him with his tongue. Mark is looking at him with unblinking eyes and jaw hanging slack on his face.

Haechan leans close to embrace him, wrapping his arms around his neck and he sighs, kissing one of Mark’s shoulders. “I love you too,” he whispers and even though Mark can’t see, he dares to bet on his life that Haechan is now blushing mad at his own words. “But don’t get too cocky about it, you little shit.”

Mark chuckles because this is so Haechan. He pulls back so he can look at him in the eyes and Haechan is indeed blushing—even to the tip of his ears. “I won’t,” Mark says, letting his lips linger on his forehead. “I won’t, so stay with me, Haechannie. As long as we’re alive, don’t ever leave me.”

Haechan smiles. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

***

“Okay, ready?” Haechan asks, a knife sits firm on his hand. “On three. One, two, three!”

Mark kicks the front door open, inviting himself to a new house he’s not familiar with. They both run out of food so it’s about time to search around again. It’s the only house in the closest neighbourhood that they haven’t ransacked yet, and it’s because the windows are covered with cardboard, and the sunlight cannot penetrate in. And the number one rule of living in this world is that you have to be in places where the sunlight can reach.

It’s dark inside the house—so, so dark, in fact, that Mark has to place a flashlight in one hand and his gun in the other. “See anything weird?” He asks, as he observes as much as he could himself.

“Nope, they would come out by that ruckus we just made if they were here so I think we’re safe.” Haechan points his finger toward the kitchen. “Jackpot.”

“Stay close to me,” Mark reminds him and they both walk side by side with their weapons still aimed. There’s a window above the kitchen counter that Mark immediately tries to punch and kick through but to no avail. It won’t budge.

Turning to Haechan, who’s in charge of bringing weapons, “Do you have something to use to break that open? We need sunlight.”

“Okay, wait, I’ll—”

It’s faster for Mark’s eyes to process what is happening compared to his ears and what he sees is Haechan being tackled to the ground by a woman with cloudy white eyes and rotten flesh. And before Mark can even shout his name, he can feel his own body slammed against the wall, and a pair of large hands trying to rip his stomach open.

There are two of them and they’re both stronger than he could ever be.

Mark can hear Haechan shouting his name, but whether it’s because he’s trying to save him or screaming for help, he’s not sure and he doesn’t have time to think so. Mark lands a kick to the living corpse’s chest and it stumbles a little but enough for Mark to aim for his chest. He takes a shot, the sound of his gun thundering in the air, and pulls his trigger again to lands a bullet on its head. Mark quickly aims his gun at the female corpse next, missing his target by a few inches but enough to distract her enough so Haechan can slice her throat open with his knife.

“Haechan!” Mark immediately runs over to his place, pulling him up by the waist and drags both of their bodies until they’re outside the house, where the sun is blazing over their heads. Both of them are lying down on the empty street, breathing hard and feeling adrenaline slowly rushes out of their veins.

“Fuck, we almost died,” Mark says, turning over to see the younger man who’s wincing from the pain. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Haechan hisses, “But I think my hand is—” The rest of his words hang in the air. “Mark.”

Mark follows his gaze and shudders at what he sees. There’s a bite mark just a few inches away from his wrist, and it’s deep enough to draw blood and nearly rips his skin apart. And if Haechan’s story was true, then—

“Stay away from me!” Haechan nearly trips over his own feet from how fast he tries to get away from him. He’s standing on his feet with his arms reaching out to keep their distance apart. “Don’t you dare get close to me, Mark.”

“What—” Mark jumps to his feet as well, stepping forward and Haechan points a knife to his face. “Haechan, calm down.” He raises both arms in the air, trying his best to stay sane for both of their sakes. “Let’s think this through.”

“No.” He furiously shakes his head. “You need to stay away from me—”

“Haechan, we’re immune—calm down—”

“Not if we’re bitten, Mark! Fuck, didn’t you hear what I said back then—”

“Yes, but we’re not sure whether you’re going to. Maybe it’s different for everyone—”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not taking any chances,” Haechan hastily insists. “Go back to the house, Mark.”

“No.”

“Just go back to the fucking house!”

“And where are you going then?!” He’s shouting back at him at this point, his voice sounds thick with desperation. “Huh?! Just where are you going to go?”

Haechan grits his teeth, desperately looking for an answer himself. “It’s none of your business—”

“No fucking way, I’m coming with you.”

“Why aren’t you listening to me—”

“Because you’re not making any sense, why would I listen to you?! Just get back here, Donghyuck, and we’ll think about it when we get home!”

It’s tempting, especially after he hears his real name coming from Mark’s mouth but it’s not right. Haechan knows it’s not right. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mark.”

“Nobody is going to get hurt, so please…” Mark lowers his voice, taking a careful step toward him. “Please, Donghyuck. Come back to me. I don’t want to be alone, not again.”

Haechan has tears forming in his eyes as he brings his head up to face the clouds, and he stands still when Mark wraps his arms gently around him, pulling him close. “I’m scared, Mark,” he whispers, emitting soft sobs from his mouth and Mark nods, saying the same thing and they both just stand there in each other’s arms with Mark running his fingers up and down his spine to soothe him down.

“Let’s go home,” Mark says, cupping Haechan’s cheeks with his palms and forces him to meet his eyes. “Okay?”

Haechan nods, sobbing quietly. “Okay.”

***

Two days have passed and Mark doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to do.

Haechan is dying, and he dies little by little with every second passing by. It’s so apparent and fast, the transformation process, that when Mark fell asleep on Haechan’s shoulder just for a few minutes, he woke up with a jolt, noticing how paler Haechan has gotten and how rotten the smell that came from his skin.

His golden skin is now blotchy, black veins appearing underneath it and he looks ghastly.

“Mark…”

Mark can no longer recognize his voice. It’s more like a croak, as if his vocal cords are thinning into a small string that’s about to snap. Every time Mark holds his hand, and winces at how freezing cold it is, Haechan tries to pull it away with the little strength he has left and whispers for him to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not without you,” Mark always whispers back, and they both know it’s a promise. Haechan just wishes Mark would break it, because keeping it will only mean death for both of them.

The house that used to be so lively during the day and silent during the night, feels like a tombstone for every second that passes by. Mark hasn’t gone out of the house for a while, and he’s only eating one meal per day and drinks as little as he can to save every little food they have left. He forces Haechan to eat as much as he can, though, but the latter usually denies, telling him that he’s about to vomit when he has food on his tongue.

Mark carries him to his bed every night like usual but he no longer wraps his arms around him, otherwise he’d be shivering to death. Haechan’s skin is ice cold, and although he’s breathing very, very slowly, the puffs of air that flows out from his mouth do not feel warm in the slightest.

“Mark…” Haechan whispers into the night and Mark can’t contain the sadness that blooms in his heart when he hears how broken his voice is. “There are so many things… I wish I could say to you…”

“Mean things, I suppose?” Mark tries to keep it normal but the air still feels tense. “Donghyuck?”

Haechan’s chocolate brown eyes are gradually turning into silver and in the darkness of the room, they almost glow. “Thank you… for staying with me…” he murmurs and Mark can tell that Haechan is on the verge of crying, but he doesn’t. He’s no longer able to.

“It’s an honor, Haechannie.”

***

Mark hasn’t slept properly for three days and it’s taking its toll on him. He’s either staring at the ceiling, trying his best to count Haechan’s breathing and making sure that it doesn’t stop or waking up every few minutes with cold sweat, thinking that Haechan is leaving him for good.

So at one point, his body can no longer take it and he falls asleep with his head on Haechan’s shoulder. They’re sitting on the floor with their backs pressed against the wall, facing the front door. Mark has his handgun ready on his side, along with some of Haechan’s knife, but they haven’t been touched for a while. And Mark is not planning to touch it in the near future.

He wakes up with a heart attack when the front door is opened with a bang, and with bleary eyes, Mark sees several figures entering the house at once. He reaches for his handgun by instinct and aims it toward the crowd, but—

“Wait!” A man’s voice booms through the air. “Don’t shoot!”

It finally sinks in that it’s daylight and Mark is seeing people—actual breathing people who look just as weary as he is though not sleep-deprived—coming into his house. They have weapons in their hands, from crossbows to shotguns, but a man, who looks like he’s in charge, steps forward with both arms raised and sends him a reassuring smile.

“Calm down,” he says, “I’m human, just like you.”

Mark, who stands in front of Haechan by instinct to protect him, can’t believe what he’s seeing and he’s calculating whether it’s really just a dream but another man, a taller one with sharp jaws, points his gun at Haechan and Mark snaps back to reality.

“Taeyong-hyung,” the man says, “That one is turning. We should kill him.”

“NO!” Mark has his gun raised again, ready to pull the trigger. “Put your gun down or I’ll shoot, I swear to God, if you touch him—”

“Jeno,” the leader—the one who’s called Taeyong—waves a hand, suggesting him to drop his weapon down. “It’s okay. Let’s talk about this first.”

Mark drifts his eyes from one man to another, carefully reading their faces. “Who are you?”

“A survivor,” Taeyong smiles and it seems genuine but Mark doesn’t trust him in the slightest. “Like you.”

His heart is beating like crazy and he’s so amazed that there are, in fact, others like him who appear to be in much better condition too. “How many are you there?”

“Hundreds. We’re looking for more people to join our colony. We believe there are more survivors out there, and we can fight back if we grow in numbers.”

“Fight how? There’s no cure.”

“We’re immune as long as we’re not bitten.” Taeyong spares a glance at Haechan and Mark almost growls at him. “We’re harvesting our own foods, as well. You should come with us.”

“Can he come?” Mark nudges his head toward Haechan.

Taeyong has the audacity to look sympathetic, unlike his friend Jeno, who is still glowering at Haechan as if he’s a prey to be eaten when it’s supposed to be the other way around. “I wish I could say yes,” Taeyong says, “But I don’t think he can.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Taeyong sighs, but he keeps a gentle smile plastered on his face. “Can I, at least, know your name?”

Mark hesitates and he knows he’s being too cautious about everything, probably because Haechan is being targeted. Under different circumstances, he would’ve taken Taeyong’s hand in a heartbeat. “It’s Mark.”

“It’s nice to see you alive, Mark,” Taeyong says, offering his hand and Mark deliberately takes it for a handshake. “Is that your friend over there?”

Mark turns around, glancing at the man and he sees Haechan staring at him with soft eyes, his breathing slow and maybe he tries to smile but all he does is breaking Mark’s heart. “He’s—” Mark’s breath gets hitched on his throat. “He’s my family.”

Haechan closes his eyes, lips turning slightly upward.

“I’m sorry.” Taeyong places a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “I really wish I could help, but there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing you can do. It’s already too late.”

Mark knows that, he’s been telling himself that, but having it told directly to his face still hurts like it’s the first time he’s hearing it. “I know that.”

“I think he wants you to come with us too.” Taeyong walks closer to Haechan but still maintaining safe distance so Mark won’t aim his gun toward him again. He kneels in front of him, gently asking, “Isn’t that right?”

Haechan’s eyes are moving slow, searching Taeyong’s face and maybe his vision has already become blurry from the way his lenses are turning silver, but his gaze is firm when he nods.

“Please,” Haechan says, softly, quietly, and heartbreakingly, “Take him with you…”

Mark can hear his own heart shattering. “Haechan—”

“You sure?” Taeyong confirms and Haechan gives the slightest nod of his head. Mark’s not sure whether it’s because he’s too weak to move or he just doesn’t want Mark to go. Mark wishes for the latter, but Taeyong is waving one hand and the next thing he knows, he is being dragged across the room.

“No! Wait—don’t touch me—” Mark struggles, kicking all over the place as he is being held down by two guys who are way more muscular than he is. “Don’t you fucking touch me—”

“Mark.”

Mark freezes, his stomach flips at the sound of Haechan’s voice. It’s louder this time—loud enough for everyone to hear and for Mark to have his heart crushed to pieces. “Just go.”

“It’s better to live than to die, Mark, even in a world like this.” Taeyong says, wrapping a hand around Mark’s wrist and this time, Mark follows. It’s as if all the strength of his body is leaving him and he’s not able to stand on his own feet if Taeyong doesn’t pull him up.

And as he walks away, Mark keeps his eyes on Haechan, still asking him why are you doing this? But Haechan only smiles and mouths something that makes his eyes widen. He’s saying the words—the promise—they usually share with one another, but this time, Haechan doesn’t have the power to make it come true. But he still says them, because that’s his final wishes before everything turns dark.

See you soon, Mark.

***

Mark’s first day in the colony feels like the world is ending, which is saying something because the world is ending but he just really feels like it is the second Haechan is out of his grasp.

Taeyong has offered him more variety of food than he has seen for the past two months and he still stares at his plate like it’s empty and he doesn’t know what to do with it. The place is safe, guarded with tall gates and watchmen, and there’s a campfire near the tent he’s staying. Mark knows how Haechan would’ve loved that. He would probably be dancing around it, telling Mark to play another Michael Jackson song with his guitar—Billy Jean, maybe—as he busts a move. And Mark would most likely have a hard time pressing the chords because when Mark dances more with his hands, Haechan dances more with his hips and he’s so naturally good at it that it makes Mark suffer from his longing to touch him. To wrap his arms around his waist, to mold his lips against his full ones, to peel every piece of clothing off his body so he can rake his fingers along the smoothness of his spine.

There are so many survivors around him, and people like Jungwoo and Lucas do smile brighter than the sun but Mark just wants to lurk in the dark. He already has his sun once, and that sun is dying.

“Mark,” Taeyong calls, sitting next to him in front of the campfire that dances in Mark’s eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Mark doesn’t answer, and it’s probably unfair because Taeyong has been nothing but good to him but he no longer cares.

“Look,” Taeyong exhales, placing a hand on Mark’s back. “I know how you feel but—”

“Don’t fucking tell me that,” Mark snaps, slapping his hand away. “Don’t tell me you know how I feel. You don’t.”

And Taeyong gives him a minute to catch his breath because it’s true. He’s breathless. He’s been feeling like he’s suffocating from the first time he took a step out of his house and into Taeyong’s van. But no matter how many hours have passed, he still couldn’t breathe.

“We need every survivor we can get,” Taeyong softly explains. “We can survive longer if we cooperate. Protect each other. And I really think it’s the best choice for both of us, but if you feel like this is not for you, then I won’t hold you back. That’s your decision to make.”

Mark looks up at the sky, which is painted in orange as the sun’s about to set. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Sorry for being such an asshole and taking all of this out on you.”

“Most people act the same when they first got here, so I kind of get used to it by now.” Taeyong chuckles. “We all have our stories, Mark, but whether we end it and start over with another page or dwell with the ending too long is our choice. And as you can see here, we’ve all made our choices. We chose to flip a new page.”

Mark takes a look at his surroundings, really observing every detail and he knows that the happiness around him is real. These people appreciate life more than they did and they find comfort in each other. Even if the world is ending, it feels just like another day of a new world for them. Another day to start over. Another day to appreciate joy if you give it a chance and look close enough.

“Have you lost someone close to you?” Mark asks, almost in a whisper and Taeyong spares him a glance.

“More than I can count,” he answers and if Mark listens very closely, he would notice the shiver in his voice. “I had someone before. Someone that I really loved. Almost like what you two had.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Taeyong exhales into the evening sky. “Like everybody else, I suppose. He died.”

“From what?”

“From a bullet to the head.” Taeyong breathes heavily. “My bullet.”

The silence hangs in the air and it just dawns on him that of course Taeyong has lost someone to the virus. Of course he knows how Mark feels. He’s been through a lot more than Mark ever did.

Taeyong told him that his name was Jaehyun but he always told them to call him Jay because it felt cooler that way. Mark witnesses how a longing smile appears on Taeyong’s face every time his mouth forms Jaehyun’s name but it doesn’t stay long. “He was bitten when he tried to save me,” Taeyong mentions, fiddling with his own fingers. “I thought he would heal, but—”

“He didn’t.”

Taeyong glances at him, at how Mark is fighting back the tears that form in his eyes and he exhales, puffs of air flowing from his thin lips. “He didn’t,” Taeyong finishes.

“I’m sorry,” is all Mark has to say after a while and that’s enough, it seems, by the gentle smile on Taeyong’s face. The older man lands a hand on Mark’s dark locks, patting his head like a father to his son, before he stands up and stretches his arms above his head.

“Talking from experience,” Taeyong says, walking away. “He still has at least a day.”

Mark knows he’s talking about Haechan, just like how he’s been thinking about him himself even during Taeyong’s story, and he notices something slips out of the pocket of his jeans. “Taeyong-hyung, you dropped something.”

“No, I didn’t.” He throws a mischievous smile over the shoulder. “Good night, Mark.”

It’s a key. Taeyong’s car key, Mark remembers, as it had jiggled around his hand when he took him in before. And Mark knows that it’s all up to him now, whether he stays or he leaves. Whether he chooses to stay with the living or vanish with the dead. Whether he chooses a few splitting moments with Haechan, or live properly for years with Taeyong.

And the answer is clear.

It’s only been a day. A whole fucking day. But Mark steals Taeyong’s car as expected and rides out the first thing in the morning as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does, because Haechan is his life and he’s losing his light like a dying star.

And if Haechan turns into a black hole, Mark doesn’t mind being sucked out of his life to join him in an eternity of darkness. There’s no light without his sun anyway.

It takes four hours for Mark to drive back to the house he’s grown to love, and he’s already driving as fast as Haechan usually was. The sun shines rather warm on his skin, but he still shivers from the autumn breeze. His heart is thumping so loud in his own ears that everything else feels like a whisper.

“Haechan-ah!” Mark shouts the second he barges into the house—the place they both call home. Please still be here. Please be alive. And he runs from one corner to another, looking for the man who owns his heart, and he can feel his feet crumbling under his own weight when he notices the sight of him.

Haechan is standing in front of the stairs that lead to the basement, and there’s a little part of Mark that wonders perhaps he had been staying there to avoid the sun but he ignores it. He doesn’t care. Mark doesn’t give a fuck if his transformation is nearly complete because when Haechan looks at him, his mouth shaping his name, Mark is already running towards him before his entire mind can process.

Haechan lays still in Mark’s arms as he embraces him with all his strength. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” Mark says, slipping his fingers around Haechan’s ash grey strands that are browner than the first time he met him.

Haechan can hear Mark whispering his name over and over and he notices he’s crying, clutching to him as if he’s the rope that’s saving his life. “Mark…” Haechan buries his face in the crook of Mark’s neck which feels both familiar and distinct at the same time because Mark can no longer smell that honey-like scent Haechan usually has, he can no longer feel his warmth seeping through his clothes, he can no longer hear the playful whiny complains he usually makes.

But he’s still Haechan and that’s what matters.

“Why… did you come back…?”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mark answers, shaking his head frantically. “I couldn’t, Haechannie, I can’t leave you. I don’t care if all we have left is just minutes or even seconds, I just want to be with you.”

Haechan grabs the back of Mark’s shirt, making a sound between a sob and a choke and he probably wants to cry, but he can’t. His skin is rotting, his bodily function has stopped working, and he knows he looks unbearably disgusting but the way Mark holds on to him still makes him feel wanted. Makes him feel loved.

“Mark,” Haechan croaks, pulling away and Mark nearly breaks into tears again when he notices how much paler Haechan gets, even if they’re only separated for a day. The black veins are more prominent, painting his face and his skin like a horrifying tattoo and the lens of his eyes are completely white now,. “Mark, you have to kill me.”

“What—no—”

Haechan pushes the machete he’s been holding in one hand to Mark’s chest. “I’ve tried but I’m…” His cloudy eyes seem to scream in agony. “I’m too afraid… Please, Mark…”

“No, there’s no way—”

“Mark!” Haechan’s paper-thin voice suddenly booms through the air, sending shivers down Mark’s spine. “I can feel it. I’m losing myself and…” There’s this glow in his eyes that forces Mark to take a step back, his heart slamming against his ribcage. “I’m so hungry.”

And it’s not human food he craves, Mark knows that for sure.

It’s frightening, the way Haechan slightly bares his teeth at him, and every inch of his body screams for him to run but Mark plays deaf. “I’ll wait until it’s really over,” Mark promises him. “I’ll wait until you’re really gone. I’ll kill you when there’s no trace of you left.”

But Mark’s not sure whether he can keep his promise even at that point.

Haechan eventually agrees with a tired nod because they both know Mark is much more stubborn than he looks, and he begs him to tie him up so he wouldn’t be able to attack the second he loses control and Mark follows. Haechan sits on the floor with his back pressed against a huge pillar that supports the house and waits as Mark circles a rope around his waist a few times before he ends it with a knot.

“Is it too tight?” Mark asks, worriedly, and it’s so Mark to ask a half-transformed zombie that question so Haechan smiles weakly at him and answers, “Not tight enough, you idiot.”

Mark falls weak at the sight of Haechan’s smile that he loves so much and he leans in to kiss him but Haechan immediately brings his face away.

“Don’t,” Haechan warns, though he’s about to be consumed by the same desire, “You’ll get infected.”

But Mark cups both of his cheeks firmly with his hands, whispering, “I don’t care,” directly against his mouth, not caring about his icy cold skin, or the awful smell of his rotting flesh because underneath all of that, he’s still Haechan and he loves him. So painfully and earnestly so.

“I love you,” Mark whispers between kisses, “I love you. I’ve always been in love with you. Haechannie…”

And Haechan closes his eyes, he can no longer breathe in Mark’s scent like he used to a few days ago and it’s depressing, because Mark always smells like summer and Haechan loves summer. But within a few hours from now, there will only be the darkness that welcomes him like an old friend. And if he’s lucky, if Mark really has the heart to kill him, then he’ll be swallowed by that darkness and it’s okay, as long as he doesn’t bring Mark with him.

Because Mark deserves the light, even if that means taking his own.

And so they wait. They wait with their bodies seated side-by-side, with their fingers intertwined, with Haechan’s head falling on Mark’s shoulder. “Tell me more,” Haechan begs, his eyes heavy and the pain in the pit of his stomach—this craving of blood and human flesh—is maddening, growing and consuming him from the inside. “Tell me why you love me…”

And Mark does it with no hesitation because what he feels never changes. He still loves Haechan’s hair, loves his eyes, loves his voice, loves his touch, no matter how different they are now.

“And I love how you always say I’m a bad cook,” Mark chuckles softly, “but you always eat like it’s your last meal.”

“Because it… could’ve been…,” Haechan’s voice is weak and sore but there’s a tint of humor in his tone. “Your cooking was so bad… it could’ve killed me…”

And Mark laughs, airily and young, the way he always does and Haechan wants to cry because he most likely won’t be able to hear it soon.

“I love how we fight from time to time, with you pouting every time I win an argument,” Mark continues as he gently smiles to himself, “I love how brave you are, how you tend to not overthink stuff and just go with the moment. I wish I could live like you.”

Mark’s voice begins to break the more he speaks, hot tears forming in his eyes. “And I really,” he breathes out between soft sobs, “I really love hearing you sing. You have the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard and I wish I could…” His entire shoulders begin to shake. “I wish I could hear you sing again, Haechannie…”

Haechan’s breathing becomes slower as his vision starts to fade away. Mark sounds like he’s talking from a distance, as if he’s murmuring underwater. And Haechan feels like he’s falling into a bottomless pit, a monster waiting underneath and suddenly he’s just…

Gone.

“Hae… chan…?”

Mark’s eyes grow wide as he feels Haechan’s teeth sinking into the skin of his neck, gnawing against his flesh before he peels it away with his fangs. Mark’s entire body jolts in pain, sending electricity down to his fingertips. He crawls away from Haechan by instinct, his blood splattering down his shirt and to the wooden floor below him.

Haechan’s eyes are entirely clouded in white, saliva mixed with Mark’s blood dripping from his mouth and he snarls, baring his teeth like a hungry wolf.

Mark tries to call his name but it’s no use. Haechan is something else. Something entirely different. And although the transformation process progresses little by little, once it’s complete, it still takes the air out of Mark’s lungs.

Haechan is struggling to break himself free, his fingers clawing the air, reaching for Mark with such desperation of a starving lion. Mark’s gun feels heavy on the back of his jeans, he knows what to do. He just doesn’t have the will to do it.

“Haechannie—it’s me—please, it’s Mark—”

Haechan roars, dark blood splattering from his mouth as he claws and claws with his legs kicking all over the place. The rope around his waist is the only thing holding him still, keeping them in a safe distance but Mark knows it won’t hold long.

Haechan is frighteningly strong.

Mark’s blood is gushing out of his wound, painting his arm red and warm and it’s starting to make him feel lightheaded. At this point, he realizes he’s going to die by Haechan’s hands or going to turn into the exact creature snarling in front of him now.

Mark hooks his finger around the trigger, aiming the gun at Haechan’s head and he feels like he’s on the verge of vomiting his entire organs.

How can I shoot him—

But he tries. He tries because he has promised the man he loved he would do it. He tries because the world does not deserve seeing Haechan like this. He does not want anyone to look at him and think about him simply as a mindless, flesh-eating zombie when Haechan was so, so much more than that. Haechan was sweet, he was kind though he did have his own mischievousness from time to time and he shone so bright, almost blinding every time Mark looked at him.

So he takes aim and he misses because his hand trembles at the last second. The bullet that sinks to the pillar behind him only makes the creature growls at him louder, and the rope begins to tear apart.

Mark still can’t shake the memory of Haechan’s face when he told him he loved him too, or simply the memory of him—of how he used to. But the monster that he is now is not him. Mark just has to convince himself that.

He’s running out of time.

He takes a closer step, close enough that he won’t be able to miss, and he takes in a deep breath, aiming at Haechan’s temple. He steadies his hand as best as he can before he closes his eyes, feeling hot tears running down his cheek and he whispers, “See you soon, Haechannie.” And he pulls the trigger.

The room quiets down in an instant where Mark can only hear his own frantic breathing, but he doesn’t stay still for long. Not looking at Haechan’s body, he quickly loads his gun with another bullet—his last one—and presses the tip against the side of his head. It feels hot, almost scalding his skin but he doesn’t let himself think. He doesn’t let himself breathe. He doesn’t let himself feel.

And with the click of his gun, he finally smiles.

We’re together now, Haechannie.

***

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tobesobri · 4 years

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𝒯hank you for all the love on the first chapter, that was honestly the last thing I expected, and it really does mean the world to me that you guys like this story. I’m going to include the taglist at the end, but if you’d like to be added for future updates, go here and put in your tumblr URL. Okay, anyways, this chapter is very like,,, rocky and emotional so! Have fun reading :)

huge massive thank you to the incredible @youresogolden-h for editing ❤️

Chapter Two: Do It One More Time (3.8k)

Harry and Y/N are friends…. with benefits, but not the kinds you’re thinking of.

🥥MASTERLIST 🌃INSPO TAG 🌻ASK TAG 💃PLAYLIST 🛌

Sneaking Harry out had been the least of her worries. Him being on her mind constantly was a much bigger cause for concern. She had trouble sleeping at night, tossing and turning and even having to wash her entire bedspread to get rid of his scent. It had been no use, however. It was like her body got a taste of something very potent and wanted it now more than ever before.

And it didn’t take long for her to get back into her routine. To soil the pillowcases in her tears because the emptiness inside her chest had only grown tenfold after what had happened with Harry. Her muscles literally ached and her sobs almost sent her to the bathroom to hurl up an empty stomach full of knots.

Her brain had finally gotten a reprieve from its loneliness. She finally felt what it was like to have someone, even if it wasn’t real. Even if it was a mistake and even if it was fleeting. Harry had filled whatever missing parts were within her and it hurt like hell to go back to normal again.

But she wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t sleep anymore either. His house felt massive and the silence between all the walls seemed to ring just a little bit louder. He found himself buying an unnecessary amount of pillows and setting them all up on his bed just to surround himself with something. He’d been here before though. After a breakup, his least favorite part was going back to sleeping alone. He hated not having someone to hold onto. It took him weeks to get used to it last time, and to get used to the cold spots on the other side of the bed. It only took four and a half hours with Y/N to fuck him all up again.

And he really shouldn’t be doing this, but he was desperate.

“Hello?” Even her voice was a breath of fresh air for him.

“Hey, it’s uh… Harry.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had my number.”

“Will gave it to me a while ago… for emergencies.”

Y/N took a long pause, unsure why Harry was calling her on a Thursday afternoon, completely at random. It had been almost an entire week since their… incident. Why was he calling her right now?

“So… is this an emergency?”

“Um… well, no. It isn’t.”

“So why are you calling then?”

“I was wondering um… you can say no but um… I was wondering if you wanted to… sleep with me again.” He cringed at his last few words and the way they felt like knives cutting his throat to get out. He had no better way to phrase what he wanted other than being blunt about it and admitting he wanted her up against him. He wanted more than just lifeless pillows to cuddle up to at night.

And something about Y/N had him losing his fucking mind the past week so asking her to sleep with him seemed low on his list of crazy.

“Sorry?”

“I mean… like we did last week. I was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight, just to sleep?”

“Why?” She asked, unsure why Harry fucking Styles was asking her that. Sure, they were somewhat friendly and she had thoughts about asking him the same exact thing, but it was an odd request coming from him. She was sure if he needed a cuddle buddy that he could easily find anyone else.

But even the thought of him being like that with someone else gave her a horribly sick feeling in her stomach that she recognized immediately but could not for the life of her explain. She didn’t get jealous, ever.

He cleared his throat, “Um well… I have had a pretty hard time sleeping and then last Friday it was like… like the best sleep of my life. And this past week has been awful again. So I was just… we don’t have to if you don’t want to though. It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t have even called…”

“No.” She cut his spiraling off abruptly. “I mean… yes. I… can do that.”

He immediately let out a huge breath of air in relief but also couldn’t believe she had, yet again, agreed to another one of his stupid ideas. “I just want to let you know I’m not trying to like… get in your pants or anything. I genuinely just…” He stopped then, knowing a more believable story would be him wanting to get into her pants than what was actually going on with him.

“Just what?”

“I just need someone.” He admitted with his eyes closed tight as he laid back onto his couch. “And it’s not very easy asking people to just sleep with you.”

She let another moment of silence go by that just about tore him up. And right when he was about to ask if she was still there, he heard her voice again, as softly as ever.

“What time should I come over then?”

Harry’s house wasn’t easy to access. First, there was the entrance gate to just get into the neighborhood, which had an intimidatingly large security guard posted out front like an oversized bridge troll. Then she had to hand over her driver’s license and try to convince him she was there to see Harry, and that her name was supposed to be on his list of accepted guests. The whole thing wouldn’t seem so unbelievable to her if she wasn’t already trapped in a pit of nerves from being there in the first place.

By some miracle, however, the guard returned her ID along with a visitor’s pass and opened the gates for her.

Then, of course, there was finding his house, which turned out to be a whole other task and a half on its own. Every house was so far from the main road due to oversized front lawns that she couldn’t read anyone’s house number unless she practically trespassed. He’d given her very vague instructions so she mostly had to rely on Google Maps. Which somehow got her to the house at the end of Spruce Street with the enormous pine tall trees and rose bushes surrounding it just like Harry had described.

