#for the grand reward of like.... a bottle of water maybe?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

potter-imagines · 3 years

Text

Getting Drunk With Fred Weasley

Prompt: getting drunk w/ your boyfriend Fred would include + mini blurbs

Warning: drinking, swearing, and some suggestive wording

Word Count: 2.2k

Notes: n/a

Parties are not an uncommon event in the Gryffindor common room

Alcohol and drink mixtures of all sorts are being poured left and right every weekend

Most weekend you have a drink or two while catching up with your friends after a busy week of school

Other weekends you choose the path of getting plastered alongside your boyfriend off smuggled liquor and bottle of beer

On these night in particular,

Fred does not let you out of his sight

At all

Unless of course Lee challenges him to a beer pong match then he’ll carefully usher you over the couch where he can keep an eye on you while he’s playing

Has to pause the match like 20 times to chase after you and lead you over to his side “Y/n! You know you can’t out drink Seamus- he’s Irish! C’mon, come watch me kick George and Lee’s ass. They’re so bad it takes two of them to even manage a winning shot yet somehow they still suck!”

Loves it when you cheer him on

Is constantly glancing over to reassure himself you haven’t run off again

Your distraction is heightened in this state

So he feels the need to be your second set of eyes

Which had come in handy many a times

Like when Ron dared you to touch the burning fire while he was wasted on dragon barrel brandy

“Don’t be a pussy, Y/n. Swipe your hand real fast and you won’t even feel a thing-” “Y/n, pull your hand away from that fire, love. Ron, what the fuck? Are you trying to set my girlfriend up in flames? Angel, Ron is an idiot, you know that, don’t do anything he says again.” “Hey!”

And the time when you all were playing strip poker and Fred quite literally threw himself on top of your body to cover your chest when George teased you to take your bra off and your hands reached back for the clasps

(( he bitched at George for five minutes straight for that suggestion ))

Fred knew you were not one to back down from a challenge, especially when drunk and not considering the consequences or regret that would follow

So he always made sure you never embarrassed yourself too much or did anything you’d be wanting to take back come morning

During any Gryffindor party, Fred is the life of it

When he’s not preoccupied fawning over you, he’s hopping around with George seeking out trouble

The man throws back liquor like its water

Claims he knows his limits, but he really doesn’t

He is a touchy drunk

Hands brushing through your hair as you chat on the couch

Arms wrapped around your shoulder as you laugh along with your friends

Fingers laced in yours whenever you’re near

He craves your touch even more so when the liquor taints his veins

Let’s be real, Fred is not exactly the type of boyfriend to try to get you to stop drinking

He still makes sure you’re safe and not over drinking but,

Most of the times,

He’s the one pouring the shots for you

And mixing the drinks

But he always knows when to stop, and when you’ve had enough to drink

He tries to mentally keep note of how many drinks you've had but loses track once he reaches about five on his own end

Sometimes he’ll silently swap out your glass of whiskey for a glass of pumpkin juice

It’s obvious to Fred that he made the right choice when he watched as you sipped gleefully on the juice, not making a single comment on the dramatic change in taste

In these moments he begins to prepare himself for a night of babysitting you

And he’s so sweet in helping you on the nights when you go an inch- or ten- overboard

Carries you up to your bed and helps you change out of your clothes and into new ones for bed

He gets you wipes to take of your makeup, if you’re wearing any, and he’ll sit you between his legs on your bed while he brushes through your hair

After you’re properly ready for bed, Fred makes sure to set a glass of water on your nightstand incase you get thirsty and a bag of crackers if you get hungry

Stays the night without question when you ask

Other times he stays regardless of if you do or don’t

Your roommates don’t mind seeing as he takes care of you meaning they don’t have to

He’ll lay on his back and usher you over to place you head on his chest

His fingertips will soothingly trail up and down you back, lulling you into a deep sleep with the rhythmic motion

Tries his best to make sure you fall asleep first

Drunk Fred really has no control over his sleep habits and has a tendency to pass out from sudden exhaustion at any moment

One second him and George are fucking around with partygoers, supply them with different products of theirs, and causing pure chaos

The next second Fred was snoozing away while he laid on the couch with his head in your lap

Then he was back up an going again

Like a toddler on a sugar high

He’s such a giggly drunk

Kisses to the tip of your nose

Always smiling over at you and complimenting you

“Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?” “Only ten times, but I’m okay with elven.” “Let’s make it twelve, you looks absolutely stunning- so pretty, and all mine.”

The boy can’t help it, you make him feel weightless with happiness sober and the feeling only intensifies when he’s been drinking

There are nights when Fred can’t seem to taste the scorching burn of the liquor anymore after about six shots and it these nights where George and yourself are left dragging him up the stairs

George will beg you to stay the night because he can’t handle Fred’s drunken rambling about how much he misses you

And you agree because, how could you say no to Fred’s adorable puppy dog eyes and grabby hands longing for you to cuddle with him

If you two are both drunk, you’ll stay up talking- or rather whispering- under his comforter

He’ll stumble over his words and jumps from topic to topic in the blink of an eye

Uncontrollable giggles as he whispers- or rather stutters- out the most confusing jokes you’ve ever heard

“Angel, angel…” “Yes, Freddie?” “What happens when a toad’s car breaks down?” “I dunno…” “It gets froged!” “I’m sorry, come again? Isn’t it meant to be the frog’s car that breaks down and it gets ‘toad’...not ‘froged’?”

But he’s out like a light before you can get an explanation

He breathes like darth vader when he’s in his drunken slumber

Yet its somehow comforting in an odd way

Like it reminds you that he’s there holding you

And also that he’s still alive, which is surprising at times with the amount of drinks he consumes in one night

If you think Fred acts reckless sober, he thinks he’s invincible when he’s drunk which is even worse

He’ll agree to almost anything

If Ron were to tell him he bet Fred wouldn’t jump from the Astrology Tower all the way down to the courtyard? Fred would do it just in spite of him

The only time this attitude of his had gotten him into trouble was when Fred, George and Lee came up with the grand idea to go down the boy’s dormitory staircase on mattresses

Fred, being the brilliant man he is, decided to go first

You had been gossiping away in the common room to Hermione about a new Muggle actor the two of you had seen in a film when you heard the loud crashing, followed by the voice you loved so much groaning in agony

By the time you reached the opening to the stairwell, George and Lee were aiding Fred down the stone steps, carefully avoiding his ankle which had been twisted in an inhuman position

Madam Pomfrey surprisingly kept hum about Fred’s intoxication and instead scolded him for hours on end about his reckless, mindless choice to try to slide down, winding, steep, stone steps

Once news reached the professors the nest morning, McGoagall dismissed 40 points from Gryffindor for the incident

Using your mattress to surf down the twirling stairwell has since been prohibited

On a separate occasion Fred had accident lit the edge of the curtain on fire

You can always tell when he’s reached that level by the volume in his tone

It tends to get deeper the more intoxicated he becomes

And his words slowly slur together into a string of blabber

Mostly compliments, sweet words, and sometimes suggestive ones as well

Fred gets a bit more… forward when he’s got that liquid courage soaring through him

His hands will start to roam slowly from around your waist to your lower back, then resting on your bum

He gets turned on watching you play beer pong for some reason

Especially when you win

Maybe it’s the view he’s graced with when you bend to bounce the pin pong ball

Or the feistiness that arises when the match gets hot

It’s more than enticing for him

Fred can feel his frame get stiffer everytime you bend across the table to retrieve the cup and chug the beer from it

When the round has ceased and you’re declared champion yet again, Fred steps forward to pull you in for a hug

As he gives you a kiss on the cheek, he whispers,

“Good girl! Now if you beat George again I’ll give you a special surprise later tonight, angel.”

Which makes your knees weak like jell-o as your frame pushes into his for support

It doesn’t help that you can feel just how excited he is through the denim of his jeans

Fred dips his head to plant a trail of wet, teasing kisses along the skin of your warm neck until George was groaning and pleading for you to start the match

You practically shook for the entirety of the game, still managing to sink almost every shot into a cup forcing George to drink for the majority of it

He ended up tapping out once you nailed the seventh cup in a row and kept your winning streak alive due to his need to find a trash can immediately

You stopped there to join Fred by his side as he smiled to you, clearly pleased that you won

“Looks like someone is getting rewarded tonight.”

His arm draped around your shoulder as you leaned into his side, your cheeks flaring from the mass of bodies but mostly from Fred’s suggestive promise

He only forced you to suffer through the party for another ten minutes or so before pouring one last shot for the both of you, then nearly pushing you up the winding stairs to his dorm

Lets just say he certainly fulfilled on his promise- more than once that night

Loves it when you sit in his lap when you’re on the couch together

Whispers dirty secrets into your ear

Drunk Fred leaves hickies under the clothes

He’s not the type to care who’s around, he’ll try to slide his hand up your skirt in front of nearly anyone when he’s inebriated

“Fred- you’re brother is sitting right there, stop it!” “Shhhh, angel. He’s not even watching, right George?” “Right, Fred.” “See?”

To which you glare dangerous at him as you place his hand back in his lap, but Fred continues to smirk in amusement

It’s like you’re a preschool teacher constantly having to tell a child to keep their hands to themselves, Fred just refuses to listen

Fred doesn’t necessarily get jealous of other guys

He trusts you and he’s confident enough in your relationship not to feel threatened by other guys

However he is possessive af over you when he’s been drinking

In a sweet way tho

Literally wants all your time and attention when he’s drunk

If you don’t feel like dancing, he’ll ask you to come watch him dance

When you say you need to use the bathroom, he’ll ask a million times if you want him to come with

If George places a bet against Fred in a game of cards, Fred will drag you over to sit next to him as Seamus shuffles the deck and prepares the table

He’ll show you his cards and tell you to pick one

Even though he knows you’re completely unaware of the rules to the game, he loves the smile of excitement that appears on your face when he lets you

And in the rare times that you do say no, he works his magic with those big doe eyes and pouty lip until you say yes

It brings him comfort when you’re by his side

Your nights end the same each day, wrapped in his arms listening to the relaxing thump of his heart as the two of you doze off, both silently dreading the awaiting hangover than would surely greet you first thing in the morning, but you wouldn’t want it any other way

578 notes · View notes

oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years

Text

It’s A Match Chapter Two

Masterlist

Summary: as you and henry become closer he lets his family know there may be a new woman on the scene. And you surprize him by moving a little quicker then he had thought. Not that he is against it. He is all to eager to move along to the next step.

Warnings: RPF, Swearing, Angst, Heated Discussions, Fluff.

A/N: here is chapter two, this will only be a short fic maybe there or four chapters but i hope you all like it. This is just me writing down my fluffy fantasy.

Taglist: In Reblogs.

'Shes a big fluffy teddy bear, and loves hugs, even if Shes crushing me~' henry froze hands quivering nervously over the keyboard. You replied? You actually? Holy shit! He bit his lip sitting up straighter with a grin and smoothed his hair back. He wasn't sure why it made him so happy but? He had a reply, and actual reply from a person! A woman!

Now what?

He wracked his brain and frowned. What does he say? Does he ask questions or just talk about dogs? He didn't know all he did know is that he had messaged a complete stranger and she had messaged back.

'I can imagine moving her must be hard work if she's comfy'

'Yeah but on the plus side she's always warm~ a huge hot water bottle'

'A numb but warm set of legs then😂'

'Absolutely! That sounds like the talk of a man who's been there?'

'Yes I have an American Akita, a very snuggly boy that gives me atleast one dead leg a day😅'

'Aww I love Akita's, I was going to get one but them Amii sort of fell into my lap, and has stayed there ever since'

'Big or small a lap dog is a lap dog'

'Definitely😂' Henry paused. Shit what does he do now? Does he just ask questions? Explain a bit more about himself? Both seemed a little too juvenile... And it was scary... Awkward he wants a nice chat, for conversation to flow naturally. He didn't want to fuck up. There was another ping as you typed another message.

' I have to say I'm surprized I got a message on here, only been on here for a few days😅' henry was thankfull, you wasn't going to judge. You were both in the same boat. Both nervously talking to a stranger in the hopes of there being something more. It made replying a little easier, he hoped that things would get less awkward after breaking the ice.

'Really? I made mine today... not sure about all this new online stuff but will figure it out'

'Well I'd say your doing alright, at least you had the courage to message someone, i made the profile then chickened out😅'

'I almost did, your the first profile that caught my eye'

'Was it Amii?'

'No, as cute as she is you lacked a duck face selfie, and you look very sweet and have kind eyes' henry froze after sending the message. Shit, shit! That was fucking cheese! Cringe and just a fuck up! He quickly wracked both hands through his hair and cursed trying to think of a way to get out of this but nothing came to mind... And then he saw it the tiny y/n is typing... At the bottom of the screen, he winced dreading the reply he was going to get. He bit his lip worried he hopes he hasn't tripped at the first hurdle.

'Thank you that's kind of you to say. And is a missing duck face that strange?🤔'

'Every woman has a duck face'

'Well I do not have a duck face'

'Really?🤨'

'Well not a good one 😅My duck face is sub par more a fish face, call me guppy😂' he chuckled, you did have a sense of humour which was good. He liked making people laugh and not having them take everything so seriously, it meant he could relax and let loose. To just have fun! He heaved a big sigh unconsiously petting Kal as he sat up and leant on his leg. He quickly began typing once more finding it easier chatting with a stranger with each message.

'🤣🤣 I got to admit I'm not sure what to talk about, this is my first time🤔'

'Well that makes us both online virgins😅lets start with the important things shall we?' Henry froze panicking. 'Oh god! Oh god! What ere you going to ask?!' He thought watching the little dots on the screen holding his breath dreading you'd ask for picture or something. He was put out of his misery with a tiny ping sound and your message popped up. He threw his head back and laughed outloud seeing the all important question.

'Who's your favourite superhero?' You were definitely a geek girl, just like he wanted. He bit his lip and typed without needing to think of the answer.

'Superman, afterall he is the grand daddy of all superheroes. You?'

'Oh your not gonna like this~ I love batman🤗' henry smiled at the screen and leant back wiping his mouth trying to massage the ache from his cheeks. He really was grinning ear to ear just from speaking to you so... Unguarded he was just being himself and it was freeing!

'Oh no!😱can I ask why?' He typed quickly not wanting you to think he was going to keep you on read? Was that what they called it nowadays?

'He proves that at 30 you can have a dramatic goth early midlife crisis and that regular assholes can be heroes too, all you need is money🤗🤗'

'🤣🤣 oh god! You know I never thought of it like that!' henry shook his head laughing out loud as he replied

'But you'll be happy to know supes is number three on my list'

'Well he makes the top three so that's salvageable😆'

'Yeah... Two is Captain America though'

'Rich goth with issues, man with an expensive tea tray, then supes got it 👌👍'

'Omg yes!😂that's sums it up beautifully🤣' after that the conversation moved on which he was a little thankful for. Not that he disliked geeking out but... it'd be easy for him to slip up on that subject. Luckily though he didn't have to think of a change of topic as you began chatting away casually about your day and he did in return before long the conversation was over too soon as you stated you really had to get on with filling out these payslips. So the chat drew to a close with promises of speaking tomorrow.

And you kept your promise. For the next week you both spent your evenings chatting away at one another becoming fast friends. That was when he decided to let his family know in the new weekly face time zoom chats.

He looked to the screen fidgeting as his family spoke amongst themselves trying to find the right moment to break the news. But his mother had noticed and asked him out right, leaning closer to the screen watching him worriedly.

"Henry? Are you alright your looking nervous?" The others stopped speaking at the question and henry heaved a sigh nervously twisting his fingers.

"Yeah yeah I... I just have some news... Is all" he said swallowing trying to find the words. He was worried, it had been a while since he'd tried to introduce someone new into his life and his family. He didn't want to alarm them but... he wanted to forewarn them that he was on his way to hopefully sharing his life with someone.

"News? Oh its nothing bad is it?" His younger brother asked, but his oldest paused straightening up with a smile already guessing his brother had taken his advice.

"No nothing bad... Its really good actually... I'm sort of... well I'm speaking to someone online... A woman" he stuttered rubbing the back of his neck and called Kal onto the sofa with him stroking his fur trying to calm himself and fend of the huge grin that seemed to spread across his face everytime he thought of you.

"You did it?" His eldest brother called out clapping his hands excitedly. A ripple of confusion washed over the others and they frowned looking to one another unsure what had happened between the two.

"Did what love?" His mother finally asked not understanding what her sons were talking about

"I made an online dating profile" he said plainly drawing gasps from everyone.

"Oh gosh love are you okay? Your not being hounded are you?" His mother jumped immediately concern etched deep in her features. His father looked uncomfortable-hell they all did! Each worrying over him. He wasn't surprized they had seen fans both love and hate on him and his partners.

"No mum its fine-better then fine I'm really carful... I've covered my ass and no one knows its me, she doesn't know" he said trying to placate his family but instead he was rewarded with disappointed faces, tutting and small, cringing hisses. Fuck.

"Oh god Henry you haven't made a fake profile? Tell me you didn't- please tell me your not lying to this poor woman" his father scolded sternly. His dad may not be up to speed with all this new age online dating shenanigans but he did know that it was wrong to lie to a potential partner. Just thinking that one of his boys were doing just that left a bad taste in his mouth. If he could he would clip his son around the ear!

"Well no not exactly- its me and I'm myself on there I just... changed my name to Hank... And crop my photos so she can see me but not recognise me that's all! I swear I'm not lying or-or anything!" he explained willing then to understand but with the deep sighs and unimpressed looks he got it would seem they didn't understand or approve.

"Are you sure about this? What will she think if things get serious and then this young lady finds out you've been lying?" he father spoke up again wanting to hash this out. Henry faltered for a moment, he worried about that too. He was frightened that you'd get angry and leave him without even giving him a chance!

"I'm not lying, I just? just omitting certain details about my life, I'm being me I'm showing her the real quirky geeky side of me- this is? Its my one shot! The only chance I'm going to get to have someone look at me, not what they can get out of me... I'm not going to blow it or hurt her... if we get to that point then I will explain things- she'd understand she's really thoughtful and is logical" henry pleaded trying to convince both himself and his family. He cant ignore it, he was worried and had been telling himself over and over you'd understand. But he also knew it could really shake you up. But what he was doing wasn't wrong! It couldn't be helped, he thought they would understand!

"Well I hope so because you could break her heart son... And I want you to understand that, this woman could fall for you. You could really upset her when she finds out" his father finally spoke drawing the issue to a close not wanting to argue, but he still wanted henry to know what ever happens was his own fault good or bad. Not everything ends with a happy ever after, but he didn't need to voice that out loud. Henry knew, they all did.

"I know dad, I've only been speaking to her just over a week anyway, for all i know she will ghost me or something" henry nodded calming a little not wanting to fight but still it was clear to everyone henry hadn't appreciated the lecture.

"Ghosting?" he mum perked up trying to diffuse the situation not wanting this to blow up. Tensions were high and no one needed a family spat at the moment.

"Its when someone stop talking to you and ignores you for no reason" his brother revealed explaining the term to his parents. They both ahh'd in realisation but were still a little tense. So his younger brother spoke up deciding to try and be more supportive to him. And henry was thankful.

"Well how about you tell us about her henry. What's you lady freind like? What does she do?" henry quickly grinned forgetting the irritation. His family watched the sudden change as henry got the chance to boast about the woman who had caught his fancy. It was sobering to see, he was glowing with pride and excitement, overjoyed from just thinking about this mystery girl.

"She's just? God where do I start? Shes amazing and funny and wholesome... She doesn't live too far away- Shes pretty much on my doorstep! Shes really funny and nice we talk everyday and have soo much in common its amazing we like the same music and tv and just- everything! Its like talking to a female version of myself! And Shes a fan too" his family all seemed to warm to the idea of this woman until his final remark. Everyone paused. And so did he, what was so wrong about her being a fan? Why was that a red flag for them and not him?

"A fan? Henry... are you sure she doesn't know? If she's a fan she might know and be... making her answers more favourable" henry bristled at that and visibly leaned back brows furrowed and eyes glowing, showing as much anger as he dared show his mother who had spoken out against you.

"What? No! No she doesn't mum she hasn't got a clue- Shes not a fan of mine per say but? She likes my work, she's a huge lover of DC and fantasy so has seen the Witcher and she loved it! Shes really just like me! Is that really hard to believe? That there are women like me? That enjoy the same things?" what had started as a panicked explination quickly became heated and sour. His words slowly becoming uncharacteristically venomous. But Marie Ann new it was just him getting defensive, he was frightened. He had this silly belief he was an abnormality, that his interests will make him forever alone. The thing that did stand out was just how defensive he was about you. A woman he'd probably not even met yet, someone he was only chatting to. It wasn't like henry to take to someone soo quickly. It made her hopeful, that he really had found someone, found his soulmate. But she was a mother and couldn't help worry over him, no matter how old or huge her boys got they were just that. Her boys. And she will always feel the need to look after them.

"Henry please don't get angry, I didn't mean to upset you but... I worry" she said slowly trying to calm him before he got himself into a tizzy. She could see much more then he wanted her too. And right now he was anxious, probably questioning himself over this woman and the way he was approaching her. She could only hope her son was right and had covered his ass and that this woman was as understanding as he said. Otherwise henry was about to get a wakeup call like never before. It wasn't everyday a well known actor fakes a dating profile. It'd be a media shitstorm that he may not recover from.

"I.. sorry I didn't mean to- y/n isn't like that I... I just know alright she isn't after anything" henry apologized smoothing back his hair taking a huge breath and leant back once more relaxing.

"So why don't you tell us a little more about her son? You've been speaking for a week so must know a little more then her name and were she lives?" she said moving on wanting to coax more information about the woman.

"Well she has her own successful business that caters to dogs, walking, grooming and rehoming and is a kc registered breeder. Shes thirty years old and... Absolutely stunning- and no she hasn't filtered any photos either...wait here! See?! Isn't she beautiful?" Henry gushed quickly bringing up your profile picture he had saved on his phone and holding the phone to the camera. He heard a few compliments but could still see the worry in his family. He understood but he just new. He new that you were real, that you were honest and everything you said you were. You were blunt and didn't have time for games, you said life's too short for that crap. And he agreed.

"You have a photo saved already?" henry faltered at the question that had followed a round of compliments and quickly pulled his phone back flushing embarrassed he hadn't even thought of how that would look

"I.. w-well yeah... I'm gonna ask for her number soon and want a photo for my phone... We decided to stick to messaging for a while first and" he tried desperately to dig himself out of the hole he'd just unceremoniously swan dived into. But his brothers burst into laughter making whipping motions making him flush and shrink further. They were definetly going to busting his balls for this. But with a quick shake of his head he continued to gush about you wanting to side step this whole premature photo saving incident.

"she doesn't have Instagram or snapchat... she's just... I can't explain it she's just funny and sweet and genuine... I really like her.. I could easily fall for her" silence reigned after his admission and everyone saw just how serious and devoted henry was to trying to make this relationship work. His mum nodded with a smile, this was just a watch and wait scenario. This woman would either make or break her son, and all she could do was hope to god it was the former.

"Okay then love. I'm happy for you henry just be careful okay?" she finally drew the curtain on the subject and everyone sighed in relief.

"I will, I promise but you have nothing to worry about, I just wanted to let you guys know that i might have someone for you to meet in a few months" henry said eagerly, like a small boy waiting on Christmas eve. He was full of life and enthusiasm. It was nice to see this side to him again, she'd dare say he was well on his way to being loved up! Smitten.

"And we look forward to it henry, but take your time. There's no rush just enjoy yourself" one of his brothers spoke up jumping in on the conversation wanting to make it clear they all had his back whether this ended good or bad. For now they were happy for him.

"I will, we decided were wont meet for a while and just see how things go for the time being but... I have a good feeling, she's everything I've been looking for I'm really excited" henry preened trying to pace himself, he didn't need to be daydreaming in a family face time. Luckily he was pulled from the edge of his own fantasies by another question.

"You said she had a company?"

"Yeah here I'll send you the link its called Puptown! She's actually handled Kal a few times, I send him there for his nails and teeth" henry said quickly sending the link to his brother. He wasn't stupid they were going to look you up, they were worried. He might aswell sent them the link. There was a tiny bio on there of you- the owner on the staff page that had all the staffs qualifications and roles on there.

You moved through the groom room Amii was curled up under your desk fast asleep as you began taking a stock list. Recently you'd been getting more and more white dogs in for their groom so needed to top up on the bright white shampoo and it was tick season soon so had to double check you had all the tick removal forceps, and ear powder- lots of ear powder the poodle clients had doubled over lock down after all the new puppies bought in lockdown. Every dog deserves a professional groom. But poodles needed them.

"hey boss! You doing another check?" Mandy called as she hoisted a tiny black poem into the bath. Bella a regular and very few people could actually groom her out of the five staff only two of you dared to try. And you didn't blame them this dog was a tiny savage, but the trick was not to show fear.

"yeah, trying to prepare for summer already, you know i think this will be our busiest yet especially with lord whiskey." you muttered nibbling the pen and moving a few bottles about. Flea treatment and some dry skin conditioner were quickly added to your growing list.

"lord whiskey?" Mandy asked louder over the sound of the shower instantly Bella began snarling like the hell demon she was. On walks and about the place she was a little soppy loving lap pup, but when it came to bath time? Different dog. You cant help thinking she had a bad experiance before she came here. You sighed and placed the pad and pen down standing along side the bathe and began petting the tiny dog.

"yeah they are the vet clinic for lower incomes... They want to set up a new clinic and have reached out" you explained you had to admit the request came out of the blue and you hadn't had chance to tell everyone yet. The staff meeting was on Friday.

"that would be good!" she said slowly wetting the snarling prom that was trying her absolute hardest to frighten you both off. But alas she was no great wolf, but a teeny cute little raging fluff nugget, and to her utter dispair neither you or Mandy found her scary at all. Even if she was trying to foam at the mouth.

"yeah that's what I thought, having a vet on site... We're still talking but if everything goes acording to plane we will have the mobile vet out front while setting up the small clinic... I was thinking in the old groom rooms? They had water and electricity already and its a littl out of the way so the unwell puppets can be separate from the healthy customers" you shrugged moving around Mandy to help tend to your most vocal customer.

"so business will be booming?" Mandy said moving to rinse underneath the small feral beast. You giggled and stood Bella on her back legs as she seethed but in between her savagery she was actually licking at you, showing a hint of the sweet girl she really was. You pet her praising her promising chicken treats and snuggles afterwards. You might even pop Amii in with the others in the small day care pen. Bella liked laying on her using the huge dog as a fluffy bed.

"yes hopefully, i mean were not taking anything for them, they are a charity but hopefully we will get a few visits in the shop? And the more people know about us the more likely they are to use us!" you said you had been weighing up the pros and cons about the new venture. More people visiting the premises, more footfall in the shop and hopefully you can draw enough people to have a little pet café. Your business was right on the edge of the huge woodland park you'd always wanted a small café that serves both animals and people you want a little empire to become a franchise company and give the little guys a chance.

"And how about you? Any luck on the online dating front?" she asked with a small smile. You sighed you half regretted telling her about it. Mandy has been with you since the beginning, she was your first employee and most trusted freind. And she has been hounding you about your love life for a while now. She wants you to take a step back from Puptown and find some time for yourself, and now that the business was established and ticking over nicely it was the time to do it.

"Ooo! Oh my god your blushing!? Bitch spill!" she squealed excited as you flushed and looked away not answering her. And by doing so answering her at the same time.

"I'm talking to someone~ Hank.. He is... Funny and charming we've been chatting each night for about a week" you revealed quietly making her beam at you. Thankfully Bella chose that moment to make a mad dive over your shoulder but you managed to catch her and pop her back into the tub.

"ooo yes get in girl, you have been pouring too much into this company! Its about damn time you focused on yourself" sandy began as she washed Bella lathering the pup with a rather expensive de-sheading anti tangle shampoo.

"Please don't start, I'm doing it now and that's what matters. He is... He messaged me first and things are going good and that's where I'm going to leave it okay? I will update you as we go... I promise" you said releasing the now wet pup as Mandy began rinsing her down. You stepped back to the shelves full of half empty bottles of product. needing to change the topic to avoid daydreaming and fucking up your orders. As great as the wholesaler was this was still expensive stuff and you didn't want to unbalance the books and get more then you needed.

