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blu-joons · 3 years

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When Your Child Gets Jealous When He Kisses You ~ BTS Reaction

Jin:

Your smile grew as Jin walked through the front door, pressing a kiss gently against your cheek, only for your daughter to squirm beside you.

Jin looked down at her in confusion, “what’s that noise for?” He questioned, kneeling down so that he was at her height.

“Why are you kissing mummy before me?” She asked, folding her arms across her chest. “You should kiss me instead daddy.”

“Can’t I kiss you both?” He tried to reason, “because I love you both the same sweetie.”

“But what about me.”

He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss against her cheek too, “how’s that? Is that better now that you’ve had a kiss from daddy?”

She hummed, glancing up at you with wide eyes. “As long as you promise to kiss me first tomorrow, then I guess that I’ll be alright.”

Jin scoffed lightly at her, “I’ll take it in turns every day, one day you, one day mummy, and then that’s fair for you both.”

“I agree.”

Yoongi:

You’d barely been able to stay away from Yoongi since he got back from tour that morning, constantly feeling his lips against your cheek.

It was only when your daughter arrived home from school, did he move away. “Why are you sad?” He asked, noticing her expression.”

“Mummy got all your kisses before I got the chance,” she pouted, “why didn’t you wait until I was home and here too?”

“I’ve got plenty saved up,” he assured her, “aren’t you going to say hello?”

“Only with a kiss.”

He nodded, bundling her into his arms, pressing several kisses against her. “I saved up loads whilst I was away to give to you.”

Eventually, she had to beg for Yoongi to let her go. “Don’t use all your saved kisses at once,” she grinned, “make them last.”

He nodded, paying close attention to what she said. “How about we all stop kissing from now and open the presents daddy bought?”

“Yes! I want presents!”

Hoseok:

As soon as he walked through the front door, Hobi’s lips were attached to yours, failing to notice your daughter following behind you to greet him.

She stood patiently until Hobi pulled away from you, capturing his attention. “Hey,” he hummed, “when did you get here?”

“I was waiting for a kiss from you,” she grumbled, feeling Hobi’s arms scooping her up into the air. “I’m here too, remember.”

“Of course,” he smiled, “mummy just beat you to getting to me today.”

“I think she cheated.”

His head shook, pressing a kiss against her cheek sweetly. “Then you’ll just have to cheat next time so you can get to me first.”

She frowned across at him instantly, “you always tell me that cheating is bad, so I can’t cheat against mummy, can I?”

His shoulders shrugged, “maybe we can make an exception for when it comes to a kiss from daddy, how does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect.”

Namjoon:

Your sickness bug had been harrowing for days, and finally, as you began to feel better, Namjoon quickly greeted you with a big hug and kiss.

His actions were not enjoyed by your son who sat on the sofa. “She could still be sick!” He yelled out, trying to distance you both.

“I’m not,” you smiled across at him, feeling Namjoon’s lips move to kiss the top of your head. “Do you not like daddy kissing me?”

“I like when he kisses me,” he pointed out, “not when he kisses you mummy.”

“Can he not kiss me?”

His head shook as Namjoon took a step away from you. “He might get sick, and I’m not sick, so he should kiss me and not you.”

Namjoon smiled weakly, “but mummy isn’t sick anymore, there’s no need for you to worry. I’ll kiss you too if you want me too.”

His head nodded, patting the space beside him on the sofa. “Come and kiss me right now because you have to say sorry daddy.”

“I’m on my way.”

Jimin:

As you walked down the stairs, you chuckled at Jimin and your son curled up tightly on the sofa. You sat down beside them, feeling Jimin peck your cheek.

Just as he did, your son jabbed him harshly against the hip. “What’s wrong?” Jimin asked him, flinching at his touch.

“You didn’t kiss me this morning,” he outrightly stated, pouting across at his father. “How come you can kiss mummy in the morning?”

“I think mummy kissed me,” he tried to argue, “I would never kiss her and not you.”

“I watched you daddy.”

Jimin frowned, knowing he had no way of getting out of this. “Instead of poking me, why don’t you just ask for a kiss instead?”

He turned around, poking to his cheek. “You have to give me a kiss on the cheek too, just like you did for mummy.”

Jimin leaned across and pecked his cheek, “how’s that? Are you going to stop being such a grumpy little pickle now?”

“I guess so.”

Taehyung:

As soon as he walked off the stage, he engulfed you both tightly into his arms, kissing your lips first, and then moving onto his son.

It was a move that didn’t go down well with your son at all. “What’s the face for?” Taehyung asked, noticing his heavy frown.

“You kissed me second, am I not your favourite,” he gulped, staring between you both. “You should kiss your child first.”

“Says who?” Taehyung teased, tickling his tummy. “Mummy was just closer to me.”

“I say that you should.”

Neither of you could help the chuckles that escaped from you both. “I’ll kiss you first next time, but you don’t need to get upset.”

His head continued to shake, refusing to look at Taehyung. “I’m not upset, I just know that mummy is your favourite now.”

Your eyes rolled at his attitude, “he really does take after his father with all of this sassy behaviour, it’s your fault Tae.”

“He’s just like me.”

Jungkook:

Your tears continued to fall as you stood in the airport, preparing to say goodbye to Jungkook. He stepped forward, kissing away your tears.

Yet, underneath you, your daughter tugged at both of your shirts. “You’re leaving me too,” she pointed out, especially to Jungkook.

“Daddy knows that,” you frowned, leaning down to pick her up. “He was just about to kiss you after he kissed me sweetie.”

“Of course,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “but mummy is sad.”

“I’ll look after her.”

His head nodded, ruffling against the top of her head. “I know that you’ll take the best care of her, give her lots of kisses from me.”

She smiled across at her father, “will you give me a few more kisses so that I have some saved up to give to mummy?”

Jungkook instantly pressed several kisses against her cheek, “whenever mummy gets sad you give her those from me.”

“I will.”

---

Masterlist

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thecreedsgambit · 3 years

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Sam Dalton, CEO

author's note: i’m not entirely sure what it is that draws me to sam, but i actually enjoy the nanny affair. despite my uppity claims that i would turn my nose up at the plot (which i, in fact, do) and that i would deny choices the satisfaction of spending endless amounts of diamonds on smutty, indecent scenes with a completely fictional man (which i, in fact, do not do), i cannot ignore my attraction toward sam dalton. it has little to do with his personality and intent. quite frankly, i blame it on the soundtrack. there’s a particular track that’s smooth - almost sexily playful - like a steamy but timid caress that throws a casual smirk at potential and possibility. i’ve grown fond of it, and, of course, it’s the very track that plays when sam freshly enters any scene. so, yes, i completely blame the soundtrack. it’s possible i’ve somehow drawn a loose connection between it and sam. whatever it is, i will continue to read tna and roll my eyes at choices seemingly unobstructed ability to rope me into whatever they present me with (much like sam dalton, i suppose).

"for you, i'll risk it all." - unknown

00. At a Glance.

affiliate: the nanny affair

pairing: m!sam x reader

word count: 1972 (fairly short, i know. but this was poking my imagination after today's chapter. i couldn't deny myself the freedom of writing it down.)

summary: you and sam continue to make eye contact during the regatta, despite your pr plan to lie low and ‘meet-cute,’ if that’s what an outsider might refer to it as.

You had long since forgotten the races. In fact, your eyes weren’t trained on the glistening yachts before you. Instead, your gaze latched onto the picturesque waterfront. The sun’s rays bore into the blue depths beyond where you sat, casting a faint reflection that rippled with every rise and fall of the tide. Slowly, methodically, as if your eyes might blink shut at any moment, you let your gaze lazily trace the waves as they lapped against the dock and collapsed against one another, like a playful fight between two warring siblings.

As if on cue, Mason and Mickey billowed past you with a giggling Jovi in their wake. Jordan scrambled after them, sending you an apologetic smile over his shoulder, before calling - rather, begging - for them to slow down. A short chuckle escaped your lips as you returned your sights to the race before you. Your head tilted, just slightly, as the sun cradled your cheek and warmed your skin with the softest touch.

It was nice. A brief moment to rest from the pressure to look and be impressive. For once, being impressed made a rush of tension leave your already heavy shoulders. The majestic waters and stunning views were enough to draw awe and calm the seemingly desperate need to feel warranted and respected.

Your dignity, poise, and grace sloped, only slightly, as you let your shoulders drop and your hands take refuge on your wrist as you fiddled with one of your bracelets.

For just a moment, you were you. And that was enough.

“No, please. Go on, Will.” Marisol’s voice nearly wrenched you from your stupor. You straightened and resumed your position as a subtle reflection of your new peers you’d almost forgotten sat on your right. Marisol gave you an amused smirk, as if hinting for you to join her harmless teasing. “Perhaps your ramblings about the history of yachting might help me place a few bets.”

Marisol took a small sip of her wine, hiding a whimsical smile behind the tip of her glass. Will only huffed and reluctantly turned his attention back to the race. You bit your lip in an attempt to conceal the grin threatening to lace your earnest expression. You feigned a swat on Marisol’s arm before speaking.