She pulled into the short gap of driveway just before the tall, wooden privacy gates that hid most of his house from view. After rolling down her driver’s side window, she inputted the four-digit code he’d given her onto the pinpad. Within a few seconds the gates opened, and after a moment to ogle at his insanely beautiful house, she swallowed the pit in her throat and carefully drove onto his property as if it was made out of glass. She really did not belong there, not in her beat up 2005 Toyota, and she couldn’t afford to break anything.

The moon was already prominent in the middle of the sky by the time she got to his front door and rang the bell. His house wasn’t at all what she expected. It was old-looking. Almost cottage-like with stone bricks and vines trickling down the architecture. She expected the most modern amenities known to man from him, but it turned out to be the polar opposite.

She stopped staring at his garden fortress of a house, with her jaw hung wide, when his door swung open. Because finally he was there, right in front of her, giving her proof that she didn’t accidentally show up at the wrong address, even though the code had worked and the house was as he described. Her anxiety was just a little extra prominent than normal.

“This is where you live?” She asked, before he even got the chance to invite her in.

He laughed, holding the door in one hand and gripping the frame with the other to keep his balance as he stood in the middle.

“Um,” he sighed, glancing up at the house, “yeah, but I’m trying to sell it soon. I bought it when I was young and impulsive.”

“Oh.” Was all she said, and he worried for a moment that he had completely lost her. That she was going to go back to never speaking a single word to him ever again. That he wasn’t anything like what she expected and it was a little too much for her to take in.

Just like most of his previous attempts at friendships, once they got even the tiniest glimpse into his life, they either bolted or stuck around long enough to get what they wanted from him.

Instead, she met his eyes again and smiled, “Can I come in or what?”

The inside of his house, however, had been recently modernized and she wondered if Harry had made all the design decisions himself. Like if he picked out the big geometric crystal chandelier in the foyer or the white marble countertops in the kitchen. She liked it, though, it was open with tall ceilings and unlike any home she’d ever stepped foot in. Even though it reminded her what vastly different worlds she and Harry came from, she knew his personality didn’t match up to his big fancy house.

When they settled into the kitchen, and when Harry began pouring two glasses of water for them, she set her things down on his island counter to give her shoulders a break from her heavy backpack. She knew she’d packed too much stuff, but if she was spending the night at Harry’s place, she needed her own familiar things to keep her company.

“I was thinking…” she started, watching as he kicked the refrigerator door shut once he’d put the filtered water pitcher back on the top shelf and handed her one of the glasses. “That maybe it’s a good idea to not tell Will… or... anyone about this.”

He thought it over for a moment and then nodded in agreement, “Yeah, okay.” Averting his eyes, his mind thought of a million different things at once while he sipped on his own glass of water until another tangible question popped into his head. “So if we’re not telling them, then where do they think you are right now?”

“At a coworker’s place.”

He nodded again and for the first time around Harry, she felt so incredibly nervous. He’d made her nervous before but not like this. She’d always just avoided him and it worked her anxieties out, but there was absolutely no chance of avoiding him now. Maybe she should have just said no, but that also seemed like an implausible choice.

“Is it alright if I like… get ready for bed? I just got off work.”

He let out a small giggle around the brim of his glass and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll show you my room.”

And his bedroom did not, by any means, disappoint. Just the square footage of it was impressive, but her eyes were particularly drawn to his bed, and not for any other reason than the way it faced massive ceiling-to-floor windows that overlooked, as it seemed, the entirety of Hollywood; and she fell in love instantly. It was mesmerizing, and she could not fathom why on earth he planned on selling. Hell if he didn’t want the house anymore, she’d take it.

“Bathroom’s over there. Make yourself at home. I’m gonna set the alarm and turn off the lights. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Nodding, she waited for him to leave before she fully lost her mind about everything. Not only was she in the nicest house she’d ever laid foot in, but she was also about to crawl back into bed with him. His king sized, fluffy-looking bed she could imagine herself getting lost in.

She knew what they were doing was slightly out of the norm for people their own age. Most people didn’t sleep in the same bed as their friends unless they were doing something friends probably shouldn’t be doing. But the benefits of their budding friendship were a little more innocent than that to the point where even the thought of Will finding out where she was right now, while she slipped into her strawberry patterned pajama pants in Harry’s ensuite, made her lightheaded. She’d almost feel better if Will found out they were actually hooking up instead, because at least that wasn’t so… weird.

With the amount of time she spent getting herself ready, most of it being wasted on psyching herself up enough to go through with all of this, she’d become very familiar with his bathroom. He had two sinks along one wall, and massive mirrors that all faced a shower that could fit an entire army inside. The tiles were either black or white except for the blue pops of color here and there. The best part of it was the massive soaker tub in the back underneath a window that overlooked his garden. It was like he plucked a bathroom straight out of Good Housekeeping.

And of course she couldn’t let his things go unnoticed. She’d make herself a space at the empty sink nearest the door, the one that didn’t have his stuff neatly stacked around it. She eyed his small selection of colognes on a tray between the sinks while she washed her face, and couldn’t help her curiosity from checking out what brand of toothpaste he used when she started brushing her own teeth.

Other than the little touches of Harry scattered sparingly about, however, it was almost as if no one lived there at all. And she became very familiar with how cold it all was.

It wasn’t until she turned the sink off after splashing her face, again, with ice cold water, that she heard the soft hum of a guitar from just outside the bathroom door. She wasn’t sure if he was playing, or if he had turned music on. She wasn’t even sure if Harry Styles knew how to play the guitar. She couldn’t ever remember him playing any instruments whenever he came over to work with Will, but maybe she was just tragically unobservant.

And that seemed to be the case once she finished up and went back out to find him perched on what appeared to be his side of the bed with his guitar on his lap and a leather bound notebook open in front of him.

Though before she could make out a single melody, he immediately stopped playing the second she re-entered the room.

“Sorry, you can keep… doing what you’re doing.”

He let out an exasperated laugh while she crept towards the bed on the opposite side and made note of the way he quickly hid his journal from her and stashed it into a drawer at his bedside table. Maybe she was overanalyzing things, but it seemed like whatever he was writing down was for his eyes only, and she respected that.

“I was trying to write a song… hasn’t really been working out for me recently.” He leaned away from her to put his guitar down on the floor, setting it upright against the table, and she hated the way her eyes went straight to the small sliver of skin under his shirt that was exposed when he did so.

“Writer’s block?” She asked, slowly making her way up under the covers next to him, still feeling like she didn’t belong even though this had all been Harry’s idea to begin with. He needed someone and so did she, even if he didn’t fully know to what extent. But it felt like somehow she had tricked him into thinking the someone he needed was her.

“Sucks,” he mumbled to himself mostly, still very obviously in his own little work bubble.

“I usually just try to stop doing whatever I’m struggling with, and do something else, something I wouldn’t normally do.”

“You mean with your art stuff?” He asked and she wasn’t sure how he knew about her hobby, if Will had brought it up before, but it made her heart flutter nonetheless, that he remembered that small detail about her.

“Yeah.” She finally looked over at him, only to find him already staring at her and it weirdly made her less anxious about her current position. In his bed. In her roommate’s best friend’s bed. “If you’re stuck, you should leave it alone and write something completely out of your comfort zone. Then when you go back to where the problem was, you have a new set of eyes on it.”

He was quiet, first just listening to her speak, and then really letting her advice sink in because it wasn’t something he’d ever thought about doing, but he made mental plans to give it a try.

“I’m sorry if this is really weird, Y/N,” he began, getting her attention when he changed the subject. “I know it’s hard to believe but I’m actually horrendously alone and I guess when we slept together I didn’t feel so much that way anymore.”

“I get it, Harry.” She sighed, never wanting to fully open up to him, but feeling like it was now or never to get him to stop making it more weird by apologizing. “Makes you feel like… empty.”

“Exactly,” Harry sighed and she glanced at him when he agreed so enthusiastically. “I haven’t been that close to someone in… months,” he rolled his eyes down to meet hers again, “and I guess I just didn’t want it to be like that again.”

The look on her face alone made it easy to tell everything he said resonated with her, like he was saying exactly what she was thinking too. It broke his heart to know that she, in any way, felt like he did, but it also made him glad someone finally understood what he was going through, even if in just the slightest.

“I understand, Harry. I guess I just don’t understand why you’re alone. Can’t you have anyone you want?”

He scrunched up his face, “It’s not that easy.” He huffed, “People aren’t all that interested in me as they are getting loads of likes on Instagram and having lots of money. I mean… I haven’t had a single relationship that didn’t end the same.”

“Still,” she mumbled begrudgingly. He was still Harry Styles. People still wanted him and, even if it hadn’t turned out so well, he’d still been not alone at some point in his life, unlike her.

He raised his eyebrows, a little irritated at this point. “Okay then, why are you alone? Can’t imagine it’s that hard for you.”

She rolled her eyes away from him and hung her head to disguise the embarrassment on her face. There were two big reasons why she was alone, and she was not about to admit them to Harry at eleven o’clock on a Thursday night.

“So what is it then?” He talked for her when he grew irritated with her silence and her inability to see his perspective on things, “Your lack of ability to talk to people? Because you have these massive walls to keep literally everyone out, including me, for the past however many months we’ve known each other?”

She shook her head and sunk deeper and deeper inside herself. This was all a mistake. It had all gone wrong because she opened her mouth and said something insensitive.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Harry.” She looked at him again finally, holding back the stupid tears trying to well up just from the mere thought of being even moderately yelled at, and especially by Harry who she’d never imagined being angry a day in his life. “But if we’re just going to sit here judge each other, I think I should go.”

“No.” He immediately reached across the king-sized space between them to grab her arm before she even considered leaving his bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell like that.” They stared at each other silently for a moment before he continued, “You don’t want to talk about it and that’s fine.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then at his hand around her arm and just how good it felt to be touched. Just to have human contact, even just something as simple as that. And then she felt just as desperate as she had when she agreed to all of this in the first place.

“Can we just go to sleep? I’m tired.”

It started out like it had before. A gap of space between them after Harry had turned out the lamp beside him. After he spent an ungodly amount of time staring out his window and listening to her breathing, and she spent the same amount of time overthinking, they both realized something wasn’t working.

“Harry?” She whispered like she was throwing out a line into a vast ocean.

“Hmm?”

“You were right… about why I’m alone. But… it’s also that no one’s ever really shown any interest in me because, um... ” she struggled, trying her damndest not to cry in front of Harry. “I’m... ugly, you know… so that’s, um...” Her voice was just a whisper she could barely even make out, but it was still the first time she’d said that to anyone before. Sure, she wasn’t facing Harry when she said it and they were in complete darkness, but it was still hard, hard enough to make her hands shake and the tears fall.

He knew it too, the way her voice wavered like he’d never heard before. He twisted his head over his shoulder to look at her, eyebrows furrowed even deeper when he saw the shadow of her hand move across her face to wipe the tears away.

And here she was; in Harry’s bed where she thought her problems would be temporarily solved, and yet she was still crying.

“So that’s why… I feel like I don’t let people in because I don’t want anyone to have to be stuck with me.” She finished and he flipped himself onto his back, still staring at her head like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth, that she even thought that way about herself. He was sitting there in shock because, well… he had been wrong. He didn’t understand her at all.

Without a single clue how to respond without sounding like a disingenuous asshole, he went another route rather than opening his mouth to give her unsolicited advice.

“Come ’ere.” He whispered, helping her until she was in his arms again just like before. He cradled the back of her head with one hand as she hid her face on his chest and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders. Slowly, she warmed up to him and tucked her own arm around his side as they fit themselves together like puzzle pieces all over again. Except this time, they were both consciously aware of it.

They stayed like that for a while until Harry listened to her breathing even out, and he could hardly keep his eyes open any longer. He still wanted to say a million different things, but knew it might only make it worse because his head wasn’t clear enough to say the right things. So, he just held on tight and waited for morning.

taglist: @afterstylesmadeit @cxnyon-moon @and-im-not-okay-with-it @chrryblsms @whydontharry @harryinsweatersandbandanas @idkthisisjustforfanfic @teddysoldbird @shawnsblue @thurhomish @theasstour @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @staceystoleyourheart @granolagrannie @defineharry @iambabyharry @1142590m @ashtondene @smokeinherperfume @cherryyharryy

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #onlyhuman

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afewmarvelousthoughts · 3 years

Text

Falling Ch. 7

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader [and a few more to come]

Summary: For a moment you had something good, something wonderful. But moments pass. Now, left with nothing but the ashes of a life and a love you fought so hard for, you find yourself in a free fall. Who will you be once you hit the bottom? [Sequel to Only For A Moment but can be read independently.]

Warnings: Loss, grief, drug/alcohol abuse, violence

A/N: Hello again! So this is another shorter chapter but there is a lot happening. I think you can expect shorter chapters for the most part as we roll forward with this story (along the lines of the majority of Only For A Moment) because that’s easier for me to maintain.

There’s also some hints here about what we can expect from our reader in the future, lmk if you have thoughts!

TAGS ARE OPEN

“Oh for fucks sake!” Rocket yelled as your comm cut out. It was just as likely that you were dead as it was that you turned it off.

And if you weren’t dead he was tempted to fix that little problem.

“Nebula, do you have eyes on Trouble,” he found that was a better name for you.

“I’m a little busy!” She yells back.

He massages his temples as he tries to keep himself from outright screaming.

In moments like this, he actually misses the old you. At least when you spent your days in bed, drunk, silent, moving through the ship like some sad ghost he wasn’t worried you were going to get him killed.

He really should have appreciated those weeks of peace more. Never should have taken you to Contraxia, never should have coaxed you out of bed. What he should have done was leave well enough alone and just make sure you didn’t drink yourself into a quiet death.

But no. He just had to get involved.

Now, he was going to have to get out of this pod and find you. That was not the plan. He was supposed to stay in the damn pod. He was the eye in the sky.

But no. No, you had to go and make this complicated.

“I got it!” You say, comms coming in clear, just as he’s about to head down.

“What the fuck do you-”

“Did I stutter?” You huff, clearly running. “I got the payload and I’m heading to the drop point and-” Rocket can make out the sound of a large weapon behind you. “I’d really appreciate you being there right about now!”

“Neb-” He begins.

“En route,” she cuts him off.

He brings the pod down just as you and Nebula make it on the platform, behind you both a concerning amount of muscle in hot pursuit.

“What happened to quiet in and out?!” He screams.

“Just open the door rat!” Nebula yells. He notes that your arms were full of more than just the case you were all being paid to retrieve.

Between you and Nebula, he was pretty sure he was headed toward a much earlier grave. Grumbling he lays down cover fire as he lowers enough for you both to board the pod.

“Woo!” You exclaim as Rocket coaxes the pod as fast as it can go toward the Benetar. “Not too bad.”

“You realize you’re bleeding profusely, yes?” Nebula asks.

Rocket glances back. He’d assumed the blood on your face was from someone else. Now he can see a deep gash splitting the right side of your face from forehead to below your cheekbone.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Ca’al was aiming to take my head though, so I’d say I came out better than expected.”

“Can’t imagine why he’d want your head,” Rocket rolls his eyes as he docks the pod.

“It’s a mystery,” you say as the hatch opens.

“Wait…” Nebula says, hovering in the pod after the two of you have disembarked.

“Ergons take honor pretty seriously,” Rocket says. “Which is why ‘not fucking the mark’s wife’ is high on the list of things not to do when you’re trying to keep a job low key.”

“There was a list?” You quip, turning to face them, smiling despite the wound.

“I’m beginning to think all Terrans are like this,” Nebula says low to him.

“Possibly.” You drop the contents in your arms, kicking a case toward Rocket. “That’s what we came for. And I’ll split the rest if someone will help with this,” you gesture to your face.

“I’m tempted to let you bleed out,” Rocket says as he opens the case. Five tubes filled with glowing viscous liquid are nestled tightly inside.

“Gonna have to wait for a bigger wound for that,” you say as you have a seat.

“With your track record, Trouble, I don’t think I’ll have to wait long.”

You shrug, “I’m apparently like a cockroach.”

“What does that mean?” Nebula asks as she examines the cut.

“Very hard to get rid of,” you hiss the last word.

“Are they formidable beasts?”

“They’re Earth vermin,” Rocket says as he takes inventory of your haul. He hated to admit that it was impressive. Whatever your shortcomings, you were an exceptional thief--he had to respect that at least.

“Same thing,” you say standing. “I mean, look at you.”

“Very funny,” he smiles despite himself.

“This is likely going to scar,” Nebula says.

You shrug, “It’ll just enhance my roguish charm.”

“And piss off the Captain,” Rocket grumbles as he locks the case you’d all been paid to retrieve into one of the storage crates.

“So you admit I’m charming?” He throws a sideways glance at you as Nebula forces your smirking face back to her. “Ow!”

“Who said you were charming?” Rocket asks. “I just don’t want any lectures about ethics and safety from Cap.”

“Which, Cap?”

“Either.” He inspects a container of very high-grade ammo. “How’d you know where this shit was? No way it was just out in the open.”

You peek around an exasperated Nebula once more, “There are benefits to fucking the mark’s wife.”

“Stay still!” Nebula snaps. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the eye.”

Rocket shakes his head. Lucky may be a better nickname than Trouble.

The way you managed to walk a razor edge, never quite tipping one way or the other was impressive. And every job you’d been in on over the last eight months ended up in a payday at least twice what they’d bargained for. Still, there was an all too familiar air of self-destruction about everything you did. Like you wanted something to tip you, slide the scales just a bit past no return.

When he looks back he notices the slightest tremor in your right hand.

Back on earth, he’d seen it a few times, mainly when emotions were high. No one else seemed to notice it, how each time the air rippled just a bit as some of your hold on that insane telekinetic ability of yours slipped.

These days, more often than not, it meant you needed a drink.

“There,” Nebula declares. “That’s the best I can do.”

When she stepped back he could see that Nebula’s best was actually pretty good. The gash had been reduced to a raised bright pink stripe bisecting your left brow, stopping in the middle of your cheek.

“Thanks, Nebula,” you say sincerely. A whir comes from the main cabin as a bottle flies into your open right hand.

“So, how much we got?” You ask as you open the bottle.

“Can probably get 4,000 credits from the ammo alone,” he holds out his hand and you pass him the bottle. No reason he can’t benefit from your vices.

“Hear that, Nebula? At least 2k each for the ammo.”

“Excuse me?” He passes the bottle back to you.

“Did you help fix my face?”

“My ship. I get a cut of everything, Trouble.”

“I only helped because I was getting half,” Nebula manages something between a grimace and a smile.

Rocket playfully rolls his eyes, “Then you can take her half.”

“The disrespect,” you say on a sigh. “Bleed for your crew, then they cut you out.”

“Yeah, yeah. Such a martyr,” he says over his shoulder as he heads toward the deck. “We’ll get the best deal on Paramatar. We’ll get paid for the case then head there.”

Paramatar was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

The money was too good and the distractions too plentiful. Not Contraxia levels of plentiful, but what it lacked in variety it made up for in cost. Everything save for information and ammo was cheap.

He should have kept an eye on you. Or at least asked Nebula to since she couldn’t help but stay sober.

Yes, luck seemed to favor you more times than not. You were also heartier then most humans from what he could tell and you’d picked up on how things worked out here quickly. Still, there were substances and situations you didn’t know were better left alone.

Or maybe you did know and chose to ignore sense.

Who could say? Because when Nebula found you half dead after two days there wasn’t anyone around who knew what happened.

“We should take her home,” Nebula said after the medic left with assurances that you weren’t about to die. “They can help.”

He doubted that. Still, he knew it was the best call. Plus, he could use some peace.

Warm morning sun filtered in through the window, making the few silvery strands in Bucky’s hair shine.

He sat between your legs on the living room floor with his back against the couch. As your fingers combed through the silky mass of hair, his fingers massaged your right calf, still sore from Okoye’s brutal training the day before.

This had become your ritual most mornings.

Usually Bucky was the first out of bed, proving that he was far more a morning person than you’d ever manage to become. He’d start coffee, put on some music, and slip back into bed to wake you before your alarm went off.

It was the best way to begin your day.

Once up you’d down a cup of coffee, talk about nothing, then by cup two he’d be sitting just as he was now--humming along to whatever song played while you methodically sectioned off his hair to braid it back.

The first morning you’d done it on a whim. You frequently found your fingers tangled in those beautiful dark locks and had just happened to put it in a french braid.

That evening he’d casually mentioned how good it was to not have his hair in the face while he worked.

You knew he’d never actually ask. He was constantly concerned he would somehow inconvenience you or be a burden as it was. So since then you’d just begun doing it, without coaxing or preamble.

When you finished he let out a long content sigh, leaning his cheek against your bare thigh.

“Thank you,” he placed a kiss on your knee.

“Of course,” you leaned over, kissing the tender flesh just behind his ear. He hummed with satisfaction, turning his head to look up at you. The morning light turned his eyes a beautiful icy grey-blue.

“I love you, doll,” he says, eyes crinkling as he smiles.

“I love-” you hiss in a breath as pain tears through your skull.

He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, just sits between your legs smiling… Before he turns to dust.

You try to call his name, scream, anything but the all-consuming thrum of your power prevents you from doing anything but sit in frozen agony.

Like an angry beast it thrashes inside your skull, zinging down your spine, until every nerve ending in your body burns with it.

Stop, you don’t know to whom or what you’re begging but it’s all you can manage.

The edges of your vision begin to blur, your warm Wakandan living room fading to an endless swirl of colors and shapes before shadow crept in. Those shadows swelled consuming everything leaving you in an endless, familiar, void.

By now, this place--realm, or whatever it was that your mind saw when your perception went beyond what you were capable of comprehending--was starting to feel familiar. When you last found yourself here, after a night of too much excess, you’d thought of it as The Nothing.

This time a different thought pushes its way in from somewhere in the abyss.

Oblivion, it whispers.

Yes. That felt right. The perfect word for this void that seemed to exist between all things.

Absently, you wonder if you should feel fear rather than this strange sense of peace. Even the hunger that never left you, the howling need for power the stones planted in the marrow of your bones seemed sated, as though there was power enough hidden in the darkness.

Yes, that same whisper from nowhere and everywhere replies.

Now, the fear comes. You will yourself back, forcing your mind to grasp for existence like a drowning man reaches for the surface.

You shoot upright, gasping for air, squinting in the bright afternoon sun.

Sun shone bright on your face.

This was not your dim room on the Benatar.

And…

“About time,” Steve says groggily from a chair in the corner.

“How?” You croak.

He stands, stretching, and crosses the room to fill a glass of water from the decanter by your bed. You take it gratefully, though you feel the ache for something stronger.

“Rocket and Nebula brought you back yesterday.”

Yesterday.

Futility, you try to piece together a series of events.

The three of you had landed on Paramatar, offloaded the haul, split the credits, and… Things got hazy after that.

“Apparently, you’ve been unconscious for over three days,” he sat on the edge of the bed, looking you over. “You look like shit by the way.”

“Thanks,” you say, voice still rough. “You don’t look dewey either.” His hair had grown longer, his beard thick, the circles under his eyes spoke to too many sleepless nights.

“Shocked you remember what I look like,” he snips.

The shot hits its mark and guilt blooms in your chest.

It had been at least 5 months since you’d spoken to him. Once you’d managed to make it back to something closer to a human you simply couldn’t stand the reminder that speaking to him brought, that you had to come back here eventually. You’d wanted to leave everything. Forget about everything you could manage to and become someone else.

“Sorry,” you say, unable to look at him.

“It’s ok,” his voice sounds distant. When you look at him his gaze is in the middle distance, elbows resting on his knees. “Maybe we all need space.”

He sighs, “Clint left. We don’t know where he is.”

“Natasha?”

“She’s hanging on. Tried to find him but didn’t have any luck.”

“He’ll come back around,” you said with more conviction than you felt.

“Yeah,” he plucks a non-existent piece of lint from his sweatpants.

“I gotta head out soon, some kind of situation brewing in Brazil. Don’t know how long it’ll be,” he runs a hand over his face. “But I assume Rocket and Nebula won’t be hanging around too much longer since you’re up.”

So they had stuck around. More guilt bubbles up.

“And I assume you’ll be going with them.”

It isn’t a question but you answer anyway, “Yeah.” He nods, looking down at his hands.

The silence hangs for several pregnant minutes.

Your palms itch to reach out to him, your heart screams at you to say something, anything. But you just sit.

“Y/N…” his voice almost makes you jump. “On the beach when we…” He clears his throat, “You told me I could go… If I needed to.”

Your stomach drops and with it some of your control.

You had said that. Told Steve that if he was too tired to keep fighting in this life that he had your blessing to leave. Your only request-

“But that I couldn’t go without saying goodbye.”

“Steve,” your voice trembles.

He looks at you then, blue eyes unfathomably sad. Without hesitation you reach out for his hand. Gratitude floods you when he doesn’t pull away.

“The same goes for you,” beneath his words is a barely contained flood of emotions.

“This wasn’t-”

“Don’t,” he shakes his head. Gently he touches the new scar by your eye.

You nod. This was one thing you knew you couldn’t hide from him no matter how hard you tried. It was a game he’d played for longer than you’d been alive. Tempting fate, daring it to kill him.

“Not without goodbye,” he says in almost a whisper.

“Not without goodbye,” you promise and, begrudgingly, you mean it.

He gives your hand a squeeze before he stands, places a kiss on top of your head, and turns to leave.

“Oh and, Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Take a shower,” he turns and winks.

“Fuck you, Rogers,” you smile despite everything.

“Don’t die,” he says as he walks out.

“You too.”

With effort you drag your aching body from the bed and make your way to the bathroom. Under the bright light you groan.

Steve had not been wrong. You did look like shit.

The scar Ca’al had graced you with was still bright pink and puffy. Far from roguish or charming. Your cheek bones jutted out in sharp angles, lips pale and cracked. And your hair had grown long enough that the ends had started to curl, making you look like a tired crusty mop.

Only after a minute do you even notice your eyes. They’d become a normal feature, whites shot through with bloody lightning cracks, the tear ducts an angry shade of red.

As you observe yourself the mirror begins to tremble.

“Fuck,” you groan, doubling over to press your forehead to the cool bathroom counter.

Once you feel your control tighten just enough you head straight for your bag, praying that-

Your fingers curl around a small smooth rectangular bottle and you let out a grateful breath. Rocket must have slipped it in. The Ciegrimitian liquor was strong, a touch bitter, and reminded you of roses. It was a favorite.

After two swallows you feel the power inside you settle.

You stare at the slightly iridescent golden pink liquid in the bottle shifting it so it swirls and catches the light.

Maybe it was possible that you could re-learn to control your abilities, after all, you had gotten far more proficient through training with Bucky and later in Wakanda. But that was before the stones.

If Shuri had been right, and she usually had been, your subconscious built barriers around your ability to protect you. While you could push those barriers by honing your ability, strengthening it like any muscle through time and focus, those barriers would and should always remain. The human mind could only be expected to process so much.

Now, if you were right, those barriers were gone. You had no idea how to begin rebuilding them. If you did you weren’t sure you had the energy to care.

Maybe in time…

Time. Weeks. Months. Years. All without Bucky.

You’d rather lose yourself to that Oblivion than think about the stretch of life laid out before you.

As you lift the bottle to take another drink your fist closes on nothing. A few remaining inches of the bottom of the bottle clatter to the floor, spilling the contents.

This wasn’t new, sometimes you lost your grip and your power… unmade something. This time though-

A cry lodges itself in your throat, threatening to choke you.

Around the edges of the piece on the floor and swirling in your hand between the glittering specks of dust--all that remains of the top of the bottle--is a deep undulating blackness. Not shadow, not darkness, a pure absence of everything.

Oblivion, a whisper from somewhere far away calls in your mind.

You bolt for the bathroom, slamming the door behind you, pressing your fist to your mouth to keep from screaming.

It feels like hours before your heart stops trying to beat through your chest and you’re able to draw a full breath. Only then do you realize that, just like in that void, you don’t feel the hunger. Only then do you realize how silent your power is.

The woman in the mirror stares at you with eyes that are less painfully bloodshot than before, the bruise-like hollows beneath them lighter. Her cheeks seem fractionally fuller.

The changes do not feel like an improvement. They feel like abomination.

Demon. Maybe your mother’s husband and M’Baku had been on to something there.

In the shower you decide to bury this. It was a fluke, or maybe even a hallucination. Maybe you were still recovering from the overdose, your body reacting poorly to another substance being put into it. That was it.

“And she lives to make trouble another day!” Rocket calls out from in front of the TV as you make your way to the kitchen in the common area.

“Much to your chagrin,” you say, opening a cabinet.

“Coffee is in the one on the left,” Natasha pipes up. She takes a seat at the island. “I’ll take some too,” her wan smile doesn’t reach her own tired eyes.

You open the can of Bustelo and breathe in the rich smell. It reminds you of better times--of bodega breakfasts before you knew there was such a thing as Hydra, of slow music-filled afternoons with Bucky. Quickly you blink away the tears threatening to fall.

It was just coffee.

For several minutes the only sound was the burble of the coffee pot and the drone of the flatscreen. The lack of conversation didn’t feel awkward so much as tired, everyone worn down by the grief and turmoil of the last 11 months.

When the coffee was done you poured Natasha a cup, grabbing the half and half from the fridge, remembering her preference from when you’d been on the run with the fractured Avengers. She nodded her thanks, silently fixing her cup.

Your own black brew sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, a hum of satisfaction slipping free.

“I mean it’s good but I don’t know if it’s that good,” Natasha teases.

“Haven’t had coffee since I left,” you say savoring another sip. Her brows raise at that. Honestly, the fact that you’d hardly missed it was more concerning than your increased drinking habit.

“Maybe we should bring some,” Rocket sniffs the air. “Smells nice.”

You meet his gaze, relief flooding you. A part of you had been afraid that you wouldn’t be welcome back on the Benatar. Honestly, you wouldn’t have blamed them if that was the case. Rocket called you Trouble for a reason after all.

“I will try it,” Nebula announces as she takes a seat beside Natasha.

“Alright. You?” Rocket nods.

You pour a small amount for Nebula and use an espresso cup for Rocket.

Nebula downs her’s in one go, face crinkling. You can’t help but laugh.

“Bitter but palatable,” she says.

“Just like you,” you quip.

Nebula almost smiles, “Is there more?”

The next few hours feel almost normal. No one talked about grief or loss. Natasha complained about the foods that were in short supply, Rocket bitched about prices on contraband being low. You told Natasha the weirder things about space, funny things, like hurling when the ship lost gravity for a few hours. Just friends catching up over coffee.

Except it wasn’t. And, by the end, that fact had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

By the time you got on the Benatar the next afternoon, that bitterness had fermented into rage that no amount of drink was going to cool.

You needed to hit something. Hard.