"Oh Bella?~ baby girl its so bad isn't it? Being brushed and washed and massaged? Then getting yourself a blow out and having a nap in the nice cosy play room?" you called over your shoulder condescendingly at the pup who was still snarling out her displeasure. She really was a little brat in the bath.

Another week passed and you were lazing around the house having a duvet day, snuggled in bed with Amii on your lap. Normally your days off were all housework and finalizing orders or paper work but this week was different. With lord whiskey agreeing to taking the old groom room you decided to finally get an extra set of hands in management to take care of paperwork. It was strange at first but worth it. You now hade someone else to rely on, not that you didn't have managers to help out before but now you had a full time employee that's whole role was to take care of the business side and alleviate the pressure. So instead of the normal made rushes and mountain of paperwork you were in bed chatting away with henry.

He had just finished his work out and was relaxing, having a cool down before having yet another painfully boring sounding meeting with his own bosses. You sympathised. Practical work was the bomb! But the theory and paperwork kicked everyones asses. Risk assessments can eat shit! I'm a person and can asses the risk and decided to do it, why answer to a tick box system? But then again everything needed a tick in a box nowadays. You shuffled about grunting as Amii played dead on your lap so you couldn't move her from the comfy slump she was in over your thighs pinning you down.

'Soo you said you game?' was the message that changed the subject, thankfully choosing to move on from speaking about work.

'God yes, when I can'

'What do you play? Sims and stuff?'

'depends if I'm on pc or xbox I'm more into fantasy and historic rpgs, but if I'm on my switch its little farming sims sometimes I branch out to things like shooters but not often, I like the big immersive fantasies!'

'So you really do mix and match are you playing anything atm?'

'I'm doing a re-run of skyrim with a load of mods just to spice things up. And just restarted Witcher wild hunt again'

'You like Witcher?'

'I adore it, Witcher skyrim and dragon age are my all time favourites, do you? Sorry I realise I'm just takeing over, I just get excited, I never really talk about this stuff 😅😅'

'No, no its fine I'm the same, I never really get to geek out anymore with work and stuff. I'm happy to have the chance, and I do love the Witcher too fantasy is my thing😄' henry paused for a moment. Should he? I mean you just said you were replaying it... Would it be big headed? To ask what you thought of the show? Of his performance... I mean it'd be an unbiased view, you wasn't going to try and butter him up you still didn't know it was him.

'So you've watched the show on Netflix I presume?' he typed and pressed send quickly before he lost his nerve.

'Absolutly, I binge watched it a few times.😅'

'You liked it? I know a few people didn't' henry couldn't help but dig a little deeper, he desperately wanted you to have enjoyed it.

'I loved it, but I think it was easier for me to watch bc I new what was roughly going on before hand. Most people that struggled thought it was going to be an easy watch? Like got'

'Oh come on, there must be something you didn't like?🤔🤔'

'😞okay you got me, I was a tad disappointed with geralts eyes you can do the toxic eyes and cat eye potion at least give me a teeny cat eye just a smidge🤏🥺'

'Yes I see what you mean, their could have been a little frame of it but there are always sacrifices when going from books to the big screen 😅'

'But henry's portrayal more then made up for it! That man was on point! I was so happy when they anounced it was him playing Geralt there was no way he was going to fuck it up!' henry stopped breathing. You liked it? You actually like him playing Geralt? His heart swelled and he laughed out loud for some reason you enjoying his work just... It meant the world to him! He was over the moon. Quickly his attention was drawn to his tablet again as another message pinged on screen.

'And I have a little fan theory over the whole eye issue😏'

'Hit me with it I'm all ears'

'Geralt has complete control of his eyes right? And is a softy deep down so my idea was he is always holding his pupils open so he doesn't scare anyone'

'🧐that is brilliant! It makes so much sense! 🥰🥰 its also nice to know I have a little conspiracy fangirl on my hands😁' henry frowned heart clenching as you went quiet, he waited and waited minuets seemed like hours. His mind immediately jump to conclusions terrified you had caught him, that you'd figured out just who you were speaking to. Sweat formed on his brow as he frowned praying he hadn't got a little to close to home and given himself away. Then the dots appeared. You were typing.

'So I was wondering I know we agreed not to at first but since we've chatting every night I thought we could maybe exchange numbers? Only if you want to! No pressure. I'm just excited' henry slumped, melting into his seat. Thank fuck for that! His relief quickly became excitement at the prospect of hearing you! Actually speaking to you properly having an actual phone call? Fuck yes!

'😊😊I was actually trying to find the time to mention it myself, i know its only been three weeks but it feels much longer.'

'Omg thank god! I thought you would think i was rushing you😅here xxx xxxx xxxx' henry was quick to pull out his phone and type the number in, not wasting any time in creating your contact info into his phone book. And whislt doing that also replied to you putting you at ease.

'No not at all, I'm excited I cant wait to hear you🥰'

'Oh god don't build your hopes to high I don't have the most attractive voice it may be the deal breaker😅'

'I doubt that anything could put me off you love, your gorgeous, smart, funny, kind everything I could of dreamed of and soo much more'

'I'm glad its not only me Hank, I have to say I was frightened by how quickly we have become friends, but I suppose it makes sense we are two peas in a pod' henry grinned reading the message and nodded to himself pressing the small green call button and held the phone to his ear feeling confident as he re-read your last message.

You hummed nibbling your lip, chewing it nervously after giving out your number. You couldn't help your mind dredging up all the horror stories of Ted bundy-esque creepy ass psycho killers, luring in prey on the internet... Fuck you were a bigger girl so easy to sweet talk. You whined and snuggled into the massive furry lump on your lap, lacing your fingers into the dogs thick fur. Petting her as your over active imagination conjured scenario's that could end up with you in a eight foot hole in someone's basement ,being told to 'put the lotion in the basket'. Jesus Christ. But it was fine right? He wasn't weirded out or anything? He seemed happy. You were sensible, or at least you thought you were.

You yipped at your phone suddenly vibrated in your hand, you almost threw it across the room. The screen lit up with 'unknown number' you swallowed eyeing the device then nodded answering the call heart beat thundering in your chest your breath picked up you made to speak but couldn't quite make sounds, unable to force the words to roll off your tongue. There was a deep chuckle, gorgeas and rumbling even if it was quiet.

"You have no reason to be frightened darling I'm just as eager to move on" you gasped as the thick voice spoke in slow syllables, calling you by the nick name he had taken to calling you. You'd asked a few girls at work about it, worried things were going to fast. But they had calmed you down saying it was his way of avoiding being freind zoned. You had to admit the cute little names always made you grin and blush, but this? God this was better then anything! His low timber and slightly more eloquent accent uttering the name sent a shiver up your spine.

A surprizing reaction in all honesty, you'd never really thought about voices much, never had a voice kink or really thought anyone could have an attractive voice. Well not a real voice anyway, sometimes characters on tv with low raspy voices got you going Geralt and Alcide to name a few. He almost sounded like the former if you thought about it... Just more refined? A regal soft lilt. It was definetly a voice you could listen to all day, this man could read you a bloody take away menu and you wouldn't even gruff at the extortionate prices. You wet your lips and dug your fingers into the warm dog in your lap breathing deep, filling your lungs with air trying to ease yourself and draw in some courage.

"O-oh your? Really there? Really.. real?" you stuttered slowly. You chided yourself for sounding so silly, so childish. But you couldn't help it you felt completely unprepared. Which irritated you because it was you who'd offered your number, what were you expecting him to do with it? Use carrier pigeon? Of course he was going to call you.

"I'm most definitely real love" he spoke again with a small chuckle, he was clearly amused by your flustered question. You blushed and squirmed on your seat trying to breath quietly, you didn't want him to hear just how on edge you were.

"Oh gosh that's.. wow I cant even, I don't know what to say" you huffed trying to think of something- anything else you could focus on rather then the absolute sex that was his voice, then he spoke once more

"Now, now don't be shy love, I want to hear you, your voice is just as I thought it'd be" henry tried encouraging you wanting to hear you and revel in your sweet voice, wanting to commit it to memory.

"Oh? And what's that then?" you asked trying to be playfull but in all honesty you wasn't hitting the mark, you were to nervous. You'd never really thought about your voice, was it attractive? Or too high? Deep? I mean you were normal, you spoke normal and if anything sounded common.

"Pure and delicate, playful and charming all in one just like the woman it belongs to" henry's breathing hitched as you giggled. The sweet tinkling laugher warmed his heart and made him huff out a chuckle himself. He was so happy he could have cried. It was just so overwhelming to hear you finally, to put a voice to the amazing woman he was slowly falling inlove with. He sometimes grew wary thinking you were too good to be true, that you were a catfish yourself. But here and now he knew. You were as real as him and all it did was solidify his resolve, he was doing the right thing. He was falling for a genuine woman. A real woman with no strings attached, and with any luck you were feeling the same.

"well I think I just found my mans flaw~" you giggled once more blushing under the weight of all the compliments. He was really smooth, smoother then you'd thought and that was saying something.

"really darling? Care to enlighten me?" he quipped playfully you usual banter and teasing between you both flowing just as effortlessly as it had when messaging each other.

"your clearly deaf! Well have no fear, i will talk a little louder and learn some sign language for you~" you laughed out loud he joined you low echoing chuckles that sounded as if they came from a deep wide chest. It was enough to drive you mad with lust, but that may be the new found voice kink brewing.

"well its nice to know you are so committed to your man and his disability love" suddenly you froze and trembled panic and anxiety washed over you clogging your wind pipe at his words... Fuck!

"oh god- no I? Your not really deaf are you? I'm sorry I didn't mean to make fun-" you began apologizing not quite picking up on his sarcasm. Henry was quick to cut you off and stop your guilty rambling.

"No love I'm not deaf I was just pulling your leg" his voice was strained as if he was trying not to laugh at you, but you couldn't really say anything. You were the one nervously crack jokes then immediately trying to take them back. Stumbling your wat through the very first real conversation with a man you were crushing on. God you were such a dweeb!

"oh Jesus you scared the crap out of me" you heaved a sigh wanting to bury yourself into the covers and hide despite knowing he couldn't see your glowing face.

"I apologize darling, I have only the purest of intentions... Well maybe not that pure~ but I don't want to scare you" he grinned when you gasped at his little flirtatious comment. And he wasn't kidding, he found you incredibly attractive and wanted to do all manner of very filthy things with you. It didn't help when you were sending him photos of you drenched nipples hard and drawing him in like a moth to a flame. You probably hadn't even noticed that and he was thankfull for it because you wouldn't have sent it otherwise. It was his favourite photo, apparantly it had been a husky escape from the bath as you switched his lead to another hook.

"your fine, I'm just a little nervous is all" you huffed finally somehow managing to sort yourself out and think clearly overcoming your excitement and nerves.

"I understand but just remember its just me love. So have anything else planned for today?" henry hummed sweetly before giving you a chance to change the topic, you'd never know it was because he was barely holding himself together. He was almost bursting at the seams wanted to laugh and cry and shout all at once. He was completely overwhelmed with joy and relief and wanted to listen to you as much as he possibly could.

Both you and henry then began the nightly ritual of phone calls and texted all day. He even had a new nick name. Puppy. And he couldn't be more thrilled you'd said it was because he made tiny cute puppy whines when you teased him. But he didn't care, he would happily be your puppy anyday!

The weeks became one month, then two and before you knew it you were one week shy of three months. And that was when it happened. Those fateful words left his mouth as he spoke to you just before bed. He had asked to meet, he was certain and confident he wanted to meet you and take this further, and he hadn't really planned to ask it just happened.

"So your really letting lord whiskey in your old groom space? That's incredible, I'm so proud of you for letting them in love. It says volumes for you and your business, that its not all profit driven" henry spoke down the phone as he stirred his tea getting ready to go up to bed.

"I mean it just seems right... No matter the income everyone should be able to get medical care for their animals. And I'd be lying if I didn't hope some people will come into the shop or realise that we are here and come back for our facilities." he smiled at that. You wasn't just trying to make a great profitable business, you cared and wanted to give everyone a reasonably priced alternative to pooch care. And he was right behind you, he loved that you were trying to give owners the chance to spoil their fur babies without breaking the bank. In slashing your prices you'd attracted more customers and been making a great profit, so much so that you could afford to just give away your old groom rooms to the charity for free.

"shop? You have a shop?" he pondered padding about the kitchen giving Kal his nightly biscuit treat and motioned for him to take it upstairs. Which he didn't need to do, Kal new the jig and was already carrying the treat to the stairs.

"yeah it opened last year? The year before maybe? Its small but here with food and treats a few toys and leads... I try to use smaller businesses the brands that you wont see in the bigger shops" you said slowly and he heard a small yawn and rustle of paper. You had said you were packing up and heading to bed for the night soon.

"I may have to pop over with the bear~" he teased coyly humming to himself as he sipped his tea.

"pop over? I.. Well you could I suppose?" you hummed quietly, henrys eyes almost popped out of his head were you inviting him to ask you out? He coughed quickly trying not to choke on the mouthful of tea and then rocked his head from side to side. I mean he could come over and see you.

"I'm only ten minuet's away darling, Kensington... I've actually used your grooming service once or twice getting the bears nails and teeth done"

"oh?! I didn't know that." you said trying to picture the owners of the akita you saw, but honestly? You had soo many customers now it was hard remembering everyone, that and you wasn't really front of house now, you had more and more to deal with back of house, even with the new manager.

"well you do now sweetheart... So? Do you want to meet up tomorrow?" he asked placing his tea down in favour of crossing his fingers hoping he had read your signals right.

"Yeah of course I'm covering for walking duty tomorrow... So I can't really do anything in the morning or early afternoon" henry fist pumped and grinned faking a silent shout of victory as he managed to wrangle a date.

"That's fantastic actually... I could meet you in the park? I'll bring the bear with me and we could walk the dogs and grab a coffee or something?" he said somehow managing to quell his excitement enough to arrange the date properly, placeing a hand on his heart as it beat wildly. The realisation that he could see you- meet you face to face!

"Yeah that sounds like a brilliant idea, will noon be alright? That's when we do a switch over and go back to feed the dogs in day care so I'll have an hour lunch break" you said stuttering a little when it began to sink in that this was happening!

"Its a date I will see you tomorrow at noon love" Henry anounced eagerly suddenly tomorrow couldn't come soon enough!

"See you then puppy, good night sweet dreams" you said needing to hang up and squeal into a pillow or something.

"sweet dreams love" as soon as he hung up he was already scrolling his phone selecting the number he was after and called in a tizzy.

"Piers?! Piers! I'm? Oh god- were meeting tomorrow and fuck- I'm freaking out already! What do I say? What should I wear- kal's coming too do I put his halti on or just his collar- fuck I don't know what to do!? Please help!" he yelped down the phone to the unsuspecting man drawing a deep sigh from him before he began talking him down.

#rpf #henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fic #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill X Y/n #henry cavill fluff

301 notes · View notes

laequiem · 3 years

Text

Party for One

Party for One by Laequiem // @jurdannetrevels

Side B of Dedicated, a @jurdannet collab fic with @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @lizziebxnnet @figonas @hazelsheartsworn

Dedicated Masterlist • My Masterlist

‡ SIDE A: track 1 - track 2 - track 3 - track 4 - track 5

‡ SIDE B: ao3

Fandom: The Folk of The Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,734

Nothing brings back the urge to taunt and tease quite like seeing Jude flustered. She is far from innocent, of course, but she loses her usual bravado whenever we enter a sex shop. A blush taints her cheeks for the entirety of our visit, perhaps as she remembers the things we have done in this very store. She nods curtly when the cashier welcomes us, then starts slowly walking between the aisles, inspecting every item as if they were weapons of war.

The temptation to tease her is so strong. When she stops in front of a glass case displaying monstrous phallic-shaped specimens, I lose my resolve.

I sneak up to her and put my hands on her waist, leaning in close.

“My wicked Queen, am I not enough for you?” I drawl in her ear.

Jude tenses, but I can almost hear the gears turning in her head. My cunning wife never lets me have the last word.

She goes back to an aisle she has visited already and hands me a cylindrical box.

“We could do this,” she says, fluttering her lashes at me, “then I won’t need you anymore.”

She hands me the box. It has a giant neon-green penis drawn on it, and the words ‘CLONE-A-WILLY’. From the drawing, I suppose willy means…

“I would think I bring more to this relationship than just my manhood,” I reply, my voice dripping with fake offense.

Jude winks at me then, then pulls me down for a quick kiss.

I wish it had lasted longer.

I follow her through the aisles, helping her carry boxes upon boxes of toys and wearables. When we pay, the cashier looks at us with open amusement, grinning as she drops our items in opaque, unlabeled bags.

With one last wiggle of her thinly plucked brows and an insinuating “Have fun, youngsters!”, we are out of the store and on our way back to Elfhame.

——

I stand with my back to the wall, pinned there by a very eager Jude. I devour her throat, my hands sliding under the straps holding up her thigh-high stockings. Her hands roam my back under my shirt, until one of them reaches my tail. She closes her fist around it and I jerk, my head almost hitting the wall behind me. Her grip tightens, and she runs her fist up the length of it, all the way to the furred tip. Sparks travel back down it, straight to my throbbing cock. I look at her, wide-eyed and panting, and she claims my mouth in a quick, passionate kiss. She bites my bottom lip as she pulls away and I chase after her, but she keeps her distance. Her grin spells trouble.

Jude palms my cock through my pants and my eyes flutter. I reach around to grab her ass, but she dodges away smoothly. Her stare sends me back to a time when I was her pawn, a decorative king for her to rule through.

“Jude?” I ask, my voice small and unsure.

Her smile widens as she slowly undoes the laces of my breeches, and then… she turns her back to me. My apprehension of what is to come prevents me from appreciating the view.

I stand there, dumbfounded, as she walks to the desk and reaches inside a shopping bag—from Dedication, I realize with both arousal and dread. I know what she will pull out before I see it. She had planned this from the beginning. The scheming trickster has a steaming mug of water next to the bag, already heated up and ready for mixing. My Jude is as conniving as the fae, no wonder I could never convince myself to hate her.

“My cunning devil,” I sigh.

My wife’s smile turns innocent, perhaps one of her biggest lies.

“I will start mixing the powder, make sure you’re ready.”

I push my breeches down and step out of them. My hand goes to my cock, dragging over it idly as I watch her take out the baggy of powder. She tears open the bag, then turns to give me a once-over. One of her brows lifts as her eyes land on my dick. I feel the weight of her judgement and I tighten my grip.

“It’s harder than it seems,” I grumble, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Is it?” She bites her lips, trying to stop herself from laughing. “It does not look very hard to me.”

I have known for a while how depraved I am. For years, I have pleasured myself to wild fantasies of her. Initially, I had convinced myself I wanted her capitulation, her pleas and tears. After she crowned me, however, I would stroke myself to fantasies of my own submission. Still, getting harder from being laughed at is a new low.

Jude pours the powder in the steaming cup of water and I join her next to the desk.

“Ready?” she asks, grabbing the plastic tube.

“As much as I can be,” I reply.

She pours the mixture in the tube, and in I go. The mixture sets quicker than I expected, and I slide out before I even soften.

“Perfect!” Jude exclaims, her smile bright enough to rival the sun.

She mixes the silicone and pours it in the mold before placing everything on the desk.

“Now, it’s time for your reward,” she purrs.

My toes curl with anticipation, but I know better than to think she will let me defile her for teasing me so. No—when she has that glint in her eyes, she is in charge. If anybody gets pinned to the bed and fucked with reckless abandon, it’s me.

I come up behind her and set my hands on her hips. My cock rubs delightfully against the lace fabric covering her ass as I bend forward to run my nose against her neck. She turns back to me and, like one of my earlier fantasies come to life, drops to her knees.

“Hands behind your back, Your Highness,” Jude commands.

Of course, I obey.

I watch as she grabs the bag and puts it next to her on the floor. She reaches in and pulls out a toy, a sleek U-shaped thing. With one press of her thumb, it starts buzzing. The first touch of it to my glans has me throwing my head back. Jude holds it steady, while her other hand grips the base of my cock. She expertly strokes me, twisting her wrist as she moves up and down. The vibrations combined with her touch have my knees buckling. I grasp the desk behind me to stabilize myself.

I look at her again, kneeling in front of me, her eyes glimmering with amusement. Her hair is down, falling beautifully over her back, and I tighten my grasp on the desk. I want to touch her, pull her hair away from her face, maybe even pull it. Jude also tightens her grip on me, quickening her movements until—

“Jude, I’m—”

In one swift move, she removes both her hand and the toy from me. The sound I make can only be qualified as a whine. She looks up at me through thick lashes, mischief written across her face.

Not for the first time, nor the last, I wish I had stayed silent.

Jude reaches in the bag again. The first thing she pulls out is familiar to me, a large bottle of lube. The second thing, however, is not something that exists in Elfhame. The thing is cylindrical, the see-through jelly material showing a complex pattern of bumps and ridges inside. It is nowhere near enough to cover my whole cock, but it is open on both ends. My imagination immediately goes wild at the possibilities, this contraption around my cock while her plump lips suck off the tip—my cock throbs, once, and Jude chuckles.

“What has got you so excited?” she teases, her thumb wiping away the drop forming at my tip.

Of course, Jude does not take me in her mouth, the cruel thing. She squeezes the lube bottle, letting the drops fall obscenely in the toy. With a bite of her bottom lip, she slides the toy over me.

It feels nothing like a person, this thing. It is overwhelming, all the nooks and crannies a completely new experience to me. As if that wasn’t enough, Jude powers on the toy from earlier again and puts it to my tip as she glides the sleeve over me.

“Fuck, it’s too much,” I cry out. “Please, Jude—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Jude asks smugly.

She knows me more than anyone else. She knows I cannot lie. She knows, regardless of my complaints, I do not want her to stop.

Even without toys, Jude turns me into a moaning mess. With them, it’s impossible to keep in my groans. I cannot find it in myself to care. I swear and moan as she works me; if the whole palace hears me, so be it.

She alternates her grip on the sleeve every few passes. Sometimes she lets it glide over me with barely any pressure, other times gripping it hard enough for me to feel her hand through it. The vibrator has made my tip so sensitive that tears prick at my eyes.

How I wish I could touch her. My nails dig in the desk as I restrain myself—surely, one of them must be broken by now.

Jude leans forward and plants a kiss to my hip bone, sucking on the skin sharply afterwards, and the dam breaks. I come with her name on my lips and my cock overstimulated by her skilled touch. Ever the torturer, she keeps pumping me with the sleeve, squeezing whine after whine out of me.

“I can’t—Jude!” My legs shake and it’s an effort to keep standing.

Mercifully, she pulls the toy away and, finally, I fall on my knees.

I pull her to me in a breathless kiss, teeth clashing as I feel her smile against my mouth.

Nothing will ever be grand enough to demonstrate my love for her.

Not the night I plan to spend worshiping her until she begs me to stop.

Not the litany of I love yous I bombard her with when I pull away.

My headstrong, ambitious wife. My love. My queen. My Jude.

Tag list

@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn

#The folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #fanfic #cardan #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #tcp #jurdannet revel #jurdannet roulette #jurdannet

78 notes · View notes

lonelypond · 3 years

Text

BETWEEN US

NicoMaki, Love Live, 3.6K, 1/1

Summary: Nishikino Maki and Yazawa Nico have many challenges ahead, but they get through them together.

Between Us

Is this what love is? Not a fire that bites painfully but two people laying so close to feel every breath, hands nearly touching, eyes on the brilliant stars opening themselves up suddenly, sure enough to share truths they speak into the night, this solitary space, this private moment between them.

Nishikino Maki spoke first, always the more impatient, curious about Yazawa Nico’s state of mind. “What do you want to do, Nico-chan?”

“Nico wants to show everyone that little and cute can be strong, sexy smart, talented, funny, hard working, successful….I’m tired of how the world treats cute girls like Nico. Nico is a star.” Nico flung her arms out, to encompass the sky. “They should be in awe.”

I am, Maki said to herself, and then thought, why not say it out loud. This was all new, why not be bolder.

“I am.”

Nico squeezed Maki’s hand, a reward for honesty. “What do you want to do, Maki-chan?”

No one said Maki’s name like Nico. It had been Maki’s anchor through the continuing craziness of Muse, Eli’s taskmaster torture, qualifying, Honoka’s collapse, then starting over, right as they discovered these new feelings, a gift from all they’d been through.

“I want to use the Nishikino fortune for new things, good things, to stop propping up out dated ways and awful people. I want to find new ways to help…” Maki was a person of specifics and she had a list. “Girls, gays, empaths, people fighting bigotry, neurodivergents, water protectors,” Maki thought of Rin and giggled, “furries, us, our friends, the world.”

“Maki-chan will do great things.”

“Once I’m 30.”

Nico Yazawa considered. This was so new and 14 years from now, when Maki was a doctor and her trust vested, seemed as distant as the nearest star Nico could see. But Nico knew naming goals was the first step to achieving them, even if it seemed a wild fantasy.

“Nico will be there.” Not flashy, just quiet determination.

Nico heard Maki gulp. She was probably tearing up and couldn’t speak. Nico didn’t really expect her too. Sharing was such a new trust. But Maki’s hand carefully kept precise palm to palm contact with Nico’s. That said everything.

“Marry Nico.”

Maki sighed. “No one can know.”

“Okay.”

YAZAWA NICO FINISHES FIRST INTERNATIONAL TOUR WITH SPRING SPLASH IN HONOLULU

NISHIKINO MAKI BEGINS RONIN YEAR SOLO WORLD TOUR SURFING IN MAUI

Sunrise. Quiet beach. Her own choices. Is this what contentment felt like, Maki wondered. Finally, moments of quiet to listen for the important things. Leaning against her duffle and board, dressed in a striped rash guard, bright lavender board shorts, and a faded denim “You Are On Native Land” cap, Maki stretched, watching the horizon as a lone speck appeared in the distance, jogging toward her, not actually growing much as the distance closed, Maki thought with a private grin. Nico, running in an oversized hoodie and bikini bottom, gasped dramatically, reaching a hand for the water bottle Maki held out as a lure.

“Still running 5Ks every morning?”

“10K when I don’t have a concert or rehearsal. Nico is a boss.”

“Umi would be proud.”

Nico dropped and did ten fast pushups in the sand next to Maki, “Not if Nico told her it was only to make girls swoon.”

“Girls?” Maki arched an eyebrow, hand sweeping through her hair.

“Girl.”

“Fiancee.”

Nico laughed, rolling toward Maki, pulling her down into a playful, sandy kiss. “Ready to upgrade to trophy wife?”

“Yes.”

But there was no hurry that morning. Both had put their other lives on multiple 15 plus hour flights and fallen briefly off the grid to sit side by side on this hidden beach, the tide surging, a rare treasured morning to share.

“Went to the symphony last night. Monica Mancini sang, Henry Mancini’s daughter,” Nico hummed the Pink Panther theme, “Nice voice, more your thing than Nico’s though. She sang a lot of Johnny Mercer. And some new stuff. Nico was taking notes.”

“You’re great on stage Nico-chan, but I guess you can always learn from other performers.”

“Nico is learning songwriting.”

Maki pushed against Nico, “Going to try to get me to put Nico Nico Ni to music again.”

Nico’s mood turned serious, “I miss watching you play.”

“I miss playing.”

“When Nico gets her penthouse, there will be a baby grand.” Nico let her hand settle on Maki’s, “Working with a portable keyboard now. And Umi’s giving me advice, so many books...I’m so busy reading, there’s no time to party.”

“Good.”

“Hey, do you have any plans tomorrow night?”

Nico stared at Maki for a moment, but there was only earnestness in the amethyst staring back, “Not since you got here.”

“I’ve been talking with some of the elders, volunteering on Maui, learning about healing plants, and aloha ‘āina.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s really cool. I’m going to get Papa to invite some of the teachers and doctors I’ve met to give seminars for us. Aloha ‘āina means so many things, but it’s mostly being determined to take care of each other by taking care of the land. It’s very land based and tradition based, here in Hawai’i,” Maki picked up a handful of sand, “but it’s caring and not soft...exactly...when you meet Kai, he’ll explain it better. We’ve been invited for dinner, his uncle plays the ohe hano ihu.”