“Oh, Will. Marisol’s only joking. I would love to hear the rest.”

With a quick turn back toward the table, Will grinned triumphantly, clearly elated. “I knew it. At least someone appreciates my genius.”

“I’m sure,” Marisol mumbled, taking another quick sip of her drink to avoid bursting into a fit of laughter.

You dared to throw a sly smirk in her direction before giving in and facing Will directly. He’d already dove into several backstories regarding yachting, each going unfinished as he hurried into the next with enough excitement for the three of you combined. A genuine smile graced your lips as you, momentarily, reveled in his enthusiasm.

Unfortunately, much like your attention on the race, your attentiveness was short-lived. As was your politeness.

For a moment, your gaze slipped once more toward the luminescent waters. You had every intention of returning to the conversation at hand and concentrating on whatever quips Marisol was currently, and once again, uttering toward Will, but your eyes regarded the crowd, instead. Briefly, ever so quickly, you made eye contact with him - with Sam.

He had long since fixed his own sights on you. Normally, your heart would flutter and your stomach would lurch at the slightest glance. Reflexively, you’d wander toward him like a moth drawn to a fiery flame, waiting to be engulfed by his very presence. Even under these circumstances, you wanted to. You wanted to make your way toward him and let your fingers get lost in his hair; public images be damned.

But everything you worked toward thus far hung over your head and your shoulders - a load almost too burdensome to carry.

Your eyes widened with alarm, quickly flitting toward Will and Marisol. Not here.

Sam stood in a semicircle with three other men, who seemed to be lost in a conversation Sam took no interest in. His arms rested at his sides, and his fingers swirled a small glass of whiskey, as he continued his ruthless - almost challenging - stare. It didn’t take long for your demeanor to falter and a restless smile dared to break your masked facade. You tried desperately not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze, so you looked away, forcing yourself to come to terms with the ever-enchanting thrills of yacht history.

Except that topic was long gone, and Marisol was waving her hand at a dismayed Will. “You say that every year. Placing a higher bet on Estate Sail hardly makes things any more interesting.”

“What would you propose, then?”

You couldn’t help but to lose focus almost as quickly as you'd gained it; your entire form now rigid under Sam’s steely gaze. Sparing a quick glance in his direction, you noticed he’d done little to disguise his observation of you. Slowly, painfully so, he brought his whiskey glass to his lips and took a slow drink. His eyes never once left yours.

It was intoxicating. Entirely too heavy. Your chest nearly felt hollow as your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach and heat rushed to your cheeks.

Your own stare fell to his chest, sweeping over his broad frame as you consumed every aspect of his person. The purple button-down he wore was quickly becoming your favorite as your eyes traced his taunt muscles under the fabric. His exposed chest seemed to catch the sprawling daylight as the sun chased his neckline and washed over his tan skin with every regard to the glow of his complexion.

Daringly, your eyes fell lower until you cautiously eyed his brown belt. You wondered just how quickly your fingers could trail over each and every loop and how any such movement might elicit a delicious sound from Sam’s lips. You even ventured to imagine one of his hands working the belt off in one, swift motion -

Your eyes snapped back to his. He arched one eyebrow, subtly, as a knowing smirk crossed his seemingly neutral expression. You wavered, feeling absolutely powerless under his scrutiny. Biting your lip, you pointedly angled away from him and desperately made every attempt to heed Will’s words.

Oh just how timely that was.

“I don’t know about that. I’m sure Steffi will take an interest eventually. What about you, (y/n)?” Will’s easy smile made you relax despite how quickly your startled heart raced. You struggled to remember the last thing you heard as Will shrugged. “I know I can be a bit long-winded, but I hope you’re enjoying the races.”

“Yes, you fit right in with us now.” Marisol gave you a genuine smile of her own. “Despite what some people may think, aren’t you glad you decided to join us today?”

You maintained a steady smile as you pushed pesky thoughts of Lana out of your head. “I am. Where else will I hear the harrowing history of yachting or place a wager on anything other than Estate Sail?”

“Hey,” Will warned good-naturedly, laughing despite himself.

Marisol noticed Jovi running after a makeshift sail the twins had tied to a string and shook her head with a warm smile. She and Will turned back to discussing their children and Sterling Academy as you chanced another glimpse of the crowd. Sam still stood firmly in his spot. The men surrounding him were pointing at the yachts in the distance and making idle conversation as Sam’s attention remained on you and only you.

He offered his counterparts around him a brief nod and a clink of his glass, but it was passive. Half-hearted. His eyes bore into you with enough passion to ignite the already kindling fire within your being. You were desperate. Completely at his mercy.

And utterly annoyed by how quickly you’d succumbed to his will. You wanted to prove your ability to do the same - toying with the inevitable long enough to make him flush with desire and writhe under all that you could offer.

You could do it from here; same as him.

Suddenly, shamelessly, your previously obstructed air bent to your change in attitude as you shifted to address his gaze. You arched an eyebrow as you matched his seemingly indifferent composure. You could tell he found your sudden roused behavior amusing, but his jaw quickly feathered as your eyes now held a challenge of your own: Two can play at this game, and I usually win.

Your sudden burst in confidence swelled your chest with enough boldness to dart out your tongue, wetting your bottom lip before pulling it between your teeth.

Some part of you wanted to make the conscious effort to tune into Will and Marisol’s conversation, but their distant chattering proved what you already knew. They weren’t paying either of you any attention.

Sam’s stare grew more intense; his eyes squinting ever so slightly as he watched your every move. With a coy smirk, you moved to pick up your wine glass at a leisurely pace that you were sure would seem like a lifetime to him. Even as the tip of the glass connected with your lips, you were sure to exaggerate every motion. One quick sip left a few drops of wine chasing the curve of your mouth. Using your finger, you wiped away the remnants and brought them to your lips. Your tongue flicked against your fingertip, closing your lips around it entirely, lapping up what was left of the wine.

All the while maintaining eye contact.

Finally, with a barely concealed chuckle, Sam dropped his gaze and shook his head. Every rapid rise of his chest and tense of his shoulders proved he was thoroughly distracted. Satisfied, you turned back to Will and Marisol. Both were watching the next race with an almost unexpected eagerness.

“I told you Estate Sail would win again,” Will stated happily.

Marisol only smiled. “The race isn’t over yet.”

Feeling superior still, you wanted nothing more than to continue your game with Sam, but, when you glanced back at his previous spot, he was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t help but to frown until Will’s eyes caught on someone behind you and called out:

“Ah, Sam. Care to join us?”

“Actually, yes.” You tried to quiet your usual disposition, avoiding any instinct to turn and gratefully accept his presence with unadulterated mirth. It wasn’t a hard thing to do. In fact, you had to shake yourself from your frozen, shocked posture long enough to glance over your shoulder. Sam stood close enough behind your seat that you could nearly feel the heat emanating from his being, rivaling even the sun’s warmth. “Do you mind -?”

You shook your head, not fully trusting your own voice but not fully committed to throwing away the careful and meticulous planning for your public appearance together either. You waved, feigning carelessness, toward the empty seat across from you. “No, not at all.”

Before he sat, Sam made it a point to glance at Marisol and Will before settling on you. “Does anyone need a refill on drinks? Perhaps another round before the next race?”

The two of you shared a soft, lingering look - one filled with knowing desire and bridled actions. You weren’t sure how you were able to retrain your urge to surge forward and grab him by his shirt collar or loop your fingers through his belt loop, or, even, how you had the strength to manage the rest of the Regatta with a practiced smile. But, then, a minute smile spread across Sam’s features.

Another coy smirk traced your lips as you shook your head. “I’m fine, thank you. Everything I need is right here.”

#sam dalton #the nanny affair 2 #sam dalton x reader #playchoices #pixelberry #choices the stories you play #choices the nanny affair

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narcoleptic-drag-queen · 4 years

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If I may ask, 45 for Shalaska 😇

Ask, and you shall receive, anon

“Has the acting in Clueless always been this bad?”

“Yes,” Alaska says, not tearing her eyes away from the screen. “That’s half the point.”

“Hmph,” Sharon says, and Alaska rolls her eyes fondly at her. “I still think Sleepaway Camp would have been better.”

“And you want to talk about bad acting?” Alaska cries. Sharon motions vaguely to the stack of DVDs they’d piled up while choosing what to watch, where Sleepaway Camp sits at the very top.

“In a fun way!” she says. “This is just boring.”

Alaska snorts. “Whatever,” she says. “It was my night to pick, and you have to deal with it.”

“Actually, it was Willam’s night to pick, but she decided to go and ‘watch movies’ with Courtney instead,” Sharon says, her tone mocking as she quotes Willam’s flimsy excuse. “Like we don’t know they’re not just going to ignore the movie and fuck instead.”

Alaska laughs nervously, trying not to think too hard about how that could very easily be her and Sharon. If Sharon were interested, of course. Which she’s not.