TAGS

@bluegirlusa1 @l0kisbitch @tazzi-baby @woodyandbuzz20-01 @mooniightbucky @saundrasays @breezy1415 @alyssaj23 @mywinterwolf @wonderlandmind4 @anamcg317 @buckaroo-barnes @jazztherebel @peachthatdrinkslemonade @regulusirius @auskitty @babyimp1967 @katecolleen @handplucked @darkdragonphoenix @issanitydead @thestorydetective @buckysstar @greyeyedsmile14 @watchoutforfrostbite @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @siriuslycloudy2 @jdoenson @gamorazenn @wildmoonflower @cutie1365 @demonlover87 @winterboobearsworld @this-kitten-is-smitten @amorluzymelodia @nutellakirb @nighttwingg @coffeebeforewater @shesalatesh @maniacproffesor

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #Steve Rogers #post infinity war #marvel fic

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chauhee · 4 years

Text

Playful (Royal AU) - K. Sunwoo

[Requested by @prinxessouo] Hello! 🥰❤ Just came across your blog and was wondering if I can request a royal au scenario? Something like you're a princess and he's a prince and you meet at a ball and it's love at first sight or smth ♡ I seriously can't choose between Hyunjae, Juyeon and Sunwoo so could you just choose the one you think suits the best, please? 🥺❤ Thanks in advance and have a lovely day! ♡

Summary - it’s your first ball as the princess of your country. Thousands of people came from around the world to see you. You were also to meet the prince you were to marry in the future. Little did you know that you would meet a mysterious handsome man named Sunwoo in the process...

Warnings - None, I think.

Genre - Fluff

A/N: Hello! I also had a hard time choosing, because they’re all so perfect for this scenario. I chose Sunwoo because he seemed like a bit of a challenge to be put in a position of a prince (idk if that makes sense lol, just a feeling). Please request more! This was very fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Powder and perfume overwhelmed your senses as you stood at the mirror, staring at your own reflection. Your eyes traced your perfect hair, not one strand out of place. Still, you searched for a flaw. Your dress was also perfect. It was chosen by you, made by the most talented tailors from around the world. Your shoes were slightly uncomfortable. That was all you could complain about.

They had kept you secluded from society for so long. The country knew you existed, but they hadn’t gotten the privilege of really seeing you, not after the incident with your older brother. He had lost the respect of the country, and was therefore banished when you were very young. You were never meant to have this high position, but here you were. The future queen.

Thousands of people flocked to see you tonight. If you only glanced outside your window you would become much too overwhelmed to handle the amount of attention awaiting you. You were nervous, understandably. You had never seen more than ten people at once, and now you have thousands begging to have, if only, a moment with you.

This was also the night you were to meet the prince you had been promised to. You knew you were to be married off for political reasons your entire life, and you trusted your parents to choose well, so you were not bothered by it. You had never seen his face, though.

You didn’t want to be shallow, but some part of you hoped he would be handsome. You cannot count the amount of times you had tried to imagine his face. You hoped he would smell good, that he would have soft skin, and that he would have a kind smile. Those were the three things you always considered when you thought of him.

“Honey?” Your mother walked into the room, also dressed to perfection. “It’s time to go down.”

She walked up behind you as you continued to observe yourself in the mirror. She could see that you were nervous, so she held your hand tightly.

“You will be doing this more often from now on,” She said softly beside your ear. “It will get easier.”

Usually advice does not help nerves too much. Sometimes it can actually make it worse. However, knowing all that your mother has gone through, it comforted you greatly. You smiled at her in the reflection.

“You look beautiful,” You told her. “I think I like your dress better.”

“Oh, stop. That color is perfect on you. Let’s go before we’re late.”

You followed your mother out of your room, through the wide corridor, and down the steps. Guards were at every corner, guaranteeing your safety. It made you feel simultaneously safe and uneasy. The fact that you even needed guards always made you feel strange. You wondered if they were there only to protect you or to make sure you don’t do anything... reckless. Like your brother.

The two of you reached the doors leading to the ballroom. Loud chattering and music filtered through the cracks in the door. It was exciting and overwhelming. The guards at the door awaited the signal to open the doors. Of course, you had to be introduced.

“...Princess (Y/N) and Queen (Y/M/N)!” You heard as the doors were pulled open with force.

The ballroom was full of all different kinds of people. Your curiosity left you a step behind your mother, who had to pull you forward slightly. You scanned all the faces of the people there. You could tell that for many of them, this was also their first ball. You smiled at the children who looked up at you in awe.

As you got closer to the front of the room where your father, the king, and your siblings stood, someone caught your eye. He was quite tall, at least, he was significantly taller than you. He had dark hair and the most handsome face you had ever seen before. Well, it wasn’t like you had seen very many faces at all. He stood out from the crowd as if there was a spotlight placed on him. He looked at you with an expression you could only describe as awe. When he saw you looking at him as well, he smiled.

You thought you could collapse from the intense feeling in your stomach and chest. You were nervous and excited at the same time. The feelings confused you, but you enjoyed it, anyway. You smiled back. It was a small smile, a flirtatious smile you had seen your cousins flash the boys who lived and worked in the castle before. You internally thanked your parents for forcing you to hang out with them, despite your distaste for your cousins in general.

You quickly looked forward, at your family. You stood up next to them and turned towards the crowd, just like you had been taught. Your father said a few words to the people, but you weren’t listening. Your mind was on that boy in the crowd. The one you avoided looking at in order to feign confidence for a few moments.

Once your father had finished speaking, the ball roared back to life. Hundreds of people moved in time with the music, causing a wave of incredible movement to occur right in the middle of the large room. Women went back to their conversations with glasses of alcohol in their hands. Servants continued to pass around food platters, slipping in and out of the room quietly. Children ran around, avoiding the watchful eyes of their parents. Men fell over themselves to get a glimpse of your father. You searched the room secretly for the man from before, but he seemed to have escaped your gaze. He must have slipped away while you were trying to be cool.

Great, now I lost him. You groaned internally.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’re promised to another. You straightened your posture and directed your attention back to the organized chaos surrounding you. You were waiting for someone to ask you to dance.

“Y/N!” A voice called from the crowd. You searched for the owner of the familiar voice that had called your name. “Y/N?”

There she was, right in front of you. Your childhood best friend. You had not seen her since the doors of the castle had been closed. You could barely contain your happiness to see her.

“Y/F/N!” You said, you swore you felt tears threatening to fall from your eyes. You restrained yourself from giving her a giant hug in front of everyone. “I can’t believe you’re here!”

“I know, right!” She looked at you with fond eyes, taking in the fact that you had grown so much. She had as well. “You look so beautiful!”

“So do you!” You laughed.

“Care to dance?” She bowed, playfully. You looked over at your parents, asking for permission silently. They both nodded. It had been a long time since they had seen you so happy, so they allowed you to have a bit of fun.

You took her hand and she walked you to the middle of the room where people were dancing energetically. Your friend twirled you dramatically, occasionally bumping into the older couples around you. No one was bothered, though. They enjoyed the youthful energy the two of you possessed.

After a few minutes, the music slowed down. Your friend pulled you into a slow dance to talk a bit. You two have a lot of catching up to do.

“So, how have you been?” You asked her.

“Not bad. I’ve missed you terribly, though,” She looked up at you with sad eyes. “I can’t believe I missed growing up with you.”

“I know...” The pang in your chest would not let up. It hurt you so much to be separated from your best friend. She was more your sister than any of your real sisters. You were inconsolable when you were told you would never see her again.

Thankfully, it was untrue, though. “But at least we can see each other now. We never have to be separated ever again. If anything ever happens, I’ll make you live here with me,” You said to her.

She lightened up a bit, laughing through her tears threatening to spill over her powdered cheeks. “Hey, don’t look but there’s an insanely handsome guy coming over to us.”

You tensed up a bit and despite your better judgement, you looked.

You caught him just as he reached the two of you. He smiled a bit awkwardly at the two of you. “Uh, Princess Y/N, can I have the next dance?” He asked.

You stared up at his handsome features, almost entranced by them. Your friend quickly answered for you, “She would be honored.”

Your friend let go of your hands, walking towards your siblings to speak to them while you danced with the (basically) perfect man.

He put his hand out for you to take it as the music changed. You were unaware of the fact that everyone in the room who was not dancing had turned to watch you two. Even your parents watched as he guided you further into the center of the room, placing one of his hands on your waist, the other holding your hand. You placed your free hand on his shoulder.

He’s strong. You thought to yourself. You felt him guide you through the dance moves. You had done them hundreds of times before in your dance classes, but they had been with your younger brothers or your cousins. This was entirely different. You could barely allow yourself to look up at his face, so you kept your eyes trained above his shoulder, staring into the distance.

“You look beautiful,” He said softly beside your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” Your cheeks heated up. You glanced at him, seeing that he had been looking at your face this whole time. “You look very handsome.”

He chuckled, looking around the room for a second before returning his attention to you. “I’ve waited to meet you for a long time.”

“Really?” You turned back to look outside the grand windows. “I get that a lot, you know... as the princess.” You were only teasing.

“Ah, yes, of course, your highness,” he laughed again. You felt his breath on your skin. “I’m sure I’m a bit different from everyone, right?”

“What makes you say that?” You look into his deep brown eyes.

“I don’t know...” He turns the two of you quickly, causing a giggle to escape from you as you held onto him tighter. “Just a feeling?” He flashed a wide smile at you.

“What’s your name?” You asked him through laughs.

“Sunwoo. Kim Sunwoo.”

It sounded familiar, but you ignored the feeling quickly. “Nice to meet you, Kim Sunwoo.”

“Nice to meet you, too Y/N Y/L/N.”

“No one calls me that,” You laughed at him.

“Can I?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” Your gaze softened on his face, and you were suddenly hyper aware of his lips.

“Excuse me, Princess,” A man approached from your left. “May I have the next dance?”

He had the look of someone who was about to bore you to death with talks of politics. You couldn’t reasonably refuse, however, so you had to say goodbye to Sunwoo. He bowed and kissed your hand, holding onto it for a bit longer than what may be considered normal.

As you danced with a few other men, you couldn’t muster the strength to really listen to what they were saying. Your mind was on Sunwoo. You couldn’t get his eyes, or his hands, or the feeling of his breath on you out of your head. You were thankful when the music stopped and you were able to return to your family.

When your mother saw you approaching them, she smiled widely at you. She pulled you close to her while holding both of your hands. Your best friend also neared the two of you, clearly ecstatic about something you were not privy to.

“Are you ready?” Your mother asks you, smoothing out bits of your hair and dress that had fallen out of place as you were dancing.

“Ready?” You questioned.

“To meet him! The prince!” Your friend said from beside your mother.

You had entirely forgot about that, especially while dancing with Sunwoo. Well, it was fun while it lasted. “Oh, yes. I think so.”

Your mother guided you to the left corner of the room, where a group of men and women had gathered around your father and a young man who was hidden by the heads between you two. You took a deep breath. I guess Sunwoo was practice for the real thing. Maybe I should be thankful-

Your internal monologue was cut off when you saw exactly who was having such an interesting conversation with your father.

“Sunwoo!” Your mother called out. “It’s so wonderful to finally see you again after all these years. How you’ve grown into such a handsome gentleman!”

“It’s nice to see you too,” He looked over at you with a teasing smile.

“Well, this is Y/N,” Your mother pushed you forward, right in front of Sunwoo. “You two should start getting to know each other.”

“Hi again,” He chuckled at you.

“You knew this whole time?”

“I thought you were playing, too!” He said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to deceive you.”

You sighed. “So...”

“Would you like to go outside?” He asks, putting his hand out for you to hold once more. “It’ll be easier to speak to you without so much noise,” he leans closer to you, whispering in your ear: “and without so many watchful eyes.”

You glanced over your shoulder, finally noticing the fact that everyone in the room had turned to watch the two of you. You turned back to Sunwoo. “I’d love to.”

He held your hand as you two walked off to be alone. The confused onlookers watched as he guided you outside, to the garden. You didn’t pay them mind, though. All you felt was his strong hand holding yours. The broad night sky welcoming you two under it’s protection. It was a night you would certainly remember forever.

#the boyz #sunwoo #this was a bit inspired by frozen if you can't tell #WOW I pumped this one out fast #I hope it's good #thank you for requesting again #my writing #requested

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deadmomjokes · 4 years

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The hubs is a big ol nerd and was looking for books that had accurate portrayals of medieval european war tactics and battles, But With Magic just to see how that would fit in. Anyhoo, he got recommended this one series called the Traitor Son Cycle (why’s everything a “cycle” nowadays???). First book is called “The Red Knight,” and we’re reading it together. It’s Wild.

We’re about a 1/4 of the way in, maybe, and here’s my thoughts so far.

Good:

MC is a magic boi only we’re not explicitly told that and it’s kind of mysterious at this point, so as a reader you’re left wondering what is going on and itching to find out what his Deal is

Similarly, he is literally always referred to as “the captain,” or “the red knight,” not by any name, and I’m fairly certain he’s an illegitimate royal son? Idk, yet another mystery!

There’s lots of intrigue, and it hops around to different POV characters every so often which leaves you wondering how all the story lines are going to meet up. Basically a very mentally engaging way of writing and presenting both characters and plot.

Interesting take on an alternate medieval europe, complete with Catholic Church but also Magic, so that’s complicated and delightfully fascinating

Absolutely an accurate portrayal of medieval european Stuff, to the point that we’re looking up words and terms every few pages. Drovers, mercers, men-at-arms, lances as a weapon vs lances as a unit, squires vs pages vs valets, surcoats, aventails, gambeson... You gonna learn today, son, ain’t no two ways about it.

The writing is really crisp and vivid, and the author does an outstanding job of characterizing individuals in just a few words, getting across exactly how and who they are without taking paragraphs to describe them. It’s quite delightful, witty, and generally lovely.

Bad:

Everyone is Way Too Horny all the time, and it makes this raging asexual both deeply confused and deeply uncomfortable. Like bros? Chill. Please. I’m begging you. Stop talking about sex. Stop thinking about sex. Stop. Please please please please please. The only saving grace is that, thus far (fingers crossed for a continuation), the sexy scenes aren’t explicit.

Very vulgar language, ft. outrageous amounts of Shocking Blasphemy. My husband has it in ebook format and has a profanity filter on so that we can read out loud without our tiny toddler hearing naughty words, but holy cow, the filter is really working overtime. Unfortunately it does nothing to censor the insane levels of swearing by rude references to religious figures, so if blasphemy bothers you, yikers.

Pretty sure this is going to be a long-haul series, which I guess could go under both “good” and “bad” here. I do not see the over-arching plot resolving by the end of this book, so if you’re like me and go full Completionist Mode once you get even mildly interested in a story or character, you’re probably going in for all 5 (I think it’s 5?) books. Which could be a good thing, but at this point I’m slapping it under the negatives because that’s a major investment.

Low-key (and sometimes high-key) misogyny from the characters. We see the regrettably few ladies in the story through the slanted lens of our POV/title character, so it’s kind of in-character, but it’s still annoying. We’re led to understand that he’s a flawed and Not Very Nice person, so we can assume that his views on the ladies are part of that and that the author doesn’t really feel that way, but we don’t as yet have evidence of that. Needs more ladies, and I need more time to tell what’s the characters perspective and what’s the author being That Dude.

So yeah. This is wild so far. Also there’s dragon bird men and a semi-sentient bear? And an evil ent? Idk, this is just absolutely bananas and I’m decently Here For It.

#reading #books #fantasy #the red knight #traitor son

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essaysbyciara · 4 years

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Old Habits Die Hard | Part Four: Down The Stairs And To Your Left

SYNOPSIS | PART ONE: DAYS BEFORE | PART TWO: JUST BE GOOD TO ME | PART THREE: RECOGNIZE THE BUTTERFLIES

Peace!

Warnings: Lightweight mentions of sexual situations, language

A few things! Old Habits Die Hard is now on WATTPAD! If you’re more of a person that uses Wattpad to follow fanfiction, you can now follow on that platform. It’s all up to date over there. Secondly, I’m dropping off the internet grid (new year fasting, you know how it is...) from the 6th until the 26th so there will be no update until I come back (hopefully, it’ll be finished by then lol) Lastly, I love you all and I’ll see you on the flipside!

DOWN THE STAIRS AND TO YOUR LEFT

The latter parts of the day’s sunlight stream into Ariel’s bedroom and bounce off of the water-stained Word Up! posters of Mindless Behavior left hanging onto her bedroom walls. You understand why Aunt Jerri wouldn’t want to remove them; your Dad kept your B2K posters up in your room well after you left for college too. It made him feel like you never left home.

Stuffed animals mark their spot on top of the dresser and in front of the vanity mirror that’s reflecting an image of you braiding Ariel’s voluminous hair into two large french braids. It was getting too hot for her hair to live wild and free.

“I can’t believe my mom is actually hosting a party here tonight. This is not like her at all.”

“Ariel, I can’t either… she’s wildin’ tonight.” So was Yahya for that matter. His insistence on staying the night could only be explained by his desire to get a break from the hyper-emotional and high-stress world of being a civil rights attorney. He wanted to be as wild and free as Ariel’s hair that you’re trying to tame. You’re successful with Ariel. With Yahya, not so much.

Ariel grabs EcoStyler for her edges as you take a look at your phone. Dave has yet to message you again since you ignored his first message and you couldn’t help but feel a bit dismayed by his lack of a following gesture. For him to go out of his way to message you after a year of paying you no mind, you would think he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Your pride, at least, wanted a fight out of him.

“I hope this party is lowkey, Ari. I do.”

“It should be just family and maybe Mr. Jones’ family down the street.”

“I don’t think I know the Joneses like that at all.”

“One of them, this boy Pardi, is fine as shit…”

“Ari…”

You didn’t like Ari to curse even if she was old enough. “Leave those boys alone, homegirl.”

“Speaking of those Jones’ boys … that low-ass Dave’s been asking about you.”

Your emotions spike. You don’t want to show your enthusiasm for Dave’s inquiries about you but you also feigned to know how much he much he misses you and if he craved you or wanted to see you.

“Oh word?” Your poker face is ice cold. “I haven’t talked to him in a minute. He’s okay?”

“Looking real dusted, yeah. He kept asking me about you too. Got on my nerves.”

You sit on the edge of Ariel’s bed, rubbing the corners of her mattress with hands that twitch at the thought of running into Dave before your trip is over. You try your best to shrug off Ariel’s notice of Dave’s attention towards you but curiosity is starting to get the best of you. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. Felt like it was better to show him.”

You quickly realize how Dave found you. You wanted to make sure that Ariel wouldn’t pull such a move.

“Ariel … how did you do that?”

“Showed him a picture of you and your man.”

“Girl, no… that wasn’t your place to do that.”

Ariel shoots a puzzled look toward you and you shoot it right down. “I get it but Sis, that wasn’t the move…”

“It ain’t like Dave hit you up, right … fuck, I’m sorry.”

Ariel received -- and believed -- the farcical cliff notes of the story of how you and Dave ended. You told her that you two decided that distance and travel would be too much to continue the relationship. You didn’t want to tell her the real story: that your texts to Dave went unanswered and that when you called him, it went straight to voicemail. You even hopped on I-95 unannounced to drive up to Philly but once you were minutes away from the tolls, you bailed. All of that you couldn’t tell Ariel.

“I doubt he shows his face, Y/N. It ain’t like he knows that you’re here.”

“You sure you ain’t tell him that, Ariel? Since you showing my life off…” Your misdirected irritation toward Ariel is rearing its ugly head. You quickly reel yourself in once you see Ariel start slamming the drawers shut on her vanity. “I’m sorry, cousin. You didn’t deserve that. I know you meant well by what you…”

The faint ring of the doorbell stops your apology in its tracks. You pass a frightened look at Ariel who quickly passes it back to you. You don’t know who that could be at the door. You’re hoping -- but yet praying that it’s not-- Dave.

You run into the bathroom to straighten yourself up before parading down the steps to maybe see your impending doom for the first time in a year. You adjust your sundress to show the right amount of plump and cleavage and shift your dress to show the most thigh you could. You check your Nikes for scuffs of asphalt on the toe box. You inhale so much air into your lungs that they may explode. You exhale once you walk down the steps to see it’s just Yahya coming into the house with his hands beyond full.

Crisis averted.

“Oh you went to the good state store, Yahya. You ain’t holding anything cheap.” Aunt Jerri grabs the two bottles of Woodford Reserve from up under Yahya’s right arm, ignoring the weight of the rest of the goodies that are almost causing him to topple over. The bags of ice are set to fall until you quicken your pace down the steps to catch those bags before they hit the floor. To Yahya, you were on time.

Dave doesn’t want to be late and miss Aunt Jerri’s afterparty, his favorite black t-shirt sticking to his body like glue as the sweat pools toward the middle of his back. He cranks up his air conditioning unit to the maximum. He’s trying to not lose his cool.

Dave’s been thinking about what to say to you all day. A part of him needs to corner you and pour his heart out but he’s too much of thug for that. A part of him desires to play the corner with hopes of you making the first move. Ultimately, all of him hopes that your fiance isn’t there to fight any and all of his fantasies. He knows that he must be on his best behavior: Aunt Jerri and his Mom are close friends. There will be no corner-like-behavior up in that house.

As Dave adjusts the laces on his Nikes, his brother Pardi softly raps on Dave’s door to let him know that the family is ready to head over to Jerri’s house. Dave heaves what feels like gallons of air from his chest and proceeds to walk down the hallway towards the steps. Pardi suddenly stops Dave in his tracks, causing him to almost slip on the top step of the staircase. “Yo, nigga… what are you doing?” Pardi could smell Dave’s tense demeanor since Trace told him that you were back in town. He remembered last summer and what fits those two weeks drove Dave into: insanity.

Like Ariel, Pardi didn’t receive an honest answer about what happened between you and Dave. Dave told Pardi that you were just “a fuck” and that you just made yourself available when Dave needed you. Pardi looked squarely through Dave’s misogynistic postering bullshit to know that Dave was all the way gone when it came to you. You were the woman that paused passionate games of NBA2K when you called his phone. You were the woman who Dave would let sleep in his bed long after he left for work. He wanted you there when he finally got home. You were the woman that had Dave on a James Harden-like tear on the basketball court, showing off just for you.

Pardi called Dave a “bitch” when your phone calls and texts went unanswered and when he, Dave and their boys took a trip to party out in DC and Dave didn’t reach out to you.

Pardi can see the scared in Dave as they stand at the top of the steps. “Yo, you good?”

“Fuck you asking me if I’m good for?”

“Shorty from last summer prolly there, that’s why.”

“Nigga. I’m not even thinking about her.”

Pardi shrugs off Dave with a laugh and walks down the steps. “Yeah, aight. You buggin’...”

-----

“Oh, you trippin’! LeBron is better than Jordan!” Uncle Ro’s passionate basketball debate with Yahya is causing his rotund body to almost careen off of the couch and onto the floor. Although you hoped that the party would be small, nothing associated with your Aunt Jerri is that. She’s beloved on the block and the amount of people filtering into her home is showing you how much. Some pre-wedding donations slipped into your hand during the course of the evening, making tonight’s impending torture somehow worth it.

For a brief moment, you weren’t thinking about Dave. You were overwhelmed by the embracing of Yahya by your family -- blood and neighborhood. You almost cried when Aunt Jerri spoke about your Dad during her impromptu toast to you and Yahya’s engagement. “My brother is smiling, I know that. And that fool wouldn’t crack a smile for a damn baby. Except you. He loved you.” Those were the words you wanted to hear after a day of beating yourself up for a decision you made last summer to make some neighborhood dude named Dave a priority for two weeks all the while he seemingly made you an option.

Your current priority has been watching you filter in and out of the kitchen, grabbing drinks for your Uncles and some of the OG queens from the neighborhood. The brown and white liquor are making love inside of his body, thoughts escalating inside of his mind that would make your Reverend Uncle Ro want to perform an exorcism on him. He couldn’t wait to take you out of that sundress when you both got home. But why did it have to wait for DC?

As Yahya peels his now overheating body off the plastic-covered couch, the front door opens allowing a needed breeze to hit the living room.

But suddenly you get hot.

Although it’s been 365 days, you and Dave catch eyes quicker than an Olympic runner. It mirrors the way that you both first looked at each other last summer, a moment so intense that Aunt Jerri whispered “oh shit!” to herself as if she was watching the drama unfold on The Young & The Restless. She could tell that you and Dave were two magnets that desperately needed attachment. That’s why she told you to “have fun with that.” As he stands at the door, your eyes fixate upon his body. You forgot how sexy he was. He mimics your move, staring down your body like he would be quizzed on it. You were so beautiful. Last year’s feelings and emotions quickly replicate themselves in this moment causing Aunt Jerri to say “oh shit!”. This time most of the room heard her.

Aunt Jerri received the honest story about you and Dave’s fallout. She forgot about all that in the midst of trying to set a party off inside of her house.

Yahya sees your face and knows that something isn’t right. As he attempts to save you, Dave and his family make their way throughout the living room to greet everyone. They became the river that Yahya couldn’t cross.

“Y/N, can you grab that Grey Goose in the basement?” Trace orders, breaking you out of your Dave-induced spell. You happily oblige, needing to get away from the love of your life and the lust of your last summer standing just feet apart from his each other. Yahya finds a way around the crowd to follow you downstairs.

You find yourself leaning over the oak-colored bar while yelling internally at your chest to calm down. You fail to hear Yahya shuffle down the steps and come up to you.

“Yo, what the fuck!” You jump at the precise moment that Yahya attempts to wrap his arms around your waist. He’s never seen you this wound up or scared. It’s uncharted territory for the both of you.

“Y/N, it’s me … it’s me. Wow.”

You never went in for a hug so fast once you realize that it’s Yahya and not Dave. “Babe, I’m sorry. I’m just … I’m just really over-”

“Overwhelmed? I would be too if half the damn city just walked into the house. You know them?”

You know one of them and in ways that you would never tell Yahya. You shrug off Yahya’s question with a kiss which intensifies with every mounting second. Yahya’s lips fail to break from yours as he walks you backward, finding your backside up against the bar. His right hand eagerly climbs inside the slit of your sundress, causing you to whimper and fall even more into his arms.

“Yahya, we can’t. Not down here…”

“Is so loud up there though, They won’t hear shit…”

“Shit? You’ve been around my peoples for too long. But no, not here. Not in my Auntie’s house.” You and Dave didn’t follow such protocol last summer.

Yahya obliges. “If this is your way of punishing me for making us stay up there, I don’t like it.” Yahya playfully bites on your neck before letting you go against the wishes of your body. He’s always there to protect you and you really want to show your appreciation. As he walks up the basement steps, he’s too distracted from trying to hide what’s going on inside of his jeans that he fails to notice someone trying to open the basement door.

“Oh, my bad. I didn’t see you there.” Dave’s too on a mission to get at you that he doesn’t care to become upset at Yahya almost smacking his face with a door. Or that Yahya, the man that now has your love and attention, is standing in front of his face.

“You good. They told me to grab a bottle down there.”

“Yeah, man. The bar is down the steps and to your left. My girl is down there. She can show you where everything is...”

Taglist: @yoursoulstea @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse

#yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #yahya abdul-mateen ii #dave east #dave east fic #fanfiction #old habits die hard

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

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I will love you if I never see you again (chapter four)

A huge, endless thank you to my beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are amazing as always

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 to let me know what you thought! It takes two seconds, is completely free and makes me smile so much!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

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Nureyev had always loved the stars. They’d been an escape to a small, scared boy with no home, no safety, no guaranteed next meal, nothing but a name. No matter where he had wound up sleeping, however empty his stomach was, how close the last laser shot had sounded, as long as he could see the stars he could imagine something better. A thousand other plants, most of which had never had a single human step on their surface, so far away he could blot them out with a thumb. Surely with all of those chances, all of that possibility, there just had to be something better than this. And as long as Peter knew that, he could keep going.

He’d always loved the stars, he’d needed them as much as he needed food and oxygen, he’d needed the escape and possibility. But he’d never thought they were beautiful until he saw them through his daughter’s eyes.

Nureyev tried to give Bianca routine where he could. So much of their life was completely uncertain, though not in the same way it had been when he was a child. Nureyev was endlessly grateful for that and there was no amount he wasn’t willing to part with to keep it that way. Their uncertainty was more about what planet they would end up on, what hotel they would stay in, what names he would give for them at the front desk. It was about the endlessly rotating faces around them, people slipping into roles rather than actual personalities, everything always shifting and changing. It would be so easy to lose yourself in all of that, feeling like you were becoming as ephemeral and insubstantial as everything else. Nureyev knew that well.

So he tried to anchor them whenever he could. And this was one of the ways he did that, one of Bianca’s favourite things.

The shuttles that ferried people around the solar system were microcosms of the planets they served. One floor of almost sickening luxury built to hold the scant few people who could afford it and the rest of the pot bellied space vessels given over to much grimmer quarters for everyone else. Nureyev had treated himself to a seat on the upper floor a few times, always after he was feeling smug about a particularly high profile job. But, in truth, he preferred sitting in the lower decks. The view was better there. No over attentive staff, no distracting screens on every surface vying for your attention, no live entertainment on the longer flights. No assuming that the majesty of space itself, the stars winking in the darkness, the faraway galaxies smudged against the sky, wouldn’t be enough to hold your attention. You could sit down there, feel like no one and stare out at space that held it all together.

Nureyev always got a window seat and sat his daughter on his knee, ignoring the adjoining seat he had to purchase for her. Bianca would usually sleep through the noisy takeoff, making her daddy marvel at her ability to snore through the racket of interstellar engines blasting burning fuel just a few meters away but wake up immediately in a soft, comfortable bed if he so much as shifted while holding her.

But as soon as they were surrounded by space and that eerie silence descended, Nureyev would gently nudge her awake, knowing she wouldn’t want to miss a second of it. No matter how many times she’d seen it before, whether it was their tenth or fiftieth or thousandth journey, it never seemed to dim the awe and delight on Bianca’s little face as she would stand, wobbly and uncertain on her little legs, in her daddy’s lap and press her face to the reinforced glass, making her indistinct babyish noises of excitement. As she got older, they began to coalesce into words, mostly just repeating ‘stars’ and ‘bootiful’ to herself in a whisper, clutching Nureyev’s sleeve tightly like she was worried he couldn’t see them and needed to be shown.

And then she would grasp at them, her fingers brushing against the window, like she was trying to pluck them from the vast expanse that couldn’t really be called a sky if you had no ground to stand on. Like she could open her adorably chubby little hand and see one twinkling there, as small as it appeared from their vantage point, and hold it out to her daddy, a gift of one of the shiny things she knew he liked so much.

Her little face would crinkle in disappointment after a few failed attempts, though it wouldn’t stop her trying again next time. Nureyev would smile and touch her cheek lightly and remind her that he didn’t need stars. He had his most precious treasure, better than anything else the universe could produce.

It didn’t matter how many times he had to remind her. He would mean it wholeheartedly, every single time.