“What’s that?”

“ A nose flute, not for big concerts, more personal...Kai says his uncle has so many stories about it being used in courting rituals.”

“Is Maki-chan taking notes?”

“Maybe.” Ah, Maki’s sexy, best musician in the world grin. Nico missed that one a lot on the road. A killer cute band was no replacement for the brilliant, lovely pianist who’d so boldly wrapped Nico’s heart in music.

They were in the teasing phase now. “Do you have to keep courting a cute girl after marriage?”

Maki shoved into Nico again, “Well, duh…”

Joint laughter, rolling out to meet the tide.

“We’re getting married.” Maki said quietly.

“Just need to take our passports to pick up the license and go to the shrine. We filled out everything else online.” Nico glanced at her bare legs, “And Nico brought a kimono. Although Maki-chan looks sporty cute just like she is.”

Maki had a far off look, not paying much attention to Nico. Happy to wait ‘til Maki drifted back to the beach, Nico was going to enjoy memorizing her favorite scenery, Maki’s beautifully expressive face, now relaxed and open, thoughts waves and clouds in constant motion. Nico knew the solitude here allowed Maki to relax, there was no family pressure, their phones were off, nothing on either of their schedules for at least the rest of the week. A rare moment to sit with each other, sharing this beauty.

NISHIKINO REAL ESTATE GROUP BUYS LARGE LUXURY TOWER NEAR NISHIKINO MEDICAL CENTER

SUPERSTAR REFUSES TO GIVE UP PENTHOUSE APARTMENT TO NISHIKINO HEIR

Fast food. School girls lingering from Otonokizaka. Two people shoved into the booth furthest from the door and windows, sitting on the same bench, hip to hip, back to the rest of the room.

“So many memories in this place.” Nico unwrapped her burger.

“So many french fries.” Maki dipped a sample french fry in her chocolate milkshake.

“Another meal Nico paid for. You got rich not paying for food.”

“Hey! You were too proud to let me pay.”

“Nico is still too proud.” Nico tapped her fingers on the table. This late afternoon, for this clandestine meeting, they’d allowed themselves the indulgence of wearing their braided gold and platinum wedding band, Maki added the simple diamond Nico had bought her for their engagement.

“Is this going to work? Us actually living this close together without rumors starting?” Maki had been worrying. So many comments in the press and on social media.

“Everyone already has us at war. Nico’s a selfish poser, Maki’s a spoiled brat. Enemies to lovers.”

“Not funny, Nico-chan.”

“Nico will throw a huge party before I leave on my next tour. My new landlord will threaten very publically to throw me out of the building. Everything will flare up, but Maki-chan will continue to do boring future doctor things and by the time Nico gets back, all anyone will be talking about is Nico’s new album.”

“They’re not boring future doctor things.”

“No, they’re smart, saving the world future doctor things and Nico is so proud.” A quick kiss on Maki’s palm.

“Meanwhile…”

“Meanwhile, Umi and Eli install a secret hatch above the decorative staircase centerpiece of your expensively designed main room.”

“I’m going to miss you, Nico-chan.” Sadness.

Time to change the mood. Nico dipped a french fry in her strawberry shake and fed it to Maki. “How’s studying going?”

Maki leaned, chin in hand, frowny. “I could be more motivated.”

“So B?”

“A minus.”

“Nerd.”

“ ‘s dull." Maki said, chewing slowly. "But have to stay on track with the family benchmarks.”

“Yeah.” Nico decided to talk about happier things, “ooohh, did I tell you Eli’s setting up a foundation for Nico as her graduation project. We’ve already donated tickets to queer youth groups in every city on the tour and Nozomi’s setting up mentor programs.”

“Expect a large anonymous donation.”

“Expect a large not so anonymous thank you.”

“I’m just proud that you’re doing things to actually help people. I want to do more.”

“You’re studying to be a doctor, Maki-chan. That’s hard. Nico’s got it easy. All Nico has to do is” Nico went into her signature gesture, “Nico Nico Ni and everything gets brighter.” Nico suddenly remembered she shouldn’t have let her catch phrase out full voice during what was supposed to be a secret meeting, but this was a low traffic period so no one seemed to notice.

“I couldn’t get that out of my head, the first time I saw you do it. It was annoying.”

“But you loved Nico.” Nico snuggled closer, enjoying a chance to feel Maki next to her.

“But I loved Nico, all of Nico, the bold, brash, terrible liar, the kind, caring sister, the determined ally and friend, the hard working and talented performer.”

“Nico wasn’t a liar, Nico was an optimist.”

“Private chef,” Maki cough giggled.

Nico grabbed the french fries as Maki reached for another one, “Confiscated for cheekiness.”

“Give me those.” Maki grabbed, Nico dodged, french fries flew loose and they giggled their way through the next few minutes until Nico leaned forward to whisper in Maki’s ear.

“So are your parents still in New York City?”

Gulping, suddenly completely flustered, Maki nodded.

Nico bounced up, offering a gallant hand, “Nico will walk you home.”

“Fancy.”

“Only the best for Mrs. Yazawa.”

“That would be Mrs. Nishikino.”

“We’ll wrestle. Nico will win.”

“Optimist.”

Nico’s hand on Maki’s waist was a gentle guide into the autumn night, two hats pulled down, two collars pulled up, Nico in a mask to protect her voice. “Wait and see.”

Maki leaned into Nico. This night, unlike too many others recently, felt just right.

HEAD OF THE NISHIKINO MEDICAL GROUP COLLAPSES, HOSPITALIZED

NICO NI NEW YEAR’S CHARITY CONCERT SELLS OUT IN MINUTES

Nico had never been so sick. She’d lost count of the medicines she was taking to sleep at night, and then the additional ones added to get her through tonight’s concert. Then she could rest. Go to her Mama’s house and get babied for a bit. Maki had been so sad at Christmas, with too many family obligations to fly to Los Angeles. Nico had gotten through their Christmas Eve quick chat and then collapsed, barely moving until yesterday’s rehearsal, which wiped her out.

Pounding on her hotel room door. What the hell? Phone pinged, the Maki-tone.

“Open your door, Nico--chan.” Maki sounded angry. Was she pounding? Nico felt even fuzzier, slumping to the door, opening it to fall against a tall, angry Maki, beanie over her hair, sunglasses, and a mask.

“Nico-chan?” Now Maki’s voice sounded tearful.

“Hi, Mrs. Yazawa.” Nico croaked out, hoping to make Maki at least giggle.

Strong arms swept her up, Maki striding across the room, putting Nico gently down on the bed, Maki immediately examining every bottle by Nico’s bedside, “What kind of quack put you on all this?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t know? You don’t know.”

“Trainer found ‘em…recommended.”

“You should be in a hospital.” Maki’s voice broke.

“Concert, charity, millions. Nico Nico Ni.” Nico had no idea if what she was saying made sense.

“Cancel. Refund. I’ll make a bigger donation.”

“Nico is a trooper.”

“Nico is a zombie. What the hell kind of irresponsible moron gave you all this?” Maki crashed all the bottles to the floor. “Did they inject you with anything?”

“It’s LA, Maki-chan, the beautiful people never stop.” Nico coughed. It hurt like 50 Umi arrows to the chest, “Nico is a beautiful people.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki was kneeling next to the bed, desperation and weariness lining her face. She’d never travelled well, Nico realized.

Nico managed to flip so she was on her side, managing to smile at Maki, “Hey pretty girl.”

“I am going to sue that quack into despair and destitution.”

Nico blinked, suddenly aware that Maki should be in Tokyo. “Why are you here, Maki-chan?.”

“Hanayo heard a rumor…”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t care.” Maki’s head dropped to the bed, “Papa collapsed...and you’re like this and hiding it from me…and letting some greedy idiot try to kill you...if anything happens to you, Nico-chan…” And the tears, Nico could feel them as she reached for Maki, hot, heavy, rolling off pale cheeks.

“Nico will be fine.”

Maki shook her head.

“Look at me, Maki-chan.”

Maki raised her head. Her eyes were bright. She was always so bright, so caring, her native prickliness a fortification against all the emotions Maki didn’t know how to process.

“I will be fine.”

Maki surged up, her arms drawing in Nico, whose heart was really not rested enough for tackled into bed by the redhead of her dreams. “Maki-chan, you’re going to hug Nico to death.”

“Don’t say that.” Maki’s arm twitched for a minute like she was going to shove Nico away, but then Nico found herself pressed as closely as she’d ever been against a clothed Maki, which would have been amazing if she could breathe. So Nico let a cough out and Maki loosened her hold.

“Let Nico sleep.”

“Okay. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Nico had closed her eyes, muttering, “...love you.”

“I love you too, Nico-chan.”

A-RISE STEPS IN AT LAST MINUTE FOR NICO NI

NISHIKINO MAKI CHECKING OUT STANFORD RESEARCH FACILITIES, POSSIBLE PARTNERSHIP

Nico is officially spoiled. Another morning waking up to Maki curled up by her side...She’d shipped everyone else back to Japan, tour over, a solid break until Nico’s doctor cleared her for rehearsal. Nico sat up, teasing tumbles of red hair, Maki had been very clear that Nico had to clear the steroids out of her system first. But at least Maki hadn’t banned other forms of exercise.

“I’m not asleep, Nico-chan.” Maki mumbled, sounding totally still asleep.

“Thanks for coming to rescue Nico.”

“Don’t make me do it again. I might have to go back to school.”

“I thought you were joining the Board Of Directors ahead of schedule?”

Maki opened her eyes, stretching, “Order pancakes. And bacon. And orange juice. And muffins.”

“Brunch in bed.”

“I’m not leaving until I have to.”

Nico reached down to kiss Maki’s forehead, “It’s been nice having you here.”

“Then come home.”

“Nico is working on it.”

Maki raised an eyebrow. Nico sounded excited. “Is there something I don’t know about?”

“It was supposed to be your Christmas surprise, but Nico’s agent was still negotiating.”

What could Nico’s agent be negotiating that would be a Christmas surprise for Maki?

“I’m going be the main character in a TV drama, based in Tokyo.”

“Really?”

“Really. I didn’t get to be there when your Dad ended up in the hospital and I’m so sorry…I knew you needed me, but...this is our life...” Maki nodded as Nico gestured at the hotel suite, continuing, “And I knew you were going to be super busy with family stuff so I pitched an idea and two production companies jumped on board. Nico is taking a paycut and ownership, but all you’ll have to do is come upstairs and Nico will be right there, at least for six months.”

“Nico-chan…” Maki sat up.

Nico put her arm and pulled Maki in, Maki dropping her head to Nico’s shoulder, “We get through the tough stuff together, Maki-chan. We always have. I love you.”

“Love you.” Maki was falling asleep again. Nico would add coffee to their brunch order. Maki had to be awake enough to sneak out and catch a plane.

YAZAWA NICO TO STAR IN DOCTOR SMILE

DOCTOR NISHIKINO MAKI TAKES OVER FAMILY MEDICAL PRACTICE

If she didn’t have Nico, Maki would probably just live with a grand piano, a huge bathtub, and a couch to eat take out on, Nico thought as she sank into lavender scented steaming water.

“It’s not funny, Rin. And I don’t need weekly updates about who Nico’s kissing on the show.” Maki sounded aggravated. Nico giggled. She’d come home early from a weekend meet the fans event and snuck into Maki’s luxury tub to recover. Candles were lit, Idol music popping.

“Wait a minute, Rin. I think…” Maki’s steps sounded hasty and she was suddenly in the door of the bathroom.

Nico winked. “Hi Maki!”

Maki made a grumbly noise and turned sideways, “No, I’m okay, Rin. There’s just a surprise in my bathtub…” Maki glanced at Nico, “Rin says hi. And you have to stop using my cases, Nico-chan.”

“Did Rin say that? And who says Nico does?”

Maki glared, “Where do you even get your information?”

Nico raised a finger to her lips and winked.

“And that red wig. It’s awful. People think you’re making fun of me.” Maki listened to her phone. “Shut up, Rin.” And the phone went in her coat pocket.

“What did Rin say?”

“Nvermind.” Maki muttered.

“Maki-chan…” Nico splashed at Maki.

“No one would ever call me Dr. Smile.”

Nico guffawed, slapping water everywhere. “I miss Rin.”

“If I had Umi’s bow, I wouldn’t.”

“You love her.” Nico leaned back, watching her wife, who had flopped on the nearby chaise. “So who thinks Nico is making fun of you?”

“Papa.”

“PFfffffff…who cares.”

Maki glared, ‘“We’re trying to keep his stress levels low.”

“Red headed doctors are the best.”

“But I like your hair; it looks like you.”

“But our daughter will look like Dr. Smile.”

That threw Maki’s train of thought completely askew. The closest she could get was imagining Cotaro when she first met him with bright red hair.

“I wonder if our children will look like you? All your siblings do.”

“And they’re cute. But our children will be NicoMaki cute. I’ve seen your baby pictures, you were adorable.” Nico leaned back, smiling up at Maki. “Nico can’t wait to have a family to come home to.”

“You have me.”

“And I love it.” Nico blew lavender scented bubbles at Maki, “But you, me, the cutest children ever in the universe, and Christmas morning.”

Maki couldn’t keep the huge grin back. “I can tell them all about Santa-san.”

“But we’re not spoiling them too much.”

Maki pouted at Nico.

Nico giggled, “That’s what our parents will do.”

Maki got up, taking off her coat, sliding out of her jacket, unbuttoning her shirt halfway and slipping out of her pants. Then she sat on the edge of the tub, feet in the water, toes teasing Nico’s legs. “You’re going to tour less, right.”

“Nico’s not touring now. You’re going to cut down your hours, right, Maki-chan.”

“Just started the search for an Executive Director. And put the LGBTQ+ Health Centers proposal on the fast track.”

Nico leaned over, her chin on Maki’s thigh, “We’ve worked really hard for this.”

“We have.”

“I think Mama knows.”

Maki laughed, “It was that morning she surprised us at breakfast, wasn’t it?”

For once, Nico was the one blushing. “Nico needs…” Nico’s arm slipped under Maki’s shirt, a casual touch on Maki’s back, “more elegant pajamas for entertaining company.”

“No you don’t.”

“You like it when Nico borrows your shirt.”

“No, I love it when Nico-chan borrows my shirt.”

“Nico loves your pajamas.” Nico’s fingers started tracing patterns.

“Ha!” Keeping her cool with Nico this close had always been impossible so Maki just lowered herself into the water, pausing for a messy, wet kiss, “Let’s skip dinner.”

NISHIKINO MAKI AND YAZAWA NICO: DETAILS OF THEIR WHIRLWIND COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE

The interviewer leaned forward as Maki ran a hand through her hair. She was relaxed in a light gray Tadashi Shoji corded lace sheath dress, and confidently answered her question, “It was a long day, my eyes were so tired everything was blurry and I got in the wrong elevator. Nico had just gotten pics of the Ayase twins and we started talking about high school.”

“Talking?” Nico snorted, standing behind Maki, hands in the pockets of bright pink Victoria Beckham trousers, the matching blazer falling open, “It was all Nico’s sex appeal. Nico is irresistible.”

Maki leaned her head back, a private smile for Nico, “Nico is irresistible.”

“Is it irresponsible to take so much time off from your responsibilities to take a world tour honeymoon and then start a family?”

Nico chuckled, her hands on Maki’s shoulder, “We’ve planned carefully. And they’re our businesses. Nico never understood people working themselves to death, not taking time for family. We want to change corporate culture.”

“You’ve always been ambitious, Nico. What’s your next project?”

Nico winked, “That’s just between us.”

“No hints for our viewers, Maki?”

Nico leaned down, arms around Maki’s shoulders, whispering something in her ear. Maki’s full, flaring blush could have been a picture from high school. The interviewer laughed.

“Nice to see you two worked out the Penthouse Wars.”

“Nico is a reasonable person.”

Maki threw back her head, laughing, “Sure, that’s why.”

“Well, Nico is certainly a top…”

“Nico-chan!”

“I love you, Maki-chan.” Giggling, Nico kissed her wife’s cheek.

Nico might have been the only one to hear Maki’s muttered, “I love you, Nico-chan.” But it had always been true.

A/N: Another AU Yeah August request, it started out as Married Rivals, but I was reading a Dolly Parton songwriting book and in the songs about love chapter there were these lyrics from "Between Us":

In our love let's share a friendship between us Always close enough to talk things out Let's be honest with ourselves and each other And our love will never know mistrust or doubt

So I just started writing conversations.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #married #married life #fluff #minor illness and angst #au yeah august

7 notes · View notes

ghostmartyr · 3 years

Text

how a life can move from the darkness [7/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren’s first thought was that something was wrong with his taste buds.

He took another bite.

Light and fluffy, with enough crunch to be satisfying, the cookie melted in his mouth with the chocolate chips it was spotted with. Sugary, somehow warm despite living on a table for an hour, and… good. The cookie tasted good. Even with the small scorch marks.

“What do you think?”

Petra was hovering. Almost vibrating with how long she’d held the question back.

“They’re… good,” Eren said. “Really good. What did you do?”

Petra’s face flushed with joy, complete with a happy smile that warmed the whole gym like unfiltered sunshine. “I bought new measuring cups.”

Eren grabbed another cookie. “What was wrong with your old ones?”

She grimaced. “I was using my mom’s measuring cups and spoons. She never told me, but she got them from a bargain bin sale because none of them were labeled right. My father came by for a visit and pointed it out.” Petra sighed sadly and snagged a cookie off the plate, but that smile still shone on through. “That’s what I should have opened today with: the wonders of communication.”

“It’s good you got it sorted out.” Eren hadn’t planned on saying anything about it ever, but Historia had stopped taking the cookies after the last week’s made her throw up.

For him, he had the problem of food starting to taste like food again. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have eaten Petra’s cookies without wanting to rip out his tongue.

Petra held out the entire plate to him. “Consider these your reward for supporting me all this time. No one else here is going to touch them, so you and Historia can take them home with you. Maybe use them as an excuse to drop by those friends you’ve reconnected with. Or that brother of yours,” she added. “He might have a sweet tooth to exploit.”

Eren took the plate and cut off eye contact so he wasn’t actually frowning at Petra. She’d had enough of that from him. “Aren’t you the one who said not to push everything at once? I just started talking to Armin and Mikasa again.” His thumb ran along a chip in the porcelain. “And it isn’t like everything changed anything between me and Zeke. It’s always been like this.”

“That’s not true,” Petra said, and before Eren could point out that she’d never met him so how would she know, she continued. “You used to never bring him up at all. I think you mentioned him five times today. By name.”

Eren hadn’t noticed that.

The corner with its folding table and loud clock he barely heard anymore felt cramped with just him and Petra. Historia was across the gym, suffering through Daz. Him trying to befriend the feral cats who hung out in the same alley his dealer had before their arrest had somehow turned into her problem.

She’d said she was a heroin addict today. Then she sat down and didn’t talk the rest of the hour. Apparently that marked her as accessible.

“It isn’t a recovery thing,” Eren said. Leaving out the shadow of Mikasa that lived in his mind and reminded him that he’d never gone and dealt with the dad part of what happened. People lost parents. Normal, healthy people. They got over it eventually. He didn’t need an extra boost of support just because he’d lost theirs so violently. Thinking he did was how the pills started. “Zeke’s just Zeke.”

Baseball-obsessed, hard to thank, hard to hate, hard to love.

Hard to have a full conversation with.

Their last one had probably been when he was six, and Zeke was explaining what was so great about a game where you spent most of it standing around doing nothing. He’d patted his helmet onto Eren’s head and carried him around the baseball diamond on his shoulders instead of partying with his division champion team.

Dad had offered to drive them. Zeke turned him down.

“You’re never doing nothing. You’re always waiting for the right moment, or creating the right moment. You watch your team and your opponents, and you think about the right pitch to throw, the right out to make—and if you watch them carefully enough, and practice hard enough, when that moment happens, you’re invincible.”

Eren had held on to his big brother’s buzzed head. “Mom says no one’s invincible.”

“Your mother wants you to stop picking fights.” Zeke looked up at him. “If you thought them through a little more carefully, maybe you’d win more.”

Eren remembered sticking out his tongue.

“You can’t win if you don’t fight.”

Years later, Eren glared at the plate he was holding and its chipped rim.

Petra was smiling at him with laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Recovery’s about us, Eren. Not what we did or what we got hooked on. Who we are as people. Just because it never technically broke doesn’t mean you can’t want it fixed.”

Eren didn’t know if he could have asked Mikasa, or Armin. Or Historia, because that answer was obvious and unhelpful. The question was all of the things he never should have let himself turn into, and it curled around his tongue like acid.

But he could ask Petra. He could ask the woman who’d made his mom believe in him a little by giving him the will to stick out every meeting when all he wanted was to burn everything he knew to the ground.

“Don’t you ever get tired of trying to fix things?”

Petra let the laugh out and squeezed Eren’s wrist.

“The secret to that,” Petra said, “is that’s what all those people you’ve already fixed things with are for.”

----

Eren taped a bagged cookie to Zeke’s apartment door.

An hour later, he had a text.

Outsides were a little scorched. You shouldn’t leave them in that long.

---

they weren’t even my cookies. i didn’t cook them, petra did.

what does he know about scorched

the first ones she made tasted like charcoal briquettes

these were so much better

like food

but go off i guess

In retrospect, spitting out a bunch of angry texts during Mikasa’s class hours and expecting it to help wasn’t the smartest thing Eren could have done. When his phone finally told him she saw them, he could practically hear the concerned silence reaching out his way and asking if someone needed to call someone for him.

I’m not on drugs, Eren clarified. Slightly less annoyed and remembering that Mikasa wasn’t used to non sequitur rants. Usually Armin got those. Because usually they weren’t about Zeke.

Mikasa finally type a response. I believe you.

Zeke’s just an asshole

Yes.

petra worked hard on those cookies she bought new measuring cups

[…] […] Who is Petra?

friend

Why did you give Zeke one of her cookies?

it was supposed to be therapeutic

Oh.

Eren had known Mikasa for enough years to see her eyes tracking back to the beginning of the conversation and to know she was hearing all his words in exactly the intonation he’d stamped them out with. That was why he usually texted Armin. Armin’s judgment was in quiet sighs that passed quickly. Mikasa’s stuck around with the reminder that some people had no problem being their best self every second of every day.

[…] I have time. If there are any cookies left, I could come over and take some for myself and Armin.

No offer of Eren coming over to their place, which used to be his place. He didn’t know if the tightness in his chest was frustration or gratitude.

really?

Yes. Your friend’s efforts should be appreciated.

[…] thanks i’ll let her know you love them

A grand total of one personal growth point coming from trying to reach out to Zeke, and it came from bonding with someone else over how badly it was going. Eren held his phone to his forehead and did the breathing exercises that didn’t work.

At least Petra had been right about the secret trick to it. Even if it wasn’t much of a secret. Eren’s friends had always been better than him at getting him out of the holes he dug himself.

----

“Is that real?”

“Pinch me, right?”

“No, I mean is that…”

“Yeah.”

“She’s…”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know she could do that.”

“You’re both assholes,” Ymir said. Doing nothing to change the surreal scene playing out in front of them. Her comment barely touched it. She was still bent over her bike, water bottle still held by nothing but her teeth, phone still in her hands, smiling. Genuinely. Not smirking. Not snarling or cackling or leering. Smiling.

It was one of the most unnerving things Eren had ever seen.

That covered a lot of ground.

“I thought… She’s fighting with Historia?” Eren asked.

He’d called for a break, and the first thing Ymir did after vaulting off her bike and pulling at her phone at the speed of sound was announce to the entire trail, “Eren, your jackass roommate just called me unromantic and shallow.”

Reiner was grinning like a maniac. For a guy who’d almost fallen over getting off his bike, he looked downright perky. Eren had worried he’d pushed things too far, but the bounce in his step when he flipped his water into his hands said otherwise. “She is.”

“But she’s smiling.”

“Yeah.”

“She looks happy.”

“She does.”

Someone Reiner’s size shouldn’t have been capable of giggling, but Ymir was already breaking Eren’s sense of reality. Reiner joining in wasn’t that different, and at least Reiner looking happy was something Eren could appreciate well enough for it to spread.

“What about Historia?” Reiner asked, letting his voice carry with a more direct grin at Eren. “How does her side of the fighting go?”

Eren had trouble thinking about the ongoing argument seriously without remembering tears and track marks. He couldn’t see the lighthearted moment staying if he brought that up. Ymir helped him out for once and didn’t rise to the bait. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of water by bending her entire head back instead of sparing a hand from her phone. “Historia? That’s really her name? Who hates their kid that much?”

Moment ruined anyway. “Don’t message her that,” Eren said sharply.

Ymir’s fingers had been waiting, not typing, but they stopped anyway. Her responding look saw through Eren and any past lives he or anyone in his general vicinity had lived, and Eren hated to admit it but he liked the smile more. He glared steadily back.

Her eyebrow quirked up. She tilted her head back for another drink. “Someday,” she said, “I’ll meet drug addicts who don’t have parental problems.”

“Eren likes his mom,” Reiner said, impervious to the tone shift.

“Sometimes.”

When he’d gone over to the house for dinner, she’d told him his hair was getting too long, and he should do something about it if he planned on running around so much.

“Now watch him not ask about the other times,” Ymir said.

Eren’s hackles rose. “There’s nothing wrong with my mom,” he said. “She’s the best.”

Ymir rolled her eyes so hard they practically landed in the back of her skull, and Eren didn’t know what was going to come out of her mouth next, but he’d probably want to punch her for it, and he needed to find somewhere safe for his helmet if that was how this was going to play—but they were both interrupted.

Her phone buzzed again, and the bizarre, reality-melting snap of joy that flashed over her face made Eren feel weirdly guilty about imagining what it would look like with a bloody nose.

He flopped his damp hair out of his eyes and slumped over his bike, watching a bird hop along the trail in front of them with a deep scowl that was fake enough to only make it through the third hop and the bird pecking at a piece of bread larger than its head.

That was a kind of happiness he could get. Hunger and feasting on things he wasn’t supposed to.

Eren swiped away more of his hair and looked down at the ground underneath his feet instead.

Reiner’s feet, done stretching, padded over the dirt, and his massive shoulder nudged Eren’s.

“You work at Steady Rock, right?”

Eren glanced up, because topic changes with Reiner felt safer with eye contact. “Yeah?”

“We got our hands on some coupons and wanted to know if it’s cool if we drop by during one of your shifts,” Reiner said, leaning further into Eren’s personal space than he was used to when they had somewhere larger than a cell to roam around in. “My little cousin is really into climbing right now, and she’s coming out for a visit in a few months. Scouting out places that might keep her attention is a pretty high priority before she gets here.”

Eren asked the obvious question. “Your family’s letting you watch her?”

Reiner didn’t quite look at him, and Eren wasn’t enough of a bastard to force it. “Her parents are coming along,” he said. “We’re only getting a few hours with her. But we want to show her a good time, you know? Convince them to let her back.”

Eren had spent every moment at work since Hannes’ latest discount series wondering how hard it was not to spend forty minutes of a promised hour falling off things and screaming about it, but Reiner would at least let him get a word in before he sped up a wall and got stuck. He snapped his helmet back on and shrugged. “Customers are customers,” he said.

Reiner chuckled. “Yeah, just… you know.” He cleared his throat and the next words sounded like they came out of one of the countless recovery books they’d both been forced through before their release. “Trying to respect your boundaries.”

They both looked Ymir’s way. She didn’t snipe anything back, too busy glowing.

Eren checked his watch to see how close to ending their break time was, pausing when he saw the clock over the running timer. He looked back up at Ymir, and the glint in her eye that said whatever was putting it there was ongoing.

“Time to head out?” Reiner asked.

It was a little early, but Reiner was breathing easily, and hadn’t gone after his water like the ravenous wolf he’d started out on these expeditions. “Yeah,” Eren said, one more quick, curious frown at his watch before Reiner called out to Ymir to cut her flirting short.