If Alaska had known she was going to be alone with Sharon tonight, she would have canceled for the sake of her mental health.

As if on cue, Sharon shifts a little closer, enough for Alaska to feel the warmth radiating from her. Alaska swallows, determinedly keeping her eyes glued to Alicia Silverstone and ignoring the blonde she actually wants to be looking at. She can get through this. She’s just got to trust and believe.

She’s been through worse - hugs that last a little too long, Sharon brushing an eyelash off of Alaska’s cheek for her, Sharon snuggling into her when they’re all crammed onto Willam’s gigantic, rich person bed. She’s been through intimate moments alone in Sharon’s car, waiting for Willam, and through Sharon’s offer to shotgun her when Alaska had joined her and Willam’s smoking sessions for the first time.

Her crush on Sharon has been a harrowing experience.

“Blanket?” Sharon asks, and Alaska nods without thinking, still lost in thought. Sharon grins, and she gets up to go retrieve a green blanket from the box in the corner of the room. Alaska has just enough time to wonder why she’s only getting one when Sharon flops down next to her, so close that their thighs are touching, and spreads the blanket across them both.

Alaska tries not to tense, forcing herself to remain pliant as Sharon snuggles into the couch, leaning her head on Alaska’s shoulder.

This is fine.

Alaska doesn’t know what she’s done to deserve this, but it’s fine. She’s fine. Totally fine.

She stares at the TV, watching Cher and Dione eye up Tai and discuss the merits of adoption, but then Sharon mutters something that sounds like ‘gay’ and suddenly, Alaska can’t focus on anything other than the warm body sitting far, far too close.

She sneaks a glance, her heart twisting at Sharon’s messy dark hair and her for once makeup-less face, and quickly looks back at the movie before Sharon can notice. Her heart thuds in her chest as Cher and Dionne wash the pink dye out of Tai’s hair, and she thinks she might have to kill Willam for making her too stressed to watch her favorite movie.

Alaska has been friends with Sharon for years - she shouldn’t be nervous to be around her by herself, she shouldn’t have to use Willam as a buffer between them after five years of friendship. She hadn’t thought about it much before, the three doing everything together, anyway, but with the introduction of Courtney and senior year and college plans, they’d all been too busy to get together often. Friday night movies have always been a staple, however, and for Willam to ignore that, especially when she knows about Alaska’s crush, is a hate crime.

Sharon probably isn’t stressed. Sharon clearly isn’t stressed, if the way she’s lazily alternating between her phone and the movie is any indication.

Sharon’s phone lights up in her lap, and Alaska glances at it, her attention anywhere but the movie and the bright lock screen distracting in the darkness of Sharon’s living room. She feels a jolt of shock at the sight of it, her world briefly tilting a little as she stares in disbelief.

Sharon swipes her lock screen quickly, enough for Alaska to second guess what it had been. But she’s pretty sure she recognizes that selfie as one she’d sent into their group chat a few months ago, the one where she’d poked her tongue out and Willam had teased her and Sharon had remained suspiciously silent.

“Hey, can I see your lock screen again?” Alaska asks, her voice a little breathy but otherwise miraculously steady. Sharon’s thumbs freeze over her screen mid-text.

“Why?” she asks, a strange edge to her voice. Alaska’s heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s in her throat.

Alaska hesitates. “I just thought I recognized the picture,” she says, and Sharon scoots a little further away, giving Alaska a strange look.

“You wouldn’t have,” she says. “It’s - you wouldn’t know what it is.”

“I just want to see it,” Alaska says, and a new kind of panic makes her feel wired, full of energy. What if it isn’t Alaska - what if it’s some other girl? Her need to know only gets stronger as the thought crosses her mind, and it takes all of her willpower not to just snatch the phone from Sharon’s hands and look for herself.

“Maybe later,” Sharon says, and Alaska feels a flash of irritation.

“We’re best friends, Sharon,” she says. “Just show me.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me take that phone from you, Sharon Needles,” Alaska threatens, and Sharon’s eyes widen.

“You wouldn’t,” she says, aghast. “That would be an invasion of privacy.”

Alaska lunges for the phone.

Sharon puts up a good fight, leaping off of the couch with startling swiftness and running around the coffee table, Alaska giving swift chase. They’re both giggling like little kids, racing through Sharon’s empty house so fast that Alaska can feel the wind in her hair, and Alaska briefly loses the intensity of her feeling as she traps Sharon on the couch, straddling her waist and pinning her wrists to the cushions as she wrestles the phone from her hands.

“Alaska, please,” Sharon says, trying desperately to wriggle out of Alaska’s hold, fruitlessly trying to grab her phone back from where Alaska is holding it high above her head. “Don’t--”

Alaska presses the ‘on’ button, and sure enough, her own face greets her, her hair ratty and her mascara clumped horribly. Sharon collapses back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling and refusing to meet Alaska’s eyes when she looks back down at her.

“I’m your lock screen?” she asks, even as the proof stares her right in the face. Her heart is beating so hard that she can feel it in her stomach, a new hope making it race even faster.

Sharon lets out a distressed breath, covering her face with her hands. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” she says, voice muffled, and Alaska puts the phone to the side, gently grabbing Sharon’s wrists and pulling them away from her face, now bright red.

She’s adorable.

“Care to tell me why?” Alaska teases, preemptive joy and Sharon’s clear embarrassment making her feel bold, her own insecurity miraculously fading away. She feels like she’s going to burst with happiness.

“No,” Sharon says, her face still bright red, and Alaska leans down to kiss her in an uncharacteristically brave move.

Sharon freezes underneath Alaska, her wrists still in Alaska’s hands, and Alaska’s heart drops, her confidence fading within the span of a second. She goes to draw away, letting go of Sharon’s wrists like she’s just been burned, but Sharon chases her, pulling her in again with her newly released hands.

Alaska melts.

Sharon tastes like the Pepsi she’s been drinking and she smells like her mother’s cigarettes and her hair is soft between Alaska’s fingers, and Alaska sighs into the kiss, affection and euphoria making her insides feel wobbly and a grin spread across her face, ruining the kiss.

Sharon draws back, a matching smile on her face. “I think it’s safe to assume you’re not mad?” she asks, and Alaska laughs.

“Pretty safe,” she agrees, and she leans in for another kiss, Sharon greeting her eagerly. On the TV, Josh realizes he’s in love with Cher, in her little white dress and smug smile. Alaska doesn’t think this moment could be more perfect.

She’s never been more thankful for Willam’s absence.

send me a pairing and a number!

#shalaska #prompts #ask game #writing

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namjoonchronicles · 5 years

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projectile | namjoon

pairing: namjoon x reader genre: fluff, domestic namjoon, slight smut(?), suggestive shit word count: 4k author’s note: i just wanted to write a delicious fic of namjoon

The house is filled with children's laughter and that’s how your aunt liked it. You have more nephews than nieces so it was inevitable that the living room was scattered with toy guns and cars. “Ow.” Your cousin, Sagi, winced as she made her way through the Lego field, barefooted, “I came through the battlefield to tell you that your husband called.” No, not again. You pressed the phone between your shoulder and ear, “Yes, darling, it should be there. I didn’t move any of your Japanese books. Did you leave it behind, in another country, perhaps? Or did you forget to buy it?” Pause, “You can’t log in? Use my account then. Careful not to buy two of the same books like before… Remember the hassle we had to go through just to return it? Alright, take care baby,” End call.

“How long did you leave him on his own?” Sagi asked. “Two,” you sighed, slicing the sausages to make lunch for the kids. “Two weeks? Days?” Sagi’s sister-in-law joined the conversation. “Two hours.”

Two hours ago.