Then he would help her find a more comfortable position and tell her the stories, ancient and crumbling thousands of years before now but still living on. He would tell her about Andromeda and Cassiopeia, Delphinus and Orpheus’ lyre and the mistakes of Orion. Too young to understand nine words in ten, she would still listen attentively and fix her eyes on the stars, in love with the worlds her daddy painted with them. Whether the journey was an hour or ten or a day, Bianca would listen and sleep and listen again, almost eerily quiet and well behaved. A child who had learned very early on that when her daddy asked her to be still, she had better listen or alarms might start going off.

Nureyev would always have a destination in mind for them, it would never do to step off a shuttle and not immediately know your next move. If he’d thought himself careful before he had Bianca, then afterwards he was nothing short of fanatically meticulous. Maps of whatever city they arrived in, shortest routes in and out of major buildings, dedicated assessments of how lax the police force were in certain districts, he kept all of it behind his eyes as he’d walk through the streets with his head held high and Bianca in her sling, sleeping or peering out silently but curiously against his chest.

Never the same hotel twice, even if it was a planet he’d been on before, there was no sense in taking silly risks. There never had been but there was even less now. Fake creds, fake names, fake ID, basic stuff he’d learned so long ago and had hammered into him so many times that it was part of his DNA, like the instincts that told him to pull in air and to walk upright.

Bianca would always seem hesitant at first, though she’d never cry. The unfamiliar smells and too bright, too packaged newness of their suite would bring out nothing more than hunched shoulders and maybe a soft whimper, if it was especially late or their last escape had been particularly harrowing, though those were becoming very few and far between to Nureyev’s relief. Still, it would make his chest ache.

Fortunately they had another little ritual. Nureyev would sweep the blankets and pillows off of the bed, merrily ruining their crisp whiteness and dumping them onto the floor. As it happened, the skills he so prized as a thief- clever hands, adaptability, dogged determination- were also incredibly useful when it came to constructing a blanket fort, no matter the shape of the room, the amount of materials they’d been left with or how exhausted he was.

It didn’t need to be big, just perfectly sized for him and Bianca, the top of his head usually scraping the roof of it. No matter the colour of the light that filtered through the sheets or the noise from the city outside, no matter what dirt of what planet sat beneath them, as long as they were in their little den, curled up close like a fox and his cub in a cosy bolt hole, they felt like they were home. Bianca would open up like a flower, lying on her back and cooing happily, kicking her little legs and mauling her poor cloth cat, carefree in a way she only ever was when she was truly safe.

And she would look up at Nureyev like he hung the moon. Like he’d made the stars she loved so much.

And Nureyev would know he’d found that something better he’d dreamed of as a child.

He hadn’t thought it would still hurt so much. He’d been pretending for so long, longer even that he’d known where they were going and who they were going to collect, even longer than he’d been practising his smile in the mirror and dredging up memories he’d wanted to bury, deliberately plucking them up out of their boxes in his most vulnerable moments as training exercises.

There had been more than Nureyev had thought. His face as he’d commanded, demanded, that a towering, insane Martian anthropologist let go of Nureyev with undeniable fire in his eyes. His furrowed brow when he was just a few clicks away from solving a case, that moment of held breath before he made everything make sense. How he’d looked in the hospital with the bandage over the fresh ruin of one eye, how he’d looked so scared and so young, wracked with nightmares and clinging to Nureyev’s hand. How he’d looked in the shadowy light of his apartment, leaning in eagerly for a kiss before Nureyev had even told him to come here.

How he had looked at Nureyev’s daughter when he’d woken up and she hadn’t been there, eye wild and dangerous and full of the same fire as before, even with one where there had once been two. A face Nureyev himself had worn so many times. A father’s face.

Nureyev had let these memories loose where he’d once held them so carefully. And he’d beaten each one, forced it to be small enough to carry. He’d let them tear at him until he was a wash of internal wounds and forced them to heal. He’d said his name over and over, hearing the sound of it until it became just another word.

So why had it still hurt so much?

“Hello Juno. It’s been a while.”

It had come out as smoothly as he’d wanted it to, unconcerned and light as if the two of them had simply bumped into each other at a coffee shop with nothing in their past thornier than perhaps an awkward conversation at a birthday party. All of it perfectly orchestrated, right down to the way Nureyev perched on the Ruby 7 like a cat, to the way his lips fell open just so, making his smile a perfect mix of predatory and indifferent. I could pluck you from the sky and snap your neck in an instant, little bird, but why would I bother?

But inside it had felt like drowning.

Because he was there, he was standing right there with his ridiculous expression like he didn’t understand anything going on around him in that ratty, out of style overcoat that Nureyev wanted to burn and partly wanted to pull around him just to feel how warm it would be. Still with the eyepatch, clearly totally unconcerned with matching it to his outfit, with a tiny duffle bag over one shoulder that apparently contained all the trash from that sad little apartment he’d thought worth taking into space.

Juno Steel was standing in front of him, close enough to touch within a few strides, and Nureyev wanted to run.

But he couldn’t. He needed this job, he needed to be part of this crew. So he’d had to smile his practised smile, eye him like nothing mattered and never show that it burned like bad whiskey.

At least Nureyev had been able to make a quick exit after that, pointedly excusing himself from the hand shaking and the secretary’s loud introductions. He’d done as Captain Aurinko had asked and his own pride had demanded and he’d come off the worse. He didn’t need to do any more. And there was somewhere else he needed to be.

His bunk was as far from the others as the layout of the Carte Blanche would allow, for good reason. Bianca hadn’t taken well to settling in one place for so long, especially somewhere that creaked and groaned with decompression like some irritated beast, where there were other people she didn’t know, where things were just different. Where she could tell something was bothering her daddy that he wouldn’t share and wasn’t fixing. Neither of them had been getting much sleep lately.

Fortunately, when he pushed back the door, his daughter was still napping, curled up in their blanket, her fists pressed up against her face. Now a year and a half old, she’d become such a person. He knew that was a silly thing to think, she’d always been a person. But she’d solidified somehow in the year and change since he’d first held her and hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with her. Her arms and legs were now arms and legs rather than chubby things she could only fling about gracelessly. Her shapeless dark fluff had turned into curls that flowed and bounced. Her face still had babyish roundness but she had more expressions now, her eyes had an awareness when they weren’t closed in sleep. She had more control, more personhood than she’d seemed to before. She could wobble a few hesitant steps, she could babble the half word dada over and over and break his heart.

She was growing, more and more every day. It made Nureyev thankful for moments like this, when he could just sit by her and watch her be still, on momentary pause, like maybe he could keep her this small forever. Like she would never outgrow his arms.

Nureyev sighed and told himself he was being maudlin, leaning back against the wall. But he was finding it hard to muster up any other emotion, knowing Juno Steel had weaseled his way aboard their fresh start and was rattling around in this tin can with the rest of them.

He would have argued, offered to find any other one eyed former detective, even if he had to put out the other eye himself. He would have walked and found some other ship full of colourful misfits to take him and Bianca around the galaxy.

But his options were limited and his time was running out. And how many other thieving crews would make a man with no name and a toddler welcome? Buddy had been more understanding than Nureyev had dared hope when he’d admitted that it wouldn’t just be him joining the crew of the Carte Blanche. Maybe it was her strange ideas about them being more family than crew, perhaps she thought a baby would cement that or at least be a nice ornament to her tableau.

Nureyev didn’t care. He’d found somewhere Bianca could be safe long term, somewhere he could be sure she’d still be if he had to leave for a few hours on a job. Not painlessly, of course, but dependably. And that was the best he thought he’d get.

Juno arriving took all of that, screwed it into a ball and threw it with bad aim at a wastepaper basket. And now all the boxes Nureyev kept for things he couldn’t deal with felt about to split and even looking at his daughter, soft and sweet and sleeping, made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t stand. Looking at her, all he could see was the eyes that were a brown so much darker than his own, practically black, and the curls that didn’t come from his fine, silky hair. The darker skin and the broad nose and the scowl she could bring out sometimes that gave him a double take. All he could see were the parts he hadn’t given her, the proof that she hadn’t come from nowhere. The parts that made it complicated.

Nureyev reached over and pushed back a delicate curl of hair that had fallen over her face, leaving his fingers there a few seconds longer than was necessary. Bianca shifted gently and calmed, her face relaxing a shade more than it had been before, as if the brush of his fingertips had been enough to soothe her and chase away bad dreams.

His love for her struck him fiercely, as it always did, like low, constant embers flaring up into a roaring blaze.

Her DNA didn’t matter. It never had. Juno’s contribution had been all of a second, a throwaway moment neither of them had noticed. Her eyes, her hair, it wasn’t Juno’s. It was hers.

She didn’t need him and neither did Nureyev. They had never needed anything but each other.

Seized by some kind of mad energy, the need to do something and be good at it, Nureyev got up, using all his cat burglar instincts to not rock the bed in the slightest and wake up Bianca. Maybe he would mend the dress she tore last week or try and salvage the blanket he’d been attempting on and off to knit for her since she was born. Something that would push Juno Steel entirely from his mind.

Until he opened the door and came face to face with him.

Juno immediately looked as guilty as any criminal he’d ever caught, hand frozen halfway to knocking, jaw opening but no words coming out.

Nureyev, too caught off guard to manage his emotions, scowled, “Who told you this was my room?”

Juno’s eye darted from left to right, “Buddy? She gave us a tour…”

“Well, I don’t know why she’d think that was relevant,” he tried to keep his face impassive while internally running around frantically for something to hold on to.

“Well...her exact words were ‘if you’re wondering the sound of the baby crying is coming from, it’s Ransom’s room third from the left’...is that what you’re calling yourself? Ransom?”

Nureyev could have throttled him, “Would you like to announce that a little louder, Juno Steel?”

Immediately he flushed, biting down on his lip like that could have stopped the words from coming out, “Um...sorry, yeah...I didn’t...sorry.”

“Did you come to my door just to loudly announce my trade secrets? Or is there another reason?” Nureyev dropped his voice to the appropriate level, low and quiet so as not to reverberate down metal hallways. And not to wake sleeping children.

The detective- former detective- was truly flustered now, as Nureyev liked him. Seeing him from the top of the gangplank had been disconcerting, seeing Juno Steel back in his life. But now he was up close, stammering and blushing in his doorway, it threw Nureyev for a whole different reason. Not because it was the same Juno Steel he’d known.

Because he was so different.

He stood straighter than he had before, though not in a way someone would square up for a fight. His eye was clearer, like there weren’t so many shadows behind it. There were more lines on his face but he wasn’t settled into them as a default, they sat there rather as a map rather than a guide, not as inevitable. He looked older, which wasn’t surprising as it had been a year since they’d laid eyes on each other. But it was...different. The difference that didn’t come with time but with experience.

Juno Steel had grown, it was written all over his face. And Nureyev didn’t know what to do with that at all. The nerve of it.

“I wanted to talk to you, Nureyev,” Juno swallows, like he was mentally starting over, “Because...well, I thought it was obvious?”

“You thought incorrectly,” Nureyev said, biting the end off each word, “I see nothing we need to discuss.”

Juno looked dismayed at that, “Really? We’re just going to pretend none of it happened? Look, you’ve got every right to be upset with me…”

I don’t, Nureyev thought, chest clenching at the words. Because if you’ve changed, you’re no longer the lady who broke my heart, you’re someone new, someone who has his demons under control and there’s every chance you’ll find your way back in.

“...but I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of reflecting and...and there’s a lot of damage I’ve done that I want to start fixing. I was an asshole, Nureyev. I mean, I still kind of am but I’m trying. And...and I need to start with you. And her.”

No. Don’t you dare, Juno Steel.

Nureyev stepped forward, giving Juno barely a second to jump back out of his way. He was about to close the door, like he could close off Juno’s words as easily but that was when they both froze, instincts firing at the soft sleepy babble.

Binaca was sat up, the blanket rucked up around her waist, hands pawing at it like a content kitten. Her hair was a bird's nest, her eyes still heavy with sleep and confusion, mumbling indistinctly for her dada.

Nureyev heard a soft inhalation from Juno, eyes flickering over to see his scarred face lined with grief of all things. Grief for the countless moments in between now and then, perhaps, the ones he’d missed. That he’d turned his back on.

Bianca seemed to wake up more, her eyes widening and her little mouth opening. Her arms came up and stretched out, fingers grasping like they grasped at the stars. But not for Nureyev.

For Juno.

Nureyev shoved the sadness aside as hard as he could, not caring if it went in a box or not, just needing it out of his way, dredging up anger to replace it. He shut the door as he’d been planning, bringing it too with a dull slam.

“Listen,” he rounded on Juno, who was still standing there in some kind of shock, hurt clear on his face, “I am not interested in anything you have to say. I think two times is more than enough for someone to hurt you before you say no more. We will live on the same ship, we will work as the same crew but that is the absolute extent of my involvement with you. Is that clear?”

Juno looked ready to argue, some of the lady Nureyev had known resurfacing on his face. Good, he thought, show me this isn’t real. Show me it’s an act. Then I can go back to being angry with you and it can all make sense again. I’ll feel safe.

But then it faded and the resigned grief was back. And Nureyev felt something inside him, buried deep, crack with the knowledge he’d caused it.

“Fine,” Juno sighed heavily, “You’re not ready, I can understand that.”

“Not ready implies that this conversation will be happening in the future,” Nureyev’s voice was acidic, “Am I not being direct enough with you? I have no interest in your justifications for your behaviour. By all means, repeat them to yourself over and over as many times as you wish, however long it takes to be comfortable with your choices again. But do not bother yourself to repeat them to me, I have no need. It would imply that I care.”

Juno winced, as Nureyev had wanted him to right up until the second after he did it. He looked so wounded, like his words had punched a pinhole right through him. Nureyev refused to feel the pinch of regret at the back of his mind.

“Welcome to the Carte Blanche, Juno Steel,” he said coldly, going back into his room and slamming the door again. It wasn’t gentlemanly but there was little else to be done.

Bianca’s arms dropped sadly to her sides, eyes full of dismay. Her bottom lip began to do that wobbling dance that signified tears in the very near future.

“Darling,” Nureyev groaned, folding his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest, “Please, no. Everything’s okay…”

Bianca disagreed, mumbling unhappily against him, repeating ‘dada’ over and over like she was looking for answers. The front of his shirt began to grow damp with tears he’d caused.

Nureyev sighed shakily, trying to martial his thoughts and control his emotions, trying to feel more like himself. He buried his face in his daughter’s hair, inhaling her powdery baby scent, reminding himself that Bianca Nureyev existed and as long as that was true, he couldn’t fall apart.

After a while, he felt strong enough to sit back, like his spine and lungs would hold him up again. A moment later Bianca’s hands reached up to his face, patting his cheeks softly, cooing gently. Nureyev smiled, somehow, and kissed her searching little fingers. It was nice, he had to admit, to have someone there after he slipped away from himself.

The Carte Blanche hadn’t lifted off yet, still sitting on what passed for a dock in the Cerberus Province. But the stars were visible, unfiltered, without the fading, swimming effect of any dome and Nureyev could see them through the little circular porthole window on the far wall. As deadly as the stars were, uncovered like that, it was beautiful.

He felt the small boy that still curled up in the darker parts of his mind, one of his older boxes, stir. He felt him ache, looking at those stars with a desperate, fierce kind of hope that they held something better that could be his if he could only reach far enough. Nureyev shut him out too, after a moment. He didn’t need that any more. He would just keep moving forwards.

And he wouldn’t be alone this time.

#dad au #jupeter #cw: trans pregnancy #not seen but referenced #Nureyev is a good dad #juno steel #peter nureyev #tpp #the penumbra podcast #penumbra #junoverse #juniverse #tpp juno #tpp nureyev

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tasteofshapes · 5 years

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IchiRuki, the first time they said I love you and meant it romantically?

A/N: Warning, this is a long text post. This is also for day 28 of Ichiruki month. I had to skip several days of prompts to finish this, but oh man, writing this was SO. MUCH. FUN. I’ve played fast and loose with the manga and LA movie and basically combined both into one long timeline, so this is somewhat canon compliant. Also, please drop a comment and let me know: for long fics (anything 5 pages and over), do people still prefer reading it on tumblr or just a link to AO3?

Day 28: puppy love / Into Something Rich and Strange | Other Days

Ichigo doesn’t know when it starts. Maybe it begins during one of those lunches, when Mizuiro talks about his latest girlfriend, and the other boys curiously press him for more information: how far have you gone? Have you held hands? Have you kissed? Are you planning to go to a love hotel? He’s too busy thinking about how he can squeeze in more training, so he completely misses Mizuiro’s replies, and is taken aback when the group’s attention suddenly refocuses on him and his relationship with Rukia.

“So what’s going on with you and Kuchiki-san”, Keigo asks, a sly smile on his face, and Ichigo is forced to confront the reality of the nature of their relationship.

“Nothing”, he says truthfully, and maybe the answer pricks at him more than he thought it would.

Or maybe it starts even before then, on one of their early morning training sessions down by the riverside, when he looked up and saw the way the wind rippled through her hair, and realised, with a startled sort of ache in his chest, that Rukia was fiercely beautiful with that sword in her hand. Either way, the dawning knowledge that something’s happening that he doesn’t quite understand makes him grumpy.

Despite having had one secretly living in his closet for the last month, Ichigo doesn’t know the first thing about girls. He’s never really noticed them except to observe that they come and go in a pack, and they’re always giggling and blushing every time they look at him or call his name. He supposes that’s why he’s never really noticed that Rukia was a girl – logically, he knows that she is, but Rukia isn’t part of any of the girl cliques that form and break and reform again every week like the tide, and she definitely doesn’t blush when she’s around him. She’s just… Rukia, and she drifts through the school days like a jellyfish, invisible and indistinguishable from the hundreds of other students that course through the hallways of his school.

So it’s with a certain amount of surprise that he looks at her one morning, his training sword knocked out of his hand and hers pressed to his throat again, and says, “You look different.”

“I- what?” Rukia’s nonplussed, but her sword doesn’t waver as she darts a quick look down at herself. She’s wearing their mandated school uniform, not a button out of place.

He frowns, because the way the dawn light plays over her face is a mystery that he is determined to solve. “Did you do something with your hair?”

She blinks at him in confusion. “No? Ichigo, focus. I’ve got my sword to your throat, what’s your next move?”

“You’ll surrender?” He says, and she just laughs at him.

“And how do you plan to make me, fool?”

In reply, he knocks her sword aside, grabs her hands and yanks her forward. She stumbles straight into his arms and he catches her automatically, then takes three quick steps forward and pins her against the tree. He presses a forearm against her throat, his free hand gripping both her wrists and pressing them into the tree trunk above her head. She’s warm and tiny under his hands, and her eyes are wide as she looks up at him in surprise.

“So,” Ichigo says, and he’s proud of the fact that his voice comes out steady, “we were discussing the terms of your surrender?”

Rukia scowls up at him so unhappily that he laughs, and the moment is gone. It’s something that he can’t stop thinking about though, a memory that filters to the surface of his consciousness over and over again. After that, something changes. There’s a subtle, but noticeable shift that he can’t quite put his finger on.

Ichigo doesn’t give it much thought after that, except that he finds himself looking at Rukia when he thinks she isn’t paying attention, and she keeps catching him at it and frowning puzzledly back at him. Ichigo concludes that he would not make a good spy.

It finally hits him one afternoon, when they stay back after class so that he can help her with English Literature. The classroom is empty, and it’s just them, twin heads bowed over the textbook as if in prayer. English is her worst subject, and Shakespeare completely eludes her. He’s explaining a scene in Romeo and Juliet to her when she shakes her head and says, sounding lost, “but they just met! How do they know they love each other?”

Ichigo shrugs. “They just do. Romeo falls in love with one look at her beauty too rich for use, for he ne’er saw true beauty till this night, and then he realizes that he never loved anyone until that moment. And Juliet falls back in love with him when they kiss for the first time.”

She lifts one skeptical eyebrow. “That sounds awfully shallow to me. What kind of love can survive on a foundation as shaky as a look and a kiss?”

Ichigo privately agrees. “Puppy love,” he suggests. At her quizzical look, he elaborates: “eh, when you’re young and stupid, it’s easy to fall in love. In all the books they say it only takes a moment to capture a heart. The small things, you know, like the way she laughs or turns her head, or how she glows in the morning when the sunlight hits her face…”

He trails off as Rukia lifts her gaze from the textbook to look him with those big, violet eyes, and then Ichigo realizes that he’s been describing her all along. He stares dumbly back at her for what seems like an eternity until she looks away, uncomfortable. The silence stretches on and on.

“Rukia, I,” Ichigo says, mouth dry, and then stops, because he doesn’t know what comes after. He doesn’t know what this is, and he doesn’t want to say things to her if he can’t be certain of what he means.

“It’s getting late,” she says abruptly, avoiding his eyes as she stands up and starts gathering her books. “We should head back before it gets dark.”

Ichigo doesn’t remind her that it’s four in the afternoon, and that the sun doesn’t set till seven.

He scrubs a hand through hair, frustrated at himself, but says, “yea, alright,” and starts packing up too. They’re quiet on the way back, and there’s an awkward distance between them that stretches like an ocean.

On the surface, nothing changes, but now he’s conscious of her in a way that he never was before. She’s a puzzle that he’s just beginning to understand.

He mulls over it as he queues up with her to buy her lunch. Rukia has depleted whatever credit she had during her time in the Living World and she has no source of income, so more often than not, he ends up being her personal ATM. At first he buys her things that she’s not used to with the aim of helping her get used to the modern world: curry buns, potato snacks, and canned Coke. She duly tries them all, but then one time he catches her eyeing the ramen stall longingly, and from then on he makes it a point to get her something that he definitely knows that she likes.

Today, it’s curry rice. Meal duly purchased, they make their way over to a table in a corner and he pulls out the homemade bento that Yuzu has made: salmon teriyaki with tamago and deep-fried tofu, topped with a generous helping of rice. He would have asked Yuzu for an extra one for Rukia, except that he can’t quite come up with a good reason for it.

“You’re lucky Yuzu’s such a good cook,” Rukia says, eyeing his tamago, and he automatically cuts it and puts half on her plate.

“You’re being nice today,” she says, sounding confused.

“I’m always nice.”

“Not this nice. And anyway, your face says otherwise. I think half the girls in the class are terrified of you.”

“Only half? I must be losing my touch.” He pauses, and it stings that she thinks he’s stingy enough that he wouldn’t share his food with her. “Rukia, you know you can always ask me if there’s something you want. If I can get it for you, I will.”

A look of apprehension settles over her face, but before she can reply, Chad appears behind her, with Keigo and Mizuiro in tow.

“Is this a lunch date, or can anyone join?” Mizuiro says, making flirty eyes at Rukia, at the same time that Keigo says, “Ichigo, you sneaky bastard! So this is where you’ve been disappearing to during lunch! Kuchiki-san, has he been hitting on you? What a terrible experience that must have been for you!” Despite the sympathetic words coming out of his mouth, Keigo’s giving Ichigo obvious winks of approval and there’s a massive leer on his face.

Ichigo closes his eyes and contemplates if he would get away with murdering the two of them in front of half of the school.

“Ah, company!” Rukia says, and the relief is evident in her voice. “Please, sit! Making conversation with Kurosaki-kun has been such an ordeal. He’s all broody frowns and dark looks, and now he’s saying he wants to give things to people for free? He is clearly insane and I think this is why he has no friends.”

“You poor thing,” Mizuiro says insincerely, and drops into the seat next to her, and Ichigo resigns himself to spending the next half an hour fending off inappropriate personal questions from his friends.

He tries to bring it up again a few days later after they finish a round of Hollow hunting. He’s getting stronger, the Hollows are getting easier to vanquish, and he’s riding a successful post-Hollow high when he turns to her and says, “do you think you’ll still need me in the future?”

“Huh?” Rukia’s distracted, checking the mobile.

“Once you get your power back. Do you think you’ll still need me?”

“Oh. I haven’t really thought about that, so I don’t have an answer for you right now. To be honest, it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any stronger.” She clenches and unclenches her fist, troubled by the way her body responds, and he can’t help himself as he moves towards her and touches her shoulder.

“Well, no matter what, I’ll always be your friend.”

Rukia looks up at him in alarm. “A Shinigami and a human can’t be friends,” she says cautiously, and he snorts.

“Then what would you call this? Of course we’re friends. In fact, we’re more than friends, aren’t we?”

“Are we?” She says softly, uncertainty written on her face, and this is his undoing.

“Of course we are,” he says, and they’re standing so close now that he can feel the heat radiating off her body. “You live with me, and I buy you lunch everyday. We’re- we’re…” He doesn’t have a word to describe this. His hand is still on her shoulder, her hair brushing against his fingers. Abruptly, she takes a step back.

“It’s late. We should head back.”

He’s thrown by the sudden change, but swallows the protests lodged in his throat because Rukia looks wary, and he’s not so selfish that he would push this onto her.

He blows out his breath, says, “okay,” then turns around and couches down on one knee, offering his back to her, hands positioned to catch her. “It’ll be faster this way,” he says when she doesn’t move.

She’s hesitant, but they’re several miles out of town and walking will take ages, so she gets on. She’s a warm weight on his back, a reminder of the storm of confusion swirling inside him. They don’t talk for the rest of the night, and he doesn’t bring it up again.

Things finally come to a head after he fights Renji and loses, and ends up lying on the school’s rooftop staring up at the sky while she frantically tries to rub away his wounds.

“Rukia,” he says, “what are we going to do?”

She goes still, but she doesn’t reply. The sunset that day is a brilliant watercolour of pink and orange, but all he can see is her by his side, head bowed. It’s finally then, when he has to face the threat of having her taken away, that everything crystallises and he sees what this tiny girl has begun to mean to him. But there’s no time and no good moment to say it; he has a month to buy her freedom, and he throws himself into training with renewed vigour. Rukia’s too worried about the possibility of him dying to concentrate on anything else; she completely gives up all pretense at being human and spends most of the school day staring blankly out the window.

Ichigo knows this, because now he spends most of his school day watching her stare out the window. He’s vaguely aware of his classmates whispering about him, but he doesn’t have any spare energy left to wonder what fresh rumours are circulating around him and Rukia this time. He trains harder than he’s ever done in that month, and they talk battle strategies at night, and he tries not to think about how each passing day is a countdown to her life.

In the end, he loses. Byakuya stabs him twice and then it’s over. He’s left on the ground, bleeding out, and her eyes are filled with unshed tears as she looks at him for the last time. There’s so much to say and not enough time to say it. Ichigo watches her go with her brother and Renji, watches the gates open and swallow her up, and closes his eyes against the hard knot of failure in his chest.

Except that it’s not the end. He gets stronger and goes to Soul Society and beats up everyone who stands in his path, upending centuries of orders and rules along the way, and saves her.

“Yo,” he says, and the way her eyes widen comically as she stares at him is worth it. Worth every scar, worth every drop of blood split, worth what he has had to transform himself into.

“You idiot,” she screams a moment later. Predictably, they get into a fight right before she’s about to be executed.

But he saves her, exposes the traitors rotting in the core, and then it’s all over. He doesn’t relax until she’s been officially pardoned. Once it’s done, once she’s finished yelling at him for being such a fool, Ichigo, is your head completely empty?, they find an unoccupied rooftop on a random building on the 13th Division’s grounds and he lies back against the tiles and lets out a long sigh that he didn’t know he had been holding in. It’s a months-long sigh, a deep sigh of satisfaction, and he feels his whole body go loose and liquid.

“Why did you come,” Rukia says, and he hates how uncertain she sounds.

“Dummy, you saved my life. You changed my world. Of course I would.” The tiles against his back are warm from the sun, and he’s deliberately not looking at her.

“Ah. Well, if it’s because you think you have a debt to repay,” and he wonders if that’s a note of disappointment that he hears in her voice, “you can consider your debt discharged.”

He snorts in reply, raising himself up on elbow to look at her. “This was never about repaying a debt, Rukia. You idiot, isn’t it obvious how I feel about you by now?”

Her face is a mixture of emotions that he can’t read. “Oh,” she finally says. “So is this… puppy love?”

He snorts again, staring at her with incredulity. “Rukia. After all that we’ve done for each other, I think we’ve gone a bit past the puppy love stage by now, don’t you?”

“Oh,” she says again, faintly. The silence stretches out before them.

“Anyway, you know they die at the end, right?”

“What?”

“Romeo and Juliet. She’s destined to marry another, but they fall in love, so they try and marry in secret, only Romeo gets banished. So Juliet tries to fake her own death to escape and be with him, only he thinks that she’s actually dead, and kills himself. Then she wakes up and finds him dead, so she kills herself.”

Rukia’s eyes grow wider with every passing sentence. “That’s a terrible story! I can’t believe they actually teach you this.”

Ichigo shrugs. “It’s meant to be a romantic tragedy, you know, the two lovers killing themselves because they think the other is dead.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Killing yourself for no reason is no way to honour the memory of the person you love. But trying your best to live your life in honour of them, that’s how you know they were important, that they meant something.” Her voice grows soft. “Ichigo… if I had been executed, I would have gone peacefully, knowing that I had given my life in exchange for someone that meant a lot to me.”

“Oh,” Ichigo says. He’s thinking about what she said, about sacrifices and his mother, and it takes him a full minute before the rest of her words finally hit him. Then, “ohh.” He looks at her then, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “So, you mean me?”

“Well, actually I was referring to Chad.” Rukia says, deadpan, and he laughs and daringly, reaches out for her hand. She looks at him in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away. Her hand is warm and small in his, and his breath hitches as their fingers carefully interlace. The world has gone golden from the rays of the setting sun, and his chest is tight with joy.

“So, what now?”

“I’m going to stay in Soul Society for a while,” she says decidedly, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt. “I’ll need some time to recover and get my powers back. And then after… after, I’ll come and find you.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Ichigo says firmly. She nods.

They sit there until the sun sets, and the lights of Soul Society come on one by one, twinkling like constellations in the dark. Rukia leans against his arm and rests her head on his shoulder, and they stay like that for a while, until it gets too cold. Then he walks her back to the Kuchiki manor, telling her about his fight with Kenpachi, and she tells him that he is a lucky moron of the highest order and he should stop courting death so literally.

Everything goes back to normal, only now they try out this new thing of holding hands when no one’s looking, and he feels giddily happy whenever he sees her. They have a few more of these rooftop conversations, and then he leaves a few days later, with the others, and Rukia comes to see them off at the gates.

“I’ll look for you,” she tells him quietly, as the others exchange goodbyes, and he grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly.

“It’s a promise.” He looks at her for one long, last moment, trying to commit the image of her kimono flapping in the breeze to memory, and she smiles at him.

“Thank you for everything, Ichigo,” she says.

Because he still always wants to have the last word, he says, “that’s my line, Rukia,” and then hurries through the gates.

Returning to real life after that is like a punch in the gut. Everything is loud, frenetic, and he feels one step behind and out of sync. The world moves too fast without her in it. But he remembers her words, so he refuses to let himself pine, forces himself to join in, and slowly, a sort of equilibrium returns. Still, he leaves his window open every night, waiting.