Weird.

He’d figured bad weird, since neither of them really knew how to talk to people and their starting point was all the yelling Eren wasn’t supposed to do anymore.

He slipped out his phone for a fast text, then put it away and got back to work, a little spark of okay beating out the worry and lightening his pedals.

----

i can’t text you during class, but ‘melancholic genius’ crystal wick can?

She doesn’t have my number. […] She was using Twitter.

----

It wasn’t because of what Ymir said.

Not really.

He would have done it anyway, eventually. She just brought it up when he was stable enough to do something with the reminder instead of stew in sad, guilty feelings that planted visions of pills in his head.

Eren scuffed his shoes on the welcome mat.

“The Doctor is Out,” it read, a sad smiley from a waiting room pain scale next to it, “But You Can Come In!”

Zeke had bought it. Eren had whined about how much time their dad spent at the office. The next day, it was on the doorstep, and his mom was telling his dad that they’d get rid of it when it stopped being accurate. Eren had said that wasn’t right, because they never told the people who knocked on their door to come in.

His mom never got rid of it, and it was back to being accurate. The doctor was out.

Before Eren could drown himself too deeply in that and why the mat wasn’t there when he came over for dinner, his mother opened the door.

“Eren,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

She looked worried behind her welcoming smile, but the kind of worried that made him want to stomp off and find a mud puddle to splash in out of spite. That kind of worry he could handle, even if it always ended with her trapping him in the laundry room and explaining how to get stains out of his clothes.

Eren rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry. I can call ahead next time.” His shoes crunched over the welcome mat. “I didn’t know if I had to. I still have my key and I’m not here to…” He sucked at this. Worse than any text to Historia about which chart smiley she’d pick out for her mood of the day. His ears hurt listening to himself.

“I thought I’d patch up my bedroom,” he said. “I was going to do it even if you weren’t here, so I didn’t call.”

His mom raised her eyebrows at him. “You never need a reason to call your mother, Eren.” Before the barb sunk in enough for Eren to come up with a retort, she swung the front door the rest of the way open. “Did you bring tools with you, or are you borrowing?”

Eren followed in, the bag he’d brought along swinging from his shoulder. “Borrowing for anything that needs paint. I thought I’d use what’s left in the garage for that.”

“And this isn’t going to be like the last time you tried to fix the house by yourself?”

Eren’s ears and the rest of him went a very fine red.

He and Armin had lost an action figure down a sink. They knew if Zeke wasn’t the one watching them, there wasn’t a good chance of anyone deciding that the toy’s fate was anything but sealed, so turning up the volume on the movie that had inspired the soldier’s sink dive, they’d searched the house for a saw to crack open the pipe they were sure it was stuck in.

Eren could still feel the weight of his soaked t-shirt as he tried to hide Armin behind him in the puddle they’d created, his mom’s hurried footsteps rushing down the stairs at their yelps of surprise.

The main puddle showed up because they’d tried to fix the first without anyone noticing. Armin had slipped and almost hit his head when he had the idea that they could probably find instructions in a book somewhere, and if they were really fast…

They weren’t fast, and they weren’t quiet, and Eren’s mom had rolled in like thunder.

“Never,” she had said, holding him by the chin while his wrench clattered to the floor and the pipe kept spewing water all over the three of them. “Eren you listen to me. You are never to use tools like this by yourself. You find me, or your father, and if something needs to happen, we will use them, or show you how. You never try something like this on your own.”

Most of his parents’ ‘nevers’ didn’t last long. Loopholes or exceptions followed Eren around like weeds.

That one stuck. For Armin. The first time they’d had a problem in their apartment, they’d called home, just to double-check, before getting to work. It stuck worse when Eren’s mother snatched the phone from his father, who’d picked up, and told them to talk to their landlord before they took another step.

Which had come up before she shouted it into their ears. But then they’d had diagrams, and measuring tape, and Mikasa loaned them a hammer, and they could probably fix it by themselves.

The landlord hadn’t agreed.

Walls weren’t so hard, though. Patch jobs were one of the first home improvement lessons Eren’s dad put him through. He’d thought the house could use fewer holes, and taught Eren early. Eren could tackle walls alone. Even if they were his, and he had to walk by a closed door that made his heartbeat hit deafening and his breathing fall short to get to them.

Five minutes in, standing in the gaping mausoleum of a room that didn’t have any of his stuff but had scars all over, Eren wasn’t alone.

His mother, recently changed into what she called her work clothes, entered the room and went for the spackle.

“Mom,” Eren said. “What are you doing?”

“Putting my house back together,” she said.

“It’s my room.”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s my room. My—” damage. Everywhere. The holes from the fist he’d put through the wall, the hole from Zeke’s baseball going through the wall, the cracks from all those holes spiraling out and trying to link together, the tiny bits of plaster on the floor… Eren had stopped remembering his room had ever looked another way, but he knew those things weren’t supposed to be there. That was why he was patching them up.

His mother didn’t seem concerned with any of the emotional progress being waged. “I have a right to participate in my own household chores, Eren,” she said.

“You haven’t done anything about this for months,” Eren said. “You left it out for me to clean up.”

“Because,” she approached a crack by Eren’s elbow that hadn’t come from a punch, just a bad nightmare that felt like it cracked his skull just as badly, “any man I raised should expect to have to come back and clean up his messes.”

She ran her fingers over the mark before taking her putty knife to it. When she looked up at him, Eren realized he’d stopped working to stare. He realized it a second too late to escape the nudge of her hand on his arm, prodding him along.

“I did think you’d be along sooner,” she continued. “Am I that far down your list?”

Eren’s face burned.

He could feel her smiling next to him, and he wasn’t surprised when the next nudge was his mother reaching up to tweak his ear. “Or,” she continued, “am I not on your list because I’m your mother, and you don’t think you have to apologize to me?”

“I know you like apologies,” Eren said defensively.

“And I know how much you love giving them to me,” she said.

The rebuke was as gentle as she bothered with, but it still stung. Eren’s hands stopped again, and he stared into the wall, the crack he’d have to tend after the hole acting like a window into a whole different dimension. One where the only reason he knew he saw his mother that day was because he could remember shouting at her.

“Mom,” he started, all the good intentions and work ethic bleeding out into guilt. “I really—I...”

The words felt as hollow as his room did without pieces of him taking up the space.

“Fix the walls,” his mother instructed. “Then you can stay for dinner and tell me how Armin and Mikasa are doing. They stop by even less often than you do. Or that roommate of yours; we’ve hardly spoken. Frieda seems to be the only one of any of you who can remember her social niceties.”

“Mom.”

----

Petra would tell him that there was nothing wrong with starting out easy.

He didn’t know where to start with his brother? Mother was in the same ballpark, and as long as he kept taking steps forward, he’d get to where he needed to be in the end. There wasn’t anything wrong with baby steps.

There was maybe something wrong with thinking of his mother as one. He’d never been a great son.

Eren, stinking of paint and supposed to be going to wash off before dinner, was stuck in front of the closed door marking the center of the upstairs hallway. The midway point between Eren’s room and his parents’. The office.

Otherwise known as the gateway to most of Eren’s fits when he was younger.

“But why. Dad has two rooms I can’t go in, why does he get two?”

At the funeral after-party, the door had been open. No one had bothered closing it after his dad changed his mind and agreed to come along to the MMA tournament finals. Eren had told him he needed to see it, because he was going to come in first place for the first time, and maybe after he could talk to Mom and change her mind about how rough it was because it wasn’t really that bad…

His dad was the one who decided if the door was open or shut. He’d left in a hurry, so he wouldn’t be late. So the day of the funeral, it was open.

Eren had slammed it shut with his crutches.

Baby steps. Closing up walls. Cutting off some of Ymir’s ammunition.

Eren watched his spackled, paint-covered hand reach out and turn the doorknob.

On slow feet, he took a step in.

He immediately wanted to step back out. The blinds were drawn. They were thick, wooden shades designed to tell the sun its service was not wanted, and the entire room was plunged into night despite it being the middle of the day. Light from the downstairs windows was still bouncing its way upstairs.

None of it touched the office.

It smelled like dust. Eren could feel his shoes leaving prints in the carpet.

He’d never been allowed inside without his father’s permission, so by the time he was five, he knew the ins and outs of the room better than any other place in the house. He knew before he could reach which certificate on the wall stood for which achievement, even with every inch being covered. Whenever his dad received an award, Eren would talk him through which spot of the office had the most room to put it in.

Armin had hidden under the desk with him. Hide and seek. They were willing to risk it when Zeke was sitting for them. Then he’d turned that back on them and found them the second after he was done counting.

Eren wouldn’t fit under the desk anymore. It was big enough for one man and the work in front of him. Plus the piles on either side. There wasn’t much extra space. The picture frames on it were pushed all the way to the edge of the wood.

It might have fitted more if the back of the desk was against the wall, but his dad had liked it in the middle of the room, his chair facing the doorway. Eren had figured out, staying up late and listening to all the different footsteps in the house, that he liked it that way so he could stand up and pace in front of the window.

Baby steps.

Eren breathed in through his nose, exhaling slowly. His legs wobbled like they were trying to go back to the last time he’d entered the room. He was, but not like that.

In, out, dinner.

He passed the desk and went over to the corner, where the largest filing cabinet in the room stood. Without stopping to think about it, he dropped to the floor, cobwebs and dust joining the paint. If it was the other way around he’d have to come back and wash the floors.

Back in the far corner of the shadows, there wasn’t enough light for anything to glint back at him, but he’d always had what his mother called an overactive imagination. Nothing close to Armin’s. That defense had never worked.

He reached his hand into the dark and flicked off whatever bug tried to latch onto his fingers, groping around until his palm connected with a piece of cold, round metal.

Eren almost yanked his hand back out without collecting it. A flinch wracked his body like a shiver.

He grabbed it, and pulled his arm back into his chest, the rapid thump of his heart covering up all of the other sensations that came with it. His forehead was clammy, bangs sticking to it like glue.

He stayed on the floor for a few more minutes than he meant to.

Long enough for his ears to catch a different thump.

The lamp in the opposite corner of the room flicked on, and after an aborted pause that Eren could feel, his mother stepped over the threshold.

“Eren? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he lied, into the dusty carpet.

She sighed, but didn’t walk any closer. The floorboards creaked under her stationary feet. Eren’s fist clenched around the object in his hand, and he made himself push his body back up, taking a string of cobweb up with him and blinking under the new light.

His mother did step forward when she caught sight of the new collection of dust all over his clothes. “Eren.”

“I already had to change,” he said.

She shook her head and pulled a dust bunny out of his hair. “You really do need to get it cut.”

Eren would blame the environment for why the only thing that he could think to say, and successfully made it out of his mouth, was, “Dad had long hair.”

She fixed him with a look that he had spent his entire childhood rebelling against. “Yes, and your father took care of his,” she said, coaxing strands of his hair apart with the tips of her fingers. “If you don’t know what to do with it, having more is always a mistake. All that exercise you do; doesn’t it get into your eyes?”

Eren crossed his arms and avoided eye contact. Longer bangs helped.

Only the angle he put his head at meant he was staring straight at the photos his father kept on his desk.

The dust blurred the images, but he didn’t have any problem recognizing the candid shot Mikasa had taken at graduation. Of him and Zeke grinning at each other, the summer sun beating down on both of them while Eren wielded his diploma like a relay baton.

Eren’s folded arms fell to his sides, the cold weight in one starting to feel hot enough to burn.

“I wasn’t going to stay in here,” he said. The words rang. He fumbled his grip and held the object out to his mother. “I wanted to grab this. In case you wanted it.”

His mother, full of smiles and competence for him all day, froze. She didn’t need any of the seconds Eren had when he’d raged into the room and found it waiting on the desk. She recognized the polished shine instantly. The watch she’d given her husband for their twentieth anniversary.

The one he’d died wearing, while his son listened to the ticking clock and stopped trying to be sane.

The one his son had picked up and thrown into a dark place no one would ever think to look.

His mom’s hands shook, taking it out of Eren’s hands. He didn’t think she saw the cracks in its face. She couldn’t know to imagine the blood entangling its joints. She just took up the watch, and held it the same way she’d held it out to Eren when she picked it up from the store. Asking for his opinion while Eren shrugged and told her to bother Mikasa with stuff like that, it looked fine.

“It was already broken,” Eren said. “From the accident. I didn’t help, but… it stopped working in…”

She looked away from the watch and up at his face. Eren bit the inside of his jaw, staring at the picture of him and Zeke and thinking about how hot that day had been and how no one except Armin had been interested in a color that wasn’t black for their robes.

Then he wasn’t staring at the picture, because his mother’s hair was in the way, and her arms were wrapped around him. She tugged his head down to meet her shoulder, and she smelled like sweat and paint and mom.

The tears couldn’t make it past his choked throat.

“I told Frieda I couldn’t even miss him,” Eren whispered. “I was too busy thinking about myself.”

His mother’s soft laughter buzzed his ear. “You got that from him.”

Eren would have pulled away if that didn’t mean leaving the hug. He didn’t think he was strong enough to ask for another. “What?”

She laughed again, kissing the side of his head and rocking him slowly back and forth. “Your father,” she said, “was a passionate, driven man, and he’d get so caught up in what he was doing I sometimes think if he didn’t sleep better in his bed he’d never have come home at all. It was always the next step, with no reason to look back.” Her head turned towards the desk. “That’s why he never made things right with your brother. He thought he failed so badly, there was no reason to repeat it all. Instead he tried to move forward with the damaged parts they had left, and…”

She sighed so heavily Eren wished he’d been the one to start hugging her. She pulled away slightly, tenderly smoothing back his hair and curling it around his ears. “I like to think we both had a part in raising that out of you, no matter how little you enjoy apologizing to your mother.”

“Mom,” he said, “I am so—”

“Eren,” she interrupted. “You have never been an easy child.” She cradled his cheek in her hand. “It is always something, even when you’re supposedly a grown man so far above our responsibility.” She sighed at him again, displacing the glinting tears in her eyes and using her thumb to rub away his. “I can’t say I’m happy with how you chose to be difficult this time, but… your father was a wonderful man, and truth be told, I don’t know how to be without him either.”

Eren fell forward, holding her as tight as he knew how and hiding his eyes in her paint-stained shirt. “…You’re doing better than me,” he mumbled.

“I’m your mother,” she said. “That’s my job.”

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

8 notes · View notes

okageshadowkingfannovel · 3 years

Text

Book 1: Chapter 10

When Ari wakes up, the very first thing he sees is his bedroom ceiling, and for just the briefest moment, he’s tempted to believe again that the whole thing - the Pig Latin curse, the strange bottle, weird butler, Evil King Stan, fighting a ghost in the Church basement - was just a dream. But then the redundancy of it hits him and he pushes away the temptation.

“About time you woke up, slave.”

Ari hears the crabby grumblings as he slips out of bed. As Stan pops out from under his feet, he notices that he’s been changed into pajamas.

“What happened?” he asks, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes.

“In shock of my fury and rage, you promptly passed out. I disappear when you fall unconscious - which is a surprisingly frequent event it seems - but I saw idiots from the village come down a couple hours later to find you pathetically curled up on the basement floor. They noticed the low level ghost had been vanquished, praised my name, and quickly whisked you home to your family. You’ve been asleep for two days.”

“Two days?!”

“Pathetic, isn’t it? But then, I suppose my powers are considerably overwhelming. So, don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Ari sits down on the bed, memories of a burning white glow and the phrase ‘overdrive’ drifting through his mind. He pulls up the pant leg of his pajamas and finds a neat bandage hiding away the teeth marks. A twinge of tenderness aches his skin when he gently pokes it.

“I guess it was all the fighting. I-I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Speaking of, slave,” Stan starts in an offended huff, “what was all that? I wasn’t aware you had any sort of actual ability.”

“Neither was I,” Ari admits, “there was a moment in the middle of it, where everything sort of froze, and … there was this gear …”

“A gear?”

“Yeah, it was just floating in front of me. D-Does that mean you didn’t see it?”

King Stan places a thoughtful claw to his bright yellow mouth.

“Maybe you’ve been blessed with power simply due to your proximity to me. Leech-like you utilize the great amounts of power, boiling over from my being.”

Ari takes this as a ‘no,’ and sighs in resignation that he won’t find answers here.

“Technically, you’re the leech here,” he says, but then suddenly notices the glass tube sitting on his desk. “The village treasure?”

“Treasure?! Pah! Never mind that garbage! I’ve been stuck in this room for two days. Get dressed and make yourself useful!”

Before Ari can respond or even comply, there’s a soft knock at the door and his mother’s voice.

“Ari? Are you awake?”

He can hear an eagerness mixed with relief in his mother’s tone. “Y-yeah, I just woke up.”

“Oh, Ari! You must come see! Get dressed! Everyone is out front, waiting for you!”

“Everyone?”

Ari listens to his mother’s footsteps disappear down the hall.

“Well, don’t sit there like a slug! Get going!”

Stan sinks back down into the floorboards. Ari is grateful for a multitude of reasons, but the silence to be able to think stands at a solid number 2 on that list. As he dresses, the strange, floating gear still ticks away in his thoughts, and the word ‘overdrive’ echoes back.

Why ‘overdrive’ anyway? Did I make it up? I mean, if I did, it’s not a very cool name for an attack. I mean, even Stan had ‘Burning Devil.’ Even for him, that’s sort of cool. And how did I even get an attack? It couldn’t have been the weapon … unless that was a magic stick. Dammit! The one cool, magic item to fall into my hands and it’s a stick!

Ari doesn’t actually believe it was a magic stick.

Once dressed, Ari grabs the glass tube and turns it over in his hands. He’s not sure if the village meant for him to take it or if they didn’t recognize it as Tenel’s most prized possession and thought it was just some trash. Either way, he sticks it in his pocket and plans on asking the Village Office or the Village Elder or someone what he’s supposed to do with it.

Leaving his room, Ari makes his way down the hall and down the grand staircase that leads to the front door. Despite living with five other people - six if he includes the evil butler - the house is surprisingly quiet and empty feeling. He imagines that everyone is already getting on with their daily business. When he steps out the front door and into the sunlight, he is immediately deafened by waves of cheering.

The entire town of Tenel seems to be standing in his family’s courtyard. Some of Ari’s friends balance on the wall of the water fountain, waving at him. A few late villagers stand in the back of the crowd, carefully shifting away from the ancient graves so as not to step on the haunted ground. But in the front are a cornucopia of familiar faces, all pressing closer to give their enthusiastic support and ask their burning questions. He even sees Julia there, looking up at him with a uniquely feminine look of worry and concern.

“Hey! Hey, Ari!”

“Good work, Ari! Way to go!”

“Thanks! That was great!”

“How did you get rid of the ghosts? Let’s hear it, Ari!”

“Yeah! Tell us, Ari!”

Ari stands there speechless. He’s never been so noticed by so many people all at once. An embarrassing blush rushes to his cheeks.

“Grrr, they’ve got it all wrong,” Stan growls from somewhere, “It was all my doing! Evil King Stan is the proper target of your affection! Oh well, this is good timing. They are all assembled to receive the wisdom I shall bestow upon them!”

Before Ari can react, he hears the familiar whistle and feels Evil King Stan loom up behind him. He looks over his shoulder to find the shadow towering over him, quaking with an evil laugh as he looks out over the villagers. Ari tries to read the faces of the crowd. They look surprised to say the least.

“Listen here, villagers! I am the reincarnation of the Evil King Gohma, the Evil King of Darkness! I am Stan!”

“Wh-what’s going on?”

“Say, isn’t that …”

Ari hears the confused whispers and murmurs bubbling up from the crowd.

“Now that I’ve returned to this world, all that walks, flies, or crawls shall be my subjects! As a reward for your willing subjugation, I shall grant you insects a long, delightful purgatory!” Stan punctuates with a hearty laugh and then adds, “hear this! My official declaration! I will saturate this land with a black cloud of astounding malevolence!”

Ari feels a breeze hit the back of his neck as Stan whips about in his fervor.

“My plague of evil will infect every corner of this world! Bow before your lord and master, Evil King Stan!!!”

The ominous echo of ‘Stan’ bounces about the courtyard, over the heads of the bewildered audience. It seems like even the birds and squirrels in the trees have stopped twittering and chirping. Ari swallows nervously, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

“Aha! They’re speechless!” King Stan hisses in delight.

The quiet is heavily unnerving.

Ari waits.

And then, waits a moment more.

Another moment.

“… Ha ha …”

“… Pffft, ha ha ha ha ha!!!”

“Ha ha ha ha! This is too much!”

One laugh unleashes another and then another in a chain reaction of hilarity.

“Ari! I didn’t know you were such a riot!”

“Oh wow, this is good! I’m gonna die laughing!”

“That shadow trick of yours is pretty slick!”

“What?!”

“Hey! You should perform at the next Tenel Festival!”

“Evil King Stan, did you say? That’s priceless! Ha ha ha!”

“YOU PEASANTS! What are you laughing at?! My great decree is to be taken seriously! You! That one there! Stop laughing!”

“He just keeps going! Ha ha!”

All of a sudden, Ari feels a strange heat radiating off of the clearly angered shadow and it occurs to him that it’s been quite a while since he last used that ‘burning devil’ trick.

“Ah-um, OK, everyone,” Ari calls out, waving his arms to get their attention, “thanks for stopping by! Um, n-no trouble at all about the … the whole ghost thing … I gotta get back to studying. I-I’ll see you around town!”

Ari whips around and darts back inside the house before Stan can incinerate the entire town with black fire. He sighs as he leans against the front door.

“Why? Aghh! I don’t understand! Why?!” King Stan laments, shaking with rage. “I am the Evil King! A harbinger of impending doom! Yet the humans mock me … They even laugh at me! I’m so humiliated!”

Awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck, Ari wracks his brain for something to say in response to King Stan’s tantrum of self-doubt.

“Well, I-”

“What am I … What am I supposed to do?! Am I a failure as Evil King? Am I a hopeless Evil King?”

“Uhhh …”

“So, it’s true?!”

“Wait, I didn’t-”

“Do I have to hear from this lousy slave that I am a lousy hopeless Evil King? I can’t take this anymore! I’m tired. I must rest for a while.”

And like a 2-dimensional teenager, Stan disappears to sulk in private. Ari waits a moment, frozen temporarily by the emotional whiplash. He’s not even sure how that conversation even happened.

“St-Stan?” he calls meekly.

Nothing happens.

“King Stan?”

“Silence! Don’t talk to me now! Curses!”

Ari supposes the shadow is well and truly upset.

“Oh, Ari!”

He looks up and finds his mother emerging from the kitchen, a huge sweet smile plastered across her face. She rushes up to him and catches him in a hug, squeezing him too tightly.

“Did you see them, Ari? The entire village came to see you! Oh, I’m so proud of you! My popular little man!”

“Mom,” he whines in a teenagerly way.

“You should go out into town,” she says excitedly as she finally pulls away, “I’m sure everyone wants to talk to you. Oh! And Stan too!”

A low growl rumbles up from the floor.

“Stan isn’t feeling too talkative right now.”

“Well, anyway, I heard even the village elder wants to speak with you! Apparently, there’s some rumor going around town.”

“What kind of rumor?” Ari asks, knowing full well that a rumor in Tenel is nothing new and usually nothing much to be excited about.

“I don’t know too much about it myself. Some kind of trouble happening in other towns. Go ask your father about it while your out. Go on!”

His mother practically pushes Ari out of the house. Once clear of the entryway, the front door slams shut behind him.

“Love you!” comes his mother’s muffled voice.

The courtyard now sits empty, its crowd of visitors having dissipated to carry on with normal, everyday Tenel business.

“I guess I’ll see what the elder wants,” Ari mumbles to himself … or to Stan, in case the shadow was still listening.

Before Ari sets off towards the gate, a strange noise pricks at his ears. It’s not the usual noises of nature - not chirping or twittering or snapping twigs - but it’s a sharp, mechanical clicking. It’s rhythmic and consistent. Instead of carrying on down the stone steps, he follows the noise along a small dirt path connecting the front to the back. Two balconies look down at him from the side of the house. Briefly, Ari wonders if the noise is leaking from one of those rooms. But no, it sounds much too close. Carrying on, he passes by a pile of firewood and a stump bearing the ax that made it. No, not from there.

Finally, Ari finds himself at the base of a tall, spindly steel tower. It’s an awkward marker for where the family property ends and the land suddenly drops off in a fair cliff, overlooking miles and miles of untamed, monster ridden wilderness. The tower is made up of lattice girders, spaced out at the base and joining together as the reach the top. The whole thing seems oddly squashed - as if a giant had grabbed it and squeezed - and it leans in a way that doesn’t seem safe.

“I found the source of the ticking,” he says to no one in particular, for no particular reason.

With an eye on the tower should it decide this is the opportune moment to finally keel over, Ari pokes around the tall grasses and tangled wild flowers. He swears the ticking is buried here at the tower’s feet. Finally, as he pulls aside a clump of weeds, a tiny gear comes into view. Nestled among the plant stalks, it fidgets in place, emitting that steady tick.

“Stan?” Ari excitedly whispers - though a beat later, he’s not sure why he felt the need to whisper since no one is around.

There is no response from the evil king. Feeling as if it might stop or disappear in a blink, Ari reaches out and gently plucks up the gear from its weedy nest. He lays it out in the palm of his hand. Overall, it seems completely ordinary. It fits neatly in his hand. It’s a dark, well-worn iron and has bits of dirt stuck in its crevices. If it wasn’t clicking on its own, Ari would have assumed it just fell off the tower. Naturally, he wonders if this gear bears any relation to that which he found (and broke) in the church basement.

Before he can think about it for too long, the ticking suddenly stops and the gear sits still.

I broke another one?

Ari wiggles hand in hopes of jiggling the gear back to ticking, clicking life, but the thing sits motionless, tickless, clickless.

I broke another one.

And of course, Ari’s now not sure if there was ever any noise at all. Perhaps it was all in his head. He wonders if hallucinations and mental breakdowns are typical symptoms of having one’s shadow possessed by a reincarnated evil king.

Anyway, Ari decides to pocket the little gear for now, just in case it start up again. If Stan will ever decide to talk to him again, maybe he can ask about it. But helpful answers don’t seem to be the evil king’s forte.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

#okage shadow king #osk #boku to maō #zener works #sony #sony entertainment #playstation 2 #playstation 4 #video games #jrpg #rpg #writing #fanfiction #fannovel #fanwork #fanart #novelization

1 note · View note

jaeknightorbats · 4 years

Text

Tunnel Caprica [M] part 2

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek)

Ratings: NC-17

Genre: Smut, dark romance

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a seemingly wealthy man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards. It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world.

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 2

Word count: 4.7k

How does it feel like saving someone’s life?

It has been almost a month since the man named Oh Sehun promised Baekhyun that he was going to contact him to repay for saving Sehun’s life. But he’s never contacted Baekhyun since.

Baekhyun forgot all about it, as if it didn’t happen. It was the least he could do. Besides, he was given a huge tip—Sehun gave all the cash on his wallet. It was around $400. He even apologized if it wasn’t much, he doesn’t bring much cash, he said.

Because of it, Baekhyun was able to pay his dues on time and even bought his girlfriend a factory unlocked iPhone, which made her beyond happy. He took his previous gift from Yuri since he lost his things, together with his phone, at the parking lot the time he saved Sehun.

He felt like it was bound to happen, it helped him solve his problems. Must be really his lucky day.

Baekhyun was at his place, with his girlfriend. They had their legs tangled to one another at his bed, sucking each other’s tongues, kissing each other passionately.

Such bliss they felt as they lose their minds to feel the other.

Yuri slightly pushed Baekhyun’s chest away from her, separating their lips apart. Tips of their noses close to one another, feeling each other’s breath.

She looked into Baekhyun’s hazy eyes, biting her lips.

“We’ve been dating for more than a year,” she gulped, hesitant to say what she had on mind. Baekhyun gently smiled as he adored his partner. He stroked his hand on Yuri’s hair. She rolled her eyes away to rolled it back again to Baekhyun’s.

“You know…you can touch me, right?” She continued, “…Anywhere.”