Feet drag against the floor, and you know for certain that the sunshine of your life is finally awake. His silvery blonde hair bobbed up and down, while you turn your back to him, leaning your front against the sink, washing the dishes from last night, with a faint smile on your face. “Do you really have to go?” He groggily asked, leaning his shoulder on the wall that separates the kitchen from the doorway, in that apartment Namjoon bought when he was single. Glancing up to the side at him, you passed him a wider smile than the one you wore when you heard him going up the hallway. Nod. His lips parted, his cotton baby blue Ryan PJs and the way he leant his head on the wall. How could someone look so cute, it’s not even noon yet. You walked over to him, sighing, “How many times are we going to have this conversation?” Grinning mischievously at your husband, stepping on his feet, tiptoeing, you planted a kiss on his chin and the side of his jaw before moving away and he followed. He stared at your shoulders and back view as you fixed the curtains in the living room, tying it up to the side to let some light through. After the movie last night, you didn’t rearrange the throw pillows back to its position and thought that you would have more time doing that in the morning. You came back to your own promise and fulfilled it. Namjoon pulled out a tall stool and climbed on it, watching you dust up the living room. Knowing how tidy his wife could be, he didn’t find it odd. What he did find odd was the fact that he wasn’t given as much as attention as he is required. He had just returned from work outside the country, came back to reunite with his wife, after a whooping 3 months of parting…and she’s leaving to her home country. From his body language alone, you knew he was brooding. His usually full lips were thin, pressed together, and he kept biting on them, placing his hand over them, as if he was stopping himself from saying something he thinks you didn’t want to hear. Namjoon is upset. Like you knew he was calling for attention, you strode towards him, and got close enough to place your hand to cover his knees and he still didn’t look at you. Your palm ran up and down his capable thighs as you tried to coax him into returning the gaze, puffing your cheeks smiling but it only worked, briefly, before he turned to cast his eyes downwards then to the side, rocking his upper body back and forth slightly, like a child. Then he spoke in pouts and mumbled, “I just got home and here you are, leaving…” he sighed with his entire body. I’m not done compensating the times we’ve lost. You thumbed his chin, leaning your body further, in between his legs, pulling his face towards yours. His antics, although very endearing, challenges you. As you stare into his beautiful brown irises, you felt your heart clutched with the affection it was known to project, the softness of his skin against the pad of your thumb, and he stared intently in return; waiting, anticipating, hungry for more that you would care to bless him with. There will be times like this. Something so trivial, moments like these where you have to choose between family and love, are the times you dreaded to go through. Certainly, Namjoon had just returned from a lengthy trip and you hadn’t spent enough time with him to part again, so you could understand why he became so needy. “Last night wasn’t enough?” You threaded your fingers through his beautiful locks, speaking in a sing-song voice, in a slight higher tone and whispers. He fluttered his eyes shut, hooked his fingers around your waist band, nuzzled his face into your nape, brushing his lips as he spoke in hushes, “You know very well it wasn’t…” He bracketed his hand around your waist and lifted you so you could straddle his lap and deepened the kiss. You buried your fingers in the strands of his hair, while he leaves your lips to trail kisses down your jawline, and the soft skin of your throat, as his strong arms around your waist, holding you in place while you squeezed him between your thighs. He smelled of bedsheets in the morning, with an adequate amount of warmth, like a blanket. Parting away for a little, you looked down at him with glazed vision, and breathily said, “You hadn’t made the bed, did you?” “We can always remake it,” He hungrily kissed you, and lifted himself up from the tall stool and carried you,running down the hallway to the bedroom, where he threw you on the bed and slammed the door shut. Your laughter was well heard through the door as Namjoon’s pyjamas flew and landed to the ground next to your bed. Fun, intimate and breathless; is how you’d describe what being with Namjoon felt like. He liked making jokes while he made love to you, and he is such a giver. His words were naughty as they were light-hearted, and he knew the effects his sultry deep voice had on you, a love-making session with him was never dull and never short of explosive passion. Namjoon knew where to touch, where to put his lips and where his hands should be, to get the most from you. It is always so sensual, as it is harrowing to even be away from him for long. He had his goals on to making you addicted to his touch, and he’s succeeded every time. It was not one sided, he made sure you knew. By the way he threw his head back into the pillow, how his back arched away from the bed, gripping the bed sheet tight, his heaving chest and heavy breathes, the shudders in his body that he had, failed to hide the consequences of your love on him. Thunderous deep moans, the need to have more despite given everything, the greed he didn’t quite understand. Loving you was sucking him dry but was also nourishing him. Does it make sense if he wanted to be inside you all the time? Does it makes sense if he wanted you to be inside him? This was no longer lust, or love. It was something in between, an insatiable hunger. His lips tingles at the sight of yours, and they longed to be forever intertwined with your skin. From the first time you spent a night with him, his desire for you never waned, and it was mind baffling. He found himself biting his smile at the very pleasure you were giving him, and he memorises the swirl of your tongue to help him cope his many lonely days when you weren’t around. Being close to you, isn’t close enough. Sometimes, even those memories isn’t enough. The craving is so great, it could kill him. “We will never get anything done, and I have to leave before noon,” he hugged your waist in a loose grip as you were moving away. Walking out of the duvet, stark naked, you fetch for the baggage underneath the bed. Then you snatched his pyjamas from the floor and put them on, and nothing else. He watches, sitting in the middle of the messy bed, hair in all directions, rubbing his face and bare arms and shoulders, duvet pooled around his waist. The empty baggage is now placed on the bed next to his large bony feet, poking out the duvet.

Unzipping them, you turned away to fetch some folded clothes from the wardrobe.

“We can always call…” you consoled him, as you shove your clothes into the bag, “Or text. Or video call. And you have my parent’s house phone number…” He wet his lips with a sullen expression and biting them. There goes the sulking.