Then one day, one particularly bad day, he hears the shocked gasps of his classmates and looks up to see her standing at the open windows of his classroom, outlined against the sun. His heart stutters to a stop.

“What’s with that look on your face,” she demands, and he has no idea what she’s talking about because the next thing he knows she’s kicking him in the face.

“What the - Rukia!” He yells, furious, and she grabs him and drags him out of the classroom. She gets the whole story out of him, makes him apologise to Orihime for being weak and pathetic, and then the ball of shame that he’s been carrying around in the pit of his stomach abruptly dissipates.

“You big idiot,” she says fondly, “can’t even survive a month without me?”

He scowls. “I didn’t know how long you were going to be away! You could have given me some warning, you know!”

“And where would be the fun in that? You should have seen the look on your face. It was like you had seen a ghost!” She chuckles at her own joke as they walk back to class together.

“Funny,” he mutters. “Are you staying with me?”

She turns to look at him in mock surprise. “Don’t you want me to? Have you moved on already, Kurosaki-kun? Tsk, what a fickle heart you have.”

“Rukia!”

She laughs at his outraged expression. “My things are already in your room,” she says comfortingly. They pause outside the classroom. “I’ll find you after school,” she promises, and then she slides the door open to a wall of noise as his classmates pounce on her and drag her in and demand to know where she’s been. He can’t get anywhere near her for the rest of the day.

Afterwards, he waits impatiently by the school gate, checking his watch every few seconds. It’s sticky and humid, the air heavy with the promise of rain. She comes running up, face flushed, and he’s struck by how happy she looks, how alive.

“Yo, Ichigo,” she says, brushing her hair out of her eyes and all he can think is, beautiful.

“Stop stealing my lines.” He says, and she laughs at him.

They don’t touch, but they are close enough that their hands brush against each other as they walk back slowly. There’s no need to rush, and they settle back into their routine as easily as if they were never apart. She catches him up on what she’s been doing in Soul Society, and he tells her what he’s been up to.

The rain starts as they’re halfway back, and they make it a run for it before giving up and taking shelter in the awning in front of a closed shop. Rukia’s completely soaked through, and she couches down, shivering, her hair sticking to her cheeks.

“It’s cold,” she says, sounding surprised, wrapping her arms around herself, and Ichigo digs into his bag and pulls out his rumpled school jacket.

“Here,” he says, then squats down in front of her and drapes his jacket over her shoulders. His face is close enough to hers that his every exhale is a puff of warm air against her cheek.

“Thanks,” Rukia murmurs, ducking her head. The jacket’s oversized on her, and he tucks the fabric more securely around her. His hands linger on the collar of his jacket, and then he grabs the lapels and gently pulls her forward and brushes his lips against hers.

She kisses him back, sweet and slow, and he doesn’t realise how long he has been waiting for this moment until it happens. He’s breathless and flushed when they finally part, and the words that he has wanted to say to her for a long time finally bubble up to the surface.

“Rukia,” he says, and at that moment, he’s never been more certain of anything else in his life. “I love you.”

She smiles back at him, her face bright like the sun, and says, “I know that, you dummy. I love you too.”

#ichiruki #ichirukimonth2019 #ichirukimonth #bleach #bleach fic #tasteofshapes fic #writing #fanfiction #ask me #canon compliant #ahhh this was so much fun #long reads #ichigo x rukia #ask game #otp: she stopped his rain

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sugaslick · 4 years

Text

rules | m

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre/warnings: prep school!AU, smut, degradation, mirror sex, knife warning, mentions of smoking, basically tae’s kind of a dick so bare with me

words: 2,982

summary: You return to your dorm to find Taehyung, your brother school’s wealthiest bastard. Unfortunately for him, you don’t like following the doctrine he preaches.

a/n: Hey everyone! I just graduated from class of 2020: quarantine edition so I’m starting to write again bc I have so much time...If you have any prompts for drabbles or scenarios send them my way bc I need ideas and I love doing personal calls ;) hope you enjoy I’ve been writing this in between ft calls with my bf lmao sorry babe if he only knew...also if u like this pls lmk so I can ruin y’alls rosy filter fr lmao

Tick, tick, tick.

The sound of the analog clock leads a symphony of your classmates’ pencils scribbling across their unfinished test papers, your hands folded neatly across your pristine work. You always finish tests early because you’re the straight A student, the teacher’s pet, the good girl - you strive for perfection and nothing less. You look to your left, peering at your classmate who’s perspiring so heavily that his shirt is beginning to stain. Poor soul, you ponder, poking your tongue between your lips and tasting success and strawberry lip balm.

You know what those stockings do to me, babygirl.

The taste makes you think of him. You know he likes it. He moans into your mouth when you wear it, licking at your bottom lip like it’s the tip of an ice cream cone.

You smell divine, my pet. I wish I could bottle you up and spray your scent on my pillow. It drives me insane.

You bring your wrist to your nose, breathing in deeply. Hints of citrus, geranium and blood orange coating your nostrils. You hold back a smile, folding your hands on your desk once more. You can almost feel his rough hands grazing the back of your thighs, fingers moving up your pleated skirt until they’re firmly gripping your ass. He’s rough, he’s vain, and he’s a bastard, but you like that. You need that. You need him. You can feel the wet seeping into your lacy white panties, crossing your legs uncomfortably to prevent it from moving further down your thighs.

Come on kitten, let me taste you. I’m hungry. I’m famished. I haven’t eaten for days. Come here.

Taehyung. Saying his name aloud is a sin against God. He’s the devil that meets naughty schoolgirls and ruins them at crossroads. You know the Ten Commandments by heart, and he has broken every single one of them. If the sisters knew what you two have done in closets, in the library, in your shared dorm room, they would expel you without thought. But you have, and you will continue doing so. He burns through your veins and evaporates your blood. His Commandments are Harder, Faster, and More. He exorcises you, he brings out the worst in you, he lives inside you.

Don’t keep me waiting, little girl. You know I don’t possess virtue or patience.

He is the deadly sin. Lust for your lips, your neck, your breasts, and your heat. He is a Glutton for your body; grabbing, kneading, pulling, scratching, and begging like a predator toying with its meal. He is Envious when others look at you, his glare daggers as his hand reaches down to your ass to claim what’s rightfully his. But it’s not, not really. He isn’t your boyfriend, and you aren’t his girlfriend. But you belong to him, without hesitation.

Do you see the way he’s looking at you? I’ll kill him. I will. I’ll make sure he never walks these halls again.

He scares you. He plays on your fears, your weaknesses, and turns them into desire. Sex is an amalgamation of your dreams and your nightmares, and he is the slumber that delivers both.

Riiiiiiing.

You stand almost instantly, swiping your test off of your desk and gracefully placing it on Mr. Jamison’s. You can’t think. You can barely breath. You just need to make it to your dorm and everything will be okay. You need release. You need Taehyung to rip off your panties and fuck you in your uniform.

Do I sense some eagerness, Y/N? Do you really want me that badly? Oh, this will be fun.

Fuck off. Even when he’s not around he teases you, playing mind games while simultaneously inducing a tingling sensation between your legs. You turn corners, bumping into classmates and teachers without sparing a glance behind you. You can feel a dampness at the nape of your neck, his favourite place to kiss you. He’s both the king and the joker, dominating you but taking his sweet time to do so. You trip up the stairs, breathing heavily as you enter the girl’s dormitory wing. The bulletin for the Spring Formal plasters the walls, pink and yellow leaflets papering the white brick with their propaganda. You pass cliques of girls socializing in the halls, twirling their hair, checking their phones, reapplying sticky clear gloss to their puckered lips.

Open your mouth. That’s it. Just like that. You know what to do.

You crash through the door of room 308, turning on your heel to slam the door shut behind you.

You exhale. Relief.

“Hello, love.” His voice. Just like that, you disintegrate. You feel your pulse quicken, you feel your legs quiver, you feel the wet drip lower, and lower, and lower. He’s here. “I missed you.”

Taehyung. Forest Ridge Private School’s most eligible bachelor. Captain of the lacrosse team, the moot trial club, and volunteers at the local orphanage on weekends. But you know better. He’s a liar, a cheat, and a bastard. His father owns several yachts, his mother a platinum member at a 5-star country club. He’s a brat, getting everything he wants without ever lifting a finger. What everyone fails to notice are the little things. He drives his slate grey Challenger a bit too fast. He says he’s quitting smoking, but shows up smelling like cigarettes every time you see him. He carries a switchblade that he swears is only for show, but flicks it open with an innate gesture that only develops from constant use. His left incisor is sharp, sharper than normal, as if he used his knife to grind it into a point. The only thing preppy about him is the uniform beret he always wears, tipped ever so slightly to rest askew atop his unruly black hair - like he is right now standing behind you. You turn, slowly, cautiously, as if preventing a gruesome attack from a lion just waiting to pounce.

“You’ve made me wait an awful long time for you. You know I don’t like tardiness.”

“Oh shut up, Tae. I was taking a test. It’s not like I could just walk out.” You finally meet his gaze. He’s angry, one hand holding his switchblade while the other gently caresses its blunt edge. You know he won’t use it, he just likes to scare you. To make you sweat. It’s his version of foreplay. Fear is like precum to him. “Besides, I like making you wait. It’s thrilling.” You utter, allowing the ghost of a smile to bloom on your lips. He takes a step towards you, then two more, until he’s close enough to smell your perfume. Close enough to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. Close enough to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. But he doesn’t, does he?

“Thrilling?” He sneers, running his tongue over the sharper of the two incisors as his free hand moves slowly up your body. His movements are always precise and deliberate, as if he thinks before he acts. He’s calculated. He’s sure of himself. And he’s sure he can make a mess out of you. “I believe the word you’re looking for is dangerous. You shouldn’t fuck with me, kitten. I don’t play nice. I thought you knew that?”

“And what if I did,” you retort, bracing for impact, “what then?” Your waist, your breast, your collarbone; all of them greeted momentarily by his touch until he arrives at his destination. His fingers wrap around your throat, his thumb applying just the right amount of pressure to your jugular. God, you want him. You want him so bad as his hand shifts to tip your chin up, his thumb slipping into your mouth urging you to bite down. You look up at him, a quick breath escaping his nose as if he were laughing at you.

“Well, I have rules. Rules that were made to be followed. Rule #1, no tardiness, which you have already broken. Strike.” You feel the blunt edge of his blade caress your inner thigh. “Rule #2, no panties. Let’s see, shall we?” He lifts your skirt with the blade before you can slap his hand away, his head tipping back before rolling forward in exasperation. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. They’re very cute, I’ll give you that, but this is unacceptable.” He grabs the waistline of the lacy white fabric, ignoring your protests as he slices down the middle of your panties. You swear he sharpens it daily, because it cuts through your underwear as if they were a piece of flimsy parchment. They fall to the floor, your inhibitions falling with them. “Now that’s better, don’t you think?” He taunts, letting your skirt fall back in place.

“You’re such an asshole,” you mumble, audibly hearing your voice waiver. He is carnivorous. He caught your scent. He knows you’re afraid. He pounces. He reaches behind your head to place his knife on your dresser, drawing his hand back slowly before resting it on your waist. Leaning forward, he draws a line of saliva up your jawbone, stopping to nip at your earlobe.

“You love it, slut. Now, what’s Rule #3? You should know it by now. I’ve only repeated it a hundred times.” He chimes, moving his hand up your torso to cup your left breast, massaging it gently with interjected pinches of your nipple. He loves to tease. Making you squirm is his guilty pleasure. You feel your throat tighten, the urge to release a moan unbearable. You can’t help but rub your thighs together, resulting in the friction you need to stay sane. He notices your movements, moving away from your ear to reveal his snide grin from ear to ear. Before you can even comprehend his movements, Taehyung sticks his middle finger into your heat, curling it as if he were beckoning someone forward. “This is what you wanted, yes? My fingers in your cunt?” You nod. You hate yourself for it. You were eager for this, for him. He pulls his finger out abruptly, lifting it to his mouth to taste you. His eyes close, savouring your wetness in his dirty mouth. When his eyes open he’s different. He’s ravenous. His jaw clenches, his tongue poking out between his lips to devour what’s left of you. “Do not make me say it again, Y/N. What’s Rule #3?”

“Beg for it.” You mutter softly, refusing to meet his eyes. You weren’t shy, not even in the slightest, but you know him. You know this boy stood in front of you. He loves control, and you’re more than willing to give it to him.

“Sorry? I missed that.” He lilts, putting his index finger to his ear to indicate his excessive behaviour.

You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly, moving towards him as you keep your promise to him about not breaking any more rules. “Taehyung, I want you to fuck me so hard the entire hall can hear us. I want them to know that Kim Taehyung is in here fucking my brains out. The athlete, the bad boy, the prep, and the sadist. Oh boy, oh boy. Now get over here, you prick.”

“Y/N, this is why you’re my favourite. You beg with such vigor, such enthusiasm. This is why you get special treatment.”

“Oh grow u-.” You can’t even finish speaking before his hands and mouth attack you from all angles. He kisses you, but you wouldn’t even classify what his mouth was doing as a kiss. His tongue darted in and out of your mouth like a snake, his right hand constricting your wrists above your head as if you were his prisoner. His other hand does not waste any time finding the space between your legs, two fingers pumping into you with composed movements. You could feel yourself unraveling at his touch. Your legs quiver, your lips are raw, your eyes shut so tight in fear of what might be standing before you. Then nothing. His lips and hands are gone from your body. Your eyes remain closed but you can feel his presence, his energy. It cuts through the room like a dagger, the ghost of his switchblade on your thigh. Your eyes flicker open, and he is no longer standing in front of you. Confusion floods your expression as you turn your head in both directions, wondering if what you felt was just another realistic dream. His knife. You turn around, and there it is still resting on your dresser.

“Did you forget Rule #4 already?” You freeze. You cannot move. It’s over. He’s got you. “It’s not over until I say it’s over.”

His hand grips a handful of your hair and pushes you towards the bed, your thighs hitting its edge causing you to double over. He spreads your thighs with his knee, still clad in his dry cleaned slacks. You hear the sound of his belt coming undone, his pants falling to the floor in one swift movement. A high-pitched moan escapes your depths as Taehyung teases your entrance with his cock, moving up and down your soaking wet folds with absolutely no haste. He enjoys this. Thrives off of it.

“I won’t fuck you without your full consent. I’m a gentleman, you know. I have a reputation to uphold.” You can’t take this anymore. You can’t take his attitude. You flip over so you’re on your back, staring up at his shocked expression. You position his cock at your entrance, crossing your heels behind your back before pulling him into you. “J-jesus.” He didn’t even have the mental capacity to retort, but his body didn’t waiver in the slightest. Sex is the only language he can speak fluently. He picks you up by your ass and moves you further up the bed, rolling his body into you like an angry wave. “I appreciate your eagerness, kitten. But don’t you ever do that again, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, dad.” This is how you two work. He chirps, you chirp back. He comments, you respond.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have said that.” He picks up speed, his cock drilling into you, the sounds of skin on skin filling the room with vulgarity. “Your pussy is mine, you hear me? I own you. You worship me. I am your god.”

And you believe him. Your eyes roll back in your head. You feel the build up. Your toes curl and your fingers clutch the sheets. You are so close to release you can feel it in your gut...and then nothing. He is infuriating. Your body is covered in flames and then extinguished in the blink of an eye.

“Tae,” you groan, his amusement quite clear on his tender red lips, “not fair.”

“You know what isn’t fair? The way you look right now. I wish you could see yourself. Your pussy is so fucking wet you’re practically pouring out onto the bed. Your hair is a mess, my teeth marks are beginning to take colour, and your eyes…” He trails off, almost as if in a trance. His disappearance led to the abandonment of his shirt and beret, both lying on the floor at the end of the bed. Black tousled hair covered his brows, the strands unruly from the tight grip of your fingers. He is like a dark angel, but you know this boy is no angel. “I have an idea.”

He picks you up, throwing you over his broad shoulder this time, and drops you in front of your full-body mirror.

“Strip.” You had no reason to disobey, dropping your uniform skirt and removing your blouse and bra. His eyes wandered, up and down your figure they went. He stares, ingesting you with his hungry eyes. They are almost black. “Now, you can see yourself. See how good you look after I fuck you.” His long fingers brush through your knotty waves as he speaks, contemplating his next move. “Do you want to cum?” You are taken aback by his bluntness, but you nod nonetheless. “How bad do you want me?” Your clit throbs with every word he whispers into your ear.

“God, you have no idea.”

“You had me at God.” And with that, he was on his knees in front of you, your body still facing the mirror. You watch your face as it simultaneously contorts with the presence of his tongue licking up your folds. He inserts one, two, three fingers into your prepped heat. The pressure of his tongue and fingers is almost unbearable, the overstimulation making it difficult for your body to stay upright. He does not let you fall. Every time your legs buckle, his hands grip your ass as he forces himself further into your dripping pussy. As he sucks at your pulsating clit, his fingers pump in and out of you with relentless urgency, never breaking eye contact. The intensity of his gaze is jarring, never looking away while he tastes you. You are so close to climax, the euphoria making you completely unaware of when Taehyung began pumping his cock with his other hand. He moaned into your pussy, the vibrations of his voice sending you over the edge. He sees this. Processes it. He rises before you cum to place his hand over your mouth as you scream in ecstasy. He is backing you up towards the bed, laying you down before he ejaculates all over your stomach and breasts. You ride your highs together. You feel him lay beside you, his head tipping to the side to kiss your bare shoulder.

“Alright, time to get you cleaned up.” He launches himself from the bed, heading towards your private bathroom. “We’re ordering takeout, right?”

“I’m already dialing!” You respond, reaching into the pocket of his crumpled pants to retrieve his chocolate brown Hermes wallet.

Sucker.

#taehyung smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic

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crqstalite · 4 years

Text

SHADOW OF THE SITH. Ch. 6

fair amount of warning before you read this. this 6.2k words that i did not know i had in me, and it took a shorter amount of time to write than the time in between chapters 3 and 4.

hope you enjoy! most of it is dialogue dump from the game, but other than that- -

NAJI._REVANITE_STRONGHOLD.

"I don't trust her." Zenith pulls her aside before they continue on to the stronghold, and she makes a motion for the Wrath to continue on towards where the speeders were parked. Out of earshot, she turns back to the sniper, who seems rightfully upset, "You saw the gleeful rage she went on as much as I did. Who says once she gets that agent back, she won't kill us too?"

"She's not in her right mind either, Zenith." Naji is as surprised as she figures her ally is as she defends the woman, "I can't say why, but I can sense something else is at work rather than just plain Sith cruelty."

An unbelieving grunt from him nearly makes her roll her eyes, but she figures she has to let it slide. By calling in Nadia earlier, Zenith had only been acutely aware of the situation before he'd arrived on-planet, and had been more than suspicious of the alliance with Lana and Tri'ama. Given that excused nothing, even she's a little upset by the body count in the Republic Revanite camps, but she also can't change the conditioning the Wrath has endured for years on end. She's learned one thing, and that's fighting for her faction no matter what, and no amount of begging from Naji will change that. And though it's just a hunch, something about Theron's kidnapping has thrown her for a loop. She's more irritable than usual, and though she was able to discover her eyes weren't yellow all year round (they were a beautiful grey in the early sunlight of the Cove), they have been red for the last few days. Conversation has been completely forgone, and not surprisingly, Lana has been on the receiving end as well.

Or maybe she's wrong and Zenith is right, and the Wrath has something horrible planned for both of them as soon as they leave civilization, "I pledged my loyalty to you, but I won't let your trust get you killed."

"I...thank you." She says, once she realizes he isn't really insulting her. Maybe she really is spending too much time with them, assuming Zenith would have any malicious intent against her. He's only looking out for her, and in more ways than one, he's right anyways. Maybe she is being too trusting with Sith, the people who sacked her homeworld and left scars that would never heal on her people. She nods towards the awaiting speeders, where the Wrath sits impatiently. Her distress is still evident, but her determination is stronger. It's nearly suffocating as they grow close, and she barely lifts her head to the two, simply uncrossing her arms and standing up, "Is everything ready?"

"As ready as it can be." The Wrath answers coldly. Without even asking back if she was ready to leave, she races off into the jungle, leaving a cloud of smoke behind her. She and Zenith share a look before she swings a leg onto her own speeder, Zenith behind her. Then, the greenery of the jungle is upon her as she tries to follow after the Sith. Something she'd also learned, Tri'ama was fast. Not just on foot (she'd overtaken her multiple times while they were running about in Raider's Cove. It made sense, with her lithe frame and long legs would make her a champion long-distance runner, but it was terrifying if she was honest. Seeing her bolt after criminals sent a shiver down her spine because that could just as easily be her), but upon as close of inspection as she was going to get, the Sith apparently wasn't low on credits either with the souped up speeder she drove. Most likely, she'd get there first and start on her path to the stronghold before she and Zenith could even get set up. Rolling her eyes, she figures she'll find her as soon as the pained screaming started.

Also, she seemed to absolutely love throwing her sniper for a loop. Maybe the soldier that ran around with her previously was better at predicting where she would be a few seconds later, but because even Naji herself was a longer ranged fighter, Zenith wasn't used to having to watch the battlefield for allies as often. Her jumping out of nowhere to strike down enemies didn't help their new alliance at all, and there were a few injuries that she was just a little too sure had been caused by him, unintentionally she hopes. Both of them had their own reasons to be frustrated with the other, but she also hadn't exactly been communicating properly either.

It didn't help they both knew next to nothing about the Wrath other than her faction-crossing achievements, as she figured was the same for her. Instead of staying behind after debriefs, Naji often returned to the Polaris. After all of the mess with hunting elusive Revanites, she needed the break provided by Lana. To say the least, she needed the warmer force signatures of her crew rather than the soul-shivering ones of Rishi, stars forbid she become jaded. She, personally, could name every one of her crew's favorite foods, along with the things that made their faces light up like nothing else could. Not that she was bragging, it was rather unbecoming of her, but she liked to be prideful of her knowledge of those she lived with. It brightened her day in a way that was hard to describe, and she was emotionally refreshed when she returned.

The Wrath, was a trickier person to decipher. If it was possible to simply gift her an able and willing Theron Shan, she would've, if only to gain her unwilling alliance. Naji didn't like to be unable to trust her allies properly, and Tri'ama was no different. She wondered what the woman hid beneath her respirator (since Manaan, she hadn't seen her without it), wondered why her companions weren't a constant. Naji had been met with not only a Talz (on Manaan), but also an Imperial soldier (most recently) and small blue Twi'lek (for only a few moments when she'd gone to find the Sith for a mission). It seemed she wasn't satisfied with any of them, and through her rampage, had gone without one. Naji, sadly, wouldn't have been surprised if she had come back with much more debilitating injuries than just a simple scar down the length of her arm.

She was afraid for those in the Republic camp that had seen the Wrath of the Empire.

"Hold on!" She shouts over the engine of the speeder, and instinctively Zenith's arms wrap around her waist just as she has to make a hard left to avoid a grazing animal. Blonde hair flying, she skids to a stop just as the animal huffs at her as if she's the problem. Which, she figures she is, invading the poor animal's grazing grounds. Naji is thoroughly annoyed, she grumbles about the animal actually using it's large ears for something, and continues on her way. Possibly she had been so deep in thought that she hadn't seen it until the last minute, but makes a mental note to tie her hair up once they arrive near the docks.

It doesn't take long either, before she stops the speeder just a few moments away from the opening of the stronghold base. Ships are visible, and more than a few Revanites are milling about, weapons drawn. Storing her speeder underneath one of the docks while force cloaking both her and her sniper, she makes to begin scouting for the Wrath and her trail of bodies, but she's surprised to see it's not immediatly evident. Nothing screamed she had been here, no pools of blood, no wounded Revanites. Passing by a terminal, she has to do a double take as she senses a familiar force signature before looking up in shock. The Wrath has scaled a taller signal tower just near it, sitting on her haunches and gazing across the docks. Looking around for any Revanites, Naji drops the cloak once she finds they're alone, and Tri'ama finally acknowledges her, "Why in the stars are you up there?" Naji whisper yells, "You didn't go ahead?"

"I believe it was you who requested I stop continuing on my own, Barsen'thor." Tri'ama answers, giving her a rather unimpressed look as she raises an eyebrow, "I am also alone at the moment, what would Lana say if the Wrath came back dead because she was impatient?"

That didn't stop you earlier, Naji thinks bitterly, You're also saying you didn't want to go on alone because you were afraid of dying without me to come save you.

But there is a touch of something other than stifling pseudo-bravery filtering through her mind, which is possible apprehension lurking beneath the service. Possibly her previous injuries had a lasting effect on her and decided to wait for her this time. Naji couldn't imagine storming a camp on your own was easy, no matter how strong you were. She and Zenith had struggled to hold their own, even with the two of them. Hopefully this would instill some caution into her before she decided to rampage again.

Could Sith even feel fear? Was it even a basic emotion they had? Naji figured not, with how much force-leaping they did off cliffs and insane acrobatics they did during battle. It was as if not a single thing scared them, not even death. The Empire must've paid for their surely extensive insurance bills, or possibly they even waived them.

"Well then," With a loud thump, Tri'ama leaps down from the signal tower (the force is used to soften the impact, but when she steps away the wood is cracked) and stands to her full height and brandishes both of her sabers, "Lead the way, fearless Jedi."

What kind of talking to had she received from Lana? Had she? Or was she truly just toying with her, as she seemed to enjoy quite a bit? A confused look crosses her face as the Wrath chuckles, "What? You have the map don't you?"

Naji does. She'd acquired it just before they left the hut, and maybe this is the Wrath's way of reminding her that she isn't the best leader. With a barely audible huff, she pulls out her own double saber (though not igniting it just yet), and pulls up the map on her wrist. Her attention drawn away for just a moment, she turns to see where Zenith had gone when she hears the all-too familiar sound of sabers striking through skin and the thump of a body.

Her heart stops for about .2 seconds.

TRI'AMA._REVANITE_STRONGHOLD.

Red cuts through a Revanite who had gotten just a bit too close for her liking, taking aim for the Jedi. The Barsen'thor had turned to find her sniper, who for the record was behind a stack of crates and had surely seen their surprise attacker before she had, and as ingrained as it was in her society, she cut them down before they could get any closer to the Consular. Naji whips around, fear in her eyes before it mellows out into relief. The twi'lek gets up from his spot, though doesn't reholster his rifle as he approaches the two.

The two were an odd pair. How had such a soft-minded Jedi gotten caught up with a crackshot sniper? Much less someone as rough and patriotic as him. She didn't know much about this Zenith, and didn't intend to get to know him, but right off the bat she'd chosen she didn't like him. Maybe it was because he'd nearly shot her a few times, or seemed less than grateful for what she did for the alliance.

What did she think she'd gotten up to? Tri'ama throws her a less than well-meaning what the hell look before stalking off. She wasn't completely lying when she'd decided to wait for the Barsen'thor and her ally, there were quite a few more traitors patrolling around the stronghold than in the camps. Had Broonmark been here, or Vette, or Pierce, she would've easily been able to hack and saw her way to the main building, but without any backup she already had a streak in her hair from a blaster bolt that had just barely missed her. Now she had a matching pair on both sides of her head.

But, the Empire's Wrath wasn't about to even slightly admit defeat. At least she did wait as long as Lana had advised her while healing her wounds.

"You ought to be more careful, Wrath." Lana says, her voice softer than it has been in days. Tri'ama really can't act all that cold anymore, especially when she's trying to hold onto her pride and not request the Barsen'thor's healing for every little wound she suffers. But, the skimpy armor has worn out it's purpose and has made it obvious of every injury that marrs her pale skin. Lana took notice and decided to heal them, "You are not invincible."

"I'm also not dead." She grumbles, before inhaling sharply as Lana begins to work on one of her most recent wounds. Tri'ama never learned force healing (she didn't ever have to, Vette was proficient enough to get them through Korriban and Balmorra...and then he routinely took care of her), but it's an odd feeling to describe. As if the wound is being torn in two, and then put back together rather forcefully. Painful, but it doesn't scar as roughly as they would without Force intervention. And, she's put in working order much faster than without, even with the searing pains up her arm "I'll be fine, Lana."

There's a disbelieving noise from her as the aching pain subsides in her forearm, "You may be now, but you must learn to work with the Barsen'thor, as much as you audibly despise it. Your arm may not be the only thing injured the next time you become angry enough to forgo your own safety." There's concern in her amber colored eyes as Tri'ama stands from the bench, though she grimaces for a completely different reason than being in pain, "You can have your reservations about this later."

"Killing the crazy galaxy-spanning cult comes first, yes I'm very aware, Beniko. Though if I feel threatened, I will act accordingly." Tri'ama answers, reclipping her armor on and her sabers at their respective places on her hips.

"Just wait next time, at least until the Barsen'thor can accompany you. It would do us a great disservice to lose you."

But they move much too slowly. Being careful, she assumes, but for every Revanite she kills, it takes another five minutes for Naji to move on. Bah, it's not like she has a force bond to any of them, or knew anyone personally. They were nameless, faceless, traitors to either faction. To put it simply, they deserved to be cut down as it was. Tri'ama just didn't want to let the armies do it first.

Every ship is hers though, every warship meant for the opposing faction. Destroying is nearly as therapeutic as striking down everyone she comes across, and the Barsen'thor doesn't interfere. Except for the occasional time a force push off the docks and into the water is needed to keep the Revanites off her, the woman is exceptionally quiet as she goes over strategy to get into the actual stronghold. The explosions that could surely take the paint off her speeder is another perk, making her feel just as powerful as she was when she was in the heart of the Empire. Using the force to pull apart wire after wire, and then nearly the whole ship while she's at it, a roar rumbles up and out of her throat as sparks fly and the sound of creaking durasteel fills her ears. A look of shock from her as the ship snaps in multiple directions and is lit ablaze from dripping oil puts a less than good-natured smirk on her face as they continue on her reign of terror.

Naji looks terrified. She feels terrified. But, there is not a signal speck of judgement in he force signature. It's unsettling.

This isn't the only reason she's being more reckless than usual. The more time spent out here sabotaging every technological apparation out here was less time that Theron had to live. At the hands of a cult, a cult leader to be more specific, of course Tri'ama was more concerned than truly necessary. Lana had made it evident that he was mentally strong and could withstand some amount of torture, but she's afraid they've wasted enough time already. It's been four very long days, and in those days she progressively has gotten less and less sleep. Tri'ama nearly chuckles at the idea she feels like she's lost more sleep over an SIS agent than the betrayal of someone who actually reciprocated her love for a period of time.

Before she chokes on that chuckle and realizes just how far from the truth that is. It's been four days, not four years. Theron hasn't tried to kill her either.