Baekhyun’s cheeks flared, feeling a little embarrassed. “I know. It’s just that…” He fixed Yuri’s hair back to her ear and held the side of her small face. “…I respect you so much.”

“Aw,” breathed Yuri. She was flattered but embarrassed because she just made herself look horny. She held Baekhyun’s hand and kissed it. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.”

They stared to each other’s eyes dearly, as if they were the only people in the world.

“I have so much respect for you because I love you. I hope you know that.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of Baekhyun’s palm on her cheek, the warmth of his legs squeezing hers, his body heat, and his love. “I love you, Baek.”

Then, Baekhyun softly pulled Yuri to him and gave her a kiss.

It’s a weekend and Baekhyun has an 11AM shift at work. He wished he could stay with Yuri longer, but he got to work to earn money to pay the bills and to make his girl happy.

Pretty average flow at the store. There were a couple of customers who held the line, few pissed him off, but he got to stay composed—it’s his job.

“After 6 months of being away, the son of the ex-president finally came back home to his homeland.”

“It’s that peak season again.” An old customer in front of the counter turned his head from the television back to Baekhyun, trying to start a short conversation.

“Well, yeah. It’s almost summer,” Baekhyun replied with a friendly smile.

The old man scowled. “Who are you talking to?”

Baekhyun scoffed and watched the grumpy man walked away after he paid his items.

Baekhyun suddenly received a text. A text from Yuri. Seeing her name on his cellphone screen always made him smile.

‘I miss you, B,’ it said.

He bit his lips to control the joy he was feeling.

“Now, what are you grinning about?”

Baekhyun shoot his phone behind his back pocket as soon as he could when he heard his manager spoke.

He faced the person in front of him.

Wait, no. It wasn’t his manager.

“Mr. Sehun?”

The man, Sehun, sneered as he placed a bottle of sparkling water at the counter. Baekhyun slowly walked forward to scan his item. He didn’t know what to feel, maybe surprised.

Sehun was wearing casual clothes, a simple plain T-shirt, pants, and a baseball cap. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses. Completely different from what he was wearing the night Baekhyun met him—he looked like one of the people. But there was also an atmosphere around him, or how the way he moved, that differed him from other of people.

“How’s it going?” Baekhyun asked, that’s the only thing he could think of. The man in front of him seemed well and healthy compared weeks ago when he was trying to revive him.

“I’ve been busy traveling so I wasn’t able to contact you.” Sehun opened the bottle of water and drank it after he gave his payment. “Besides, I’ve been looking for you here the same time I went here before. Twice, I think? You weren’t here.”

Surprised, Baekhyun’s brows climbed his forehead. “What?”

“Yeah, I asked someone here.”

“Why though?”

Sehun sneered, looking at Baekhyun as if the answer wasn’t obvious. “You saved my ass, man! C’mon.”

“Excuse me.” Suddenly, a soft voice behind Sehun’s took the attention of both. It was the next customer.

“Anyway,” Sehun looked back to Baekhyun, reaching for his hand, so, Baekhyun took it. “Come to my party tonight. You must come.”

Sehun turned his back to Baekhyun, raised his arm with two finger lifted, and slightly waved. “Ciao.”

There was a piece of paper on Baekhyun’s hand. He opened it, and there was an address written on it.

Baekhyun was on a completely different area of the district, he was outside the city. The peaceful side, where each house or establishment he drove by were far apart.

# 1228 Grand Aria Estates, Cayman.

Located at west side of the district, where one could get the best view of the majestic mountain range of his country, Ioca—the Turris Caelo mountains, which also meant the Heaven Tower mountains. People treat the mountains sacred because it became their shield from the horrid weather that wanted to cross their country. The mountains have saved Ioca from calamities countless times.

Cayman was considered as the wealthiest and most exclusive suburb in his district, if not in Ioca. Baekhyun knew the area, but he hardly came by—he has no business there. Now, he has.

It was already past 9:00 PM, Baekhyun was in front of the gates of the residential village, as written on the paper. He rode his third-hand car to reach the place since it wasn’t exactly an easy place to find.

He had a little fight with Yuri before she let him attend the party. At first, Baekhyun didn’t want to come because he felt intimidated—there was no doubt that it would be a party for the rich. He’s heard of the residential village—the price of a single square-meter lot still blew his mind. He could live for years with that kind of money.

Yuri initially thought a woman has invited Baekhyun to a party once Baekhyun mentioned anything about a party. She started jumping conclusions. But when she learned it was the man who Baekhyun saved—the man who gave Baekhyun $400—invited him to the party, Yuri forced Baekhyun to attend. She thought there could be some bigger reward waiting for her boyfriend. She even helped him which clothes should he wear—she wanted her boyfriend to look slick. They didn’t know what kind of party he’ll be attending but Yuri made him wear something he could wear at any type of party—a tight jean, a black V-neck shirt, a suit they bought at the thrift shop the last minute, and a black class B leather shoes without socks to finish it all.

Yuri wanted to come herself but it was Baekhyun who doesn’t let her. He knew what alcohol could do to Yuri, he didn’t want Yuri to embarrass herself in front of people they don’t know. This made Yuri infuriated. Shouting until their throats sore. At the end, Yuri still pushed Baekhyun to attend and she only had one instruction to Baekhyun: “Don’t fool around.”

The tall iron rails began to roll open after the guards confirmed that Baekhyun was invited to Sehun’s party. The guard took his license and checked the trunk and bottom of his car with a ferocious Rottweiler tied on his hand—it was a strict security, which made Baekhyun feel a little more intimidated.

He regretted everything and wanted to go back, he should’ve brought Yuri with him, at least. But there was no turning back, Sehun already knew he reached his address.

He drove slowly by the hills. It was dark and peaceful, it looked like a very safe and quiet neighborhood. Baekhyun realized how ridiculously rich the man he saved as he drove passed by the different sizes of mansions and villas in the village.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Sehun lived next to a famous celebrity or personality.

He finally saw a house—a large house—with a line of luxury cars parked outside.

This must be the one.

He parked a little farther away from the house. He was a little embarrassed by his ride. He took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

He said ‘tonight’. It’s a party, so it should start late.

He observed the house as he got nearer by the gates. Gates as almost tall as the main gates of the village. A classic white two-floor mansion with red bricked roofs. A fairly big driveway to the main doors. A lot of cars. All lights shined through the window. He could hear indistinct music from the house, it wasn’t very loud but he could hear it.

1228, written on one of the pillars of the gate.

He stood outside the gates and rang the doorbell. Without any word, the gate buzzed and automatically opened. He spotted two men in suits, with gears hanging on their ears, must be some guard. As he walked on the driveway, the main door opened, a man walked outside his doorsteps, and stood there waited for Baekhyun. It was Sehun. Hands on pocket, looking tall and sharp, with broad shoulders, on his black mandarin collared shirt under a white suit—he was shining. He had his hair gelled up to the back of his and and it shined under the light. He was looking very slick.

Sehun stared at the man who avoided eye contact with him.

“You’re late,” said Sehun as soon as Baekhyun reached a close distance to him. “I don’t like late people.”

Baekhyun’s heart almost dropped, nervously stepping on the short stairs to the main doors. Sehun seemed serious. “Uh yeah. I thought—“

Sehun howled, breaking his serious face on. “I was kidding! Haha. You looked so tense. C’mere.” Sehun wrapped an arm to Baekhyun’s shoulders and they entered the house.

Baekhyun nervously laughed. It wasn’t a good joke.

“Seriously, though, I value time very much.”

Baekhyun forced a laugh from his nose. But you didn’t state what time.

“But I’m glad you made it. I thought you weren’t gonna make it. You missed dinner, though. Have you eaten?” Baekhyun nodded to Sehun’s question. “You look good, by the way,” Sehun added.

Sehun released Baekhyun from his arm. Baekhyun got to breathe better. A waiter in suit, holding a tray of champagne, stopped in front of them, Sehun took one glass then gave it to Baekhyun.

What am I doing here? I don’t belong here.

Baekhyun was stiff from his position, feeling overly intimidated by everything. Even the waiter who was serving them intimidated him.

His stomach doesn’t feel good.

He looked at the glass on his hand, he’s never drank champagne in his life. But he may need it to gain some courage so he could go through the party.

Baekhyun slightly swirled the narrow glass near his nose, because he doesn’t know how to drink it, then the nice subtle aroma of the liquid that sort of smelled like flowers and fruits entered his nose. He took a sip of it, and it tasted like how it smelled but a little funkier because of the bubbles and the alcohol content. He liked the taste of it, so, he drank it all in one shot, surprising Sehun.

“I know right?” expressed Sehun, with a smug look on his face. “Tasted good, huh?”

“Yeah.” Baekhyun forced a smile after tasting the drink. He may have not drank all types of alcohol in his life, but he knew he needed something stronger.

People gave them short attention as they walked inside the house until they reached the backyard. Baekhyun only assumed that people were turning their heads to them because he was with the host. Or maybe he was wearing such simple clothes. Sehun nodded to whoever he laid his eyes on and made eye contact with. They walked through the house until they reached the huge backyard.

Baekhyun assumed that the party would be loud—the one with DJs and loud music, lots of young people such as themselves, or maybe even younger. But it wasn’t, it was rather quaint. It was a sophisticated party.

High tables scattered around the backyard, occupied by people in suits and dresses, mostly suits. Everyone dressed interestingly, or what he liked to call it—weird fashion. It was the battle of who has the largest earrings and jewelries for women. Men were much more simple, but some wanted to stand out with their colored suits.

Classical music played across the yard.

“Hey, Sehun.” A man walked towards them with a glass of dark golden drink on his hand. “So, are you going to buy it?”

While Sehun was minding his own business, a waiter carrying a bottle of liquor and a couple of small, cube glasses on a tray passed by them, catching Baekhyun’s attention.

That’s what I need.

“Sir, wait,” he called the waiter, in a timid voice. “Two, please.” He coughed, slightly cracking his voice.

The waiter poured the clear liquid to two glasses. Baekhyun then took glasses of alcohol, which seemed like tequila, or something hard. He drank it both in one shot one after another without holding back.

It was tequila. The alcohol went smoothly through Baekhyun’s throat, but he instantly felt the fire ran through his face. “Wow,” he mouthed. He could feel his ears firing up. He never had something like that. He returned the glasses back to the waiter.

“Woah,” said Sehun, he watched Baekhyun took his shots.

Baekhyun gave a half smile. “Just trying to catch up.”

“Haha, you’re funny. By the way,” Sehun turned to the man he was talking to. “Chen, this is the man who saved my life—Baekhyun. But don’t tell my father.”

Both of them laughed, even Baekhyun. Then, the man named Chen shook hands with Baekhyun. “Thank you,” Chen said. “Otherwise, sales would be slow.” It seemed like a joke because Sehun laughed. But Baekhyun didn’t get the joke, he only pretended to laugh.

Chen nodded his head to Sehun then to Baekhyun and walked to another table. The other two went for an empty table.

“That man sell art,” Sehun said as if explaining everything what just happened. “He thinks he’s good, but he’s all right. Good artists aren’t interested in money.”

Baekhyun nodded, pretending he was interested. The taste of the strong liquid he just consumed still lingered on his palate, and could still feel the after effects it had. His mind was still on the shot.

“So, what’s this party all about?” Baekhyun has been meaning to ask.

“Nothing much, really. Catching up, I guess.”

“Rich people,” Baekhyun muttered to himself, hoping Sehun didn’t hear it.

“What?”

Baekhyun immediately shook his head.

“It’s been busy. Everyone’s been out, traveling—be it business or leisure. Guess we finally had the time to catch up,” Sehun added. “Also that’s why I couldn’t contact you immediately.”

“Yeah, you did mention.” Baekhyun slowly nodded, roaming around his eyes to observe the place. Then, one particular person took his attention. “Wait, is that—“

He looked at Sehun for confirmation, and Sehun turned at the direction where Baekhyun had his eyes on.

“Minseok?” Sehun smirked, returning his look back at Baekhyun. “Yeah, it’s been hard for him lately. Media doesn’t understand privacy.”

Baekhyun shouldn’t be that surprised to see someone he saw on the television, Sehun lived in such a luxurious neighborhood. But he wasn’t expecting to see someone like Kim Minseok.

Kim Minseok was the one who Kang Sunmi, a fifteen year-old, filed a divorce with. He’s been in the news a lot lately. Kim Minseok was 34 years old when he married the 13-year-old girl. He’s now 36.

Baekhyun felt repulsed. “What the heck is he doing here?” He couldn’t stand the fact that he was in a same room as the person who married and abused a child. It absolutely appalled him.

Sehun only observed Baekhyun’s reaction. “He’s actually my friend, and heavily misunderstood.”

Without thinking of his actions—and how could he, the tequila hit him strong, it made his head feel a little funny—he expressed a bitter face. “What?! It’s absur—“

Then, Baekhyun noticed the face that Sehun was wearing—he didn’t look happy. It washed away the disgust that was painted on his face. It scared him.

Sehun walked closer to Baekhyun, facing opposite the high table with elbow leaning on it—he was closer to Baekhyun’s ears. Sehun said in a low voice, “You have no idea how easy it is to accuse a 36-year-old pedophile.”

Baekhyun’s couldn’t blink an eye, his face was rigid with tension.

Sehun added, “That girl—Sunmi, and her mom demanded $20 million from Minseok just to not go public about the divorce. Even threatened him that they’ll accuse him of abuse when Minseok never did. He fucking loved that girl.”

Hearing the price baffled Baekhyun’s mind. They talked about money as if they have such large amount always at their disposal. Baekhyun couldn’t speak for a second, trying to process it all.

“Women,” Sehun grumbled.

Baekhyun hesistantly asked, “If that’s true… why isn’t that on the news?”

Sehun slightly scoffed, shaking his head. “You just did the face what the whole society thinks of people like Minseok. It’s pointless. We don’t want fanning the flame, now do we, Baekhyun?”

Baekhyun’s brows furrowed. He’s got a point.

Women can be so cruel. He’s started to feel sympathy towards the accused.

He shook his head upon an absurd realization. No, I shouldn’t feel sympathy. It’s wrong. It’s wrong.

“So, they would let the girl win?” Baekhyun asked seriously.

Sehun stopped, looking into Baekhyun’s eyes. “What the heck is this seriousness all about?” he threw his hand to Baekhyun’s chest. “Let’s enjoy the party!”

They started to roam around the yard, meeting and greeting whoever needed Sehun’s attention. There were so much he didn’t understand, but Baekhyun kept drinking a glass of champagne. The drink was actually working—he could feel the effects of the alcohol to him. He knew he couldn’t walk straight.

Baekhyun was starting to like the party. He never knew that such delicate parties were something he was looking for; he was always used to, and always heard of, the loud ones to be more fun. There was something fancy in these type of parties—well, because it was—and it made him feel a little good and a little high class and up above compared to the people he knew. It was a nice feeling.

“Hey, man!” An obviously drunk guy approached them, he seemed a little younger than them.

Sehun faked a smile, it was already obvious to Baekhyun that Sehun didn’t want to be associated with the guy. “Jaemin.”

The guy, Jaemin, threw a hearty pat at Sehun’s shoulder. He leaned closer to Sehun’s ears. “Hey, w-why didn’t you come to my party?!” He couldn’t even speak his words properly. “You know what? You know what? The plane was amazing,” he emphasized, smiling smugly, as if trying to make Sehun jealous.

Sehun jerked Jaemin’s hand off him, but still kept his grace and said as politely as he could, “I think you’ve had a little more than enough on your booze.”

“No, no!” Jaemin wavered on his place. “You know! You should’ve seen…” An indistinct voice followed after he whispered something to Sehun.

The light in Sehun’s eyes changed.

It made Baekhyun wonder.

Sehun light patted the guy’s chest and said, “Yeah, I think it’s time for you to go home.”

Sehun walked towards Baekhyun, shaking his head. “Nouveau riche,” he mumbled with an accent that Baekhyun couldn’t distinguish.

“Nuvo what?” Baekhyun’s brows creased, trying to pronounce what he just heard.

“New money. It’s French. Let’s go.” They both turned their backs to Jaemin and started walking again. “His parents are scam… brilliant, but a scam.” He added, “They made people believe in social media that their company were donating something like money, trees, or food. But they’re really only keeping their money to themselves, and still gain hundreds of thousands of followers. It’s infuriating. And people are just so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, that sounds infuriating,” said Baekhyun, not really interested. Sehun kept sharing things to him that he never asked about, but he could only nod and agree.

“No, it’s not because of that. But because of his fucking ego. He thinks he’s all high and mighty. His parents bought that fucking plane, not him.”

“Plane? Wow,” Baekhyun reacted, as if it only occurred to him what they talked about. “People can actually buy planes?”

Sehun looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “’Course, you can.”

“How much that costs?”

Sehun scoffed. “Not cheap.”

“E-hey!” A loud voice suddenly distracted the two from walking.

It was a middle-aged, tall woman wearing an African patterned maxi dress. It seemed like a dress robe to Baekhyun—a fancy, fashionable dress robe. Her dangling bracelets made a sound as she opened her arms wide open, waiting for them, waiting for Sehun. Sehun gave a big smile, also seemed excited after seeing her

They both hugged each other out and kissed both of their cheeks with their cheeks. The woman looked at Baekhyun with a mischievous and flirty look. “So, who’s this cute guy you’re with?”

Sehun patted Baekhyun’s shoulder with a tight grip. “This is Byun Baekhyun. A friend.”

Baekhyun smiled at the woman, shy to say anything to the pretty woman.

“Oooh. Hi, Baekhyun.” The woman lightly pulled Baekhyun’s shoulder closer to her to kiss him both on the cheek.

“Baekhyun, this is good friend Maria or Mimi.”

“Mimi,” Baekhyun repeated. He found the nickname weird, Mimi was a foreign name for a local face.

“So.” Sehun grinned, rubbing his hands, and regaining Mimi’s attention back to him.

Mimi seemed like she already understood what Sehun was trying to say. She looked at the guy behind her who was in a simple suit, and the guy behind him understood Mimi. He took something on his inner pockets and gave it to Sehun.

Sehun bit his lips, still grinning, and raised a small clear plastic zip bag with white, tiny pills in it.

It didn’t take long for Baekhyun to figure it out—it was obviously drugs. It didn’t surprise him. If he could guess what it was, it could be ecstasy.

Sehun exhaled in satisfactory through his nose, shaking his head to Mimi. “I love you, Mimi. You’re the best.”

“Of course, anything for you, my dear.” They both hugged each other. “But, I must be going.”

“What? You just got here.”

“I really must be going. The kids,” she shrugged as if she couldn’t do anything that she has kids waiting for her at home. “But it was good seeing you.”

Sehun clicked his tongue. “That’s very sweet of you for stopping by.”

“Of course!” Mimi gracefully waved her hand to both Sehun and Baekhyun as she left the yard followed by her guard or something.

Sehun waited for her to leave from their sight.

“Do you take pills?” He then asked, offering Baekhyun a pill.

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure? This is shit premium. You don’t see this every day.”

Baekhyun stared at the white pill that was resting on Sehun’s palm. He shook his head. “Nah, I really rather not.”

“Okay.” Sehun shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He drank the pill and took a sip of whiskey that he was holding.

Even though Baekhyun was enjoying the party, he was starting to feel impatient why was he ever invited to the party at the first place.

They transferred inside, sitting at a sofa. Some people were still enjoying the party, some people had to go.

“Hey,” called Sehun to Baekhyun. “I’d really appreciate if you don’t tell anybody about what happened. Well, except to the ones we’ve already told here.”

Baekhyun was feeling a little laggy, and feeling a little hot. His face was all greasy, but he didn’t care. “Yeah, ok,” he replied, tipsy. He understood what Sehun was talking about—about him being overdosed.

Sehun clicked his tongue, slightly shaking his head. “My parents’ worse than jail. But damn, I’m glad you didn’t call the fucking ambulance. That’d be even worse than prison!” He paused. “My thanks to you.”

Baekhyun just scoffed.

Oh wait. He forgot to document the party and post it later on social media. He had a sudden urge to take his new phone out and share he’s on a fancy party. Bet I’d impress a lot of people.

So, he recorded a simple 10 second video.

“So, how’s your sex life?”

Baekhyun was surprised by the unexpected transition after he finished recording. The question wasn’t about his life, his job, his financial state, not even his love life, but Sehun asked about his sex life.

“What?” he said with a little giggle, eyes a little droopy. The alcohol was making his muscles a little heavier.

“You heard me.”

Baekhyun scoffed, leaning back to the sofa. He looked at Sehun, feeling ridiculed. Baekhyun felt a sense of insecurity pierced through him. He couldn’t admit that he’s never done it. Kids losing their virginities at 15, and he’s almost 30—still a virgin. It’s an embarrassment, but it was also his choice.

“So?” Sehun was waiting.

Baekhyun laughed through his nose, still couldn’t speak a word. He wanted to lie about it, but for some reason, he didn’t know what to say. “Mm—Uh” He was basically slurring words.

Sehun reclined back with eyes wide open after concluding something on his mind. “No.” He leaned forward, very close to Baekhyun’s face and said in a low voice. “You’ve never done it?”

“No!” Baekhyun denied, moving away from Sehun. “Of course, n-“ Baekhyun’s voice got lower.

“So, when was the last time? Earlier?” Sehun was high, all right. The grin on his face was creeping Baekhyun out.

Baekhyun couldn’t form a word again. He emptied the glass that he was having.

Sehun realized what his friend was hiding but decided to not say anything.

“So, who was the one you’re texting earlier? And why were you all so fucking grinning? Girl or boy?”

Baekhyun cringed. “Of course, she’s a girl. What the hell?”

“What? People appreciate my open mind-ness.” Sehun shrugged with open arms. “How old is she?”

“23.”

“Nice. So, she your girlfr—“

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. Why do you ask so much questions?”

Sehun stayed silent and respected Baekhyun. They both stayed silent for a while, observing the party, Baekhyun drinking another booze.

“What’s this party all about? Again?” Baekhyun asked. He felt calmer and stupid—he realized that he just raised his voice in front of a millionaire.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” asked Sehun, ignoring Baekhyun’s question.

Baekhyun bounced his head as a response. He looked at Sehun. He noticed that there was something different about him, about his eyes. Something clicked. He didn’t know what exactly, but it was intriguing.

“Follow me.” Sehun stood up, buttoning his unbuttoned white suit, and started to walk.

Baekhyun watched him walk, then he later followed.

Maybe this is it, he thought. The reward I’m waiting for.

He kept following Sehun who was walking straight. He realized Sehun only had one drink, and it was the whiskey after he took the pill. He checked the time on his watch. He had to frown hard to see the image on his wobbling wrist clearly.

It’s almost midnight.

To be continued...

A/N: Send notes. Follow me on twitter for updates @/jaeandbats

Previous chapter / Next chapter

Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (NEW!)

32 notes · View notes

writemarvelousthings · 5 years

Text

Motivate

PAIRING - Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT- 2.7K

WARNINGS- Swearing, Smut, (do not read if you are under 18) mentions of human trafficking.

AN - Ya girl is back with another fic inspired by a Little Mix song, at this rate I’m going to be writing fics based on songs from the whole album. This pure sin fic was inspired by Motivate which I highly recommend you listen to HERE! Enjoy everyone! Also a big big thank you to @bucky-plums-barnes for legitimately keeping me motivated to write this fic. The irony is not lost on me haha!

GIF not mine

“Sweet baby Jesus, can he not?” You grumbled under your breath as you came up from what felt like your one hundredth sit up. Wanda let out a snort of amusement as she followed your eye line. James Buchanan Barnes was making it his mission to ruin and torture your life. That you were sure of. Strutting into the gym in an obviously too tight black shirt and low hanging grey shorts he looked like sin personified. And you were ready to throw all your morals out of the window.

“He’s just walking” Wanda reasoned as she held your feet, your muscles burned as you reluctantly did another rep.

“Yeah, well can he not be so distracting when he does” Wanda rolled her eyes, signalling that your push-ups were over.

“Looking good Ladies” Bucky flashed you that one thousand watt smile as he picked up the heaviest dumbbells like it weighed nothing, your mind raced of what it would feel being held in his arms.

“You’re staring again” Wanda pointed out as you slowly stood, stretching your arms above your head as you went. You pointedly ignore her as you crossed the gym, grasping for your water bottle your movements were stopped by the sound of your name followed by Buckys. Turning you saw Steve at the doorway, his eyebrows pinched slightly.

“Debriefing room five minutes, something just came through about Mendoza” Your eyes flicked to Bucky, he looked thunderous. Sergio Mendoza was a known human trafficker and a case Bucky had been trailing ever since he had arrived from Wakanda. This should be fun.

“There’s been a lead, apparently Mendoza is going to be hosting a very grand and expensive gathering, at the Met” Steve pulled up the relevant files, you felt your skin prickle at the thought of this bastard out there flaunting how he got his wealth and position in the world.

“How do you want us to play this?” Bucky’s voice was low, his black and gold arm reflecting the light almost distracting you from the mission ahead of you. Almost.

“We want you two to pose as a new money couple from Europe. Tony’s got all the equipment ready for you to use. We just need evidence that Mendoza is the leader of the trafficking ring and then we can pull him in. He likes to collect buyers as well” Steve’s face was grim as you made a noise of disgust.

“Anyone who attends this fucking shit show deserves to rot in hell” You threw the file down on the table in disgust, Bucky’s eyes flick to you in murderous agreement.

“Both of you suit up, the town car leaves at eighteen hundred sharp”

“Now you remember the basics?” Natasha handed you your earpiece, smoothing a flyaway hair from the perfect curls she had created on your head.

“Act with cool indifference, make small talk. Press for information when appropriate, I know Nat. This ain't my first rodeo” You smirk as Nat rolls her eyes.

“Alright smart ass, now turn. Let me get one last look at you” rolling your eyes you spin as elegantly as you can in the red-soled Louis Vuitton’s. The maroon silk skirt of the dress flared out around your legs. The high slit up your right leg paired with the black bodice of the dress left little to the imagination.

“You look stunning” The deep baritone voice definitely didn't belong to Natasha, turning around you gulp at the sight of Bucky, the fucker was in an all black suit. A red pocket square the only source of colour on his body. His long hair was half pulled back, leaving the ends grazing against the top of his shoulders. Swallowing was suddenly a very difficult bodily function to do.

“You’re not breathing” Natasha smoky voice was in your ear and you let our a rush of air you hadn't realised you were holding.

“You scrub up well Barnes” Nat grinned at Bucky who rolled his eyes pointedly ignoring the redhead’s knowing look between the two of you.

“Let’s go doll” the innocent nickname had your stomach doing backflips, taking his flesh arm that was offered to you, you let him lead you to the sleek black town car.

The smell of rich leather and the deep woodsy scent of Bucky’s cologne made your head spinning, you knee bounces on the spot out of habit as you watched the scenery fly by you. The sound of your voice causes your head to turn and suddenly you found yourself drowning in blue-grey eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just hope we can get this fucker” Bucky nods, his eyes flicking down your body. There was a dark look that passed over his face as his lips up turned into a small smirk.

“You really do look stunning sugar, it’s going to be hard to concentrate” feeling a sudden rush of confidence you lean in slightly. You and Bucky had always played this game, toying and flirting shamelessly. But never acting on it, always skirting around the thick sexual tension that followed the two of you around.

“You look very handsome, I think I’ll have my hands full keeping any bored rich housewife away from you” you purred, batting your eyelashes. You felt a shiver of pride as a low rumble emitted from the man in front of you.

“I’d like to see any of them try and get past you, I’m glad to see I motivate you this much doll. Makes a man’s mind race” You feel the momentum of the car slow slightly, flitting your fingers across his thigh you pull you red painted lips across your teeth in a sly grin.

“You motivate me in a lot of way James, maybe I’ll show you later” pulling away from him you swear you hear a soft wine mixed with a groan as Bucky shakes his head looking at you with predatory amusement.

“Oh doll, you’ve got no idea what you’ve got yourself in for” Throwing open the door, Bucky slides out with enviable grace. You sit back for a moment, chest heaving as your mind races at the possibilities before an extended hand appears before you and you slip on the mask you had trained most of your life to perfect. First, you had a job to do.