“I have to show support to my aunt’s family. She’s done five cycles of chemotherapy now, and I’ve done nothing more but ask her through texts when I know she misses me,” you explained. Namjoon scooted closer to the bag, and took out the clothes you were putting in. “She’s been asking when I could come and visit her,” you continued to take some blouses from the hangers and folding them while standing up, still unaware that Namjoon is taking out the things you’ve packed. “I’ve cooked a lot in the fridge, and if you’re hungry you can heat it up. If you want something else, you can go get something from the convenient store, yes?” you turned your back to him, and caught his reflection from the mirror. Adorable. Cheeky but adorable. You caught him taking the things out of your bag. And pretending he didn’t do anything when you turned around. You had to drag your bag away from the bed and from him, to the floor so you could do a proper packing. “The faster I go, the faster I come back, I promise,” you reassured him. Namjoon fell on the bed, on his side, plopped, watching you. His eyes peeping through the wrinkled duvet. “That’s what you said the last time…” he pouted. You pressed your lips together and silently scolded him. It wasn’t what you planned either, and he could have been a little more considerate. Maybe you should tell him that. “These people are with me, when you weren’t. Because of your work,” you huffed, knowing that you’ve said something that would hurt him. He reaches for his stuffed animal behind him and hugged it tightly within his naked chest, decorated with your nail marks. He buries half of his face into the stuffed dinosaur and stayed quiet. You clicked your tongue and reassured him, “Baby, you’ll be okay…” Two hours later. He was not okay. He had used up approximately $2000 to buy clothes online, almost logged into dark web, and almost purchased a car. He had eaten twice in the span of two hours, and watched seven movies, skipping from one channel to another. He had stared at his phone while the movie is playing and laying on his stomach, switching his head to the side at the screen. “I’m bored,” he groans. Namjoon almost cut his own bangs just because it was poking his eyes. He lost two earphones in a day and about to finish the third series of a manga he recently started. He felt the need to call you whenever he started a new series, or watched something funny on Netflix or when he felt like he needs to use the kitchen without your supervision. He tried calling Yoongi and Jimin, but it all went unanswered. He played online games, instead of writing new songs just to stop himself from calling you. He purchased two of the same books from different retailer. He used your Amazon ID to search for weird things like, 100 live ladybugs or decals that make your fridge looks like a Game Boy. He may or may not have purchased another child-size KAWS figurine that have scared you in the past. In fact, he had moved most of his collections to the office because you got frightened of it. He placed them in random places because he thinks its funny. You pinched him by the forearm and made him remove them, at once. Raindrops trickling down the glass window, and Namjoon followed the trails with his index finger. He stood in front of it. He blew hot air on the window and wrote your name before taking a picture of it and sending it to you. With a little heart emoticon. Crippling boredom forced him to reach over the top of the wardrobe to take out your wedding album. He smiled at the side of it, and sat on the floor, next to the made bed. His languid fingers ran over the pages like he was reading a sacred scripture, eyes wide with awe. The sound of the rain hitting the roof and wooden shack outside was the only thing that accompanied him. He felt even more lonely despite looking at your picture. He didn’t know what you were thinking of when you look at him that way. In that wedding picture, he was talking to his friends but he kept holding your hand, not wanting to let go. You were looking up at the view of his back, with such big smile. And it was so intimate, the fact that it was a smile that you put on despite him not looking at you. It made him feel very much loved. This is not the first time he had looked through this album, but every single time he did, it felt like it was the first. Namjoon unknowingly smiled back, as if to return to that time and give you back as much as you gave him. All he remembered from that moment was to hold your hand and never let go. He has a habit of drawing circles inside your palm when you were holding hands, loosely; and it was the kind of habit he wouldn’t let go of, anytime soon. He does it mindlessly, when he sat next to you in the movies, or when you were sitting in a parked car by the sea, or when he lays in bed next to you in pitch darkness. Namjoon just wanted to hold hands. Your hands. Even though he had his back turned towards you slightly, although the grip is loose, he still wants to hold hands. And the photographer cum best friend, Kim Taehyung had caught the moment on camera. His overpriced work was really worth it. Namjoon was glad that he delivered. It was very difficult to find a good wedding photographer nowadays. Not that he ever doubted Taehyung’s skills. God forbid Taehyung got to know that or Namjoon would be damned with endless sulking from his loyal but sensitive friend. His work is amazing, and Namjoon would remind him that. Just look at this fine shot. Namjoon in this picture, was leaning away from you, while you were greeting a close friend, your smile was so vibrant, it spoke volumes and how important that friend was, to you. Namjoon cowers, with a fond smile, face full of pure adoration to his wife. He rested his elbow on the table, looking at you, while you were holding your friend’s hand far too tightly. You couldn’t hide your excitement and he couldn’t hide his love to you. “…She’s so pretty,” Namjoon thumbed your face, leaning his back to the bed leg, putting the album on his lap, extending his lower limb towards the bathroom door. And he wonders, “Have you ever regretted, being married to me?” Time was the biggest challenge. His shortcomings, his dreams, his ambition, his thirst for knowledge. Your desire, your ability, your drive, your demands for security. To others, both of you had every reason to not be together. There’s too much differences. But also similarities. Whatever he was lacking, you fulfilled. His dreams and your ability to make them come true. His ambition and your drive, complimented each other. Both of you had every reason to be together. Namjoon will never neglect you, not even for a second. Because he knew how much he had to go through to even find you. He had a side of him that he would like to keep a secret, a space for himself. And whenever he required time to be alone, he’d assure you that he would come back. That he will always come back. It doesn’t take long, knowing how much he needed you. When moments like these take place, when he and you couldn’t be together, he finds himself searching for something. Something that only you could fill. Like how he is looking through wedding albums for your face, or how he’s hugging your clothes for the scent that you leave behind. Namjoon can be this affectionate. And he wouldn’t have known this side of him, if it weren’t for you. He hasn’t called this hour. Had he gone to sleep? You searched for your phone while your nephews lay tired in your lap, making a human pillow out of you that reminded you of another big baby that would do the same if he was here. A whooping 72 messages from Namjoon. He sent pictures of the food he ate, of the foggy window with your name, crying emoticons, and random “I Miss You” texts, the view he is looking at and finally, your wedding album. Just then, a new message is received. Husband is typing… “I leave your side empty. I’m going to go sleep now. Love you.” You replied with a picture of you laying on the floor with your nephews drooling on your t-shirt, with the caption: I’m not exactly having fun here. Sleep tight, goodnight dimple bear. Your cousin helped you carry one by one of the nephews into their bed and tucked them in. Sagi wriggled her eyebrow and pointed her chin to the kitchen table where burgers were stacked one on top of another with the amount of fries enough to feed a village. Your eyes shrunk while you covered your mouth to giggle quietly and followed her to the kitchen after shutting the door. “The three musketeers are finally asleep, and we are finally free,” Sagi sighed into her chair and turned the television on, pouring a glass of orange juice for you and her. “I can’t believe we were going to make it out alive, today,” you shook your head. There’s trails of unused toilet tissue expanding from the second floor to the first floor of the house. The eldest of the triplets through his top over the ceiling fan and convinced his brothers to do the same. Your only niece was screaming at the top of her lung and peeing over the heap of unfolded clean clothes. You kept stepping on Lego pieces and Sagi kept on changing diapers. Not only that, the diapers ran out and you had to drive over to the closest convenience store, but before you could get into the car, you had to fight the triplets off. Then one of the kids took the car key and hid them. So you had to use your uncle’s car but he had to leave for work at 5pm and it’s 3pm so you couldn’t buy the diapers right away. Sagi had her hair pulled into a hairdryer and the triplets stuck gum underneath the kitchen table. Your niece licked the floor when her chocolate milk was spilled and you were trying not to lose your mind from cleaning everything up. It’s like having many Namjoons at once. “I am…never having kids,” Sagi muttered, her eyes bore into the television, nipping fries between her lips. “Namjoon would never agree to me saying that,” you commented. “Namjoon is different…” Sagi quipped, switching to her side to face you, “How on earth did you even find a guy like him?” “Like him? Like what?” You grabbed a burger with its wrap. Capable. Doesn’t smoke. Doesn’t drink that much. Super smart. “He just…walked in the room,” you shrugged with a smile, “And if I didn’t know better, we would have stayed as friends because he was so freaking shy and he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, so the first few months I knew him, I thought he was a stuck up arrogant dude who doesn’t like the conversation we were having.” The pace you both were going at were slow. Acquaintance for two years, friends for another four, and it was only on the fifth year of your friendship that you finally give in to the lust you had over him, and it was embarrassing because when you confessed bleakly, Namjoon looked like he found out the universe’s biggest secret. You both were so comfortable with each other than it didn’t come across that you both loved each other. The lines between friendship and love are ever so thin and hazy, as time passes. The first kiss you had was in your car, and it quickly escalated to more than just hand touching, lips and straddling. The car windows got so fogged up, and he left his hand mark against the window. You were pretty sure who ever was walking past your car would have heard obscene sounds and the unnatural shaking of your car from the speed he was going for. Mid love-making, he said how much he loved you, and adored you and wanted you. And he didn’t have to say it because his hands and eyes were loud enough. You fell asleep on his naked chest, his hand rubbing against the small of your back, as he spoke in murmurs, staring up the roof of your car. “I have always wanted to have sex in a car,” he spoke seriously. And you hide your face in his nape, chuckling. “Me too,” you replied. Lifting yourself up from him, you wanted to see the outside but gushed, “Oh my goodness, it’s all fogged up!” He looked dazed, and managed to say, “You look beautiful.” Nipping your bare shoulder between his lips, his eyes searching for your validation. “Your eyes were filled with lust, you haven’t come down from your high?” you bit your smile and he shook his head. “I want this. I want us. I don’t think I’ll ever want enough of you,” he gave you a back hug, and held you tight. We’ve been friends long enough, haven’t we? Sagi froze. A stupid smile stuck on her lips, and “That’s so cute…” 3:17 AM Lurching sound filled the bathroom, bouncing from one tile to another. Namjoon had his head on the toilet bowl. He had been vomiting so hard that he grew tired from it.He leant his chin on the toilet seat, sitting on the floor as his knees gave way. Headaches, and the smell of anything triggered his nauseousness. He didn’t eat something bad, did he? He carefully rinsed his mouth and wiped his face. Taking his phone in his hand, he weakly dialled your number. He hates to wake you up but this was an emergency. “Babe,” he grumbled, “I can’t stop vomiting. Where can I get anti-nausea pills? I feel like dying...” Rubbing your eyes, you sat on your bed while Sagi stirs in her deep sleep. “Try checking the medication box, I wrote anti-nausea pills. You know where those are. What did you eat?” Namjoon dragged his feet down the hallway back to the kitchen, and opened the top cabinet where medication kits are, phone in between his ear and shoulder. His lips has washed away colours and turned pale. “Just instant noodles, and it tasted just fine,” he added. He unfastened the clips, and threaded his forefinger past the medicine envelopes until he gets to the anti-nausea label. “Take painkillers as well...and if it doesn’t go away in the morning, go see a doctor okay?” You advised him and he nodded, as if you could see him. The triplets mother walked in the room you shared with Sagi. She’s eight months pregnant with her fourth baby. And you remembered how her husband had couvade syndrome that hadn’t left until now. It’s a syndrome known for expectant fathers to experience symptoms that only pregnant women go through. You remember how he wouldn’t stop having weird cravings, sleep troubles and vomiting--in place of his wife. He looks like he was about to die. And then, you paused momentarily. Hold on. “Do you have a pregnancy stick test?”

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wordtotherose · 7 years

Text

A Test of Heart

It’s the middle of the night, or at least that’s what time she assumes it is, it’s near impossible to tell when surrounded by walls made of vines. They had looked beautiful beyond belief when they’d woken up the day before. But the first thing she focuses on when she’s rudely awakened by a hand clamped over her mouth, and another pushing her out of the bed and out the entrance to the temporary bedroom chamber, is that the vines look like callous fingers curling ominously around each other, fingernails filed to points that poke out into her path to catch at her hair and clothes. Through the veil of fear and panic that’s settled over her, everything that was welcoming about the place is eerie. The green glow that had felt so warm and natural is now reduced to simply being too dim for her to make out who’s kidnapping her. She assumed they were kidnapping her, what with the hissed instructions to stop resisting and stay silent. Better her than Valerie who was hopefully still sound asleep.

‘Liar.’ A voice in the back of her head whispers. ‘You want her to rescue you like you rescued her. You want to feel needed, all you’ve ever wanted is to feel needed.’ She doesn’t try to argue, she’d be arguing with herself after all and that would be pointless.

She loses track of how many corners they take and how many doors they pass. No one’s walked by and so it seems safe to think that even the Old Race need to sleep, their human counterparts definitely do. Is it a human taking her? Or one of them? She tries to strain her eyes down to make out her captor’s feet but her head’s held stiffly in place, facing forward.

“We’re nearly there.”

She startles at the loud voice right next to her ear before asking where they’re going and why when the hand that had previously been keeping her mouth closed was moved to grab a fistful of her hair instead. The answer is less than clear but the images searing into her mind along with two sharp words make it obvious what is taking her away. Synthia doesn’t bother asking what they meant by ‘her test’, partially out of fear but also mostly out of the distinct feeling that she really doesn’t want to actually know. Out of nowhere the corridor is suddenly a vast chamber, circular in shape of course because apparently that’s the preferred architecture of the Old Race; maybe it’s something about how everything is equal or some other rubbish.