It's also not the time or place to be thinking about the past though, as she waits impatiently for the Barsen'thor to connect to a nearby terminal, Lana's face flashing on. They talk for a bit as she plays with a discarded piece of sharp durasteel, twisting and turning it in the Force. Just for a moment, she tries to reach out for Theron, somewhere among all of the other presences nearby. For obvious reasons, the Barsen'thor shines like a beacon in the throng she can sense, but his familiar signature isn't to be found. Dejectedly, she figures he's shut himself off the best he can to withstand the interrogation.

Her will hardens, she's going to outright gut whoever did take him. Maybe not Lana, but his kidnappers would have a hefty price to pay. And stars, if they left any marks, any scars, and cuts, they would fall dead at her feet before the day was over.

The durasteel creaks and then shatters into pieces in the air, and she lets them drop unceremoniously at her feet. Her frustration is only growing, and that means there's a lot of unsuspecting building materials that would feel her fury today. Just as she's seething through all of this, a bit too bright of a force signature invades her space. The Barsen'thor has finished her conversation with Lana, "We have the coordinates for Theron. All is ready if you are." She starts.

"Where is he?" Tri'ama asks, trying to steady her already cold voice to not give away more of her emotional state as she already has.

"It's just down the valley. I don't know what to expect, but he's in that building there." Naji points out across the water to a larger building with some other Revanites crowded around the opening. Tri'ama turns back to her, awaiting her coming orders or whatnot, but the Barsen'thor hasn't made any movement to lead, "Well? Isn't this what you want?"

"What?" She narrows her eyes, confused by what she's attempting to say.

"You have a platoon of surely Republic soldiers in between you and your goal. You might as well get a head start." It isn't friendly, her offer isn't (in fact it's a little sad as she says 'Republic'), but the meaning behind it is borderline respectful, "I'm sure you'll get through them much faster than I will."

Tri'ama pauses, considering. She doesn't smile, though her bloodlust only grows as her eyes land on what she's speaking of. They aren't all Republic, a few Imperial uniforms stand out to her, but she's quick to sprint down to the docks. Nothing will keep her from her objective now, a battle cry elicited from her as she slices through every enemy along the way. A few are sniped by Zenith, but she's not particuarily upset about it. Nothing matters now but to get to Theron.

Stepping over the body of Sith that protected the doorway, Tri'ama is breathing hard. Of course she would be, she's sure either of the two traitorous factions have lost a good chunk of their military forces today, but her body is wound up like a toy ready to break from the tension. She's sure she's bleeding somewhere, and the adrenaline coursing through her veins ignores it wholeheartedly. No extremities are missing just yet, her hood lowered (fallen during the consecutive battles she'd engaged in) and her hair is sweaty and plastered to her forehead. Her knuckles have gone nearly white around her sabers as she disignites them, the door opening after she's slashed the console, and it sparks accordingly as the three step through.

The inside of the bunker isn't well-lit, but it's empty. She goes through first, Zenith flanking them before she comes upon a holoprojector. She has to hold back baring her teeth at the damned thing as the figure comes into better view, "Revan." She growls.

"I should have known the Empire would send one of it's lapdogs to try and find me. You should never have bothered." The gruff voice says, as if he's already won.

"What have you done with Theron?" She demands, before the projection can say anything else. She's not sure she wants to hear what it has to say.

"Theron Shan's fate doesn't matter. Neither does yours, I'm changing the fate of the galaxy itself."

When (yes, when) she gets her hands on this mass murderer, it will be safe to say that he will end up six feet under before he changed the fate of the galaxy. He's taken something important to her, and she will do the exact same to him.

"By doing what, destroying everything you come across?" The Barsen'thor speaks up before she can, coming to stand next to her, "That's not changing the fate of the galaxy, that's causing chaos and killing millions."

"I'm not waging some war with the Empire and Republic. I'm saving countless lives, and you keep getting in the way." He sounds more like a child hellbent on getting what he wants than a tyrannical murderer, she'll give him that, "The only upside in your being here, really, is that you get to bear witness. My plan's too far along to stop it now."

Blaster fire is audible as she turns to an open doorway just as he finishes his sentence, and she and the Barsen'thor both ignite their weapons. Tri'ama steps forward, brandishing both scarlet sabers in preparation for whatever comes next. It isn't immediatly obvious, but she feels him through the force before she can see him. The door is closing just as Theron runs under it, and her eyes widen in surprise. With no immediate threat obvious, she lets out a sigh of relief she didn't know she was holding as her cheeks flush.

This isn't the time, she has to remind herself. Though his name ghosts over her lips, and she's sure she looks more surprised than she wishes to let on.

"Don't listen to him--It's not over yet!" He comes to a halt, Naji growing closer with the full intent of healing his more apparent injuries, one hand already glowing in preparation.

"I was so sure I'd never see you again." Tri'ama admits, clipping her sabers back onto their holsters on her belt. Hopefully it isn't as flirtatous as another tone would've suggested it as, but her relief is out in the open, however he takes it. The interrogation had thankfully, not killed him or crippled him that she could see, but the injuries will scar. Not that he won't look more rugged with it, but it hardens her resolve for the cause.

"Yeah, sorry--almost made it out the front door when I saw you'd shown up to rescue me. Should've known you would." If she hadn't been so hot from before, her already vermillion face would've given away her acception of the compliment. Even if it wasn't directly meant for her, as she acknowledges Naji out of the corner of her eye, "It'll barely be a fight. Revanites embedded on both sides are gonna sabotage shields, weapons--you name it--and we can't warn them."

"I thought all of them had come to Rishi. There are still Revanites among the Republic?" And Empire, Tri'ama silently adds as Naji questions him, "We need to warn Master Shan."

"Revan had the Nova Blades build him a signal jammer. No communications at all up in Rishi space. It'll be a blood bath." He answers, his head lowered as Naji inhales sharply. Even Tri'ama knows what this means for the war effort. There will be casualties upon casualties in the oncoming fight, and currently they're the only ones with any knowledge about it.

A scowl replaces her earlier near smile, "Revan, when I see you again. You will not be pulling off any miraculous survival. I'll put a hole through you first."

"Actually, I doubt I'll ever see you again." Ominous, but it doesn't ring true until the entire cavern begins to rumble, an explosion sounding nearby and things falling around her in a deafening succession.

"This place is coming down. Soon!" Theron yells, and droids are beginning to pour out of some unseen crevice of the place. Naji's idea to heal is quickly shot down as her green blade is ignited, and Zenith's sniper rifle has a familiar click to it when it's unholstered. She gives the SIS agent a lingering look, before also drawing her weapons.

"You could have joined me, Theron. Understandably, you're as tenacious as I ever was. Good bye." He says, the holoprojector shutting off. A siren begins to blare and red lights are blinding her as it reflects off every metal surface she can see. The droids begin shooting a bit too well for her liking, and before she leaps, Naji throws a chunk of wood paneling at the direction of the metal good-for-nothings. She's a tad bit in awe before leaping herself and finishing the bots off, stabbing a few through the chest.

Tri'ama continues hacking her way through every droid she can see, and even a few humanoids that stuck around for some reason. As much as she'd like to drop back with the others, finding the shut off for whatever alarm is coming first apparently. She couldn't hear much from his and Naji's conversation over the damned sound, but as long as she's leading the charge, she will enjoy it.

In a flurry, they've arrived at a terminal, and as she sheathes her sabers, Naji attempts her best at shutting off the surely doomsday events that are heading their way. Her fingers are flying over the holokeyboard, symbol after symbol popping up before it explodes. She isn't quick enough to put up a force barrier between them all, but she puts her own hands up to protect her face, and she stumbles backwards into Tri'ama, the ground shaking beneath their feet. Things are coming apart, and she's beginning to consider slashing her way through whatever door or barrier is keeping the from leaving on their own. Reaching through the force, she can feel whispers of Theron's signature, and it feels as if Naji is going to need much more than her basic healing to repair the damage done to him.

And like that, the alarms have shut off, the ground under them stilling. The red hasn't painted everything in an eery color anymore, and Lana's voice crackles onto the comm, "Hello? Are you there?"

"Lana? What's just happened?" Tri'ama asks, whipping her own head around in mild curiousity, or more droids in case one wishes to bear her wrath.

"I appear to have sliced through four layers of encryption to remotely deactivate the power core." She answers, pride filtering into her voice, and if Tri'ama's being honest, she's willing to give her props for that. She herself floundered with technology, Vette and Quinn had always been better with the finnicky datapads and terminals than she had been.

"Just in the nick of time. Don't know if I could've managed that, even." Theron admits, sounding tired and a trifle incredulous of the Sith's work.

"Theron. Good to know you're alive." Lana says, her voice just a touch softer than usual, "I heard everything--about the jammer, all of it. We need to regroup for an immediate attack." She pauses as Tri'ama looks at the tired expressions of the other three with her, and can imagine how Lana feels on the other end of the comm. This is all out war now, and they're at the forefront of it. A few years ago, she would've seen it fitting. She was the Wrath after all. But this was unprecedented. She would do anything to save the galaxy and her people, "Whatever happens...be proud of what we've accomplished up to now. See you soon."

The ride back to the Rishii village is oddly quiet. Theron is understandbly a bit out of it (he rides on her speeder, but that isn't on her mind right then), and she's not up for conversation at the moment as thoughts of wartime begin to enter her headspace again. It wasn't as if she thought the war was going to be over as soon as she pulled out of Corellian space, but she wasn't expecting this either. Soon, she and Naji would surely be stalking into enemy territory, staring down the full fighting force of a millenia-old cult (or so she assumes, wrongly she later learns). Two people who would never work together otherwise.

Tri'ama wonders if she'll ever see the woman after this all over. Not that she needs to, but it's a lingering thought as they pull back into the village. Jakarro is the first to greet them as they return, "It is good to have you back!" (translated properly by Naji) He roars at Theron, who's understandbly a bit stand-offish.

"Alright, take it easy. I'm not exactly a hundred percent, and you're not exactly gentle." He says, a chuckle underlining his statement. Naji allows Zenith to wait outside, and it's stifling warmer inside than it is outside. Tri'ama unclips her own respirator, finally free to breathe the jungle's sticky air. The Barsen'thor's grey eyes are analytical, not judgemental but curious. There is a scar along her throat she's not particularily proud of, but she puts it on a nearby desk for later.

"Oh good! The team's back together--all thanks to you both for saving Theron, of course." C2-D4 acknowledges the pair of force sensitives, Tri'ama's gaze flickering to the aforementioned agent for just a moment.

"He was nearly out the door himself, you know." She fills in, and Naji nods approvingly. Lana pulls herself away from a holoterminal, coming to stand near them and surely debrief them on the next mission.

"Theron, you have the intelligence on this signal jammer. You start." She says, a tad clippedly.

"Right. The intelligence I gathered in the company of several interrogation probes while being held against my will." Either Lana isn't bothered by this and acts accordingly, or is formulating her own response to his icy statement. Either way, Theron continues, "Jammer's on a nearby island. You've probably seen it. Can't be sliced remotely, lots of Revanite zealots protecting it...the usual hopeless nightmare, basically."

"We've got this." Naji says confidently, even if she doesn't believe it herself. There's a new injury she hadn't seen previously, with the woman's hood up most of the time through the Revanite bunker. Tri'ama briefly wonders where it had come from, who'd gotten past their defenses long enough to land a blow like that. It's an ugly cut too, though it's stopped bleeding and trails up her neck to her ear, "Revan won't know what hit him."

"Time's running short. You both know what to do. It's what you always do: triumph." Lana declares. And with that, she goes back to whatever she had been doing previously. The Barsen'thor makes to gather something from her packs in the corner, shuffling things around and eventually calls Zenith inside.

Tri'ama takes this opportunity, "Theron, may I speak to you for a moment? Alone?"

He raises an eyebrow, as if suspicious of her intentions but follows after her. It's cooler outside, as the sun is beginning to set over the valley. She can see Rishii bustling around nearby, though they aren't her immediate concern. Tri'ama is well-aware of Theron's current state, but walks further out from the hut to where there's a stream running just beneath them. She stops, not turning to him but can feel him lean back on a wooden railing, "So? What'd you need?" He asks, "We do have things to be doing."

His hazel eyes are tired, though alert. One of his cybernetics is no longer yellow, instead a dull replacement of it. She hopes he fixes it.

"This isn't the first time I've thrown myself headfirst into a dire situation. Stars, it isn't even the first time I've faced certain death." She swallows hard, repressing the urge to brush her hair back from where it is hanging in front of her face. She feels bare without her respirator, but continues on, "But this is new. S-Theron. I'm not sure if I'm coming back this time."

He's quiet, letting her continue. But there are obviously gears beyond his cybernetics working in his head. Contemplating what she's saying, processing and surely about to react accordingly, and she wants to know. Know everything, "I'm trying to say that if this is the last time I see you, I want to thank you for the truly exciting excursion."

"You're not going to die, you know that, right?" He questions, though more subdued than he had been as he approaches her from the barrier that he'd been leaning against, "You're...you. There are things you've done that would make anyone retire early if they survived, but you're still here. And doing a hell of a job while you're at it."

Tri'ama can't find a response to that. It's kinder than she expected. Down from the adrenaline high, she is in quite a bit of pain. There's a tear in her armored pants, one that's bled for a while and finally has stopped, and a few along her backside. Lana will need to heal those to keep them from scarring improperly. It feels as if she's considering death itself, and death has chosen for her. She feels more trapped than she has in years, like this really is the end. Her heart won't stop beating so fast. The blaster bolt that had shot her in the shoulder, the scar on her back when she'd worn a more exposed armor set.

Quinn. Tri'ama honestly though she was going to die that day. After their skirmish, she was ready to nearly admit defeat herself, staring into his cold blue eyes that they shared.

Her body hurts.

Her mind hurts.

Her heart hurts. She'd spent the last few days worried about him, and now, here he is. And she doesn't know what to say. Or what to do. What was one to do in this situation.

"I...I just wanted to say that. Covering all my bases just in case." She turns to finally face him, "I never got to properly thank you for what you did for me at the cantina. Here I am, thanking you."

"You're--you're welcome." He says hurriedly, a look of surprise crossing his face. Maybe he didn't think she'd even remember the disaster of a night, "I have you to thank for saving me."

"You were already out before Naji and I were there." She says, quietly reminding him that the Barsen'thor had assisted as well, "You didn't need me."

They're quiet, as the wind begins to dry her hair off of the sweat that had plagued her. Tri'ama understands why the Barsen'thor had tied her hair back earlier, the jungle was no place for longer hair styles.

She doesn't even finish that last thought before she gathers what exhausted confidence she has left, and goes to kiss his cheek, cupping it with her uninjured hand. He's startled, which makes sense, and she goes to head back towards the hut, completely aware of what she's just done. He could refuse to work with her now, but at least she's gotten it out of her system.

A hand pulls at her as she stops, Theron on the other end. He's flushed, and now not just from the heat. He's tentative, still he pulls her back closer to him and kisses her softly. Her heart is pounding in her ears as she allows herself to sink into the moment, and had he been Sith, been Jedi, he would feel every single emotion she's allowing herself to experience at this very moment. It's surreal, in fact. Tri'ama doesn't want to let go.

All too soon, it's over. They remain in each other's embrace for a moment before he slowly let's her go, though he still has a loose grasp on her hand. He's not looking directly at her, but his attention is still with her, "Just...don't die."

"I can guess we have much to discuss when I return, yes?" She asks, flushed herself. Tri'ama is intoxicated, stars she wants to taste him again. Allow her to tangle her fingers in his jacket, in his hair, wherever she can.

She wants him.

"Yeah." He answers, the briefest of smiles on his face, "That'd be nice."

5 notes · View notes

my-creative-hell · 4 years

Text

New girl (Teen au)

Grave huffs gently as she waits for Rose, taking advantage of the break to play with a small finger toy she had made, focusing on it as she waits. Rose barges into the cafeteria after a few minutes, throwing herself down next to Grave with a large smile on her face.

Grave smiles as she stops fiddling with her toy, pressing a soft kiss to Rose’s lips as a greeting, making her giggle.

“I have news!” Rose smiles as she faces Grave, looking excited as she watches her intently, eyes bright.

“I like news!!!” Grave feels excited just watching Rose, buzzing softly as she waits for Rose to explain.

“There’s a new girl in our school!” Rose laughs, smiling as she pulls her bag off of her back fluidly, Grave gasping quietly.

“Whats her name?” Grave’s question is soft as she begins to fiddle with the toy again, though all her attention is on Rose.

“Her name is Scarlet! I had a short conversation with her in the hall, she seems cool!” Rose elaborates, smiling happily.

“Fffuck yeah!” Grave buzzes more, feeling excited to meet this new person as Rose laughs.

“I think she might be in your next class, so she might be sitting next to you.” Rose explains, leaning against Grave gently.

“Good!!” Grave giggles excitedly, wiggling her fingers in an excited manner as she smiles.

“You have math next right?” Rose questions, smiling as she turns, enveloping Grave in a soft hug.

“Mhm!” Grave returns the hug happily, keeping her buzzing down as she does, Rose humming as she hears the bell go off, transitioning into a groan at the thought of going to the rest of her classes.

“We gotta scatter!” Grave huffs out, not wanting to leave Rose to go to class, despite her new found excitement.

“I’ll see you at lunch!” Rose giggles as she gives Grave a gentle kiss, standing up from her seat as she grabs her bag.

“B-Bye…” Grave blushes at the kiss as she giggles, watching Rose walk off to her own lesson as she stands up, walking to math.

It doesn’t take long to get there, and once Grave steps inside, she can see that the new girl indeed is in her class. She has already been seated beside Grave, the only free seat in the class, and the teacher is quietly talking to her, explaining the lesson.

Grave moves to sit down beside her, trying not to glow as the teacher smiles, walking to the front of the class as more students file in, Scarlet sorting her things out.

“Hi…” Grave keeps her voice quiet as she speaks, getting out her own supplies from her bag.

“Hey…” Scarlet flicks her eyes over to Grave for a moment, giving her a polite smile as she unpacks. Grave smiles more, her fingers wiggling as she looks away, Scarlet looking down as she thinks. “You’re Grave, right?” She questions quietly.

“Yeah! Scarlet?” Grave nods, playing with her small toy again as she speaks to Scarlet.

“Yeah, I just got accepted here.” Scarlet nods slowly, explaining as she sits quietly, watching the front of the classroom.

“That’s cool!” Grave lowers her voice as more students filter in. “Have you met the principle yet?” She questions, wanting to keep Scarlet away from him.

“Briefly, kinda seemed like a dick though.” Scarlet shrugs as she watches the class, the teacher beginning to write as Grave sighs happily.

“Good, cuz he is a dick. There’s also this girl named Lola, she fuckin s u c k s.” Grave explains quietly.

“Yeah, she’s kind of the worst, huh?” Scarlet snorts as the class begins, her eyes flicking to Grave as she speaks.

“Thankfully not as bad as the principal, but she’s really close to it.” Grave explains, watching the teacher at the front of the class.

“You’re telling me.” Scarlet laughs quietly as she begins making notes, her eyes focusing at the front of the room.

“She thinks liking ‘Friends’ is a personality trait.” Grave keeps her voice low as she makes notes in the class, wiggling gently.

“That’s insanely accurate.” Scarlet giggles quietly, a wide smile stretched onto her face as she writes.

“She thinks she can speak Korean fluently, but what she tries to say is either something completely different or just fucking gibberish.” Grave plays with her fingers gently as she speaks, smiling widely.

“Oh my Christ.” Scarlet hides her face as she laughs, a slight blush on her skin as she listens to Grave.

“She smells like a broken perfume bottle. Nobody wants to die everytime you walk past.” Grave continues, finishing her work quickly as Scarlet giggles, hiding behind her hands to stifle the noise, not wanting to draw attention to herself.

“I gotta stop now, I don’t wanna get you in trouble on your first day.” Grave giggles quietly, her smile bright.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, been kicked out of too many schools to count.” Scarlet finishes her own notes as she shrugs, smiling softly.

“I don’t want you to get kicked out of here though, cuz you seem cool!” Grave explains, fiddling with her fingers as she giggles.

“Well thanks, I appreciate it. Oh, I met your girlfriend earlier, she’s super nice.” Scarlet smiles sweetly.

“That’s why I love her!” Grave exclaims, blushing slightly as she looks down. “That’s really cheesy, isn’t it?” She smiles.

“Sure, but that’s not a bad thing, is it?” Scarlet questions, laughing quietly. “I’ve never really been in a relationship so I can’t help you there.” She admits.

“Not bad at all, just really stupid… in a very good way.” Grave explains, smiling as she fiddles with her fingers, preventing herself from glowing.

“Well I don’t think its stupid, I think Rose is super lucky to have you.” Scarlet smiles, the class growing quieter as they begin to pack away.

“I-I’m glad you think so!” Grave blushes more, her cheeks glowing lightly as her heart hammers in her chest.

“I do, you seem really nice.” Scarlet’s face flushes lightly as she begins packing away her things, looking away from Grave.

“Thank you! I-I think you’re nice too…” Grave’s feet tap happily against the floor as she packs away her own things, the bell ringing now.

“I’ll see you later Grave.” Scarlet smiles, waving as she picks up her bag, leaving the classroom.

“Bye!” Grave returns the wave, her heart beating happily in her chest as she leaves the classroom, Lola following her in the hallway as she frowns.

“What do you want?” Grave sighs, already annoyed by Lola’s presence as she waits for her to speak.

“You already have a girlfriend, why are you wasting your time flirting with my sister?” Lola scoffs, eyeing Grave carefully.

“I’m not flirting with-” Grave cuts herself off, feeling confused. “I’m sorry?” She questions, looking at Lola.

“You heard me. So even if you want to go cheating on Rose with her, it’s never gonna happen. She wouldn’t like someone like you.” Lola smirks, her face twisting in a cruel manner.

“First of all, I don’t wanna cheat on Rose. Second of all… what the fuck did I do that made you think I was flirting with her?” Grave questions, feeling anger at the accusation.

“Oh come on Grave, you don’t waste your time talking and making people laugh like that if you aren’t flirting. And I saw you blushing.” Lola frowns, her voice cold and stern.

“Bitch…” Grave trails off, stunned by Lola’s idiocy. “I am literally the class clown, I make a lot of people laugh.” Grave tries to contain her angry glowing. “And I was blushing because she brought up Rose.” She continues.

“Just stay away from her, she’s had enough shit to deal with without throwing you into the damn mix.” Lola rebuts, rolling her eyes in annoyance.

“Uhhh no, fuck you. I can talk to whoever I want.” Grave retorts, starting to walk away from Lola as she tries to end the conversation, Lola backing off as her phone rings. She answers it in a hushed tone, backing herself against a wall as she speaks.

“Fucking bitch.” Grave walks away faster, wanting to get away from the area as she mutters, Lola falling silent as someone on the phone talks to her for a minute, hiking up her bag as she moves away quickly, half running down the hall.

Grave feels slightly off about that, though she continues to walk down the hall, heading to her English class. The classroom is full as she enters, the class about to begin as she walks inside.

Grave sits down in her normal seat, fiddling with her fingers as concern washes over her, switching to autopilot as the class begins, notes being written on the board for students to follow and copy.

Grave goes along with the rest of the class, taking notes despite feeling slightly strange at what just happened. A small knock echoes through the room, knuckles rapping against the closed door, interrupting the teacher as they speak.

Grave looks towards the door; feeling confused as the teacher goes quiet, opening the door to step outside, conversing with someone outside of earshot.

Grave fiddles with her fingers to pass the time as the conversation goes on, feeling confused and slightly worries as the teacher leans back into the classroom.

“Grave, pack your bag please, you’ve been called out of the lesson.” The teacher explains clearly, turning back to talk to the person outside.

Grave panics slightly as she packs up her things quickly, standing up from her desk and leaving the room, the teacher walking back inside and closing the door as Grave comes face to face with Lola, standing outside the class.

“What is it?” Grave questions, frowning as she fiddles with her hands, a small amount of anger rising in her.

“Oh come on, I didn’t get you pulled out of class to fight.” Lola rolls her eyes as she speaks.

“What happened?” Grave’s anger dissolves immediately, turning into concern as she taps her feet.

“Just come with me.” Lola bites at her lip before walking away, motioning for Grave to follow her.

“Alright…” Grave follows Lola, feeling slightly concerned and scared about what was going on.

“What did Scarlet tell you about herself?” Lola questions, walking quickly through the hallways.

“Um… that she just got accepted here, she’s met Mr. Haan, been kicked out of schools before and that she’s never been in a relationship.” Grave explains, thinking through her answer.

“All too much and not enough.” Lola sighs, sounding agitated. “God this fucking sucks, making me pull all these strings to get you out of class…” She grumbles to herself as she leads Grave.

“Lola.” Grave grabs Lola’s shoulders, looking her in the eyes carefully. “What, the hell. H a p p e n e d?” Grave pushes for information.

“Scarlet may or may not have gotten shot outside the school, attempted assassination and all that…” Lola bites at her lip, frowning as she explains.

Grave feels confusion and concern flood through her a she grabs Lola’s hand, running as Lola yelps.

“Grave! Please calm down for fucks sake!” Lola yells as she is dragged, struggling to stay upright as Grave pulls her along.

“Scarlet could’ve been shot and you’re telling me to calm down?” Grave stops, looking at Lola with anger brewing inside of her, watching as Lola takes a breath.

“It’s a shoulder shot, nothing neither of us haven’t dealt with before. Besides, I managed to stab the guy so trust me, he’s worse off than her.” Lola’s voice is deceptively clam as she speaks, beginning to walk again.

“It’s still w o r r y i n g.” Grave points out, not even acknowledging the face that Lola has been shot before and stabbed a man. Lola sighs, grabbing Grave’s shoulders.

“Look, I’m asking for your help, I don’t have the equipment to help her right now, so I kind of need you. But I need you to be calm.” Lola’s face is kinder than Grave has seen it, her expression genuine.

“Okay, yeah, cool.” Grave fiddles with her fingers nervously as she walks, trying her best to clam herself down as her brain screams at her.

“Wow, she really didn’t tell you anything, shit.” Lola cringes as she walks, holding Grave’s shoulders carefully as she guides her. Grave tries to quiet her brain as they walk, her fingers starting to hurt as she fiddles more.

“Look, she’s gonna be fine, okay? Promise.” Lola leads Grave outside the school building, continuing to walk.

“Hhh cool.” Grave glows softly as she tries to calm herself down, Lola smiling genuinely, looking kinder than Grave had ever seen her as she slowly leads her to a chained off area behind the school, where Grave can see Scarlet sitting down on the concrete.

Grave’s brain is screaming too loudly in her ears, her skin glowing as she tries to process what’s going on.

“She’s okay.” Lola pats Grave shoulder gently as she walks over to Scarlet, whose hoodie is currently ties around her shoulder to stop the bleeding.

“Rad.” Grave tries to think of positive thing to calm herself down as Lola checks on Scarlet’s wound carefully, Grave moving over as she thinks over her options for helping.

Grave sighs softly as she comes to her decision, gently leaning down to plant a healing kiss onto the wound, watching is close up as Scarlet flinches slightly.

“Well that solves the biggest issue.” Lola states quietly, carefully helping Lola onto her feet, assisting her while standing.

“Yay…” Grave keeps her voice low as she speaks, unsure if she should be leaving or not, Lola sighing as she bites on her lip nervously.

“Look, admittedly I can’t carry Scarlet, and she sure as shit isn’t walking anywhere right now… do you know any place she would be safe while I get this sorted?” Lola questions, her expression genuine.

“M…My lab room…” Grave looks down at her feet as they tap gently against the floor.

“Do you think she could stay there for a little?” Lola’s request is quiet as she helps Scarlet stand, uneven on her feet from blood loss.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Grave’s glow disappears as she smiles gently, Lola manoeuvring Scarlet over to Grave carefully.

“Thanks, cause now I’ve got a call to make and a man to murder.” Lola smiles gently.

“Yay, murder.” Grave giggles softly as she carefully picks Scarlet up, making sure to be gentle.

“Look, if she does pass out or anything, just stay with her and it’ll be fine.” Lola explains, Scarlet burying her face in Grave gently, soaking in the warmth.

“Hhh got it.” Grave smiles as she leaves Lola to make her call, walking faster than average, though she neglects running in case it makes Scarlet uncomfortable.

Scarlet hangs onto Grave gently as she moves, Grave holding her up by her legs securely. As she moves, Grave is able to tell that one of the legs isn’t made of flesh like the other, but is a prosthetic.

“…Rad.” Grave whispers the word as she walks, not taking long to get to her home as Scarlet remains quiet in her grip, making it hard to know if she’s awake or not due to her silence.

“Scarlet?” Grave keeps her voice quiet as she walks inside the house, moving into her lab area with Scarlet.

“Here…” Scarlet hums the word quietly as she shifts on Grave’s back, being placed gently on the comfortable couch.

“That’s good.” Grave smiles warmly. “How many blankets would you like?” Grave questions softly, watching as Scarlet thinks.

“T-Three…” She answers, curling herself up for comfort as she lies down on the couch. Grave smiles as she grabs blankets for Scarlet, carefully wrapping her up in them.

“Do you need anything else?” Grave keeps the question quiet as Scarlet curls herself up more.

“Sorry you got involved…” She apologises quietly, frowning as she lies on the couch, feeling comfortable.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to be sorry.” Grave sits on the floor carefully beside the couch. “You did nothing wrong.” She elaborates.

“Well getting shot isn’t exactly the best thing I’ve ever done.” Scarlet laughs quietly, watching Grave with a careful expression.

“…What happened anyways? Y-You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Grave lowers her voice as she asks the question, Scarlet frowning.

“What normally happens, some guy who works for my dads rivals decided he’s try and get ahead of the game, take out the kids. Normally I’m more prepared, but I was a bit distracted today…” Scarlet explains, laughing quietly. “I forget you don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Do you… d-do you wanna tell me what’s happening?” Grave questions, frowning gently as Scarlet sighs.

“It’s a lot… um, well for starters, my dad may or may not be a sort of crime boss.” Scarlet begins explaining, cringing slightly. Grave fiddles with her fingers, frowning as she listens to Scarlet.

“He’s a good guy really, its mostly crimes against the rich dicks in the world, but you still make enemies, which is why me and Lola are trained pretty well with knives and shit… I’m gonna assume she already mentioned we’re technically sisters?” Scarlet questions, thinking through her words.

“Yeah, she did…” Grave answers after a moment of reflection, tapping her feet against the floor lightly.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but it works…” Scarlet frowns gently. “This is why she told me not to make friends…” She explains quietly.

“Sorry…” Grave apologises quietly, looking at her feet as she stops fiddling with her hands, her cheeks glowing as Scarlet gently places a hand on her shoulder.

“Not your fault.” She reassures Grave, smiling sweetly. “Lola just gets scared. She puts on this huge act all the time, trying to make everyone hate her, but I don’t see the point in it.” Scarlet explains quietly.

“…I feel a little bad for putting baked beans in her shoes now.” Grave confesses, giggling softly.