The loud crash of the room practically swinging off its hinges barely registers in your mind, all you can focus on are the large warm and cool hands roaming every inch of your body they can find. Every touch and kiss you matched with equal enthusiasm, James Barnes defiantly had you hooked. All he had to do was look at you once you had stepped out of the car and you caved.

“Do you know how difficult you made tonight for me?” The low growl almost made your knees buckle, combined with Bucky pressing his body against your effectively pinning you to the wall you were sure you’d have melted into the floor. The motion brought back something from your subconscious that made your heart pound.

“Entering the building now” you murmured knowing Steve and Natasha could hear you observation, gripping Bucky’s arm as he leads you up the steps to the Met. The room was grand and slightly overdone for your tastes but you had bigger issues to worry about.

“Any sign of him?” you direct your question to the brunette who shakes his head.

“Not yet, but I’m sure he’ll appear soon enough” nodding you allow Bucky to lead you around the crowd. You were too busy scanning the area as Bucky suddenly pulled you off to the side, his body pressing up against yours as his head dipped down to your neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hiss into his ear, your hands gripping the lapels of his jacket ready to fling him off you.

“Target at three o’clock” turning your head you find yourself looking directly into the eyes of the target who looks you up and down and smiles.

“Didn’t realise I had that effect on you James” leaving hot open mouth kisses to his neck you were rewarded with the roll of his hips against your thigh. Bucky’s hands found yours holding them up above your head as he pressed his lips against yours. The slight scratch of his stubble only added to the delicious danger of the whole situation.

“Making that scum rat of a human drool all over you, putting his hands on what's mine”

“What’s yours?” you choked on your own words as Bucky kicked your legs out with his foot, his body impossibly close to you it felt like you were one person. His hot breath fanned over your face, it smelt like whiskey and something that could only be described as Bucky only made you ache for more.

“That’s right darlin, mine. You’re mine” If you had known how hot it was to see Bucky so riled up you would have asked Steve to pair you on more undercover missions sooner.

You let out a fake bark of laughter as you sat at the bar, the target hanging off your every word. It was almost too easy to lure him in, desperate and rich. It almost made you gag thinking about what this man was doing behind closed doors. Before you could think too much about punching the man’s teeth in a large hand on the small of your waist made you refocus.

“Who’s your new friend Darlin?” the nickname made your stomach flip for the second time tonight, leaning back into his touch you smile at him. Watching as Bucky ordered a scotch you leaned up to kiss his jaw. You didn't miss the dark look that passed over his eyes as he smirked down at you.

“This is our lovely host for the evening baby, this is my fiance” you the two men who shook hands smiling politely at each other. It was way too easy.

“Bucky” you didn’t realise how desperate you were for him until you heard the needy pitch in your voice.

“Yeah sugar?”

“Fuck me… please” the dark wicked grin that bloomed across Bucky’s features sent shivers of pleasure down to your spine to your aching core. You didn’t wait for his answer before you lunged for him, you knew he could overpower you in a second but he let your momentum move you from the wall stumbling into the middle of the room. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands palmed your ass causing you to moan hot and heavily into his mouth, fingers ripped at fabric in desperate need to feel his skin against yours. To somehow feel closer than humanly possible. Cool air flowed suddenly around you as your world titled as Bucky lay you out on the bed, clad only in your bra and panties the look on Bucky's face as his eyes roamed your body was animalistic.

“So fuckin beautiful” in one fluid moment that you barely had time to register he threw your panties far across the room leaving you open. Your whole body felt like an exposed nerve, the anticipation building in your chest as you gazed up at Bucky. He inched closer and closer to your core, blowing hot air across your skin you jerked upwards. A giggle pearling from your lips as you whined out his name. He hushed you gently as he settled down between your legs.

“Let me see what other pretty noises I can motivate from those lips” the sharp witty comment that sprung to your mind as a comeback died on your tongue as Bucky flicked his across your clit. You moaned and writhed under his ministrations, large hands held your hips keeping you in place as your right hand held his locks in a vice grip. Not that Bucky was planning on leaving his current position, sucking your clit into his mouth he moaned around the sensitive bud. The motion caused you to cry out, arching your back as you felt the pleasure shoot right to the base of your spine.

“Holy shit... Buck... James..” you tried to warn him of what was about to happen but like he has a sixth sense to the female orgasm he only increased his movements. Moaning and licking like a man starved, diving right into the ocean with no regrets. Colour burst behind your eyelids as you felt your soul explode into a million fragments before being pieced back together by the sound of Bucky’s moan as he lapped up all you had to offer him.

“Mmm, now that..might be my favourite sight in the world” Bucky growled as he crawled back up your blushing body, pulling down one of your bra straps to kiss the soft skin of your shoulder.

“How about we see what else you can do sugar?” you laughed, glancing at the clock.

“It’s already two am, Steve will want us at the debriefing early tomorrow”

“Baby, we’ve just begun” You bite your lip as Bucky lines himself up at your entrance, the coolness of his metal hand on your sternum grounds you as you feel the air leave your lungs. The feel of Bucky pushing inside you was something you were never going to forget in a hurry, he was thick and pushed you to your limits. The slight burning made you whine gasping for breath as Bucky kissed you sweetly swallowing your moans.

“I got ya darlin, I got ya” the thick Brooklyn accent was in full swing causing your pleasure-fogged brain to beg for more.

“Move… please... James. I need more” your fingers clawed at his back, desperate to get any purchase, your pleas were met as Bucky finally moved. Long slow thrusts had you mewling, your fingers roamed up to his chestnut locks. Holding firmly you tug his head back exposing his neck as you latch your lips to his salty skin, your ministrations we’re rewarded with a low growl and a snap of his hips punching the air out of you.

“So. Fucking. Tight” Bucky grunts with every thrust, the force causes you to move up the bed taking one had out of his hair to grip the headboard steadying yourself. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the feeling of Bucky thrusting hitting your g-spot repeatedly makes your toes curl up in anticipation.

“Bucky… ‘m close” was all you could manage as a warning, closing your eyes you feel Bucky's hand cup your cheek tilting your head down slightly.

“Look at me” his voice was low and left no room for disobedience, your eyes snapped open. You could feel your body hanging just on the edge, desperate for one last push.

“Cum” and there it was, with a loud wail you cum, back arching up into Bucky’s chest you momentarily forget to breathe. Your second orgasm of the night sets off Buckys, with a roar and three final thrusts he spills into you, his hips roll against yours lazily as he drops his head to your shoulder kissing any inch of skin he can reach. You weren’t sure how long you lay like that, your fingers gently caressing every inch of Bucky’s back. Committing every dip and curve to memory, eventually, Bucky slipped out of you causing both of you groaning at the loss of each other. Rolling onto his back Bucky grinned up at the ceiling reaching out to pull you flush against his side. You rest your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. You never did notice the specks of grey in his beard.

“You’re really pretty” your word vomit causes Bucky to laugh richly, kissing your temple as he rubs your lower back with his vibranium hand.

“Nah I’m not doll, you’re the pretty one” smiling into his shoulder you press a kiss to the scar tissue around the metal appendage. Your eyes rake over his features, faint scars litter his face but to you, it was like he was carved from Greek marble. Perfect in every way. You were definitely catching feelings for James Buchanan Barnes and it made your heart sing.

“Hey Buck?” the faint sound of Bucky humming in response made you smile as your hand splayed over his lower stomach.

“Do you think we could do that again?” Bucky cracks an eye open looking down at you.

“Babydoll, if you think I’m letting you do that with anyone else your mistaken”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep you motivated then”

The way that he touch me, no, I can't get enough He keeping me up all night long He motivate me, yeah, that's my baby He really hit me with my body talk

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #winter soldier #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #my writing #writemarvelousthings

987 notes · View notes

rufeepeach · 5 years

Text

Fic: i had a night (i had a day)

Title: i had a night (i had a day) Rating: T Fandom: Good Omens Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley Summary: After the world is saved, and Heaven and Hell sent back to their respective corners, Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to settle into a new kind of coexistence - a much more shared existence, without those barriers (spiritual, emotional, and professional) keeping them apart. Unfortunately, this requires a conversation neither of them really knows how to have.

Or: in which it takes all of two (2) bottles of wine to make Aziraphale both theological and emotional.

On AO3

“You know, at the end of it all, I came to a rather startling conclusion.”

Crowley’s head rolls to one side, and one eyebrow arches over his sunglasses. Aziraphale wishes he would take those off while indoors; it always seems like one more barrier to understanding between them, an unnecessary wall in place.

After another rather lovely dinner at a relatively new and very charming French restaurant near Covent Garden, it had felt natural to return to Aziraphale’s flat above the restored bookshop for a nightcap. Such has been the way of things for a few weeks now, ever since Armageddon was averted and their relative head offices apparently retreated. Aziraphale had been fortunate to see Crowley once or twice a month, before: now, it is a daily occurrence. It feels natural; no one has felt the need to comment.

Crowley sprawls on the sofa and Aziraphale takes his comfy chair by the fire, and the coffee table between them fills with bottles of wine, mugs of hot cocoa, snifters of brandy, whatever takes their fancy tonight.

And yet, despite their being practically joined at the hip these days, unwilling or perhaps unable to let go after their brush with the unspeakable loss of one another, those damned sunglasses remain even in this warm, dark, private place. Aziraphale has no idea why: he’s very familiar with Crowley’s snake eyes, has been since the literal dawn of creation, and he’s always found them rather lovely, all things considered.

Crowley lowers the wine bottle from his lips, and swallows an ungodly gulp.

“Oh?” Crowley says. “And what have you concluded?”

“I still have faith,” Aziraphale can feel the smile that bursts across his face, the stupid happiness that accompanies the declaration: hopeful, wonderful.

Crowley frowns, not getting it. Aziraphale can sense the doubt as it slithers into Crowley, that endless worry that he hopes someday – perhaps in another thousand years or so – he can eradicate entirely. “In… in what? Heaven? They tried to burn you alive, angel, I’m not sure they’ll take your call.”

“Oh, no, no no, of course not!” Aziraphale waves a hand, brushing the ridiculous notion aside and with it the entire concept of Heaven: Gabriel, Michael, Head Office, the whole shebang. “Heaven can hang!”

“Quite right too!” Crowley salutes with his wine bottle, and goes back to swigging directly from it, uncouth fiend that he is. He does it just to wind Aziraphale up, and Aziraphale refuses to rise to the bait.

“But… but in something above Heaven,” Aziraphale continues, cautiously, gauging Crowley’s reaction. He imagines his eyes narrowing, although all he has to go by are lowered eyebrows and a furrowed brow. “In… In Her.”

“Right,” Crowley hums, noncommittal. “You’re gonna have to explain that one to me, angel. I’m not seeing the difference.”

“You something, back in Tadfield, while we were waiting for the bus,” Aziraphale says. “It’s been rattling about in my mind ever since.”

“If you’re talking about the invite back to my place, that was a shameless ploy to get you to clean up the holy water and what was left of Ligur,” Crowley says.

It’s a lie – Crowley had been as surprised as anyone to rediscover the remains of his former colleague on the floor of his flat, the night the world didn’t end. What it had been, Aziraphale was sure, was an unsubtle way to say ‘please don’t leave me alone’, a sentiment Aziraphale more than shared. He never intended to leave Crowley alone ever again, if he could help it. He’d had more than enough of that for one eternal lifetime.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m talking about something else. You suggested that everything, our prevention of Armageddon included, was perhaps part of the Ineffable Plan.”

“I was just chatting bollocks, angel,” Crowley sighs, and oh Aziraphale does not enjoy the bitter edge to his tone, however familiar it is. There’s such sweetness and warmth in Crowley, and the bitterness is so firmly turned inward, that it breaks Aziraphale’s heart.

“No, I don’t think you were,” Aziraphale shakes his head. “In fact, I said something very similar at the air base, and I think we were both right.”

“What’s that then?”

“That the Grand Plan and the Ineffable Plan are in fact two separate plans!”

“Right.”

“Oh don’t give me that look!” Aziraphale scolds, a little wounded by Crowley’s ignorance, or his scepticism, or whatever it is that is making him look at Aziraphale like that. “Think about it, about everything that had to happen for us to still be here! Not only did you have to be chosen to deliver the Antichrist, but you had to show up right when the Youngs were already at the convent, and you had to be reluctant enough to want to get out of there as fast as possible, and you had to just happen to run into the most incompetent nun in the whole building!”

“I was chosen because I’d spent thousands of years taking credit for everything evil under the sun,” Crowley corrects, slurring a little. “It was my reward for… for everything.”

Aziraphale takes another sip from his wine glass. If anyone deserves a proverbial olive branch from faith itself, it’s Crowley. Crowley who had had doubts from the very beginning; Crowley who had been asking questions before mankind was a twinkle in the Almighty’s divine eye; Crowley who had reluctantly Fallen and still fought harder than anyone to save the world and everyone and everything in it.

“Alright, but suppose you had arrived at the convent and any other nun had greeted you,” Aziraphale insists. “The baby would have been successfully placed with the Ambassador, and named Warlock, and we would have been-“

“Ham-fistedly shoving contradictory moral lessons down the right boy’s throat for eleven years?” Crowley finishes for him.

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale fiddles a little in his lap at that accurate but certainly unflattering portrait of their valiant efforts. “Quite.”

“So you still have faith in the Almighty because of what? Lucky incompetence?”

“Very lucky incompetence,” Aziraphale corrects. “Remarkably lucky, in fact: lucky that the Youngs are good and kind people from a good and kind place; lucky that Adam grew up with strong-willed and happy playmates; lucky that the last witch burned in England wrote down her prophecies, and that her descendants maintained the only book in existence, and that her ultimate great-granddaughter was in exactly the right place at exactly the right time to collide with your Bentley, and that she left that one book in the backseat, and that I happened to find it.”

“That… is a lot of luck, yeah,” Crowley concedes.

He rolls his head back, his long limbs splayed, wine bottle all but dripping from his slender fingers. Aziraphale allows just a moment of pause – allows, because he could not prevent it, because he cannot help it, he can never help it – to admire him in all his louche, careworn beauty. He allows himself to marvel that somehow, against all the odds, Crowley is here with him after the end of the world. In this rare unguarded moment, sprawled on his sofa as if nothing had happened, Aziraphale thinks Crowley might be more beautiful even than Mozart, or sushi, or a perfect 1922 Châteauneuf-du-Pape: certainly worth preserving the world for. The thought of eternity without Crowley doesn’t bear contemplation.

He swallows that thought down with another sip of his wine. Of course Crowley is beautiful – he is the original temptation, it would hardly work if he weren’t easy on the eye. Aziraphale isn’t sure that was really the point of that stray thought, however. He’s never been sure that beauty begins and ends with physicality.

“It’s not luck,” Aziraphale presses, instead of voicing a word of what passed through his half-drunk mind. Not luck, because to think that their being here now, safe and happy and together, is the product of a string of random fortune is too terrifying to dwell on. “It’s the Plan.”

“Oh don’t start,” Crowley moans. “This the Great Plan or the Ineffable Plan?”

“The Ineffable Plan,” Aziraphale clarifies.

“But you spoke to the Metatron, didn’t you?” Crowley frowns, looking at Aziraphale, confused. “I thought he said that She wanted the war to go ahead.”

“Yes, I’ve given that some thought,” Aziraphale replies. “And I’ve come to the conclusion that in order for the Ineffable Plan to succeed, I had to be convinced we were on our own.”

“Right, assuming the Ineffable Plan wasn’t just to end the world, like everyone including Satan himself and the Archangel-fucking-Gabriel assumed,” Crowley nods, sarcasm rolling off him. Aziraphale rolls his eyes. Crowley is always at his most dismissive and biting when he feels threatened.

“Right, assumed,” Aziraphale presses. “An assumption is not necessarily correct.”

“So you think the Metatron lied to you?”

The question is sharper, and carries with it the weight of a heavier question, a broader question, the question of why when Crowley was at his most lonely, vulnerable, and frightened, Aziraphale was seeking guidance from his higher-ups rather than fighting beside his best friend. Why, when given the chance to choose a side, Aziraphale had not immediately chosen him.

“I think the Metatron… gave an inaccurate impression of the Almighty’s true purpose,” Aziraphale says, carefully. “I believe so, anyway.”

“Believe,” Crowley nods. “This where the faith comes in, yeah?”

Aziraphale swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, the wine not necessarily helping but welcome nonetheless. This new body is identical to his old form, and yet… and yet. Not. Not quite. More human, perhaps, maybe just because it’s younger, it has a tendency to race its heart and dry its throat, to adrenaline spikes, to panic, to physical response. It’s hard work. He’s still working out the kinks.

There’s a long silence. Crowley sinks deeper into Aziraphale’s couch. Aziraphale clenches his hands in his lap, both wishing he had chosen the seat beside Crowley – the distance between them suddenly looms, a cavern as broad as the gap between Heaven and Hell – and thankful for the relative safety of his armchair. The look on Crowley’s face is unreadable, and yet Aziraphale can read him, and he knows it isn’t good.

The silence stretches. Aziraphale’s oh-so-young heart starts to beat. He wishes he were one to pace. He wishes someone, anyone, would say anything.

“Why’d you do it?” Crowley asks, at last, the question Aziraphale is certain he’s been burning to ask for weeks now, the proverbial elephant in the room.

“Do what?” Aziraphale’s cowardice, as always, gets the better of him. He won’t answer the question until it is asked, in case he’s gotten it wrong, in case he ends up saying more than he has to.

“You know what,” Crowley sighs. “C’mon, angel.”

“No I do not know what!” Aziraphale lies, panicked, maybe he’s lying, he hopes he’s not lying. He doesn’t know, technically, but he can make an educated guess.

“Why’d you walk away?” Crowley demands. His posture hasn’t changed, lithe body still spread out across the couch, easy as you like, but his tone is serious and a touch angry and a touch more hurt, although Aziraphale is sure that last part Crowley hopes he’s hiding. It hurts him, nonetheless, pokes at that shameful bruise under his ribs, the knowledge that in six thousand years he’s never made a worse mistake. “In the park, at the bandstand, you knew I was right and you ended up agreeing with me anyway so why’d you suddenly run away?”

Aziraphale sighs. He’d been right. He had known what Crowley meant.

The unspoken fact of their togetherness, the fact they’re barely apart for more than a day at a time, the lunches and dinners and walks together, has all come at the price of Aziraphale’s shame that he didn’t get here sooner.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley has been waiting for decades, centuries, longer, for them to be on the same side, their own side. And yet, it took until the literal eleventh hour for Aziraphale to finally join him there.

“I… I was lost,” he says, at last. Crowley hums softly, but doesn’t comment. Aziraphale looks down, at his hands, fiddles, shuffles, cannot meet the gaze that pierces from behind Crowley’s sunglasses. “My faith was… shaken. Not in Heaven, I… I mean I knew what they were, who they were, I think I’d always known. They wanted their war and they would have it. But I had hoped… I mean, I believed they were misguided. I thought if I could make the Almighty understand that it was more complicated, that there were… shades of grey. That maybe then…” He trails off, stops, thinks, recalibrates. He knows what he needs to say. It’s the reason he started this conversation, if he’s honest with himself.

He cannot form the words. They die in his throat, too heavy for such a delicate balance.

“Maybe then what? They’d all become pacifists overnight?” Crowley’s trying for biting, but he doesn’t succeed, it just comes out with that soft, sad sympathy Aziraphale has always adored in him. The tone of one who could see the lie all along, and yet is saddened by another’s disillusionment. For a demon, Crowley has a notable, admirable lack of schadenfreude.

Aziraphale doesn’t doubt that there was a time, before the Fall, when Crowley had been as Aziraphale is now. Crowley had just learned to question sooner, lost his innocence sooner, thought for himself quicker. He’d gotten there faster, like he always did, and it had taken over six millennia for Aziraphale to begin to catch up.

“That maybe then it would all be alright,” Aziraphale murmured, ashamed of his own naiveté, embarrassed at such a childish thought. “I thought She might… understand. And then there would be no need for sides, or for the war, and the world could spin on.”

“That would have been lovely,” Crowley agrees. “Shame She’s as bloodthirsty as the rest of them.”

“But that’s exactly my point!” Aziraphale exclaims. “Had I… had I agreed with you, we would have left together, yes? Leaving the world to rot. Or perhaps we would have stayed to fight, but that fight would have involved killing Adam, which we may or may not have been able to do, and had we done it would not have allowed the world to be restored after Armageddon was averted, and had we failed he would never have trusted us.”

“We almost did that anyway,” Crowley notes, his voice bitter as ash. They are in agreement there: the memory of the split second staring down the barrel of that oversized gun, of Adam’s curly head in his sights, of pulling the trigger… well, it doesn’t bear remembering, really.

“But we didn’t! We failed again!” Aziraphale’s smile is back; he slaps his thigh for emphasis. “Because the portal stayed open, so Sergeant Shadwell turned up uninvited, so I was discorporated, so I had to take that witch’s body, and so she stopped me. If I had been in my own body… well…”

He trails off again. His too-young stomach flips at the thought of what he might have, what he almost, what he intended to do. To a child. An innocent. A human boy who had already chosen to save the world rather than end and rule it.

“Well,” Crowley agrees, his voice heavy. “For the record, I wasn’t happy about it either.”

“You made a good argument,” Aziraphale weakly tries to comfort them both. “You know, the world versus one child.”

“Yeah but that was when it was Warlock, and he was such an arsehole,” Crowley waves a hand, as if it matters at all who the child was. “And it was never about the world, anyway,” Crowley continues. “I mean not entirely. Not really.”

“Oh?” It is Aziraphale’s turn to frown, perplexed.

Crowley’s head is rolled back, eyes back on the ceiling, casual and relaxed and oh-so-cool when in fact the universe rests on his words. “Decision came down to your life or his,” he shrugs. “Didn’t even have to think about it.”

Aziraphale swallows. His heart, treacherous newborn organ that it is, starts to pound. “Oh.”

It warrants an answer. He knows that. He’s always known that. How many times have they been here, Crowley reaching out, opening up, seeking reciprocity, Aziraphale reaching back only to falter and retreat and withdraw, cowardice masked as righteousness, hiding behind sides, behind us-and-them, behind orders? How many times has he failed, and yet Crowley continues to try, nonetheless, hopeful to the last.

He can’t find the words, and the silence stretches, and Crowley gets restless, he knows this dance as well as Aziraphale and is too weary to expect the answer he deserves.

“More wine, angel?” he asks, casual and cool, as he stands to fetch a bottle he could have easily summoned from the sofa, and paces across the room to find a corkscrew he certainly doesn’t need.

“I put my faith in all the wrong places,” Aziraphale blurts, forcing himself through this, gritting his teeth through the panic crawling up his spine, although every instinct screams to be quiet, to pull back, to run, to shut this down now before it can go any further.

It’s easier now that Crowley is facing away, and he wonders if that was Crowley’s intention, or whether this displacement activity is entirely for the demon’s own benefit. He continues: “Although I believe my doubt was part of Her Ineffable Plan… that doesn’t mean I was right. It means my wrongness was essential, but that’s altogether different. Many things were, are, will continue to be essential to the Plan, but that doesn’t make all of them right.”

Crowley is silent, fiddling with the wine, his shoulders tense, eyes down. Aziraphale wishes now that they were sat side-by-side, that this distance could be closed, but he is rooted to his seat and he cannot muster the strength to move. Everything he has is going into pushing these essential words out of his resistant mouth. His small living room has never felt so vast.

“What I mean to say is that… well, all along I shouldn’t have cared for Heaven, or Gabriel, or even the Almighty, Ineffable Plan or no. From the start, well, I should have put my faith in… you.”

Crowley stills. He does not respond.

“C-Crowley?”

Silence. Aching, awful, silence.

“Oh Crowley do say something!” Aziraphale cannot handle this quiet, not now, not from Crowley. They’ve always, always been able to talk to one another, and just as he needs Crowley’s effortless ability to fill any silence, with his probing questions and his sharp remarks and his intellect, he goes silent! “You were right, alright? We ought to have been our own side, and whether or not I was capable of accepting when you offered you were owed… well, better, anyway, than what I gave you. I betrayed you and I’m so very, deeply, terribly sorry.”

“You said you didn’t like me,” Crowley reminds him, finally turning to face him, and the shame hits like a punch to the stomach.

Aziraphale rises to his feet, on instinct, unnecessary, and meets Crowley at the end of the coffee table. He takes his wine, letting Crowley put the bottle on the coffee table, fiddling, fussing, not wanting to sit, not wanting the distance back, not wanting to commit to sitting together as if that isn’t what this whole conversation, at its heart, is about.

“I… I was scared,” Aziraphale admits, in for a penny in for a pound, true honesty not being something one can provide in moderation then retreat. Heaven has shown its cards. There is no more risk to openness, no more excuse to pull away.

“Understandable,” Crowley nods, and Aziraphale wishes he weren’t wearing those bloody sunglasses, because if he’s going to spill his heart out then for God’s sake he will at least see Crowley’s eyes while he does it! “The punishment was hellfire, after all. I was there.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t scared of that,” Aziraphale admits. Then, helplessly, scolds: “Oh do take off your glasses, Crowley!”

He’s certain Crowley rolled his snake eyes, if that were possible, but he cannot see them until a moment later, when the glasses are in Crowley’s pocket and his full face is revealed. “Better, angel?”

“Much,” Aziraphale sighs, happy, delighted, smiling, God, it’s ridiculous how Crowley’s proximity can bring a smile to his face even in such a difficult, tense moment. He’s grateful for the slight crack in the tension, too, for a moment to breathe.

“You’re braver than I am, then,” Crowley murmurs, returning to their previous topic. “I’ve been terrified of what Hell might do if they caught on for centuries.”

“I mean, I was scared of the hellfire,” Aziraphale corrects himself. “But… not only that.”

“Gabriel’s withering stare?” Crowley suggests, lightly. “A promotion back to head office, away from your books and your sushi? Being forced onto harp duty for a few centuries?”

Aziraphale fights the smile threatening to spread across his face. “Oh do be serious,” he mutters instead. “I was scared that… that you were right. And of what it would mean that you were right.”

“I was right,” Crowley reminds him. “And the world did not, in fact, end, which proves I was right.”

He hasn’t returned to his seat. They’re standing a little awkwardly, just a little too close, wine glasses held between them.

“Yes, but you had been right for some time,” Aziraphale replies. “Since at least the fifteen-hundreds, possibly since the Garden. We had been our own side since well before the Antichrist’s birth, I was just… well, I had always been too scared to admit it.”

Crowley thinks about that. Aziraphale watches the emotion play over his expressive face, his lips pursing then relaxing, thoughtfulness, confusion, a little sadness, a little anger, his head bowed, his snake-eyes unreadable.

Aziraphale nearly jumps out of his skin when something touches his free hand: Crowley’s fingers, tangling with his. They’ve never held hands like this before: never in private, never in the warm semi-dark of his lamp-lit sitting room, never without a good reason.

“Angel, I-“

“And that has always been terrifying, because…” he rushes on, his eyes on their hands and his lips loosened by the rush of warmth through his whole body at the contact, so much more potent than mere alcohol. “Well, because if that were true, that you were integral to me, then I’d have to admit to being scared of losing you. Much safer to stay loyal to Heaven, and pretend you gave a damn about Hell, and forget the whole idea.”

A breath, a pause, he could stop here, he could leave it here, this is enough, this is all Crowley needs to hear, but now the fight is to keep his mouth shut and stem the tide and he fails and: “Much easier to pretend I didn’t… love you.”

The silence now is deep, tense, but comfortable, like a heavy blanket, like the glow of a hearth, like love, but not celestial love, no, material love, personal love, love that grows in the warmth and the dark where nobody’s looking, that belongs only to those who feel it, that is possessive and generous and earthly, neither blessed nor damned. Aziraphale doesn’t need to breathe, and yet he finds his lungs constrict anyway, as he waits for Crowley to say anything, anything at all.