The creature marches her into the centre of the room before kicking her legs out from underneath her, she bites back a cry of pain and swears in her head; she doesn’t bother trying to stand up again, choosing instead to stay kneeling on the dry grass with her dress skirts tucked up under her knees and around her ankles, offering a thin layer of protection from the sharp blades of grass. The hand in her hair withdraws and so does the one from her shoulder but she still doesn’t move or dare to ask what’s happening. She just has to trust that all will become clear. Which it does in a blinding flash of agony that physically makes her double over and retch, forehead pressed against the ground and her hands slammed against her ears. It’s the red-hot pain that she knows comes hand-in-hand with the creatures invading her mind but this time it’s worse. It doesn’t so much pass but...dull. Into a simmering wave that she can think alongside, she wills herself to sit up with as much composure as she can muster but nothing happens.

She tries to lower her hands and they do come to rest on her knees as she straightens her back fully, relief quickly floods her before she tries to push a stray hair out of her field of vision and finds that she can’t. Relief is replaced with panic. What have they done? Something moves in the shadows in front of her, something with hair that resembles fire and a green dress and skin that glows with newly found health in the the phosphorescent light. Valerie. ‘You wanted her here, now she is. Just what you wanted.’ No. No, what if they were going to put her through the same pain? Whatever they’d done to her they could do to Valerie. They could-

Valerie kneels down opposite her and locks eyes with Synthia. They stay in silence, Synthia can feel the watchful eyes of the creature who had brought her here all around, like an omnipresent power. It’s unnerving to say the least. But she has bigger things to focus on. Valerie’s breathing is starting to pick up pace, each breath quicker than the last and there were tears starting to trail down her cheeks. She longed to brush them away, to hold her from behind and press her hand flat against Valerie’s chest to help her breathe again, help her find the rhythm of useful breaths like she had so many times before. But she can’t move. She can’t speak or else she’d be begging her love to tell her what’s wrong, what’s making her panic.

Synthia watches on in horror as Valerie lifts her hand to see a cut materialising across her palm, like an invisible knife is splitting her skin like cloth and deep red is spilling out the cracks. Valerie cries out and Synthia starts talking anyway, in her head. Valerie is one of them, after all; there’s hope that she is able to hear Synthia. The princess gulps in a rattling breath, the air wheezing out of her lungs in great gasps. Her eyes are filled with anguish and fear. No. Not fear. Terror. She’s shaking and Synthia doesn’t know what to do. She pleaded for the breaking girl before her to hear her, to focus on her. Valerie doesn’t hear, that much is clear when she starts talking.

“Syn- Synthia, where-” She’s hiccuping between every other word like she’s drowning. “Where is she? I- I need her! I ne- need Syn, I can’t- I ca- Can’t. Can’t…”

‘I’m here! Val, I’m here, love. Breathe for me, please- just- just breathe for me, Princess. I’m right here, you’re going to be okay.’ She’s screaming herself hoarse in her own mind, she hadn’t known that was possible. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, you’re going to be okay!’

Valerie’s blood is starting to coat the grass like vile paint, the drops from her hand had evolved into a stream and there was a stain of harrowing scarlet spreading by the second around her stomach; almost as if she’d been impaled with Synthia’s own blade. Then it’s there, Synthia’s dagger. The one Valerie had had made specifically for her, with love and trust and everything right between them. It’s so out of place, so violently wrong as the handle protrudes from the princess’ side. Yet despite the endless outpour of what should surely have been too much blood, too much, too much, too much, Valerie is still screaming for Synthia. Still convulsing in pain every few seconds and panicking constantly. And there is nothing she can do. She can’t keep watching this, can’t not do anything. Valerie is dying and Synthia is dying with her, she doesn’t want to watch anymore. Doesn’t want to see. Then she isn’t.

The world is empty of light all of a sudden and she forces open her eyes. Someone is shaking her shoulders and calling her name; she bolts upright, the person shifts back quickly but stays sitting on the bed.

“Breathe, Syn. It was just a night terror; you’re safe. I’m safe.” Valerie reassures her softly. Valerie. Alive, if a bit sleepy.

Synthia pulls Valerie against her by the back of her neck, gently of course, and the princess goes willingly, curling around her and tucking her head into the crook of Synthia’s neck. Letting her hold her close and breathe her in. Valerie is safe. It had just been a dream. There’s no pain in her mind, she has absolute control over her body and Valerie is tucked in her arms, running her fingers up and down Synthia’s side to keep her grounded in the touch. She tilts her head and presses a kiss to the top of the princess’ head.

“I love you, Val. With everything I have. All of it is yours.” She whispers.

She would have thought the other girl hadn’t heard her until she catches her even quieter reply. “I love you too, Syn.”

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smilinglance · 7 years

Text

Klance Week Day 4 - Welcome Home

i did another sorry not sorry

ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10952775

And then they were running to each other, and Keith was in his arms. And when Keith moved away and looked up at him with slightly wet eyes and smiled that rare, genuine smile Lance knew it. This was Home and he was never going to leave.

Lance pulls his legs up onto the seat and crosses them. It’s a short flight, especially considering the speed of the Blue Lion, but comfort is always a priority. He closes his eyes and lets himself relax into his bond with Blue. He misses this. He doesn’t get to do it nearly as often lately and even though they’re always connected, her presence lingering in the back of his mind, there’s nothing like this closeness. It’s like home.

Technically he’s leaving home behind, however. But when you’re stuck fighting a space war for the end of your formative years your perspectives are very much influenced. The Lance before Voltron had a very small definition of Home.

For him, it was the house near Varadero Beach, in Cuba. Full of people, clutter, noise and never-ending love and warmth. The spot where those he loved most shared a space together, where everyone else would congregate on holidays. Home was with his mama and papa, brother, sisters. It was the glowing waves on a full moon night, the cool sand, but still warm air. It was the bunk bed he shared with his younger brother, his mother’s cooking and his father’s counsel. But then he left. And he couldn’t go back and didn’t see it again for eight Earth years, but who knows how long that was comparatively out in space.

It was out in space that Home’s definition began to change. It became the chef wars between Hunk and Coran, the easy night’s laughter in the common room, relaxing while tending to Blue. It was the harrowing time spent waiting anxiously outside one or more healing pods, the gut wrenching homesickness in the wee hours spent staring at the stars. It was euphoric infinity of flying Blue, the cheer of teasing and bantering with Keith, the undeniable togetherness of forming Voltron. As much as Home was the old house by the beach back on Earth, it also had a place out in space.

Now, after eight years, he has a third home too. He could begin to see it now, a tiny speck among the red dust and dirt, speckled with vegetation. As they drew closer it began to take form into a small, ruddy shack, one he hadn’t seen since his last morning on Earth before finding Blue. Beside it he could see the rundown hoverbike and the Red Lion resting. He smiles, he’s here.

He appears right before Blue lands, racing out the shack, hair a mess and jacket half on in his usual style. He stares up at them with big eyes. He seems to breathing hard, but Lance knows that he wouldn’t be panting from that little dash. Once the bottom hatch opens and his feet touch the red dirt he can see why. When he looks at Keith he has that expression, like his world is about to explode and he doesn’t know what to do about it. Lance saw it way too many times out in space, but he guesses Keith would argue that he risked his life way too many times back.

He’s still smiling as he walks to him. Keith’s eyes are wandering all over him, like he’s shocked Lance is here. It makes him smile wider.

“Hey, mullet,” he says when he’s close enough. Keith’s face drifts towards the slightly put off look he gets whenever Lance uses that nickname, and it quickly shifts to a skeptical expression.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not even bothering to greet him. Lance wasn’t expecting him to anyway.

“What do you mean? You didn’t seriously think you could go disappear back here and none of us would ever come to find you?” His face pinches, a clear sign that yes, that is exactly what he thought.

“You were busy, seeing your families,” he says in a quieter voice, unsure. Lance bites back a sigh; even after all these years he still thought the same way.

“Don’t you remember? Team is family. Didn’t you listen to Shiro?” He teases and Keith glares a bit. “And I promised I’d take you to meet mine.”

Keith’s face softens and he gets that vulnerable look in his eyes. “I didn’t think you were serious,” he all but whispers.

Lance heart clenches and he walks closer until he can put his hands on Keith’s shoulders. “Of course I was. Now are you going to give me a hug or what?”

For a second he gets a funny look on his face, a mix between how dare you and weak affection. But then it’s gone because his head is buried between Lance’s shoulder and his neck, arms wrapped impossibly tight around his waist. Lance feels something relax inside him as he returns it, face pressed against his hair, one arm around his shoulders, the other his lower back, holding him ever closer.