“Nah, she wants people not to like her, cause then she doesn’t have to worry about them.” Scarlet laughs quietly. “Think she might have to let that go now though.” She continues quietly.

“That might be a good idea…” Grave buzzes quietly, unsure of what else to say to Scarlet.

“Sorry, I’m rambling a lot.” Scarlet apologises, smiling as she gently pats Grave’s shoulder.

“It’s fine! I like rambles, I just dunno what to say sometimes.” Grave explains, giggling softly.

“Thank you for helping us…” Scarlet’s voice is soft and calm as she grins, watching Grave quietly.

“You’re welcome!” Grave glows happily now as she speaks, Scarlet smiling as she listens to her.

“You’re too nice…” Scarlet hums the words, feeling slightly sleepy as she lies down now, warm enveloping her.

“Mmm I have to be tho.” Grave reasons, gently holding one of Scarlet’s hands. “You sleepy?” She questions, her voice soft and quiet.

“Losing a lot of blood does that to you…” Scarlet smiles, nodding slowly as she watches Grave.

“Do you want the lights on or off?” Grave giggles quietly as she moves, wiggling slightly.

“I don’t mind, I’ll be fine either way.” Scarlet explains, smiling as she gently holds onto Grave’s hand.

“Okay!” Grave focuses for a moment, the lights flickering before turning off, the only light in the room coming off of Grave as she glows softly.

“You’re glowing…” Scarlet smiles gently as she points Grave’s glow out, watching her with fascination.

“I know! It’s kinda cool, isn’t it?” Grave giggles quietly as she watches Scarlet, smiling.

“It’s really cool.” Scarlet agrees, smiling sleepily. “Never seen that before.” She watches the glow quietly, getting sleepier.

“Well now you have.” Grave lies down on the floor happily, curling herself into a ball.

“You can come up here if you want, don’t have to lie on the floor.” Scarlet comments quietly, closing her eyes.

“Oh!” Grave climbs onto the couch with Scarlet carefully. “Thanks…” She gently envelopes Scarlet in a hug, Scarlet smiling as she turns to face Grave, accepting the hug.

Grave blushes slightly as she closes her eyes, her heart beating as Scarlet gets close to sleep besides her, feeling warm and comfortable. Grave drifts off slowly alongside Scarlet, sleeping peacefully.

It’s a while before Grave is disturbed, being stirred from sleep as someone knocks on the door loudly. Grave whines quietly, wanting to sleep as she keeps her eyes closed.

“The door isn’t locked.” She calls out quietly, sounding groggy as the door opens, two sets of footsteps entering the house, one set heavier than the other.

“What do you want?” Grave huffs quietly, feeling slightly angry at the multiple footsteps.

“Well I was hoping to get my other daughter.” A deep and gruff sounding voice answers Grave, sounding stern.

“Mmm but she’s comfy…” Grave protests, her brain too sleepy to form proper sentences as she frowns.

“She also got shot and lost a lot of blood, and should be somewhere she can be protected.” The voice points out, laughing heartily, making it sound to Grave as if it belongs to a very large man.

“…Okay.” Grave relents, unfurling her arms from around Scarlet, curling into a ball as Lola snorts.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just protective of his sweet children.” Lola jokes, poking Grave gently as she speaks.

“That’s f i n e.” Grave huffs gently, opening her eyes as she lies, wanting a hug in reality.

“Doesn’t sound fine… something going on?” Lola catches on, frowning as she questions Grave.

“It’s not important.” Grave smiles. “Just want hugs.” She explains quietly, Lola watching her.

“From Scarlet?” Lola questions, looking confused as she looks at Grave, struggling to understand the situation.

“I don’t really care who gives it to me, I just want to be hugged!” Grave exclaims, laughing softly as Lola bites her lip.

“Like this?” Lola leans in, hesitantly wrapping Grave in a gentle hug as she speaks, her voice quiet.

“Thank you…” Grave smiles as she returns the hug, Lola nodding gently as her dad smiles, a large man covered in scars and tattoo’s.

“Glad to see my precious little girls made a friend. Normally these two are joined at the hip.” He jokes gruffly.

“Fren time!!!” Grave smiles more, her cheeks glowing happily as she hugs Lola, feeling happy.

“Well it’s nice to see, though them being together all the time makes sense, them being twins and all.” He explains, booming laughter filling the room as he waves his hand.

“We hadn’t actually mentioned the whole twins thing.” Lola explains, sighing as she pulls away from Grave, smiling gently.

“You haven’t, but that’s okay.” Grave smiles, curling herself back up into a ball to be comfortable.

“I’ll get Scarlet to explain it for you the next time you see her in school.” Lola smiles sweetly. “Which, we should probably get her home so she can go to school tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot we had to go there tomorrow.” Grave giggles quietly. “How fun!” She exclaims, feeling happy.

“It should be… interesting.” Lola agrees, smiling as her father approaches Grave carefully.

“Gon be very f u n. We can talk in the club room after school.” Grave explains. “We got… b e a n b a g s.” Grave smiles widely, Lola returning it sincerely.

“That sounds nice actually.” She expresses her feelings as her dad gently lifts Scarlet off of the couch, cradling her carefully.

“Bye bye…” Grave waves to the still sleeping Scarlet, her voice quiet as she closes her eyes again.

“See you later.” Lola waves as she and her dad leave, closing the door behind them as they take Scarlet home.

Grave squeaks softly as she drifts back into sleep, only being disturbed the following day by another pair of knuckles rapping against the front door.

“It’s unlocked…” Grave’s voice is quiet, though she raises it enough to be heard outside the front door as she hides under her blankets, Rose walking inside quietly.

“Hey sweetie!” Rose sounds happy as she notices Grave underneath all the blankets, Grave smiling.

“Hello dear!” Grave responds happily, her voice soft and slightly groggy as Rose walks inside.

“You disappeared yesterday, is everything okay?” Rose sits beside Grave on the couch gently, watching her intently.

“I’m fine, Scarlet got shot though. Thankfully I healed her.” Grave explains, wiggling. “Lola asked me if there was anywhere she would be safe and I said my lab room would be good so I brought her here.”

“Yeah, that’s super weird… Lola actually texted me last night and apologised? I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” Rose frowns, her eyebrows creasing softly.

“Neither do I, but they’re frickinnn twin bois apparently.” Grave engulfs Rose in a hug gently. “Very cool n shit.” She continues.

“Scarlet and Lola?” Rose questions, accepting the hug gratefully, feeling more and more confused.

“Yee!” Grave giggles. “Scarlet’s gonna explain everything after school in the club room…” Grave explains, thinking for a moment. “Should we just skip and then go there when schools over?”

“We can… how did and Scarlet end up getting along?” Rose questions, her voice quiet as she hugs Grave.

“Good, we are fren now!!!” Grave explains, glowing softly as she clings onto Rose gently.

“She’s super cool.” Rose points out, smiling as she gently fiddles with her fingers, a nervous habit of hers.

“She is!! So darn rad.” Grave agrees, smiling as she hides them both underneath the blankets.

“I’m glad you’re both okay…” Rose keeps her voice hushed as she speaks, fiddling with her hands as she thinks.

“So am I…” Grave giggles, pressing a soft kiss to Rose’s lips, making her blush as she flops on top of Grave gently. “Mmmine.” Grave declares, wrapping Rose in a proper hug.

“Yours.” Rose agrees softly, smiling as she nuzzles into Grave gently, her face warm.

“God, that’s so gay.” Grave remarks, giggling as she blushes more, savouring the contact with Rose.

“We are gay!” Rose points out, laughing as she thinks, trying to figure out how to word something on her mind.

“Mmm true. We’re like… an old couple, except we’re not old at all.” Grave glows gently as she explains.

“I mean, not like all old couples…” Rose protests quietly, trying to bring something up despite the fear mounting inside her heart.

“How so?” Grave questions, feeling curious now, her voice quiet as she speaks to Rose.

“Well… I don’t know, maybe I’m being super weird…” Rose backtracks slightly, hiding in Grave as she blushes more.

“Tell me, weird is good!” Grave encourages her in a soft tone, feeling excited as she wiggles gently.

“How much do you like Scarlet?” Rose questions, biting her lip as she finally brings it up, hiding more.

“I like her as much as I like you… which is a whole lot…” Grave explains, her voice getting quieter as she plays with her hands.

“Like as in you would date her?” Rose presses, her voice getting quieter as she continues.

“Yeah…” Grave nods, fiddling nervously with her fingers as she speaks now, unsure of Rose’s reaction.

“At the same time as me?” Rose questions, thinking as she speaks to Grave now, curious.

“Mhm…” Grave’s voice is barely above a whisper as she answers now, hiding her own face.

“W-Would you wanna?” Rose’s voice is soft as she blushes, leaning back to look Grave in the face, Grave nodding as her brain fails to come up with words. “Should we ask her after school?” Rose offers, giggling as she gently kisses Grave.

“Y-Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Grave blushes red, her face warm as she stares up at Rose.

“We shall!” Rose grins, covering Grave’s face in tiny kisses as Grave squirms, wriggling around.

“Aaa!” Grave covers her red face as she screeches, making Rose laugh as she lies on top of her.

“Sorry!” Rose apologises as she laughs, her voice light and airy now, feeling happy and calm.

“It’s f i n e.” Grave giggles, giving Rose her own soft kiss, smiles spreading on both of their faces.

“You sure about this?” Rose questions, wanting to be sure before they do anything serious.

“I’m very sure!” Grave reassures, nodding happily as she looks at Rose, her eyes full of warmth.

“Now I really want school to end.” Rose jokes, laughing quietly as she relaxes on top of Grave.

“Mmm, you wanna make something while we wait? Or go to sleep?” Grave offers, poking Rose’s nose gently.

“Admittedly I didn’t sleep last night.” Rose is slightly sheepish as she explains, smiling gently.

“Go sleeb then!!! We can cuddle n be gay and somft!” Grave insists, her skin glowing softly.

“Can’t argue with that.” Rose smiles, lying on top of Grave properly as she attempts to relax.

Grave smiles gently as they both close their eyes, feeling warm and happy as Rose relaxes more.

Grave gently strokes Rose’s hair, earning a hum of approval as Rose manages to relax, feeling tired now.

Grave continues to stroke Rose’s hair as she gets sleepy, Rose curling up on top of her as she struggles to stay awake.

“I love you…” Grave smiles sleepily as she speaks to Rose, her voice soft and calm.

“I love you too…” Rose returns the sentiment, hugging Grave gently as she gets close to falling asleep.

Grave blushes slightly as her and Rose relax happily, slowly falling asleep beside one another.

Rose fiddles gently with her hands as they approach the clubroom after school, feeling a wave of nerves rush over her.

“You okay?” Grave looks at Rose in slight concern, not wanting her to feel upset or uncomfortable.

“Just a little nervous.” Rose smiles gently as she explains, her cheeks flushing slightly as she looks at Grave.

“That’s okay.” Grave presses a soft kiss to Rose’s face as she opens the door, Lola sitting on one of the chairs inside the room as Scarlet wanders around, intrigued.

“Hi…” Grave smiles as she sits down on the floor of the room, Scarlet stopping in her tracks.

“Hey guys.” Scarlet smiles, Lola waving at Rose and Grave as she sits, watching the room.

“So uh… what do you wanna talk about?” Grave questions, glowing softly as she giggles.

“I promised an explanation, didn’t I? For my dad saying we’re twins.” Lola offers, snapping her fingers quietly as she remembers.

“Yeah, you did.” Grave leans against one of the beanbags in the room as she wiggles, Lola thinking for a moment before Scarlet answers.

“We’re called superfecundation twins. We’re technically twins since we were born at the same time, but we have two different fathers.” Scarlet explains, her voice level. Grave nods, fiddling with her fingers as she listens to Scarlet.

“So we’re sisters in the weirdest way.” Lola jokes, laughing. “We were raises by one man, the one you met, which is Scarlet’s biological father.” She explains. Grave makes a soft noise to show she understands, rocking slightly.

“Grave, would it be alright if I spoke with you outside?” Lola bites her lip gently as she questions Grave.

“Uh, yeah! That’s fine.” Grave gets off of the floor, following Lola as she leads her out of the room, closing the door behind them as she moves Grave away slightly, sighing gently.

“What’s wrong?” Grave questions, bouncing as a small amount of concern enters her.

“Look, my sister was raving about you last night and I’m just… worried. What do you intend to do with her?” Lola rubs her hands over her face, her voice gruff and stressed.

“Gay shit. Like… kissing… and dancing in the kitchen at fuckass-who-knows o’clock. And…” Grave looks down as she blushes, trying to word her thoughts. “Just a whole lot of gay shit…”

“You promise you don’t want to hurt her?” Lola presses, her eyebrows crinkled in worry.

“I promise.” Grave looks up at Lola, a genuine smile on her face as she tells the truth.

“I have to get going now, but good luck, okay?” Lola smiles, gently patting Grave on the back.

“Thank you!” Grave smiles largely, a blush adorning her face at Lola’s words of encouragement.

“She really likes you two, so don’t even sweat it.” Lola smiles, waving happily as she walks off.

Grave blushes more, squeaking quietly as she walks back into the clubroom, Scarlet smiling from her seat in a beanbag, Rose sitting on the floor near her.

“We’re… we’re really fucking gay.” Grave remarks, sitting down on the floor and curling herself into a ball as she giggles.

“I assumed, since you’re dating and all…” Scarlet laughs quietly, lying down on her beanbag.

“But um… we wanted to ask you something…” Grave explains, looking to Rose as she struggles to word it.

“Um… this might be weird but we feel… something about you.” Rose fiddles with her hands as she speaks, Scarlet sitting up curiously as she listens to them.

“We um… we like you. Like… a l o t.” Grave tries to explain, Rose nodding in agreement as Scarlet watches them.

“Like friends? I already knew that…” Scarlet looks confused as she tries to understand what has been said.

“No like um… kissy stuff. More than friends.” Grave elaborates, giggling quietly as she speaks.

“We totally get it if that’s not what you want… but if you do, we are interested too.” Rose smiles gently as she continues, Scarlet watching them in shock, unable to form her own sentence. Grave hides inside her hoodie nervously, glowing softly.

“I-I-I…” Scarlet stutters as she tries to phrase an answer, feeling confused and nervous and panicked all at once.

“I-It’s fine if you don’t wanna…” Grave explains, fiddling with her hands as she reassures Scarlet.

“No! I-…” Scarlet huddles into herself as she tries to think, her brain failing her.

“…Do you want some time to think about it?” Grave questions, watching as Scarlet rocks herself gently, trying to prevent herself from panicking, not that it’s working. “Is touch okay for you right now?” Grave comes out of her hoodie, feeling slightly worried as she frowns.

Scarlet nods slowly as Rose scoots closer, Grave enveloping both of them into a soft hug as she hums gently.

“Sorry…” Scarlet apologises quietly as she is hugged, managing to calm herself enough to form words in her mind.

“You did nothing wrong, its okay.” Grave reassures her softly, never letting her out of the hug.

“I made you worry a lot.” Scarlet counters, leaning into the hug gently as she calms down.

“True, but that’s not your fault.” Grave gently runs her hand through Scarlet’s hair as she speaks.

“I didn’t give you an answer…” Scarlet realises as she relaxes, not feeling panicked anymore.

“Well…” Grave glows gently as she speaks. “D-Do you… do you want to?” She questions, her voice quiet.

“Y-Yeah…” Scarlet nods gently as she leans into the hug, her heart hammering happily in her chest.

“…Would you like a kiss?” Grave smiles, a soft squeak coming from her as Rose grins, Scarlet nodding gently, unable to form a sentence in response, her heart pounding.

Grave giggles softly before leaning in, pressing a soft and gentle kiss to Scarlet’s lips, the kiss being returned by a very red faced Scarlet.

Grave blushes as she pulls back, quickly giving Scarlet another kiss, making Scarlet even more flustered as she falls into Grave slightly, her brain whirring.

“You okay?” Grave holds Scarlet gently as Rose joins the hug, glowing gently as soft concern flows through her, Scarlet clinging onto her. Grave gently strokes her hair as she holds her.

“Think you might have broken her.” Rose notes, smiling as she squeezes them in the hug.

“Oh no!” Grave squeaks softly, giggling. “Is it possible she can be fixed?” She questions, smiling.

“Hmmmmm…” Rose smiles as Scarlet hides her face in the hug, her skin flushed and pink.

“Kisses wont help, will they?” Grave questions, trying to think as she hugs them both.

“Who knows.” Rose smiles, gently poking Grave’s nose as she watches her with a fond expression.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?” Grave giggles quietly, giving Rose some kisses on her face as she speaks.

“Exactly.” Rose agrees, laughing softly at the affection as she looks down at the hidden Scarlet.

“I gotta see your face!!! It’s for science reasons.” Grave squeezes Scarlet gently, Scarlet staying quiet as she peeks from her hiding place, her eyes curious.

Grave smiles as she softly kisses Scarlet again, filled with affection as Scarlet flushes more, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Mmm… I don’t think it worked.” Grave jokes, giggling as she watches Scarlet go red.

“Worked…” Scarlet mumbles the word quietly as she smiles, hiding herself in Grave gently.

“Yay!!!” Grave glows happily, buzzing as she and Rose hug the now laughing Scarlet as she clings onto them gently

“We love you!!!” Grave smiles as she encases them in her warmth, feeling happy and content.

“I-I love you too.” Scarlet shakes out of shock and happiness as they hug her, still reeling.

“Rad!!!” Grave squeaks happily as she hugs them, Scarlet smiling and shaking as Rose grins softly, her eyes full of affection. Grave closes her eyes as she smiles, humming quietly as Scarlet clings to her, tears welling in her eyes.

“You okay?” Grave’s voice is soft as she asks the question, feeling slightly concerned about Scarlet.

“Just overwhelmed… I didn’t think you’d like me like that.” Scarlet explains, nodding as she wipes away her tears.

“Of course we would, you’re rad as fuck!” Grave smiles, wiggling as she explains. Scarlet returns the smile happily, hugging her tightly as Rose giggles. Grave buzzes happily as she cuddles the two of them, her heart feeling light and content as they hug her back, bonds forming between all of them as they start their new relationship together.

#writing with friends #writing #my writing #original writing #not my oc #others ocs #original characters #original story #tw blood #tw gunshot #teen au #alternate universe #sleepisafuckinglie #House of Hell

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

I'VE BEEN PONDERING PG

It's very common for startups to present to them. Do people live downtown, or have some sort of exit. There is less stress in total, but more as an exploration of gender and sexuality in an urban context, etc.1 I think the goal of this rule; if you can't explain your plans concisely, you don't worry that it might come out badly, or upset delicate social balances, or that can incorporate live data feeds, or that you won't be demoralized if they seem pointless.2 One YC founder told me that it wasn't worth investing in. The patent pledge doesn't fix every problem with patents.3 I can tell from the case. This site isn't lame. They wouldn't all grow as big. It will be easier in proportion to an estimate of your company's value that you'd both agreed upon.

Then you could, I don't care what he says, I'm going to name them: type A fundraising is when you can do, you don't see the opportunities all around us is that we get on average only about 5-7% of a much larger number.4 In most fields the great work is: very exacting taste, plus the ability to direct the course of adding some feature they were asking for.5 Most hackers are employees, and this trick merely forces you to clean up your apartment, writing something that you'll be able to say whether he should be classified as a friend or angel.6 Don't say anything unless you're fairly sure what you want to reach; from paragraph to paragraph I let the ideas take their course. Sometimes a competitor will deliberately threaten you with a business background, and he will automatically get paid proportionally more. Not all of them had never seen the Web before we came to tell them to stop.7 If you're free of a misconception that everyone else is crazy. Most startups that raise money and the kind of alarms you'd set off if you operate like Columbus and just head in a general westerly direction.

As we were in the old sense of managing the round. Technology is a lever. Modern literature is important, but I suspect that most of them a part time job. In the Bay Area would be the answer. But let someone else start those startups. They're not necessarily trying to mislead you. Like a lot of people will make them.

But if you make something they like. 05 PM subject: Re: Revenge of the Nerds on the LL1 mailing list.8 American universities currently seem to be a media company to throw Microsoft off their scent. Java white paper, Gosling explicitly says Java was designed to be a missile aimed right at what makes America successful.9 Different users have different requirements, but I don't think that's the right way to do it. But this is merely an artifact of the rule of law.10 All you'll learn is the words kids are allowed to use. That's the way to the close.11 It did serve some purposes: reading a talk out loud can expose awkward parts. What investors still don't get is what insanely great translates to in a larval startup.

When I talk about humans being meant or designed to live a certain way out of habit or politeness. Hackers & Painters that hadn't been online. Incidentally, the switch in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s.12 And the programmers liked it because they don't like to have it. What counts as property depends on what works to treat as property. But this is wrong. What's a prostitute?13 Everyone by now presumably knows about the danger of premature optimization. Essentially, they lead you on. That will change the way they treat the music they sell through iTunes.14

So tablet makers should be thinking: what else can we give developers access to? White said, good writing is rewriting, wrote E. Almost four decades later, fragmentation is still increasing. The more people you have to do it than literally making a mark on the world. Investors looked at Yahoo's earnings and said to one of the principles they teach you is to align the car not by lining up the hood with the stripes painted on the road, but by trying to use mass lawsuits against randomly chosen people as a form of evolutionary pressure. People think that what you want. In principle anyone there ought to have multiple founders who were already friends before they decided to build recipe sites, or aggregators for local events.

Better Bayesian Filtering. They may play some behind the scenes as adults spin the world for a while, can make visual perception flow in through his eye and out through his hand as automatically as someone tapping his foot to a beat. If you looked in people's heads. They are all fundamentally subversive for this reason. I sat down and calculated what I thought was hard, the groups all turned out ok. Election forecasters are proud when they can get it, at this stage.15 The danger of symmetry, and repetition especially, is where the richest buyers are, but figure out precisely where you lose them. If they didn't know what language our software was so complex. 2:21 AM subject: Re: meet the airbeds PG, Thanks for the lead Fred to: Fred Wilson date: Mon, Feb 9,2009 at 11:42 AM subject: Re: airbnb There's a lot to start a startup. And yet they can hold their own with any work of art ever made.

Leonardo?16 It is, as far as possible prevent them from having fun. Doesn't that show people will pay most for?17 After thinking about it than most, but almost everywhere the trend is in that direction. Till then they had to ask permission to release software: the last thing you changed. But fortunately in the US are more conservative than Boston ones.18 People are all you need is to be battered by circumstances—to let the days rush by. But that's something you can fix later, but you can't evade the fundamental conservation law. And yet Apple's overall market share is still small. Though the Web has been around for a millennium is finished just because of its prestige, but because they were ambivalent about threatening their cash cow, mainframe computing. I mean efforts to protect against cosmic rays.19

Notes

Even as late as 1984. Incidentally, Google may appear to be at a large company? Plus one can have escaped alive, or to be good?

To do this all the poorer countries. Ed. But it was the least correlation between the Daddy Model may be a sufficient condition.

And in World War II to the rise of big companies can afford that. And while this is to try to be a win to include in your classes as a result a lot more frightening in those days, but I call it procrastination when someone gets drunk instead of happy. I'm talking mainly about software startups are now the first digital computer game, you can probably write a subroutine to do would be better at opening it than people who might be a good problem to fit your solution. Look at those goddamn fleas, jabbering about some disease they'll see once in China, during the war on drugs show, bans often do better, and instead of the world of the most famous example.

Plus one can ever say it again. When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the actual amount of damage to the founders' advantage if it was 94% 33 of 35 companies that can't reasonably expect to make a fortune in the case, not because Delicious users are stupid.

But you're not allowed to discriminate on any basis you want to get going, and oversupply of educated ones come up with elaborate rationalizations. I also skipped San Jose is a meaningful idea for human audiences. Though in fact had its own mind about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's not enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes.

What Is an Asset Price Bubble? This doesn't mean easy, of the river among the bear gardens and whorehouses. They act as if you'd just thought of them could as accurately be called acting Japanese. Many more than 20 years.

It's hard for us!

2%. If a prestigious VC makes a small proportion of the things you're taught.

Doing things that don't scale.

Now the misunderstood artist is not limited to startups. There's not much use, because few founders are willing to provide when it's done as conspicuously as this place was a false positive rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you more than the previous round. Cascading menus would also be good startup founders tend to get going, e.

Emmett Shear writes: True, Gore won the popular vote he would presumably have got more of the flock, or at least, the government and construction companies. People only tend to damp this effect, at least guesses by pros about where that money comes from ads on other investors doing so because otherwise competitors would take forever in the case of heirs, professors, politicians, and everyone's used to place orders.

His critical invention was a kid that you'd want to sell them technology. I'm not dissing these people make the people working for startups, because it aggregates data from so many trade publications nominally have a lot of reasons American car companies have little to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the point where things start with consumer electronics and to run on the firm's site, they're nice to you. Not only do they decide on the young Henry VIII and was troubled by debts all his life. Distribution of potentially good startups, who've already made the decision.

Maybe that isn't really working bad unit economics, typically and then scale it up because they couldn't afford it. An investor who's seriously interested will already be working to help a society generally is to let yourself feel it mid-sentence, but you get an intro to a clueless audience like that.

But it is dishonest of the country turned its back on industrialization at the start, e.

The need has to be employees, or editions with the buyer's picture on the back of Yahoo, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of the things attributed to Confucius and Socrates resemble their actual opinions. The speed at which point it suddenly stops. And when a startup to engage with slow-moving organizations is to write every component yourself, but also very informative essay about why something isn't the last step in this essay I'm talking here about everyday tagging. If not, greater accessibility.

In 1525 he was made a bet: if you hadn't written it? I saw this I used thresholds of.

Especially if they were to work your way up. I managed to find a broad range of topics, comparable in scope to our scholarship though without the spur of poverty are only locally accurate, because those are probably the last step in this respect.

So how do you use that instead of Windows NT? How did individuals accumulate large fortunes in an absolute sense, if you make something hackers use. On the face of it.

But it's telling that it would be to say that it had no idea what's happening as merely not-doing-work. But they've been trained. So far, I preferred to call them whitelists because it depends on a weekend and sit alone and think.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #people #sup #editions #airbnb #back #trick #work #stress

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queen-archeron · 7 years

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Wildest Dreams // Part 3

Summary: Nesta has finally gotten the chance to get away from her small hometown of Prythian, and move to the big city of New York. She knows it won’t be easy to adjust to this new, independent life of hers, especially with an overprotective boyfriend constantly stressing her out. Cassian has lived in the city for a little less than a year, along with the rest of his Inner Circle of friends, and life couldn’t be better. When Nesta moves into the apartment next door though, many things change.

Tags: @highladyfxyre @fiery-feyre @justasimplereader @my-life-is-a-drama-book @eternally-reading @rhysand-and-rowan @the-bookish-soul @emdig2001@reinakatarina @wolffrising @ifinallygavein @blxckbeak @watermelonwiggle17@live-the-fangirl-life @disneyaddict27 @yourejustassaneasiam3 @rebelangel36@joepesci-isfine @photofeesh @little-eidolon @escapingtheconstrictingboxes@highladyoferilea @angelina-figjam @pattyb324-blog @gofoxyrself

If you’d like to be tagged feel free to send me an ask! Once I get it you will be added to the list! If I’ve forgotten you it was an accident and I’m so sorry! Message me and I can fix it!❤️

Note: If I could combine this chapter and the last one I definitely would, and I’ve been so overwhelmed with life outside of Tumblr lately it’s insane. I promise that starting with the next part and on, you will get all of the nessian feels! Not gonna lie, this is just a build up chapter but I hope you enjoy it anyways! And if anyone wants to be taken off the tag list let me know I understand!💕

Part 1, Part 2

Nesta groaned as she collapsed onto her couch, staring outside at the still cloudy sky. If every day was going to look like this, she might go crazy. She preferred staying inside and being reserved, but she still liked to have some sunlight filtering into the room, and so far she was getting none.

Her phone began ringing from where it lay on the kitchen counter, and she forced herself to stand up and retrieve it. When she saw Feyre’s name across the screen, she took a deep breath and answered, even though she didn’t want to.

“Hello?”

“Nesta! Hey, are you going to be at your apartment tonight?” Feyre sounded anxious, which only made Nesta nervous.

“Um, yes, where else would I be?”

Her sister was silent for a moment, but when she responded, Nesta could practically hear the smile on her face. “Okay, well you know that guy I’ve been…seeing?”

It took Nesta a moment, but she remembered hearing something every now and then about a guy. Feyre never went into much detail, but Nesta didn’t really care.

“Yes, what’s his name again? Ronald?”

“Rhysand. But he likes to be called Rhys.” Feyre was clearly trying to hide her annoyance, but quickly got over it and regained her joyful mood. “Okay, well he invited me into the city tonight to go to some bar called Velaris. I think it’s only a few blocks from your apartment, but would you like to come? He’s inviting a couple of his friends too so you wouldn’t-“

“No.” Nesta cut her off, sliding into the barstool at the kitchen counter and resting her arms on the marble surface.

“Wait, why?” Feyre asked, and there was a hint of concern in her voice which made Nesta roll her eyes.

“I can’t go out. I don’t know when Thomas is going to be-“

“Nesta you need to stop that.” The tone her sister had made Nesta stop. She had never heard her sound so demanding, especially to her.

“Excuse me?” Nesta almost growled, furrowing her brows in confusion.

“Thomas doesn’t control you, Nesta. Sure, he has a wealthy family and he gets everything he wants, but he doesn’t get you. You aren’t his property. Remember what you told me when I was with Tamlin.”

Tamlin. It had been a while since she had heard Feyre say his name. He had been a controlling snob, and Nesta had acted like she didn’t care, even though she wanted to throw a brick at him every time he came to their house. It finally got bad, and Feyre realized how he was treating her, so thankfully, she ended it.

“Feyre…”

“No. Nesta I know you act like you don’t care and you push everyone away, but why are you keeping him around? He’s bad for you-“

“Don’t tell me who’s good and bad for me. I can figure that out-“

Feyre made a frustrated sound and cut her off again. “Nesta, just promise me you’ll be careful with him. He’s taking advantage of you, and as much as you might think it’s okay, it’s not.”

Nesta didn’t want to argue any further, so she sighed and murmured, “Fine.”

“You’re coming tonight, okay? I’ll come to your apartment at eight and we can walk together.” Feyre’s voice was softer, and Nesta could hear the pleading as she spoke.

“Okay,” she said, running a hand through her hair as she stood from the barstool and headed towards her bedroom.

Feyre said, “See you then,” and hung up.

Throwing her phone onto her bed, she collapsed into the soft mattress, listening as it began to rain outside.

For some reason, Nesta’s mind went to her neighbor, Cassian. She hadn’t expected her neighbor to be so…young.

No, not young. Gorgeous.

She had tried to keep her eyes off of him throughout their entire encounter, worried that if she looked at him she would get stuck staring all day. Something about him was so intriguing, but Nesta didn’t know what.