“Oh, angel,” Crowley murmurs. That’s all he says, just that, and yet it’s everything. It’s like the first time, like on the garden wall, a release from doubt, a benediction from an unlikely corner, relief pouring through him. Then, like a snake in the Garden of Eden, doubt, sadness, loss: “That’s what angels do, isn’t it? Love everything. Trust you to take it too far.”

“What?” Aziraphale blinks, confused, trying to work out where in the name of the Almighty Crowley has gotten the message confused. “No, no, I don’t mean in an angelic way. I mean like…” he can’t get his thoughts straight, all jumbled, and Crowley is so close and their hands are still all tangled up and blast it, Crowley has been literally inside his body, and he’s so clever, so why is he choosing this moment out of six thousand years of moments to be so stupid? “Oh bugger this."

Aziraphale surges, half-falls, forward, and kisses him, full on the mouth. It takes his too-new brain a moment to catch up with what he is doing, and why, and how, and that he is kissing Crowley, that Crowley has leaned instinctively toward him and is kissing him back. Then there are some rather ostentatious fireworks exploding behind his eyes, and a rich, syrupy warmth floods through Aziraphale at the sensation of Crowley’s soft, cool lips moving gently, lovingly against his, and that young heart of his pounds in his chest.

It’s a brief kiss, startled, inexperienced, chaste, over in a moment after what Aziraphale was coming to realise had been six thousand years of build-up. It is utterly remarkable.

He pulls back, and has the pleasure of watching Crowley’s eyes flicker open, dazed, confused.

“Like that!” Aziraphale says, decisively, triumphantly, his point proven. “There, I don’t kiss everything like-mmph!”

He is cut off by Crowley slamming his mouth back against his, his eyes slamming closed a second too late, another kiss, deeper this time, overwhelming, Crowley’s lips caressing his, passionate. Two hands at his neck, one creeping into his hair, holding him closer, holding him still, and it is all Aziraphale can do to angle his head slightly and follow Crowley’s lead and let himself be kissed. If the first one had been fireworks, then this one is a forest fire, and he is happily, willingly consumed by it.

He lifts one hand to Crowley’s cheek, and just holds it there, gentle, his thumb stroking the sharp cheekbone. Crowley makes the most beautiful, intoxicating little noise in the back of his throat, and opens his mouth, and suddenly his soft tongue is stroking Aziraphale’s and he can’t help but gasp, the sensation at once wonderful and unbearable.

He pulls back a moment later, his head reeling. “You were saying, Aziraphale?”

Crowley says his name so rarely, only when his mask slips in times of great seriousness, and it’s a shame because it sounds inexplicably delicious in that low rumble of his. Aziraphale gathers his bearings as quickly as he can. “I was saying that I’ve never been all that good at that impersonal all-encompassing divine love, and what I feel for you… well, it’s always been really rather personal with us, hasn’t it?”

“Just a little, yeah,” Crowley murmurs. He's smiling; Aziraphale's heart stammers. “C’mere, angel.” His lips cover Aziraphale’s once more, and all thought is smothered in static, and belonging, and love, so powerful he’s amazed he hasn’t sensed it before.

He can’t get the thought out of his mind: the love rolling from Crowley in crashing, deafening waves, why had he never sensed it before? How could he possibly have been so blind to this? Now it’s smothering his senses, drowning out everything except for Crowley and I love you and finally!

They kiss for long moments, Crowley’s lips caressing and plucking at his, Crowley’s tongue licking and teasing at his, with far more skill than Aziraphale’s enthusiastic, unpractised fumbling can manage. He’s thankful Crowley seems to know what he’s doing, because Aziraphale’s hands have started to tremble, and it’s taking all his divine willpower to prevent his knees from buckling under him.

Crowley finally pulls away – well, he disengages his beautiful mouth from its even-more-beautiful activities to speak, but nothing else about his action could be described as ‘pulling away’, given that his hands remain firmly on Aziraphale’s neck, and not a sliver of daylight could have found its way between their bodies. But Crowley’s lips do pull back, and it gives Aziraphale just a moment of vague lucidity to process the colossal shift in the world around him.

“Is it going to sound disgustingly cliché if I say I’ve been waiting six thousand years to do that?” Crowley murmurs, a gorgeous smile tugging at his lips. There’s something so intoxicating about that attitude of his, breathtaking sincerity cloaked in a thick layer of swagger and charisma. The latter lends itself willingly to irony, which easily masks and distorts the former, and Aziraphale has been thoroughly remiss: he has used it as an escape far too many times.

“Oh, darling,” he sighs. Crowley’s eyes flick up to his, a sudden moment of aching vulnerability that clutches at Aziraphale’s heart. Oh yes, nothing divine and all encompassing about this: this is personal, this is earthly, this is, for lack of a better term, human. “I know you have.”

“Bollocks you knew,” Crowley snorts, rolling his eyes, fighting that genuine, beautiful, face-splitting grin Aziraphale adores, and failing miserably. “I’ve been subtle, I’ve been hiding it, remarkably well, I would add. You just can’t admit that I fooled you this long.”

Aziraphale’s jaw drops. He sputters, half-laughter, half-astonishment, a sprinkling of genuine offence, which is entirely the response Crowley was looking for, he supposes. He kisses Crowley again, surprising him, then pulls back to cry: “I beg your pardon! You have not been subtle: you have been painfully obvious! I’ve just been… well, a coward I suppose.”

“You can literally sense love and you can’t lie to save the world and yet you’re telling me you knew this entire time and just… what? Pretended not to? Give me a break, angel.“

“Yes that’s exactly what I’m saying, if you’d give me a moment to think.” Aziraphale steps back, takes his wine glass, drinks, misses the heat and skittering spark of Crowley’s hands on him the moment they’re gone. The answer is obvious, now that his mind has been given a second to catch up.

He takes a seat on the sofa, bracing his trembling hands on his knees, gesturing for Crowley to follow. Crowley sprawls next to him – well, half on top of him really, one inch to the left and he’d be in Aziraphale’s lap, his long legs swung over Aziraphale’s knees, like an overgrown cat staking a claim. Aziraphale’s heart stutters again. “I’m not saying… I’m not trying to say that I’ve been walking around for six millennia fully aware that… that this was a possibility.”

“Okay,” Crowley’s eyes narrow, confused again. He gives a lazy grin, his eyes gleaming, and oh, Aziraphale can barely think straight. “This, being…” Crowley leans forward, and presses a kiss to a sensitive place just below Aziraphale’s ear. Aziraphale’s eyes flutter just for just a moment, his skin tingling unbearably, wonderfully, under Crowley’s lips. “This sort of thing?”

“Yes… yes that sort of thing,” Aziraphale swallows. “This whole… our being in love, business.”

“Yes,” Crowley all but purrs, another kiss, and then another, one arm slung over Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley’s tongue gently stroking the shell of his ear, and dear heaven above the sensations that’s causing through Aziraphale’s body are delicious, and addictive. His treacherous mind can come up with a thousand ways these sensations could be applied elsewhere, a thousand distinct and wonderful and entirely earthly ways to lose himself in Crowley, and none of them are an aid to concentration.

“You’re being terribly distracting here, darling. I’m trying to apologise for six thousand years of distance and-“

“And here I am,” Crowley’s grin is delicious against Aziraphale’s skin. “More interested in closing that distance.”

“It’s interference!” Aziraphale squeaks, shudders, as Crowley nips at his earlobe, supernaturally sharp teeth soothed with a flick of his warm tongue. A hand has crept back into Aziraphale’s hair.

“That’s one word for it,” Crowley agrees, easily. “Doesn’t it feel good to be interfered with?”

“No!” Aziraphale yelps, and Crowley pulls back as if he’s been burned, a hundred emotions flickering across his face. “No I mean, yes, yes it does, it feels quite remarkably good.”

“Oh,” Crowley’s smirk returns as quickly as it had left. He reclines back, just his long fingers still combing through Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale resists – then, purposely, ceases to resist the urge to lean his head into Crowley’s hand, the sensation of his fingers lightly stroking and scratching his scalp simply too good to resist at all. “You were saying, angel?” Crowley prompts, generously, “Interference?”

“The… the feeling of love,” Aziraphale explains, struggling to keep his thoughts in line, to keep his traitorous new body from arching against Crowley’s and losing itself in sensation. He always did have an issue with self-control, a terrible trait in an angel, although he thinks his hedonism probably something that draws him and Crowley together so he can’t regret it too much. “I… I’ve always been able to sense my own as well as anyone else’s. The bookshop has always felt terribly loved, and that’s because it’s my home.”

He turns his head, until he’s looking Crowley directly in the eye, and dear heaven above how did he miss it all this time? The sheer force of the open, naked emotion in those yellow eyes, how devoted, how loving, how longing… well, it’s quite breathtaking.

“I knew I loved you,” he says, softly. Crowley’s throat bobs, his hand clenching just a little, perfectly, against Aziraphale’s scalp. “I- it was easier, when I sensed it coming from you, to assume instead that it was all from me. Plausible deniability, you know? I knew but…”

“But you didn’t want to know,” Crowley says, heavily. “I understand, angel. The risks for you were always higher… you can only Fall once after all.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Aziraphale insists. “It’s intended as an explanation, to elaborate on an apology. You were always right. We ought always to have been our own side.”

Crowley nods. For once – for perhaps the first time in six thousand years – he seems truly at a loss for words.

“I love you,” Aziraphale says again. “In a way that has nothing to do with heaven, except perhaps as a metaphor for how I feel when I’m around you.” Crowley gives a delicious lopsided smile at that, and Aziraphale is sure – although perhaps he’s just projecting – that he can see the tinge of a blush on Crowley’s sharp cheekbones. “I am in love with you, darling,” he murmurs, shifting closer, pulling so Crowley is almost entirely in his lap and he can press their foreheads together. “And I have been for a very long time.”

“Took you long enough,” Crowley grumbles, and then ruins it by beaming.

Aziraphale smiles, and returns his hand to where it belongs – holding Crowley’s cheek – and his mouth to where it belongs – kissing Crowley with reckless abandon, making up for lost time.

#good omens #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

150 notes · View notes

morbid-n-macabre · 5 years

Text

This is Cody Posey. Cody murdered his entire family when he was 14 years old; a few years later, at age 21, he was released back into society.

Cody had been living on a ranch in Hondo, New Mexico with his father, Delbert "Paul" Posey, his step-mother, Tryone, and his step-sister, 13 year old Marilea Schmid. From day one Cody's life had been troubled; two electricians would later recall doing some work for Paul when Cody was approximately 18 months old; apparently baby Cody did something which his father didn't appreciate, and Paul took his belt off. The electricians claim they had to physically pull the man off of this baby. Cody's biological mother, Carla Burst, couldn't deal with the abuse, she left Paul pretty early on. A bitter custody battle which stretched out over the years ensued; Carla finally gained full custody after Cody was beaten black and blue with a board by his father. The boy was thrilled to be with his Mama, but tragically Cody's happiness would only last a few months; there was a roll over car wreck which took the life of Carla Burst. Cody begged and pleaded not to be placed with his father, but that's precisely where he was sent.

From here on out Cody was abused each and every single day. The boy was beaten and forced to work 7 days a week on the ranch, from dawn to dusk, often without any food at all. But simple beatings and work wasn't the worst of it, Paul was sadistic bastard; he used an electric cattle prod on his son, beat the child with a lasso, dragged him behind a horse, and this is only some of the physical abuse in which this child withstood! Sadly Paul's wife, Tryone, was no better, and even Cody's stepsister was recruited to join in on the abuse; Marilea was rewarded for telling her parents whenever Cody did something his father wouldn't approve of. Even at school Cody could find no solace; he was watched like a hawk by his perfect stepsister who was just slightly younger than him, and beaten for every and any little thing. For Cody there were no buddies to hang out with, no football teams to cheer for, no days spent riding around on his bicycle, no little girlfriends to crush on. Cody was nothing more than an unpaid ranch hand and his father's whipping boy, and that's it. Well, I say unpaid, but that's not completely true: Cody was allowed ten dollars per month. Paul cashed the monthly SSI checks which Cody received from his mother's death, yet the boy reportedly worked every single day for months with holes in his boots until he could save enough allowance to purchase a new pair of work boots! Yes, child protective services was called several times throughout the years (I read somewhere that the abuse was reported 7 times!) but nothing was ever done; it's just one of those cases where everyone dropped the ball.

All of this went on for years, and maybe the teen never would've retaliated but Tryone and Paul finally pushed the boy too damn far. You know that old saying: There's only so many times you can kick a dog before he bites back? Cody finally bit back. On the evening before of the murders, 4th of July in 2004, Cody claims he was called to his parent's bedroom; when he walked in to see what was required of him, Cody found his stepmother, Tyrone, laying completely naked in her bed. Paul ordered that Cody be intimate with Tryone while he watched, and his nude stepmother attempted to pull the teen to her chest. When Cody refused, his father burnt him on the shoulder with a scrap of metal and a torch! The teen bit Tryone, an act for which Cody was burnt by his father once again. He somehow managed to get away from the situation, the teenager ran to his bedroom where he claims to have cowered in fear the rest of the night. Paul and Tryone had been abusing this young man for years; they'd beaten, tortured, isolated, starved, and humiliated him, but they would not sexually abuse him. In the morning Cody went out to perform his usual duties which included cleaning out the horse stalls. He wasn't performing this "chore" quickly enough, and his father slapped him; Cody later testified that this was when "I more or less lost my mind", it's thought that the teen likely dissociated. Cody grabbed a .38 Special out of his sister's saddlebag, went into the house, and walked up behind his step mother who was nestled up on the couch with a book; the teenager blew a couple of holes through his female abuser's skull. When his father and step sister heard the gun blasts they immediately ran to see what was the matter; the teen shot Paul, then he turned the gun on his sister. How could he leave Marilea alive when it had been her job in life to tattle on him for everything? When his family was dead, the teen loaded the bodies up in a backhoe, dumped them in a ravine, then covered them up with piles of manure. That right there says a whole heck of a lot about the way Cody felt, doesn't it? He physically buried his family in actual crap! Afterwords the teen discarded the murder weapon in a local body of water, drove his murdered father's vehicle to the store for a bottle of Sprite, then he went off to stay with a buddy until his arrest.

So the ranch was owned by a well known local reporter named Sam Donaldson, and by the 6th of July Sam had grown concerned. Paul had been strangely silent, so Sam and his wife decided to drive out to the property and see what was going on. Though Cody had buried the bodies in a crappy shallow grave, he hadn't even attempted to clean up any of the blood or gore; after walking into the home Sam called police. Cody was promptly arrested and charged with triple homicide, crimes to which he quickly confessed; the three corpses were soon recovered.

Much of the abuse in which Cody had survived came out during trial; literally dozens of witnesses testified on the teenagers behalf. A ranch hand named Isabel Vasquez testified to having seen Paul hit Cody in the stomach and shoulder with a pipe for no reason whatsoever, he had watched Paul strike the teen with rocks the size of golf balls, and in the photo I'm enclosing Isabel is demonstrating how Paul used a large metal hook to punish Cody for not moving bales of hay quickly enough.

The physical and emotional abuse was backed up by many witnesses, but of course nobody had been around during the attempted sexual abuse. That said, there's evidence which points towards it being the truth: during the investigation police discovered incestuous pornography on Paul's personal computer. This type of porn, much of it parent/child incest, had often been frequented while Cody and his sister were at school.

Sandy Schmid was Paul's second wife; the two had been married for 5 years while Cody was little. Sandy testified that Paul had always been abusive, and while she was living in the home she had done her very best to protect her stepson from his father's wrath. Sandy also stated that Paul had always had a strange obsession with incest porn. Nearly everyone begged the judge to have mercy on this young man, including the biological father of Cody's murdered stepsister; Marilea's dad, Jake Schmid testified on his daughter's killers behalf! It's a strange situation though, because Jake knew Cody pretty well; Jake had married Paul's second wife, Sandy, so when Jake would pick up Marilea for weekend visits, Cody would come with and spend time with the stepmother. Jake stated on the stand that he had always believed Paul to be abusive towards Cody, that he'd seen fear in the boy's eyes more than once when it was time to go home; Marilea's father also said that he did not hold any ill will towards the young man for what he had done, he felt nothing but empathy for his daughter's killer.

Now not everyone felt sorry for the teenager; the state claimed that Cody's abuse was widely over exaggerated. Their case was that Cody had become angry after his father smacked him as punishment for not cleaning out the horse stalls quickly enough, and they submitted seemingly happy family photos as proof that there had been no ongoing abuse. One of the few witnesses for the prosecution was Verlin Posey, Paul's brother. Verlin claimed that he had never noticed any abuse, nor did he ever see any bruises on Cody. Verlin was seemingly pleased with the idea that his nephew would be spending his life in prison: "One lifetime in prison is a pretty small debt for three.".

Cody was convicted of 1st degree murder in the case of his stepsister, Marilea, 2nd degree murder for killing stepmother Tryone, and manslaughter in the case of his father, Paul. There were also 4 charges of evidence tampering; Cody was looking at life imprisonment. Apparently it was left up to the judge to decide whether the teen was sentenced as an adult or a youthful offender. After hearing all of the evidence in this case, the judge had mercy; Cody was sentenced to psychiatric treatment, and to remain in a juvenile facility until he turned 21 years of age.

In September of '06 a couple of Paul's relatives (I'm willing to bet it was his brother, Verlin) filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the creators of the video game Grand Theft Auto and Sony, among others. In a nutshell, they claimed that the teen had been trained to kill by the video game GTA.

While incarcerated the teen finished highschool and continued his education with college. On October 9th of 2010, which was Cody's 21st birthday, he was released; today he is free, and that's pretty much all we know. He's blending in somewhere, presumably living amongst us.

*I usually *try* to leave my opinion at the door, so to speak, but it's not really possible in this case; this is one killer who I would not mind living next door to me. There is so much abuse which was witnessed by people, so much was left out of this article. They isolated and abused this kid in every way possible. Anyways, I hope Cody is faring well out there, and that adult life is kinder to him than childhood was. Everyone has their breaking point, right? Have you ever thought about it? What could drive you to murder?

#true crime #killer kids #murder #mass murder #murderer #what do you think #what would you do #abuse #child abuse

30 notes · View notes

flying-elliska · 5 years

Text

Elu feelings

I cope by writing meta, so expect a lot of it this weekend. I think I’m going to be processing s3 for a long time tbh. I feel like all ships have a few core emotions they run on, you know ?

The first one I can think for Eliott and Lucas is relief. Like look at them after their first kiss, hugging and laughing. It’s like this big stormcloud of tension that has just broken into rain over their heads and is now watering their crops. Relief because they’ve both been lonely for a long time and they just found each other and it’s downright miraculous.

It’s that corniest of corny tropes, love at first sight, except for them it really works, because they show us time and time again how perfectly they fit together. They both want something committed and deep, they’ve got artistic sensibilities, they’ve been hurt a lot by life but still want to believe, they’re both so passionate. Eliott’s romantic playfulness manages to reach beyond Lucas’ walls, Lucas’ fierce devotion is able to reach through Eliott’s pessimism and self-hate. They can be themselves together after a lifetime of hiding. Eliott gives Lucas signs that it’s okay to be goofy, and Lucas shows appreciation for it. During the piano scene, Eliott looks at Lucas like water in the desert. And Lucas just blossoms as soon as he doesn’t have to bother with shallow, bullshit pretend relationships anymore. I don’t like the ‘we complete each other trope’ usually, but those two, they really do. They went on their own journey but it’s really like something wasn’t right with the universe until they got together. And look at how relieved they are to see each other again after being pulled apart. The minute by minute becomes that too in the end, as does the parallel universe metaphor - there could be so many ways and so much time for them to be apart, and they’re going to make damn sure they never have to be apart again. It’s fragile and it’s beautiful and it’s the most right thing ever. They just fit.

The second one is...probably yearning, working along with the first one. They’re both just so needy. Eliott is in general ‘a lover of all things’ (like Maxence said) - and as shown through the Polaris video, he desperately wants a true soul connection, something that goes beyond appearances, beyond fears. He puts that film out in the world like a message in a bottle. He doesn’t get funding, but it does reach the one person it needed to. The story could be hella sappy and it would fit the whole artsy teenager with too many feelings thing, but it’s just so earnest. He’s terrified of ‘the dark’ (ie his issues with mental illness) and what it would do to people around him, and yet he’s still willing to take his deepest, most desperate desire and put it into the palm of the world. There’s something so brave about that. And Lucas ? He starts out as disconnected and adrift, pretends to be tough and a player but scratch the surface even once and wow. The way he clings to his mask speaks of his fear of being left alone. And the way he just opens up to Eliott so fast - he’s been looking for that forever, really. Someone to really see him, and see that need. The way things went in his family probably hurt him so deeply because under his grumpy façade, Lucas strikes me as someone incredibly loyal and caring, and what his father did probably shook a lot of his core beliefs. Because of this and his internalized homophobia, he took on a ‘feelings make you weak’ demeanour. So it’s so important that him and Eliott made it through - it allows him to believe in love again, that he is worthy of being loved, it’s some deeply existential shit. (even though the part with his friends was also crucial.) And it’s why it never seems rushed that they move so quickly. It’s really like a spark comes and starts a wildfire in a few moments because everything was ready for it already. I would buy them moving in together, for real. Obviously they might have issues down the road because of this. Lucas’ abandonment issues and Eliott’s troubled self-image and issues linked to bipolar are not going to just vanish overnight. They just care and want this so much they might rush into things. But you really believe they’re going to pull through and spend the rest of their lives together, anyway.

I’m also thinking of faith. That’s the whole point of the Remember montage. The beginning of their relationship is really messy. Eliott cheats on his gf and bails on him and sends him all sorts of mixed signals, Lucas says some really ignorant things about mental illness and pretends to be into girls and uses Chloé and says mean things about him to his friends. Lucas is forcibly outed, then there’s the whole houseboat which might have been very traumatic for the both of them - someone else in their shoes might have said, this is too much for me, and they might not have been entirely unjustified. I feel one important aspect of this pairing is that you’re never entirely sure they’re going to end up together. Sure, they’re perfect for each other, but their issues interact in ways that mean they’re uniquely suited to hurt each other as well. When you look at Lucas’ past, Eliott on paper really isn’t an ideal partner. Lucas too can be sharp and mean and reckless, or he can go overboard when he cares about something. They’re both very aware as it develops that this could end up being dangerous for them, that they could wreck each other. This version of the story just has so much more tension and uncertainty than the other remakes, for some reason - maybe because Lucas is more isolated, or Eliott is less cool on the surface than Even, or maybe it’s down to technical choices too. The amount of feelings between is overwhelming right from the start, it’s like, it could easily become too much. And then there’s the whole stigma from society thing. And of course, love, between anyone, remains one of the most terrifying things in life, because of the trust and openness and vulnerability it demands. So faith is important, because it implies making a bet that things will turn out alright in the end. It’s about compassion and moving on from the past but also learning from it. And choosing to put the positive possibilities above the negatives. They choose to have faith in themselves, too, when they choose the relationship. That they’re going to figure it out, be better at communicating. The church montage makes a lot of parallels between religious faith and love, as being a refuge in times of sorrow, something true and sure when everything is uncertain. It should be the meaning of ‘christ-like’ love. And this is not about Lucas being some sort of savior figure for Eliott in spite of his ‘flaw’ - it’s for himself too, that compassion and that faith. That he can be better than his father. That he recognizes the faith Eliott put in him by telling him about Polaris - now he probably understand fully what it means, that Eliott was telling him he was stuck in that darkness too, that he gave Lucas this key because he had faith in Lucas’ capacity to love. It’s about people’s faith deserving to be rewarded in kind. It’s so beautiful, I want to cry.

And last but not least - tenderness. If I had to pick only one, it would be this one. And it’s not (only) about them being so cuddly and prone to PDA as soon as they get together, it’s a much deeper thing. It’s like they look at each other and go ‘hello, your soul is beautiful and belongs with mine, let me make some room for you’. It’s in the way they approach each other - Lucas makes the first move, then Eliott shows his interest in a way that is ‘chelou’ enough to signal something more is going on - repeats his name only for him - but never pushy. It’s the entirety of the piano scene, and the way they keep unveiling little bits of who they truly are to each other - Eliott’s wacky music and moves are incredibly important for that, and so is Lucas’ playing - it’s them creating a space for each other saying, look you’re safe with me, I am weird and intense and passionate and artistic and I know you are too. It’s that conversation as they walk home, the carefully worded sentences where they’re pushing each other towards the conclusion of ‘not necessarily a girl’. And it’s of course the first kiss - Eliott pushing at Lucas enough to show him how much he cares and get past his walls, but letting him do the first move. And Lucas letting Eliott know he has seen Polaris. And obviously the entirety of Samedi 9 : 17. Lucas knowing what to say to reach Eliott, his emotional intelligence. Eliott’s little drawings, and his romantic gestures that show Lucas he deserves a grand love story. Lucas taking care of Eliott after his episode, the croissants and the flowers and the meals. The playfulness, the care, the attention. They want to help each other be as free and happy as they could be, they care so much about each other’s developpment ? The way they’re constantly checking in with each other - minute by minute, and the reciprocity of the bus stop scene - Eliott knowing how to use it to soothe Lucas’ fears as well, showing the truth of the concept that they both will have difficult moments. They’ve bruised each other’s hearts, it’s heavy, but they also handle it as a privilege - it’s so much better than not being in each other’s lives. When they’re together, it has the carefree vibe of young first love, joyful and clumsy and rowdy ; but you catch glimpses of them as old souls, too, with a maturity and selflessness and depth of love that is just awe inspiring. It’s love as sanctuary and refuge, and love that opens the doors to the world.

I’m never going to be over it tbh.

#skam france #elu #skam france season 3 #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #lucas x eliott #my meta

169 notes · View notes

shortsbyshellie-blog · 2 years

Text

hell0te

hai again why not? been trying to breathe completely. getting better. my life is REALLAY RELLAY gud. ver ver good, in fact. I am working on taking better care of myself and so far, so grand!! daily baths (7 day streak!) has encouraged me to skin care and teeth 2 times a day as well! I didn’t consciously decide to build them up, so I love that it happened naturally. more ways to take better care of myself - water intake, aka I could drink 2 of my water bottle with handle that I got for christmas from emmer. she went to five below wif mark :) her birthday coming up! I want to make her an oreo cake cause she freakin loves the filling so much. she is a frosting lover too. - meditating, followed by journaling each day - treadmill every day - ab coaster every day perhappps, I could ensure both every day by doing them back to back (or!) in cycles. how would that look? maybe 100 ab coaster, 3 minute tread (back and forth) worth a try to combine and see how I like it!! this will go hand-in-hand with my water intake, because I will want water when I do this. - really considering signing up for gym soon (because I want to continue my excellent muscle growth). It might be worth it do planet because price, month-to-month, and close even though only smith machines. it is less than half of anytime, and those are 20 min away. Even with flowing money, there is a huge difference in what 65/m for a year versus 15/m. 780 vs 180. quite literally saving 600 dollars that way. honestly seems worth it to just join planet for now. I am seeing if I can strategically avoid maintenance charge in feb, though - weekly hair treatments like olive oil, olive oil/honey, olive oil/castor/jojoba oil, coconut oil :) on days when I plan on washing it -consider riding bike! I can take some climbing stuff out of my car and have more room. would be nice. -walks around the lake could be good for me. maybe I’ll do that and be happy to watch sunrises and the water. could be nice.

-see how good I feel by eating only fruit/veg/beans for a bit. I could find the dehydrator (if my mom has) and make mango dried snacks, etc.

- consider cooking and making some nice dishes sometimes. I think I would like that a lot.