This, here with Keith, as close as he can be, is his third definition of Home. He can still remember the day he found it after one of the worst fights of his life, overwhelmed with such relief that he was alive and so was everyone else, and Keith, stupid Keith, who risked his life way too many times but still somehow came out unscathed was alive. They’d made it. Back in the castle, when he exited his Lion and he saw Keith and their eyes met, it was like the world stopped. And then they were running to each other, ever in synchrony, and Keith was in his arms. It was then, when he was overcame with such incredible, terrible emotion, such that made want to cry and scream and also never let go because this was it and he never ever wanted to leave. And when Keith moved away and looked up at him with slightly wet eyes and smiled that rare, genuine smile Lance knew it. This was Home and he was never going to leave.

But of course then when they got the opportunity to return to Earth, Keith up and disappeared, and as much as Lance wanted to go find him, he knew that Keith probably needed his Keith Broody Time as Lance calls it. And Lance, he couldn’t leave his family and longer.

As soon as he could leave though, he was gone. He thinks his mama could tell he needed to go. He could see it in the sparkle in her eye. He promised to come back soon though, and he meant it. He loved them too much to leave again so soon, but he needed to get Keith. As much as he missed the rest of the team, the empty hole where Keith’s presence used to be was too overbearing to ignore.

When they pull apart ever so slightly and he sees Keith’s warm eyes and that smile he only shows Lance, he’s happy he didn’t ignore it. “I missed you,” he says in a warm voice, and he makes a note to tease Keith about how his cheeks grow pink later.

“I missed you, too,” he says back and Lance’s heart tightens further. He has a feeling he is full on grinning at this point and he hides it in Keith’s hair once more. He rocks them slightly, so content to just be here with him again. There’s a rightness that comes along with Keith that he has never found anywhere else and he revels in it.

“Are you gonna let me fulfil my promise now?” He questions into his hair. He feels Keith’s hands tighten their grip on his shirt for a second.

“Yeah,” he responds before pulling away. “Gimme a sec to grab my stuff.” He has that face he would get when they’d go on solo missions together, explorations and supply gatherings, just the two of them. Lance loves that face.

Keith pulls away and jogs back to the shack. Lance feels that rightness settle in his chest, and he leans against one of Blue’s legs. He can feel her amusement at his affection and he mentally nudges back at her. When he comes out he’s holding a small rucksack and his luxite blade is at its place on his hips.

“Good to go?” He calls out to Keith, and he nods. “Just follow me.”

They set off together. It’s peaceful flying like this. After all their years in Voltron there’s always a lingering connection with the other paladins, but it’s always stronger in their Lions. They fly in companionable silence, Keith probably preparing himself to meet Lance’s family. He smiles; they’re going to love him.

When Varadero, and then his house, comes into sight the feeling of rightness grows. Two of his Homes together is like a dream come true. Plus, it’s reassuring to have another team member there. Someone who understands what the past eight years were like, who bears similar scars to him. It would make the disconnect Lance would experience occasionally much easier.

They land a bit off from the house and he guesses his family heard, because his mother is already rushing out, beaming. He leaves Blue with a goodbye and meets up with Keith, already out of Red with an anxious look on his face.

Lance wraps an arm around his, a common gesture after all these years. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure she already loves you.” The skeptical expression returns and Lance laughs and pokes his nose. Keith pouts and glares in response before Lance is dragging him along to his mother.

“I’m back, Mama!” He calls out and she rushes forward, cupping his face and kissing each cheek.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon!” She exclaims and Lance smiles mischievously.

“I did say I would be back soon!” He counters before bumping Keith with his hip. “Mama, meet Keith, red paladin and resident emo in space.”

Keith shoots his an exasperate glare, not even bothering to deny it anymore, but is interrupted by Lance’s mother greeting him in the same fashion she met Lance.

She leans back after kissing his cheeks, hands still on his face, and says, “It’s nice to meet you, Keith.”

He’s blushing once more at the knowing look in her eyes and stumbles over his words as he says, “It’s nice to meet you too.” Lance can’t suppress his giggle even when her eyes are turned on him.

“Come on,” he says. “You gotta meet everyone else!”

The rest of his family are just as surprised to see him back so soon, barely away for an hour, but not surprised to see Keith it seems. The carryon over his introduction takes about the same time and when it’s over he collapses, exhausted, on the couch in the now empty room.

Lance settles beside him and kisses his cheek. “Welcome home,” he says softly, but the look Keith has when he turns his head makes it look like he shouted. A cheeky grin takes over Lance’s face before Keith is tackling him against the cushions, poking at his stomach in embarrassment. It’s adorable how after all these years of expressed affection he still gets so bashful when it was shown.

Eventually Keith settles, resting his head on Lance’s chest, eyes meeting his. His cheeks are still red. His eyes are content and full of love when he smiles and Lance thinks back to himself, ‘Welcome Home.’

#klanceweek2017 #klance #voltron #vld #klance fic #my fics #this might be my favourite so far

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flanneljammies · 6 years

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2017 Top 20

20. Vous Autres - Trente Pièces d'Argent Ominous French metallions playing blackened post-metal. The glacial pace makes the emotional turmoil of the throat-shredding vocals even more harrowing. Slow and low baby. (self-released | Bandcamp)

19. Au Champ Des Morts - Dans La Joie Atmospheric black metal that touches on more than just post-rock and shoegaze. A mastery of dynamics and arrangement allows these Frenchmen to dabble in doom, noise rock, hardcore, and straight-up rock and roll. They also choose to fuck with the established vocal conventions, eschewing throat-shredding shrieking on occasion and slipping into solemnly intoned chants or a sort of hardcore bark. It's desperate and melancholy and yet often strangely uplifting. (Debemur Morti | Bandcamp)

18. Do Make Say Think - Stubborn Persistent Illusions Post-rock stalwarts return to form, making me almost forget about their last several lackluster records. More muscular and bombastic then they've ever been, DMST also seems to be gingerly testing the waters of math-rock. There are still the gorgeous passages of lilting, pastoral beauty, but never at the expense of emotionally wrenching melody. It's no Enemy Airship, but it's a good'un. (Constellation | Bandcamp)

17. Only The Bones - Death And His Brother Sleep This Chicago band describes itself (with tongue planted firmly in cheek one supposes) as "post-Fugazi." They're not far off the mark. Members of Swan King, Snow Burial, and This Computer Kills churn out jagged Dischord-style post-punk hooks that veer off into psych and metal territory occasionally. It's economical, concise, and packs one hell of a wallop. (self-released | Bandcamp)

16. Maximum Busy Muscle - Maximum Busy Muscle Expansive double-drummer noiserock from Athens GA. Unlike most bands trafficking in the post-Touch & Go world, MBM dispenses with vocals entirely and go completely instrumental. But this isn't some namby-pamby post-rock record. This is a tough-as-nails excursion into a maelstrom. The razor-sharp musicianship teases out swaggering noiserock, post-hardcore, and mathrock. But when the band opens up a bit and lets your catch your breath, there's also some sort of weird psychedelic thing going on that I can't quite put my finger on. It's an exhilarating and engrossing roller coaster. (self-released | Bandcamp)

15. Gnod - Just Say No To The Psycho Right-wing Capitalist Fascist Industrial Death Machine Anarchist drone punk from the UK. Apparently the band has been around for the better part of a decade and their recorded output has dabbled in all sorts of styles. I'm just getting hip to them now and really have only listened to this record. It's got the singleminded motorik of krautrock and the shambolic flip off of early Fall. Gnod manages to wring every last morsel of tone, meaning, and dynamics out of a single riff and still keep me on the edge of my seat. These muscular and ominous mantra-like songs underscore the modern dread summed up in the title. Crucial. (Rocket | Bandcamp)

14. Breag Naofa - II Seattle's Breag Naofa continue their forced march of crushing devastation. Their blackened post-doom is suffocating and yet somehow still sounds like it's about to take flight. Amid the pulverizing riffs and throat-shredding vocals, ugly and twisted melodies emerge from the gloom with just enough hook to ensnare you and pull you struggling and gasping to the surface. This is an epic, sprawling indictment. Subject yourself. (Halo Of Flies | Bandcamp)

13. Ex Eye - Ex Eye Saxophonist Colin Stetson leads this arty post-everything collective. If you're looking some nice jazz sax here, you'll be sorely disappointed. But if you're looking for damaged post-rock colliding with extreme metal, you've come to the right place. Ex Eye often reminds me of Maserati without any of that band's restraint and a whole lot more blown-out noisy layers. At other points I'm reminded of weirdo metal like, say, Liturgy but way blacker (both in style and mood) and chaotic. Stetson's sax blends with electronics and guitars so that it's often hard to tell what's going on and who's playing what. This is a stunning, immersive debut. An heir, perhaps, to John Zorn’s crown? (Relapse | Bandcamp)