She shook her head, erasing her thoughts about a man she didn’t even know, and instead thought about Thomas. He didn’t tell her when he was coming back, and she knew he wouldn’t give her any warning. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she wanted to go out with Feyre tonight. The two of them never really hung out, and she wanted to make sure this Rhysand guy wasn’t another Tamlin.

Grabbing her phone, she set a reminder to get ready at seven, and turned on the TV, wrapping a blanket around herself to relax.

Cassian smiled for a full ten minutes, just sitting with his back against his door, thinking about how lucky he was. Nesta. Her name was on repeat in his head, and all he wanted to do was knock on her door and introduce himself properly, which did not involve running into each other on the sidewalk.

He pushed himself from the door and tossed his gym bag onto the couch, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. His phone began to buzz, and he picked it up when he saw Rhys’s name.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Cass, do you still want to meet Feyre?” He asked, and Cassian could hear the sound of an elevator door, meaning that Rhys had just gotten to his apartment.

“Of course, why?”

“Well, I invited her to Velaris tonight, so I was wondering if you and Az would like to come? She’s bringing one of her sisters, and I need to make a good first impression.” Cassian wanted to laugh at how nervous Rhys sounded. He had never been the worried type when it came to dates, but for some reason this girl made that side of him come out.

Cassian nodded, then realized Rhys couldn’t see it. “Yea, of course I’ll come. What time?”

“I told her we could meet at eight because her sister lives in the city and they wanted to walk together.”

“Sounds good,” Cassian smiled, and headed through the hallway into his bedroom.

“I’ll see you then,” Rhys answered, and they both said their goodbyes before ending the call.

Cassian was excited to finally meet this girl who had stolen Rhys away from him and Azriel. They hadn’t hung out nearly as much as they used to since she had come along, but Cassian knew that if she made Rhys happy, it was all worth it.

He wondered what Nesta was doing right now, on the other side of the thin apartment wall. He couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful she was. Her attitude could use some getting used to, but maybe if he asked her out for lunch they could get to know each other.

Stupid plan, he thought, running a hand through his hair as he pulled his shirt over his head. His clothes were still sweaty from the gym, despite him showering, and he needed to change if he was going out tonight.

He looked at his phone to see it was two-thirty and sighed. He had so much time.

He changed into a sweatshirt and sweatpants, collapsing on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. He wondered if Feyre’s sister could be a possibility for him, but then that would just be awkward. Maybe he needed to wait another couple years before getting his hopes so high.

Nesta seemed…different though. She was intriguing, and when normally girls would swoon over him, she only gave him sass. He urged himself to stop thinking about her because there was nothing to think about. They were nothing but strangers. She didn’t know him and he didn’t know her.

Before he could think too hard about it, he dozed off, sleep easily finding him once again.

At seven o’clock, Nesta’s alarm went off, and she immediately got to work getting ready. Her red cocktail dress hung from her bedroom door handle, and she turned on her curling iron in the bathroom.

She didn’t care too much about making a good first impression, but after what Tamlin had done to Feyre…she wanted to make it clear that if anyone harmed her sister she wouldn’t be a coward. Not like last time.

Tamlin had been controlling to the point where he wouldn’t let Feyre hang out with friends, and sometimes even Nesta and Elain. As she thought about it, Nesta could relate to their toxic relationship in a lot of ways she never realized. Thomas was very much like Tamlin, and he didn’t trust her at all. He also hated when she went out with friends or talked to anyone he didn’t personally know.

She needed to end it, and she knew that, but she just needed to find the right time. Thomas would be furious, and she didn’t want him to take it out on anyone else.

She quickly changed into her dress, smoothing out the few wrinkles and then headed into the bathroom to do her hair and makeup.

By the time she had applied a small amount of mascara and blush, her phone buzzed and the screen lit up with a text from Feyre. Nesta looked in the mirror, adjusting her hair a little and finally deciding it was good enough.

She hurried out of her room, grabbing her heels as she went, and opened the entry door to reveal Feyre dressed in a black dress. As usual, she looked beautiful, and Nesta gave her sister a smile.

“You look amazing,” she said softly, watching her sister’s eyes scan her own dress.

“So do you,” she chuckled, and they both made their way down the hall.

They made their way into the elevator, and once they reached the lobby they walked outside, the city lights nearly blinding. Nesta hadn’t been out at night yet, and she was surprised to see so many people out and about. She figured New York City was more alive at night, especially with all the clubs and bars there were.

“So…have you met anyone yet?” Feyre’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and Nesta turned to face her sister.

“I met my neighbor earlier and I can tell he’s going to be a pain in my ass.” Nesta rolled her eyes just at the thought, and then her heart pounded faster as it wouldn’t go away.

“What’s his name?” Feyre asked, excitement in her blue grey eyes.

“Cas-“

A loud honk cut her off, and they both jumped back from the cross walk as a car came zooming past. Nesta made an obscene gesture as it drove off, and Feyre giggled from beside her.

“You’re going to have a hard time fitting in, aren’t you?” She drawled, and Nesta groaned.

“Maybe.”

Velaris came into view as they rounded the corner, and Nesta saw Feyre smile from her side. It had been a while since she had seen her so…happy. They weren’t even inside yet and her sister was getting all flustered. Nesta wasn’t sure whether she should be concerned or excited.

A warm breeze welcomed them as they entered, and music drifted through the air as they weaved their way through the crowds. Feyre glanced at her phone and Nesta could see Rhysand’s name on the screen.

“They’re over there,” she pointed to the corner of the room where several tables were set up.

Nesta followed her sister and finally made it to their table. Feyre embraced who she assumed was Rhys, but Nesta’s eyes were stuck on another person at the table, and his eyes were locked on hers.

Cassian.

#wildest dreams #queen-archeron fic #nessian #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #acotar

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mnranger5 · 4 years

Text

“Falling” in the NorthEast, Boston, MA, Portland, ME, Boothbay, ME, Whitefield, NH, 9/27/19 – 10/1/19

More than once on this trip, we heard people say they “SUMMER” in the Boothbay, Kennebunkport and in the rolling mountains of New Hampshire and Vermont. One older gentleman, with a sweater draped over his back, sleeves tied around his chest, explained it on our evening ocean sail, as “Summering, as a verb.” Well, we here in the Midwest have our own term - it’s called “VACATIONING.” And since it is no longer summer, this trip is VACATIONING IN THE FALL. But, in the spirit of rebranding words to sound like an East Coast Hoity Toity, this blog is all about Dyan and I FALLING across the northeastern United States.

One of our bucket list trips was an east coast roadtrip which included indulging in an obscene amount of lobster and taking in the brilliant fall foliage in the White Mountain National Forrest. So, for Dyan’s birthday, I booked this trip for her. This turned out to be a wonderful getaway as we wandered around the NE with no real agenda. Having no plans really allowed us to get creative with the journey and we ended up stumbling on some very interesting locations and activities. And the people watching on this trip was priceless. Surely worth more laughs than the best SNL skit.

9/27/19

Like all our trips, we were up early. Our 6:50 flight took off just after sunrise and we surfed the clouds at 35,000 feet all the way to Boston. A quick little 2-hour flight of smooth sailing is my kind of travel!

We Uber’ed over to the Courtyard Marriott hotel in downtown Boston. This hotel is directly across the street from the TD Boston Garden, the venue for the concert we’d be attending later that night. With the room not being ready yet, Dyan and I ventured out into downtown, in search of a lunch-time lobster roll. We settled on Luke’s Lobster. We ate at Luke’s on our first visit to Boston, and we both recalled it being delicious. We ordered the lobster rolls, drizzled in warm butter and a side of clam chowder. The lobster rolls were fabulous, albeit pricey. At $25 for a hot dog sized sandwich, it’ll leave you wanting two more.

After lunch, we walked around a bit more seeing some of the Freedom Trail sites. We walked the entire Freedom Trail on our first visit in August of 2016, so this time we hit one main exhibit that had been closed for restoration. Old Ironsides, also known as, the U.S.S. Constitution. We toured the ship for nearly an hour. An absolute highlight for me that I had been hoping I’d get to see since our trip in 2016.

For dinner, we chose Bell in the Hand Tavern, American’s oldest tavern. This storied establishment has been around since 1795. Obviously, it’s been renovated, but the bones and stonework of the building are original. Of course, their specialty is cold drinks and seafood. Yes please. We got the best seat in the house, the table at the point of the restaurant.

Obviously, we ordered oysters and lobster rolls and beer. While we ate absolutely everything on our plates, they were probably our least favorite lobster rolls of the trip, and most expensive at $28/roll. The lobster was a bit dry, the buns weren’t griddled and the shredded lettuce under the lobster was wilted. Complaining about having to eat lobster…first world problems.

After dinner, we walked a couple of blocks over to an establishment where everybody knows your name. And they’re always glad you came!

Yep, the original Cheers! bar. It was here Dyan fell for unfiltered, “chunky” cider beer called DownEast Cider.

From there, it was over to the Boston Garden, home of the Boston Celtics and Bruins. A storied facility, like its well-known brother down the street called Fenway Park. But tonight, was not about Larry Bird’s basketball team or Bobby Orr’s hockey team. Tonight, was a different kind of birthday gift for Dyan. Tickets to The Chainsmokers & 5 Seconds of Summer (5SOS) concert! We had great seats too, sitting low on the side just off stage left. Opening act, Lennon Stella, was underwhelming, as she played to about 5,000 fans that were in the process of filtering into the area. Her set felt very small on the massive stage and worse, all her songs sounded the same.

The second band of the night were the Ausie Punk Rockers, 5SOS. These guys were full of energy from the moment they hit the stage. Easily could be headliners of their own show, they rolled out all their hits including their hard rock version of Easier, one of my favorite songs. They did a sweet cover of Blink 182’s What’s My Name and closed their set down with an amazing rendition of Youngbloods. 5SOS was amazing, and we agreed we’d both go see them again.

The headliner was the DJ duo, The Chainsmokers. This is one of our favorites. While we aren’t part of the stereotypical rave or EDM crowd, we do love a good Chainsmokers remix on then Sonos while we’re cooking dinner for the kiddos! Anyway, the show was more like a spectacle. There were more laser lights, smoke, pyrotechnics, flaming drumsticks, motorbikes, giant suspended metal globes (which the bikes rode in), and great music than any show I have ever been to. The show was probably the best show either of us have ever been to. They opened the set with Takeaway (with Lennon Stella) before hitting just about every hit they’ve ever made, like Paris, Something Just Like This, Don’t Let Me Down, Call You Mine, This Feeling, Who Do You Love (with 5SOS) before closing with Closer. From 5SOS to The Chainsmokers, Dyan and I never sat in our seats. Boston got to see all my best dance moves! It was an incredible concert.

9/28/19

By 8AM, we were checked out of the hotel, and Uber’ed back to the airport to pick up our rental car. We rented from Alamo. Just our luck… Alamo had the ONLY line in the entire rental car reservation area. We waited in line for about 30 minutes before reaching the counter. Obviously, I rented as cool of car as I could get my hands on. Afterall, this was going to be a roadtrip and we needed to drive in style! So I selected the Mustang convertible class several months earlier. When it was our turn to approach the counter, the attendant asked me the car class I was looking for. I told her we reserved the standard convertible. She shot me the most dead serious look and told me the last couple at the counter had just upgraded to the last convertible. My jaw dropped as I searched for words. Then she flashed her pearly whites at me and said, “Just Kidding!”

Within minutes, we were headed out to the garage. Sitting right up front were two gorgeous Mustang convertibles. One was bright red car under the “Standard Convertible” sign, and the other was silver under the “Premium Convertible” sign. The silver was the 5.0L Mustang GT. The lot attendant was a 16 year old gal who likely had no idea the difference in the cars. She lead us over to the red car. I asked if we could take the silver car. She shrugged her shoulders. We picked the silver GT and got out of the garage before anybody knew any better.

Our road trip had officially begun! First stop, Salem, MA. Salem is a cute little town that 100% plays to tourists coming to learn about the town’s history. Specifically, Witches and the Salem Witch Trials of 1692 – one of the most tragic events of early American History.

There were dozens of historical sites to see in a one-mile radius stretching from downtown Salem to the waterfront. We only had time to hit a couple of sites, so the first site we visited is the Witch House, widely considered ground zero in Salem’s eerie history. In 1692, the home was owned by Jonathon Corwin, a wealthy merchant and politician. He was also the magistrate and judge in Salem who presided over the Salem Witch Trials. In short, Corwin oversaw the imprisonment of 150 people (witches, thought to be practicing witchcraft) and the death of 19 (18 of which were hung, and one pressed to death. Our second stop of the day was at The Salem Witch Trial Memorial, just blocks from Corwin’s residence. Each of the 19 killed in 1692 have their own granite slab indicating their demise.

Our reaction to Salem was mixed. Interesting, yes. Creepy, yes. Sad, yes. It is too bad all those people had to die because a couple of kids were acting out (acting like kids when they don’t get iPad time) and their parents thought somebody was casting a spell on them. Time for people to die. Sheash! Obviously, the story is tragic and cruel, but the entire town plays to the story. Virtually every shop in the historic area has to do with spooky costumes, Halloween decor, dark presences and witches. It really is a bizarre place to visit with a creepy vibe. Doubtful we’d ever go back.

Next stop on the roadtrip was Kennebunkport. This little gem of a coastal town is quaint, yet insanely overcrowded with tourist milling around. The two hotspots, The Clam Shack and Arundel Wharf Seafood had very long lines, so we settled on Alisson’s Restaurant because it had immediate seating. Talk about a sleeper! This place gets none of the seafood hype but delivers up some fantastic lobster rolls! Dyan got the regular lobster roll, while I ordered the lobster roll trio “sliders.” Finally a lobster meal that was filling!

Back on the road! By 3PM, we reached Portland. Our hotel, the Westin Harborview, sits beautiful perched up on the hill overlooking the Fore River dumping into the Atlantic Ocean. While waiting for our room, we had a couple of drinks at Top of the East, the rooftop hotel bar.

Later that evening, we walked from the hotel to the waterfront as we evaluated all the seafood restaurants. Obviously, we were having lobster again, but there was a lot of restaurants to choose from. The Fisherman’s Wharf had at least a dozen piers, all of which appeared to be working docks. They all had shops, businesses, seafood markets and a few restaurants. So many signs stating “Best Lobster Roll”, “Freshest Lobster”, “Most Lobster”, “Affordable Lobster”. How do you choose? We were drowning in choices. We took a walk down Portland Pier seeing neon lights at the very end. Must be another lobster joint… As we got closer, the establishment’s sign came into view. It wasn’t just any lobster joint. Nope, this was Luke’s Lobster’s flagship location – a brand new facility that just opened in June of this year. Winner-winner-lobster-dinner! Dyan and I got seated waterfront on the patio. We had an amazing view of the sunset at low tide.

9/29/19

It was another gorgeous autumn morning. After a delicious breakfast at the Westin, we headed north. With the heater blasting, and Dyan covered in our jackets, we cruised with the top down through the Maine Points.

One of our stops was at Bath, ME. Prior to the trip, dad gave me a tip that this is the location of Bath Iron Works (BIW), the defense contractor that builds the United States elite warships. While we really couldn’t get close to the ship, we did have a couple vantage points of the USS Daniel Inouye (DDG-118), and Arleigh Burke-class destroyer. This destroyer is widely considered the world’s most advanced surface warship.

As we crossed the Kennebec River, we got a different view of BIW, and saw a different ship currently being fitted. It was the USS Lyndon B Johnson (DDG-1002). The Lyndon B will be the third and final Zumwalt-class destroyer. With out of controls costs, and 29 canceled orders, the total project costs were spread over the three ships at a staggering price of 7.5 billion dollars per ship. Yikes!

On our way to Boothbay, we made a wrong turn and ended up at Knickerbocker Park, a small island on the Black River.

What a hidden gem this little park is. We used this pit stop to walk a bit in the sun, and warm up!

We arrived in Boothbay around 11:00, and proceeded to shop around the small town for about an hour. Dyan picked up a new wooden lobster marker for the family room picture shelf and also booked us a three hour afternoon sail to the nearby lighthouses on the Atlantic Ocean coastline.

But first, lobster. We needed some in our bellies. We had it narrowed down to two options. McSeagulls or Mine Oyster. Both on the water, both with seafood on the menu. However, McSeagulls had this great cover band on their patio belting out some 80’s hits. This was my kinda place. Mine Oyster on the other hand seemed to be known for their oyster menu – not my thing. I remained silent, hoping Dyan would succumb to the great tunes bellowing from the bar. Dyan chose Mine Oyster. Of course, she did. But this is her birthday extravaganza afterall, so whatever makes mama happy makes me happy! We were promptly seated at the patio overlooking the Boothbay Harbor. Full disclosure, other than for breakfast, we had lobster for every single meal thus far. We kind of wanted to try some other fresh caught seafoods. First up, Dyan got a small order of Oysters Rockafeller (sambuca flambéed spinach, garlic, shallots, bacon, cream and Swiss cheese) – the same style of oysters her and dad fell in love with while we were in Florida Keys for Alissa’s wedding. I tried one, but it just reaffirmed that oysters are not my thing! Dyan on the other hand was in Heaven. We also got an order of fresh Maine squid, fried up into delicious calamari.

But oysters and calamri weren’t very filling. The waiter told us that if we ordered the woodfired lobster dinner, he would personally guarantee that we’d never have better lobster in our life. EVER. That’s a hell of a guarantee. Obviously, there was no saying “NO” to that claim. And so, we had lobster for lunch, again.

It was served, pre-split for us. The shells and edge of the lobster were a bit blacked from the wood fire. But the meat glistened with a garlic/lemon butter. It was obvious this place knew how to prepare lobster, and from bite #1, they made good on their guarantee. We had had some great lobster on this trip, but the smokiness of the woodfire put this lobster in an entirely different category. There literally was no comparison to this lobster. The meat literally fell out of the shell and into your stomach…not sure if I ever chewed. Dyan and I spent 30 minutes peeling every tiny shred of meat out of every tentacle, tail orifice and claw. This was one of the best meals I have ever had in my life. And the fingerling potatoes served with it would have stolen the show on any other entrée except this one. They were roasted perfectly in a butter glaze. Crispy skin and soft creamy middle. This restaurant This meal could easily be the ONLY reason necessary to visit Boothbay. Just wow. We sat on the patio for two hours drinking cold beers and watching lobster boats coming and going from the harbor.

Next up, was our sail boat ride on the Schooner Eastwind. A perfectly relaxing sail for Dyan, but a working sail for me. Within 5 minutes of boarding, we broke dock and were out into the harbor. The captain and 1st officer needed assistance raising the sails.

Obviously, I volunteered. Me and another guy hoisted the main sail to full mast. Immediately, the wind caught the sail and we were heading south out to the ocean. The trip took us past Burnt Island Lighthouse and Cuckolds Lighthouse.

While no whales were spotted, some on the boat claimed to see multiple porpoises. We did see a seal swimming through our wake which was pretty cool. It was a perfect day for sailing – bluebird skies, temps in the 60’s with some decent wind. At the midpoint of our sail, we passed Cape Island, better known as Witch Island. This island was owned by Margret Hamilton, better known as the Wicked Witch of the East from Wizard of Oz. Apparently, she was a lovely woman and was known in the area for the being such a kind and sweet natured person!

After our sail, we headed out to Spruce Point Inn, our resort for the night. Our cabin had a front row seat to a gorgeous Boothbay/Atlantic Ocean sunset.

We had a very comical end to the night that Dyan and I just could not stop laughing about. It was 8PM and we were famished. We took the shuttle back into Boothbay for dinner. There was a quaint Italian restaurant, The Ports of Italy, that seemed to be the local favorite. We didn’t have reservations, so it was a bit of a wait. Great people watching, however. Like, better than the state fair or airport. Lots of old money and tourists made for an entertaining dinner. Because this restaurant is quite small, the tables are virtually on top of each other. After being seated, a younger couple was sat directly next to us. They kept looking over at Dyan and I, clearly judging what we were eating. I had this GIGANTIC plate of spaghetti in front of me and Dyan an equally large portion of lobster ravioli. We chowed like nobody’s business. We even ordered a second basket of bread just so we could mop up the sauce left on our dishes. Meanwhile, the other couple was eating dainty salads with their glasses of vino. They obviously could not believe how much food we had consumed. They didn’t disguise their non-verbals very well. Then we ordered dessert…not one, but two! Cheesecake and lemon cake. Obviously, those plates didn’t last long. And the looks from our neighbors just kept on coming. I could have eaten another basket of bread, but I refrained.

After dinner, we walked around town. Most of the shops were closed. It was cold, as temps had dropped into the 40’s. Neither of us had brought our jackets. There was a shop that was open a couple blocks ahead of us with people streaming in and out of. It was an ice cream parlor, and our hope was that they’d have some hot coffee. We walked in, stood in the long line and glanced at the menu. No coffee. We turned around and guess who was right behind us in line. Yep, the couple from the Italian restaurant. They must’ve really fallen off their rockers when they saw us in line – probably thought we were ordering our second desserts. What a riot!

9/30/19

As beautiful of a resort as Spruce Point Inn is, we didn’t stick around long in the morning. We were headed for the hills of New Hampshire by 9AM. We stopped for a quick breakfast-on-the-road at Dunkin Donuts which brings me to a rant about the Northeast. I am a pop drinker. At several locations in the NE (including this Dunkin), we stopped to get pop – Dr. pepper for Dyan and Diet Pepsi for me. Everytime we cracked a 20oz. bottle, there was no “PSSSSST”. The pop was perfectly flat - no fizz, no bubbles, absolutely void of any carbonation. It was like this nearly everywhere.

By the end of the trip, the common denominator for the carbonation-less soda was bottles with this symbol on the cap. Bizarre and disappointing because we probably wasted at least $10 on bad pop before figuring out not to buy pop with that cap.

The drive into New Hampshire was stunning. We drove winding mountain roads as we climbed in elevation. The fall foliage went from early signs of fall to full blown peak colors in a matter of an hour. Brilliant reds and oranges cascaded down the mountains. These are the colors that people rave about on NE fall road trips!

With the top down, we cruised along New Hampshire backroads that aren’t even recognized by the GPS. Around noon, we arrived at our stately resort, Mountain View Grand Resort, perched high on a hill in the White Mountains.

The resort, built in 1865, is a massive, sprawling compound complete with a golf course, farm (with animals), mountain trails, pools, tennis courts and axe throwing. The place is magnificent.

We were too early to check in, so we had a great lunch in the restaurant before heading outdoors to rent mountain bikes. Yep, we were about to go mountain biking dressed in our Sunday-best. And for the record, we aren’t bikers. Renting bikes had as much paperwork as buying a new car. The Activities Manager, Mike, asked us our skill level, which prompted a response like “This is our first bike ride in 30 years.” He laughed. He was planning to send us on Trail 1. He assured us it would be easy. He built up how much fun we’d have. “It’s a nice scenic view of the White Mountains.” We were sold! His parting words were, “Stay right on the Old Farm Road (OFR) until you see a sign for Trail 1, then take a left.”

Great! We were off. OFR is a significantly long downhill dirt road out the backside of the resort. Within moments, Dyan and I were going WAY too fast on the loose gravel.

At this point in the story, I should mention that OFR has no clear signage. There are several forks in the road to other dirt roads. I recalled Mike saying “stay right”, so I called out to Dyan to take the right fork. It led us into the resort maintenance area…a dead end. We retraced our path uphill to the fork, walking the bikes up the steep road. This was the first moment I regretted jeans and a sweater.

We headed back down OFR approaching another fork. This time Dyan called out the right fork. The road meandered into the woods and abruptly dead ended after a quarter of a mile. Ugh, backtrack again. This was annoying.

As Dyan walked her bike uphill, I rode my bike hard in a standing position, to get more power. SNAP! My pedal flew out from under me as my foot slipped off causing me to nearly lose my balance. The chain had popped off.

Frustrating. I spent a few minutes getting the chain connected again, leaving my hands black with oil and nowhere to clean them off. After backtracking, we continued down OFR looking for Trail 1. We came across a an unmarked trail. Feeling like we had gone WAY TOO FAR on OFR, we decided to take it. It turned out to be Trail 3, and Intermediate blue rout full of up/downs and rocks to dodge. We obviously had gone the wrong way, but whow would we have known since the trails were not clearly marked.

As we huffed and puffed on Trail 3, we approached a fork in the road. To the right was Trail 5, but straight was unmarked. The unmarked trail turned out to be Trail 4, the most difficult trail on the mountain. It was So steep, there were points we had to stop and walk our bikes. My chain continued popping off, and Dyan’s bike wouldn’t shift into higher gears. She was stuck doing uphills in very low gear settings – which made the challenging ride virtually impossible!

Trail 4 was the most challenging because it was super steep. I swore under my breath a few times at the long meander downhill that OFR tool us on. This was the payback. An intense uphill with seemingly no end in sight. After 30 minutes on Trail 4, we arrived at a junction with a sign that said, Trail 1! Finally. Trail 1 gave us a nice easy ride out to the paved Mountain View Road where we could enjoy some of the beautiful scenery without having to worry what was over the next hill! By this time however, Dyan was beat from her gear shifter not working, and I was a filthy mess from fixing my chain a half dozen times. When returning the bikes, Mike made a comment about how greasy my hand were. I told him of our chain and gear shifting problems which caused him to react oddly. He actually blamed the problems on us stating that while Dyan’s bike was gear shifting hard, it must have been user error because “it worked for him.” He went on to tell me that I was obviously riding the bike wrong if the chain kept coming off. He was quite defensive, so Dyan and I headed to the front desk to check in to the room – we had lots of plans this evening!

First up, we had a wine tasting in the 1865 Wine Cellar. I can’t tell you the kinds of wine we tasted, but they were pretty tasty. They also served cheese, crackers and fruit, which was a nice little snack before dinner.

And speaking of dinner, we had reservations at Stickney’s Steak and Chop Pub, in the iconic Omni Resort at Mt. Washington – a quick 15 minute drive from our resort. This place is supposed to be a world-class steakhouse, but it ended up being anything but that.

We aren’t wine drinkers, but thought we might try it with our steak dinners. We asked the waiter for a sweeter red wine. Dyan and I chose differently based on his recommendations. Neither ended up being sweet at all. Mine tasted like jet fuel, and Dyan’s was like a glass of red vinegar (although, she didn’t complain about hers). After one sip, I ordered a Diet Pepsi.

For starters, we selected the crisp fried mozzarella, which was a giant brick of mozzarella with little fried coating. We also both got the filet mignon. I don’t know how you mess up a filet, but they surely did. No seasoning not cooked very well and just overall a tough piece of meat. That would be the worst $150 we spent on the trip. Dinner was a bust, but at least we got a good laugh!

10/1/19

I had expected today to be a boring drive on the interstate back to Boston to catch a flight home. However, the drive turned out to have some really fun impromptu stops which ended up being highlights of the trip.

Being that we were only 10 minutes away from the Bernie Sanders territory, we decided to make the trip west to the N.H./Vermont border town of Lancaster for breakfast. Then, we crossed the state line into Vermont and made our way down highways through the sleepy towns along the Connecticut River. Just outside of Lunenburg, VT, we crossed the Mount Orne Covered Bridge. This was our first covered bridge of the trip!

We continued south winding along the river and valleys, taking in the vibrant red and orange foliage that canvassed the mountains. It was the most beautiful fall colors we had seen the entire trip.

We joined up with I-93 in St. Johnsbury and headed southeast toward Boston.

It didn’t take long for us to start gaining elevation as we made out way out of Franconia and up Cannon Mountain.

Just past the very intense black diamonds of the ski area were signs for Flume Gorge. I recall seeing the first sign for the area and turning to Dyan and saying something like, “That sounds like a cool place!” Dyan looked at me and said, “I was thinking the same thing!” Neither of us knew what a Flume Gorge was, but we took the next exit, because we were now on an adventure to find out. The Flume Gorge could have been a trail, an amusement park ride, a historical site, a logging mill or maybe even a hotel or restaurant. We didn’t even know where it was. It could have been an hour away or maybe longer? Just off the interstate we got our first idea what and where the Flume Gorge was. On the exit ramp was a state park sign for Flume Gorge telling indicating it was less than a mile away. Sweet!

The parking lot was in the middle of the mountainous forest, and it was packed with cars. Hikers were milling around in their big boots, rain gear and cold weather clothes. Dyan and I looked like we were dressed for a summer day on the water. Shorts and flip flops. The cold damp weather was not going to stop us from doing or seeing whatever this Flume gorge thing is…

We approached the visitor’s center where mountaineers stood in line for tickets. When it was our turn, we asked, “What are we standing in line to buy tickets for?” The ranger pulled out a map with hiking trails leading to Flume Gorge. It was deep ravine with rushing water running through it creating multiple cascading waterfalls. It was a 2-3 hour round trip hike, but if we used the shuttle, to the base of the gorge, it was a 1.5 hour hike. The ranger told us it would be wet, slick and muddy. I looked down at my flip flops, and Dyan’s cute canvas shoes. Our eyes met, smiling, knowing there was no chance we were leaving that place without experiencing the Flume Gorge. We bought tickets.

Because we were pressed a bit for time (we did have a flight out of Boston in 6 hours, and were still a solid 2 hour drive from the airport), we opted to take a shuttle to the base of the gorge. The shuttle ride is super cool because it took us across the Flume Covered Bridge – the most photographed covered bridge in all of New Hampshire.

After a .5 mile hike up a steep trail, we reached our entrance to the gorge (which is actually the exit because it’s where the water flows out of the gorge). The granite walls shoot straight up in the air nearly 100 feet. The pathway through the gorge is a narrow platform that has been constructed to walk above water level. The water flows through the gorge, which is never more than 20 feet wide. If you have claustrophobia, this is NOT the place for you. The walkway raises alongside the gorge wall as it zig zags across the water giving visitors the best views of the waterfalls.

It took about 45 minutes to make our way through the 800-foot long gorge. And by the end, we were way up on top of the gorge, where the creek dumps in. This was one of the coolest stops on our trip.

By noon, we made it to the Mustang and were about to get back on the interstate, but first needed some fuel. We were in the run down resort town of Lincoln, NH when we stopped at Irving Oil. A Gas Station that will certainly leave an impression on you. This is ground zero to the Betty and Barney Hill alien abduction. The gas station is full of newspaper articles, pictures and documents explaining the events that had taken place. Complete with alien blow up dolls and visitor t-shirts this gas station was an experience that caters to the tourists.

The remainder of our drive into Boston was not nearly as eventful. We actually arrived a few hours early, so we sat at Constitution Beach Park and watched jets land over Belle Isle Inlet.

Around 6PM, we were wheels up en route to Minneapolis. There were some pretty good lines of storms over the NorthEast and upper Midwest, so our flight path diverted us way north over Sault Saint Marie in Canada before finally bringing us home. The flight was over 4 hours, which was nearly double our flight time to Boston.

This trip solidified Boston as our favorite Big City to visit.

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