-affirmations would make a huge difference. listening, saying, writing. mirror talk. love song reroute

I know I’ve been saving quite a bit by not starbucksing.. so that’s good. I will have refund deposited soon for Turing, and also my taxes, which will be a comfortable cushion until this training potentially starts for the Executive Recruiter position I want. I emailed rec this morning. what else? I have disputes going for all 3 bureaus at the moment.. trans, I want to delete extra addresses and phone numbers once I have resolution for these disputes, by 2/22, I should be able to do it myself and maybe I could try another way if they haven’t been removed. we’ll see. it’s looking like I should get another credit card soon. It will help improve my credit score. which one? so many options.. maybe best rewards of some sort. I want to learn guitar songs, practice chords be fluent in spanish have consistently toned / muscle type stomach will probably go to my esthe soon, and get a little bit zapped botox in march also ordering green eyes soon (since mine have tear)

0 notes

themadameditor · 6 years

Text

This summer is a special one for me, because last summer I was in hospital for most of it and spent the rest of it on steroids and a host of there medications, swollen like a blowfish, and getting better. I am still in the course of treatment, but a long way away from where I was last year, feeling much, much, MUCH better, and planning to live every freaking moment of the summer and beyond. I am not a huge fan of the summer, the heat on my skin, the humidity; Britain has the most humid summers… but I vividly remember myself last year hoping and praying that if I make it out I would live that cliche of living my best life. And I’m trying y’all, I really am.

This summer has been glorious, actual sunshine and heat, hotter than an Indian summer if you’ll believe that and come the first of August we are counting down the days to Autumn zooming right past it to the thick of winter. By the end of August we are talking back to school and back to real life for parents and children and the grind of things. But we have now before then, so let’s plan to live the hell out of the summer and make some good memories that can keep us going till the next summer. As I type this, it is pouring down with rain outside my window, bang in the middle of this blazing summer we have torrential rain and thunder storms but I am not mad at the in the least, we need the rain, farmers need it for the soil to keep feeding us good food in season, we need the rain to clean all the humidity and gunk from the pollution the earth is suffering.

This list is a guideline, if you do one thing on it fabulous. Ten? Grand. All? Fantastic. the aim is to live your best life, (said in my best Oprah voice). So let’s get right on into it shall we?

1. Sleep In: August is heaven for everyone, everywhere, no school in session, family holidays, blissful commute into work because trains are not crowded…it is the perfect month to sleep in and catch up on the hours lost to sleeplessness, work and all nighters. Sleep in and get your energy right on balance, and catch up with your body and reacquaint yourself with her natural rhythm.

2. Let your body wake up naturally: see number 1. Get rid of your alarm clock and let your body wake up to the sound of birds and the rise of the sun. Even if it means going in late for work or missing our on the morning calls. Better still no calls until noon until the summer is over.

3. Read two books: something old and something new. For something old, if you have never read it, read Lucky Chances by Jackie Collins. For something new read an Italian Holiday; a book about four women getting away from the ish of their lives in London and holidaying in Italy. Bonus points; read my book. 😉

4. Have a Day-cation: binge watch some shows on Netflix and Amazon. A couple on Netflix: Luke Cage, Drug Lords, Chef, North & South; okay, more than a couple. Amazon: The Bold Type- I really like this show, it is set around three women working the fashion industry, publishing specifically, and yes the three girls can be annoying and atypical at times but it is a far cry from the Devil Wears Prada, which shows of this ilk tend to slant towards. My favourite character is the Editor In Chief. She’s cool and the type of person I would like to believe exists in the industry. Another show and one of Amazon’s best creation is Bosch- this is my absolute favourite show on Amazon, detective Hieronymous “Harry” Bosch, central character in the dark crime drama set in Los Angeles. Binge watch all four seasons in one day and thank me later.

5. Go to a music concert: I’ll admit I am not a huge fan of concerts, crowds make me anxious and the moment gets lost in the melee. Give me a couch and a big screen TV and I’m good, but its the summer and we are living it up so we are taking our fly selves to a concert, in the Park, or at the Albert Hall or maybe something more low key and free; the ever faithful underground busker… whatever floats your boat just go.

6. Plan a night in Paris: be impetuous, call your girlfriends or go SOLO for a night in Paris if you’re close enough.

7. Do something fun in Paris: a fancy meal at L’Orangerie @ George V perhaps, or afternoon tea @ Le Bristol. Go to a museum, forget the Louvre, D’Orsay is my favourite museum in all of Paris. Be a cliché and have expensive hot chocolate at Cafe de Flore. Walk around and marvel at the astounding beauty that is Jardin du Luxembourg; my favourite place to be in Paris.

8. Return from Paris: with pastries from Pierre Here and spend the evening drinking champagne before bed.

9. See a play in the west end: Its a shame that Baba Segi’s wives is not in theatres anymore, but there is always something on so scroll through timeout or art reviews, pick a small theatre, they normally have good plays and go see it, for the culture and for support. Or if you can get tickets, you should go see Hamilton. It is quite simply the greatest show on earth.

10. Go Clubbing: re-live your youth and party in heels that hurt, a dress that is too short, full face of makeup. Flirt with handsome men, exchange numbers for the night. Jump on the night bus home and stop by the kebab shop before you make it home at six in the morning.

11. Babysit your nieces, nephews and god-children: preferably not right after your wild night out in the club.

12. Throw a fabulous dinner party: for friends and catch up on the good times you had.

13. Get lost in London: it’s a beautiful city to get lost in and no matter how many times you roam it, every corner is a surprise.

14. Picnic in the Park: Hyde Park is so beautiful, so vast, so lovely all year round but nothing beats it in the summer. Grab a picnic basket, bottle of chilled champagne, meats and cheeses, fat strawberries and cream, salads and go chill in the park with your bestest

15. Call an old friend: we all have that one friend we have lost touch with, call them up, check in with an old relative, see how they are doing, and say a prayer for the world.

16. Clean your skirting boards: as a matter of fact, clean the whole house, organise your closet and take excess to charity or give them out to family or friends who want them. Live light and let light in.

17. Organise your christmas holiday plans: have a white Christmas or escape somewhere tropical. Do something fun and unusual this time.

18. Get your low maintenance beauty routine on point: the summer is no time to bother with too much make-up because the humidity will not let you be beautiful and great so fine-tune your best make up, no make up look that won’t be a victim of the humidity. Paint your nails, scrub your feet and moisturise them. I love this foot cream, from Burt’s Bees, 100% moisture all day. Don’t be ashy this summer.

19. Plan your wardrobe ahead: make this the summer you wear the prettiest dresses. If you can, and I know you can, plan all the dresses for the 31 days in August.

20. Spend some time being alone: check yourself into a hotel or stay indoors, order room service, go dine out alone or cook yourself a home-cooked meal… do something for you and all about you, get to know yourself better and enjoy being in your company.

21. Spend time with family: I have an awesome family and we are all scattered around the world but in each other’s lives through phone, texts etc. When you can, drop by your parents’, call your brother, sisters, aunts, uncles… get the barbecue going and enjoy being in the company of loved ones.

22. Go to a quiz night at your local… I know, I know but try it its so much fun

23. Spend a Monday by the sea: away from work and the hustle of every day life

24. Write a short story: it can be about anything you want at all, just carve out sometime and put words down to paper.

25. Take a leap of faith: If its a bad decision, learn from it and move on. Enjoy the rewards of a good decision, pay it forward pass on the good feeling

26. Take a day trip outside of London: a summer’s day punting on River Cam, taking a literary tour of Oxford, or walking the bucolic lanes of the Cotswolds… do something that takes you out of the big smoke.

27. Take a digital detox: nowadays, a lot of things on social media make me so damn mad and I find myself engaging with crazy people but I have cut back on my time online and it has done me a world of good. Social media is both good and dangerous for you, find sometime to be ignorant of the shit that can sometimes go down on there.

28. Go to bed late, wake up later.

29. Eat dessert as a whole meal.

30. Fall in love with your life all over again: Be intentional about this and make sure you love your life. We are all going through things, the world is a shitty place to be sometimes these days but here is the thing; you only have you at night when you look yourself in the mirror. Be intentional with loving yourself. Please.

31. Take it all in: Take care of yourself. Check your breasts, drink lots of water, eat well, eat in season, moisturise at night, exercise however you can, limit your meat consumption, use sunscreen, my sister, use sunscreen.

To the summer of our lives.

31 Days of Summer This summer is a special one for me, because last summer I was in hospital for most of it and spent the rest of it on steroids and a host of there medications, swollen like a blowfish, and getting better.

#31 Days of Summer #August #Bucket List #Featured #Summer

1 note · View note

aelixandra · 6 years

Text

Dreaming On Your Feet: Chapter 17

Read on Ao3!

Summary: Aelin Galathynius is one of the newest company members of the Rifthold Ballet Theatre, and she is eager to make all of her dreams a reality. She has the talent, the ambition, the walls no one can get past, and the thick skin that no one can get under. Except for new principal dancer Rowan Whitethorn. He’s arrogant, talented, and infuriating - and they just might have more in common than they think.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Chapter 17: Music of the Heart

“Excellent work, everyone, that’s all for today. See you on Monday morning!”

At Eudora’s words, the dancers broke into applause before going to collect their bags to leave. It was only two weeks until The Nutcracker, and Aelin was feeling pretty good about Dewdrop. The choreography was challenging but fun. Rewarding, even.

And, Aelin had to admit, there was no one else she’d rather be dancing her dream Nutcracker role with than Rowan.

Every time they ran through Waltz of the Flowers, his joy matched her own, the smiles on his face genuine and warm.

She hoisted her bag over her shoulder and glanced at him. His silver hair was beginning to grow longer, now touching his ears. He seemed stronger than he was during Giselle, more confident.

As was ballet etiquette, she made her way over to him and curtsied. “Thank you, Rowan,” she said.

“Thank you, too,” he replied with a small bow.

“Aelin and Rowan, could you come here for a second?” Eudora was waving them over. Aelin looked at Rowan, who simply shrugged. They made their way to the ballet mistress, who greeted them with a beaming smile. “I know there are still a couple of weeks until opening night, but I just wanted to tell you two what a beautiful job you’re doing.”

Aelin smiled up at Rowan.

“Waltz of the Flowers was always my favorite part of Nutcracker,” Eudora continued wistfully. “And to see young, talented dancers like yourselves taking on the challenge of the choreography while becoming a true partnership, and doing it beautifully . . . well, you’re making me very proud.”

Aelin had no idea what to say. Her eyes burned as she gave Eudora a curtsy. “That means more than you know, Eudora.”

Eudora’s focus shifted to Rowan. “And you came here only a few months ago, not knowing anyone at all, and it seems like you’ve friends – and perhaps even a place you belong, hm?”

Aelin read the surprise on Rowan’s face. Eudora had an uncanny ability to know people, sometimes better than they knew themselves.

Rowan dipped his head. “I grow more certain of that every day.”

Aelin’s chest tightened with pride as Eudora glanced between them. “I’ll see you both on Monday, then,” she said as she swept out the door.

Aelin looked up at Rowan again. “Is that true?” she asked quietly.

He smiled at her warmly. He took one of her hands and gently squeezed her fingers. “Every word.” And even when he let go of her hand and left the studio, Aelin still felt the imprint of his fingers around hers.

----------

Rowan had been sitting on his couch for a half-hour staring at it. He hadn’t touched it yet.

It shone exactly as it did a year ago, its polished surface gleaming in the afternoon sun that streamed in through his living room window. He had bought it one day not long after Lyria passed, but it had been another few months before he had actually started playing it. He didn’t take lessons, choosing instead to watch videos online.

He hated it when people saw anything he did less than perfectly.

But he was done with secrets. Done with keeping parts of himself hidden.

His walls had been torn down, shredded to pieces by one ballerina. A ballerina who was anything but ordinary.

And he had promised her that there would be no more secrets between them.

But beyond his promise . . . she made him want to start playing again. Feeling and creating music at his fingertips was a feeling unlike any other, and he wanted to feel it again. She made him want to feel it all again.

He wanted to be whole, and ever since she had come dancing into his life, the hollow, empty space in his chest had been filling in, piece by piece.

With a sigh, Rowan reached out and picked up his guitar.

----------

A beautiful, early winter morning, a day off, and still Aelin found herself in the studio.

She was rehearsing a few Dewdrop passages, and there was one in particular that seemed to be giving her fits today. Eudora had been very complimentary last week; the memory brought a smile to her face.

But today she just felt. . . off. Uninspired.

She headed back to the corner, starting the phrase again. Double piqué turn, attitude, balancé, balancé, glissade into a developpé –

Aelin hopped out of the turn with a curse. She rested her hands on her hips, looking at herself in the mirror.

Wisps of her gold hair had escaped her bun, and a couple drops of sweat were starting to trail down her forehead. She was working hard, and despite the mistakes, she felt good. Strong.

She met her own eyes in the mirror.

In the span of a few months, she now felt the best she had felt since Sam passed away. She was beginning to feel like she belonged exactly where she was. And she knew deep down that she had a silver-haired, tattooed male dancer to thank for a large part of that feeling.

She couldn’t ignore the sudden thump of her heart, as if to confirm it.

Then, for some reason, her gaze flicked over her shoulder in the mirror to the grand piano that gleamed in the corner of the room.

She hadn’t played for the past two years. She hadn’t wanted to.

But maybe that was what she needed today. It was one thing to feel the music in your body as a dancer, but it was another thing entirely to feel it coming from your own fingers.

Aelin made her way over to the piano and sat down. The piano score was conveniently open to “Waltz of the Flowers.”

She slowly slid her fingers onto the ivory keys, gently running them over the surface. She smiled.

“Hello, old friend,” she whispered.

And then she began to play.

----------

Rowan had been playing for about forty-five minutes now.

And gods, he felt so unbelievably good.

He didn’t even think about the songs he was playing; the music poured from his fingertips, finally released from being bottled up for the past two years.

He had texted Aelin not too long ago. What’re you up to?

When he hadn’t gotten a response for a while, he put his guitar back in its case, sending one more text. I’m heading to the studio. I’ll be there in 10 if you want to join me!

He wanted to dance now, while he was feeling so creatively rejuvenated and re-inspired.

And if she happened to be there . . .

Well, in all honesty, he didn’t know.

But it always seemed to be better when she was there.

* * *

Rowan opened the main door of the studio building, and the first thing he heard was the faint sound of piano music. He recognized it immediately as “Waltz of the Flowers”; maybe one of the accompanists was practicing?

He couldn’t help the small twinge of disappointment. If there was someone else at the studio, Aelin wouldn’t be here. She liked the place to be completely empty while she danced whatever she needed to dance.

But you’re the exception, aren’t you?

Fighting a smile at the thought, he headed upstairs to the studios. The piano music grew louder as he neared the first studio, but suddenly, it stopped.

Rowan stopped, too.

Then the music began again.

Only a few chords in, and Rowan recognized the music immediately.

Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.”

He had always enjoyed the piece, but whoever was in the studio playing it right now clearly loved it. The notes flowed into and over each other like water, emotion poured into each phrase.

It was the most beautiful rendition he had ever heard.

Quietly, Rowan crept forward so he could see who was sitting at the piano.

And there she was.

He hadn’t told her about the guitar, and she hadn’t told him about the piano.

But there Aelin sat, her head bowed in concentration. Her long, elegant fingers tumbled over the keys, and Rowan seemed to feel each note curling into his chest and warming the winter’s morning chill.

Something lightly landed on his sleeve. He tore his gaze from Aelin to glance down at a small water stain.

His eyes welled, and he tried to bury the feeling back inside, but it was no use. There were no walls to hide behind.

For the first time in two years, Rowan Whitethorn let the tears fall.

----------

“Clair de Lune” had always been one of her favorites. But there was something about today that made it feel especially comforting. Inspiring, even.

Then she realized that she was playing the entire piece with her eyes closed.

She played the last few bars, letting the music curl around her before it disappeared.

She opened her eyes, and when she looked down at the keys, she saw several drops of water.

She lifted a hand to her eyes, and those were indeed her own tears that had fallen.

Whatever just happened, whatever she had just created with nothing more than her fingers and her heart, was exactly what she needed.

She smiled and took a deep, cleansing breath. She stood up from the piano bench and rolled through her feet in their pointe shoes.

Now she was ready to dance.

She went back over to the stereo and picked up her phone where it was plugged in. But before she could press play, a strain of music started up behind her.

It was the opening to “Waltz of the Flowers” . . . but played with a guitar.

A guitar? Who would possibly play guitar around here, much less in the studio on an off morning? What on earth –

Then she turned around.

And the breath left her lungs.

It was him.

He was casually leaning against the wall as he played, a beautiful acoustic guitar in his arms and a tentative, warm smile on his face. Silver lined his eyes – has he been crying?

Aelin felt herself return his smile, dipping her head ever so slightly. Wordlessly, she launched into her Dewdrop choreography as Rowan kept playing.

Soon Rowan joined in, marking through his choreography as best he could while holding a guitar. With his movements, the music came from all around her, and she couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of her. With surprise, Rowan joined her laughter as he kept dancing around her with his guitar.

They danced closer and closer, until all too soon, the “Waltz” was over, and Aelin found herself in an arabesque with one arm looped around Rowan’s shoulders, her other arm above her head in fifth.

Rowan’s green eyes were inches from hers.

It was the same feeling she had when they were baking a few days ago, when the distance between them had suddenly become too close for her to breathe.

But today . . . it didn’t feel too close.

As if he knew her thoughts, his gaze flicked to her lips, returning to her eyes so quickly she thought she had imagined it.

Was he . . . would he . . .

Aelin released her position, lifting her arm off of Rowan’s shoulders. “You play guitar,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

He shrugged. “You play piano.” He turned his attention to his guitar, fiddling with the strings. “And you play it beautifully,” he added.

Aelin felt the blush rise to her cheeks. “Well enough to make a grown buzzard cry?” The words were out before she could stop them. But she wanted to know – were those really tears she had seen in his eyes?

Rowan stilled.

She had pushed too far; that was a horribly rude question, especially after he had shown this new side of himself to her. But he looked up from the guitar, his gaze soft, a smile playing at the edges of his lips.

He answered.

“Well enough to make a grown buzzard cry for the first time in two years.”

She looked at him for a moment. Really looked. He hasn't cried in two years. “Rowan,” she breathed softly.

He sighed slowly, his content smile lighting up his eyes. “Fireheart.”

Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. She turned quickly to avoid his searching gaze, making her way back to the piano. She sat down again, wracking her brain for something to play, something that she could use to tell him . . .

Well, tell him what, exactly?

She plunked a C on the keys, then an F below it, going back and forth between them. Then it became C, F, D, F, E, F, D, F. If she didn’t know what to play, her fingers certainly did. Because the notes she was playing composed the very recognizable opening to –

“I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that.”

Rowan was singing. He knew the song, and he was singing.

Without even thinking, Aelin opened her mouth and added a simple harmony, joining her voice with his.

“And words fall through me and always fool me, and I can’t react.”

Rowan lifted his guitar and added his music to hers, along with his voice.

His music was what her music needed.

He was what she needed.

From the moment he had entered her life, he had been exactly what she needed.

But as she kept playing and singing, alternating her gaze between the piano keys and Rowan’s eyes, she wondered if maybe he was becoming not just what she needed, but what she wanted.

Author's Note: Here are some links for the music referenced in this chapter!

"Waltz of the Flowers" on guitar

"Falling Slowly" (I headcanon them both loving this song)

#dreaming on your feet #rowaelin #rowan #aelin #fanfic #sarah j maas #this is what happens when you're a ballet dancer who loves ToG #writer #ballet #alternate universe #au #nutcracker #waltz of the flowers #piano #guitar #falling slowly #fluff #like serious fluff #tooth-rotting fluff

59 notes · View notes

memnonofarcadia · 3 years

Text

The Food Chain Diary

3 December – Location unknown, I’ll be honest But my guides know, and that’s how I’m getting home at the end of this, one way or another. They don’t want to stay here longer than they have to, and I agree. Despite how grand civilization can make a fella feel it only takes one short trip to the Arctic, to real tundra to understand why civilization was built in the first place. Out there on the ice and snow the homo sapiens is, in essence, a slow moving free meal. With the exception of larger hunting parties (who still operate with an unhealthy degree of risk as it is) if you go out there unarmed or even remotely underprepared then there is little chance of anyone ever seeing you again. That is, till you get dug up in the Spring after most of the snow has melted. Say what you will about the grimness of the bodies on Everest, but at least they’ve got company. We’re not on Everest though, this is Northern Canada, beginning in what was once British Columbia, but now is something far, far more savage to the eye. If you’ve never been there before then the culture shock might kill you; best to ease your way into Mooseland slowly. They say there are moose in the Rockies but I don’t know if I really believe that one. I’ve never seen them, but here I saw one on our first day. Caribou too. Pity this wasn’t a hunting party, like I said. A good haul could feed a family for a year, maybe more if it were rationed. But no one wants to live like that, not when there are microwaves in the kitchen. It’s so cold out here. I can hardly think. It only makes sense to start at the beginning, since now, in my current state, hunched over like a bloody gargoyle writing this, it’s difficult to think of the next word, much less the next point. I’m in a tent, shrouded in many layers of warm clothing and blankets, but it’s never enough. Until you’re in the sleeping bag, preferably one that can accommodate two bodies, then the cold you will feel. Bites through anything you might have to protect you from it. Anything. Makes me reevaluate Huskies and other snow-dogs, how they not only survive but relish in the climate. Makes me wonder if Jack London only wrote fiction back then, as well. This hurts. To put it bluntly I needed a break. It had been a good few years on the beat of “nature-reporting” without much past the working class paycheck to paycheck lifestyle. It builds character, and indeed if you want to teach someone the ways of the world then a minimum wage job in some shithole will do it as well as anything, but… I’m not interested in developing something I can’t sell, at least then I wasn’t. Rent had to come first, so it did. The trick, I decided one night at an airport bar (it was dark out so we’ll say night. Truth be told it was closer to four or five AM when I had my last), was to find a lead that not everyone would be able to get. Something so good, so exclusive, that whatever nature-thing it got pitched to would have to take it on the spot. More than that, if I went out and got the article first I could practically name my price, within reason of course. If I got a juicer on my first time ‘round then they might throw me a bone and send me to Brazil to look at some toucans. But I didn’t pick Brazil, because everyone went there, and there was no way to make it in that market. In my infinite wisdom, on that greasy plastic/wooden stool, rewarding myself indiscriminately, I chose to find my way up North, to the real Arctic. People went out there, sure, but past the locals it wasn’t because anyone wanted to. Everyone wanted to be in Brazil, remember? So did I, so once I was clear of any obligations I made plans to fly my butt out there to earn my place. Don’t get me wrong now, I did my research and made sure to pack the required gear, Jack London hadn’t been for nothing after all, but even still as I waited for the taxi to bring me to the airport I wasn’t exactly brimming with hubris. In the same way that resolutions made after midnight never stick, travel plans made under the influence are consistently regrettable. Jesus, what had I been thinking? Maybe if I drank some more I could reconnect with my inner-idiot and find out what exactly, but after half a bottle of wine and God knows how many beers the flight attendant cut me off. She had seen it too many times before to feel sorry for me, tourists who were going somewhere they just remembered they didn’t want to be. Oh well, shouldn’t have bought the ticket then, but I digress. The company chosen to take me on my little trip through the Arctic was handled by two brothers, both fanatic outdoorsmen who were happy to bring a novice like me out and about. Lovely, I thought. A real homegrown thing they had going on there, very nice. They’d even offered to pick me up from the airport, which was very kind, and since I was paying my own bills on this one I took them up on it. Their names were Tom and Pete, which I took to mean they would look like the Canadian stereotype I had in my head: extremely friendly, beer-loving, hockey-worshipping, beaver-hugging folk of the North who walked around in jerseys drinking coffee all day long. However this theory was pretty spectacularly blown out of the water when Pete came to pick me up. He had a little sign with my name on it, and he was dressed in casual-outdoors gear, not ready to head out quite yet but give him 20 and he’d meet you there. What disturbed me greatly wasn’t his garb, or even his frankly rippling physique, but the series of scars that ran from the top of his scalp – where hair used to be – down to below his chin. His toasty smile made me feel welcome, but his weeping eye tore the knots in my stomach apart into open despair. They could take me wherever they liked, obviously, this was their domain, but now I knew that there was only so much they could do to protect me. When something wants you dead out there in the flat, then you’re dead. Bear don’t care, or so Pete told me himself. On the two hour car ride out to where the three of us would spend the night he regaled me with stories of adventures past, far too many to ever hope to write down here, but here’s the gist: “Yeah, see, my brother Tom, he’s the one up at the cabin right now getting everything ready, yeah see we’ve been out doing this thing now for the better part of 15 years, and I tell you ain’t nothing scarier I seen in that time than a 500 pound grizzly hauling ass straight at me. Had my rifle but it was broke from a wolf the night before, which is another story, so it was me with basically a club against this killing machine!” “Is that how…?” I gestured towards his scars, seeing an opportunity to get the scoop. Pete just chuckled. “No no no, that was from the time I almost got gored by a deer,” he said, touching the marks on his head tenderly, like a thing to be preserved. “If a bear gets you you’re dead. That’s kind of the end of it. But back to what I was saying about that last one, it charged me, full on, bat out of hell, and then about three quarters way through it just stops, turns around, and strolls off chilled as you like,” “So…?” I struggled to get the words out, searching for some kind of moral in his God-fueled nightmare. “So, it was a fake-out. Elephants do the same thing I hear, they might charge you but they don’t always go for the kill,” “Like a rattle snake has its rattle?” “Exactly,” Pete said, slapping the steering wheel happily. “Now you’re gettin’ it,” Jesus. Even now as I write this, out in the actual place we were talking about, I’m sure I still don’t “get it” 100%, but I’m also not sure if I ever want to. Not for someone as pasty as I. That was the scene as we pulled into the cabin and met up with Tom, who, barring the lack of scarring, was a virtual clone of his brother. At least it wouldn’t be hard to tell the twins apart, I joked sourly to myself. That first night it was pitch dark by the time we arrived, and the brothers informed me that it’s better to start in the morning, which I wasn’t complaining about. I didn’t want to start at all. We played cards and, yes, indulged in one or two bottles of the frothy good stuff but nothing preventative. If I was going to suffer it would be sober, I resolved. For the good of the article. For the paycheck. Only in hindsight is it obvious that I should have either brought a camera or coughed up the dough to bring a photographer along with me, for no words will ever do the robust architectures of the Cold World justice. The sky, the mountains, the crest, slopes, hills, and all the endless flora and fauna are simply impossible to put into words, not accurately anyway. So I won’t bother here, because it won’t work. Believe me or don’t, but the following is my take on the landscape of the barren North: there is little doubt that the reason for its deadliness is its beauty, for the Gods knew no man alone should possess such a thing. Leave it to the beasts and the wildmen, the things that have nowhere else to go. I mentioned this idea to Pete and Tom, but they didn’t respond, merely smiling at the thought. “Maybe that’s just the world, brother,” Tom finally said. Maybe. Or maybe it’s some mushy-gushy greeting card BS. Not my department either way, thankfully. All told it was only a total of two days (or three, if you count the first night at the cabin) that was spent traversing the landscape, keeping a steely eye out for predators and such. Tom was pointing out different tracks and kinds of scat to follow while Pete could look at a scene and tell you probably what happened: the weather pushed the snow up like this, critters burrowed down here, a predator sniffed them out and got one or two but the rest got away. All from shapes in the snow and the aforementioned scat. Where was I anymore? I couldn’t fathom it, still can’t. There is this world that we choose to ignore, that I do, and the irony is that the knowledge of its existence only drives you further away, unless you were an animal or a wildman, again. For as intense as it all got, what with the awful nights and exhausting days, the beauty and serenity and wonder always remained, even for a layman like me. At one point Pete spotted some tracks and called Tom over to see what he thought. Not more than a few seconds of thought went into it before they both turned around to me and announced that we were going back the way we came, we’re not in any danger but we were going back. I nodded and turned around to trudge back along the same path I’d followed those two on, marked by footprints in the snow. This isn’t really going anywhere, and the wind is picking up outside, again. The brothers discussed it and one of them is going to keep watch overnight, making a little igloo-type configuration in front of the tent. “But we’re not in any danger, not in the middle of camp like this,” Pete reassured me. I nodded and went back to whatever it was I was doing, probably nothing. Clearly since you’re reading this we all made it home okay, but it’s worth mentioning that that was what my last night in the Arctic was like, cold, stunned, often afraid, but never alone, even by myself.

#short story #fiction #nature #romanticism #gonzo #melancholy #bittersweet #literature #writing #wattpad

0 notes