12. Amenra - Mass VI Slow-burn doom from Belgium. The album begins with air-raid-sirens-in-the-distance feedback before a gentle guitar strum emerges. After what seems like an eternity (but really is only four minutes), the sky comes crashing down with impossibly pummeling guitar and drums and a tortured high-pitched screech. Amenra takes their time in all things. If that riff needs to go on for eight minutes, then goddammit, that's how long it'll go. Vocalist Colin van Eeckhout’s new-found comfort with quiet-n-pretty clean vocals hasn't dulled their brutal edge at all. He's perfectly willing to bide his time for the next round of blood-curdling histrionics. Majestic and crushing, mournful and melancholy, Amenra continues their ascent. (Neurot | Bandcamp)

11. Bereft - Lands Madison's own Bereft knock it out of the park on their second record (and first for Prosthetic). The blackened post-metal of their earlier material is mostly gone here, instead replaced by soaring atmospheric doom. The quartet milk as much mileage as possible out of the interplay between the two vocalists (sometimes hoarse scream, sometimes plaintive incantation). The bruising slabs of down-tuned riffs threaten to swallow voices and strangle guitar melodies. In the end though it's these atmospheric elements and a deft sense melody that elevate Bereft over their low-n-slow brethren. (Prosthetic | Bandcamp)

10. Lardo - Sinking If I didn't tell you Lardo was from Chicago, I'm pretty sure you'd be able tell anyhow. Lardo plays slashing and angular noise rock that will sound familiar to anyone who's ever heard Shellac. Like that band, vocalist Nick Minor delivers matter-of-fact sarcasm about the banal. Musically, they're anchored by a bit-crushed, synthy guitar sound that, on paper, should become really annoying really fast. The fact that it doesn't is a testament to the razor-sharp and inventive playing and laconic songwriting. As stylistically indebted as it is, Sinking still manages to step out from under the shadows and forge its own identity. (Alliterative Accord | Bandcamp)

9. Brutus - Burst This slippery noiserock outfit from Belgium is fronted by a woman with some ungodly pipes -- in fact, I’m constantly bewildered by her power. The tightly wound post-hardcore compositions are ear worms drilling directly into your brain. Add to that a vocalist more powerful even than Julie Christmas and you've got honest-to-gosh, fist-in-the-air anthem material. Burst is spine-tingling in its soaring majesty. (Sargent House | Bandcamp)

8. Human Future - Flat Earth Blues Apparently this London post-hardcore band broke up this year, but they've left us with a compelling swan song. This is tough, grandiose, emotionally affecting stuff that gets under the skin. Sure, there are other bands working in this same general area (Less Art, Self Defense Family, La Dispute), but Human Future's take is decidedly more bombastically rock (rawk?) -- at turns muscular and atmospheric, replete with guitar solos and proggy, psychedelic spaciness. (Truthseeker Music | Bandcamp)

7. Rainer Maria - S/T Ten years after we last heard from them, OG emo kids Rainer Maria are back. And it's a refreshing return to form. This "comeback" record is tougher, louder, and noisier then they've been since their first record. Kaia Fischer's guitar lines are as inventive as ever and Caithlin De Marrais' vocals still channel both emotional turmoil and ennui. Maturity hasn't dulled their edge, if anything they've honed their craft in a way only seasoned musicians and road dogs can hope to do. The amped up aggression and forward propulsion of their new-found joy of playing together again is tempered by well-considered studio experimentation and atmosphere. This is no nostalgia act. This is thoughtful people making vital music. (Polyvinyl | Bandcamp)

6. The Kraken Quartet - Separate | Migrate A quartet of four percussionists might sound like a recipe for disaster, but throw in some electronics and some top-notch playing and compositions and it turns into a post-rock tour de force. This is the record Tortoise should have been making for the last ten years. Richly immersive and percussive (duh), Separate is modern jazz for the post-rock crowd. It's compelling and spellbinding and deserves a much wider audience than it’s likely to get. (Hand Drawn | Bandcamp)

5. Oxbow - Thin Black Duke After a ten-year hiatus, the shape-shifting, iconoclastic Oxbow is back. Eugene Robinson whispers, growls, spits, wails, moans, shouts, and proselytizes over noise-rock filtered through a vaudevillian film score. Sometimes it's muscular and angular and other times it's lush and spooky. It's always uncompromising and beguiling. By the end of the record you may wonder what you heard, but you'll listen again either way. It may feel mostly subdued, but there's real menace beneath the all the layers; like you're poking a rabid bear just coming out of hibernation -- a bit foggy, but intensely hungry and unwilling to take shit from anyone. (Hydra Head | Bandcamp)

4. Less Art - Strangled Light Emotional and arty noise-rock cum hardcore is certainly not what one would expect from members of Kowloon Walled City, Tigon, and Curl Up And Die, but here we are. While Less Art often recalls a kinder, gentler Botch, there's loads of mile-wide riffs and almost-calms that do indeed reference KWC. Mike Minnick's laconic, world weary, sing-speak vocals are the centerpiece, anchoring the serpentine arrangements. These songs heave and writhe, sometimes lashing out, sometimes turning to introspection -- but there's always desperation, anger, and resignation. Strangled Light is a ferocious and formidable debut from lifers who know exactly what they're doing. Here's hoping they tour. (Gilead Media | Bandcamp)

3. Vanum - Burning Arrow This version of black metal is probably trve enough for the kvlt kids, but there's more to it than that. Burning Arrow is triumphant and processional, uplifting despite its claustrophobic maelstrom of blast beats, tremolo picking, and throat torture. The majesty and melancholy take on a narrative quality pulling you along to the next twist in the road. It's hard to explain without resorting to some bullshit sword-vs-sorcery trope, but fuck it... Your're on a journey towards victory. On the battle field you raise your fist in the air, heart swelling as you watch your enemies vanquished. Powerful and uncompromising stuff. (Psychic Violence | Bandcamp)

2. Big|Brave - Ardor Lazy description: Nadja fronted by Bjork. That's not wrong but there are more layers. Glacially paced doom/drone with hiccupy little girl squeals? That's not exactly it either. Crushing, mantra-like riffs à la My Disco with sweet-yet-exotic female vocals à la Blonde Redhead? Hmmm... not quite. A swirling mass of Swans-like noise underpinning Julie Christmas? Fuck it. It's brilliant. (Southern Lord | Bandcamp)

1. Aviator - Loneliness Leaves The Light On For Me I'm a sucker for emotionally wrenching, angularly mathy post-hardcore. This Boston five piece will immediately call to mind La Dispute or mewithoutYou but they're definitely not plagiarists. Hoarse, world-weary vocals are propelled by razor sharp riffs that never fail to tug at my heart strings. It's catchy, frantic, smart, and propulsive. Makes me punch my fist in the air, want to get in the pit, and long for my youth. (No Sleep | Bandcamp)

Other Stuff Other stuff that didn’t make the list, but that I listened to a lot this year.

Breag Naofa - Cearo (self-released) Blackened post-doom from Seattle

BRZRKRZ - Fever Dream Kitchen (self-released) Electronic atmospheric beats for the lounge at the end of the unvierse

Buzzooko - Giza (Retrovox) Giddy Italian Jesus Lizard-worship.

Chavez - Cockfighters (Matador) The influential arty indie band releases a three-song single after 20 years of activity. But come on! Only three songs and no tour plans?!?

Goddamned Animals - My Second Cult Suicide (self-released) Noisy Portland post-hardcore straddling the line between These Arms Are Snakes and San Diego chaotic hardcore.

Heaven In Her Arms - White Halo (Moment Of Collapse) Japanese Envy worship with lots of guitar solos.

Lotus Ash - The Evening Redness (self-released) Doomy sludge or is it sludgy doom? From Milwaukee.

Loyalists - Ride the Trashheap of Sound (self-released) Weird and arty noise-rock from Oakland.

M. Martin - A Harvest of Ice (Rare Plant) Gothy and apocalyptic collection of songs from Coordinated Suicides main man.

Monotrope - Unifying Receiver (New Atlantis) Complex instrumental noisy math rock.

New Cowboy Builders - Used Future (self-released) Final recordings form the Welsh band that is equal parts Fall and Big Black.

Often The Thinker - Better Part of Vice (self-released) Superb 2016 release from this far-flung post-rock collective. Lush arrangements and stellar playing.

Sannhet - So Numb (Profound Lore) The NYC blackgaze band has succumbed to the dark side of shoegaze -- barely a blast beat to be found.

Throane - Plus Une Main A Mordre (Debemur Morti) Claustrophobic blackened doom from France.

Underhand - Roman Numeral One (self-released) Muscular instrumental post-rock from Chicago.

UT - δ γ ε β (Taxi Driver) Chaotic Italian noiserock. Equal parts Blood Brothers and Slint.

Wailin’ Storms - Sick City (Antena Krzyku) Gothy noiserock from Durham NC. I hear loads of Echo and Bunnymen.

When Icarus Falls - Resilience (Czar Of Crickets) Mathy Swiss post-metal. Lots of Cult of Luna-worship.

Chelsea Wolfe - Hiss Spun (Sargent House) Another electro-goth outing from the mysterious chanteuse.

#best-of #review #noiserock #Black-gaze #post-metal #post-rock #electronic #Self-Released #black metal

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