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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

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His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down.

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry.

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?"

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on."

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject.

"Where am I going?" She asked.

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit."

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing."

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry."

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?"

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

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sp00kworm · 4 years

Text

Vermillion (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Blood, Wounds, Injury descriptions, Gore, Kidnapping, Implied Stockholm Syndrome, Sexual References.

A/N: I forgot to cross post this! It took me a week to write for my favourite Sinclair so I’m happy to finally share this long piece with everyone. I love metal and figured Bo would too so this is sort of where this came from! Please enjoy!

----

It wasn’t often that Bo Sinclair couldn’t stand the sight of his home, but when it did happen, he was always the first to escape in his truck, leaving Vincent in peace in the basement. Lester was rarely there to begin with, so it wasn’t like he was missing much when he was out of town. It was just them. Them and the dog, he reasoned as he cranked the volume of the rock station down in his truck. The bars he could easily drive to were run down little things, often just off to the side of a fuel station. Truckers and the large sort frequented them, laying down in their truck cabins for a few hours of sleep after a beer. They were run down, but the beer was cold and the food usually greasy enough to take his mind off whatever was itching at the back of his neck. Bo took a breath, strangling the steering wheel in his grasp as he listened to the last of the song on the station. When it finished and the annoying presenter droned back in, he turned the engine off and hopped out of the truck, locking the door as he took in the run-down establishment. Thankfully he was in his mechanic overalls still. He didn’t look out of place among the fat-bellied truckers that had just walked in.

The inside was just as dingy as the outside. The old wood was dark and the pictures on the walls were from when the area was known for its mining. He listened to the quiet hum lull on as he moved into the corner of the bar and eyed what was on tap. Truly he would be fine with a bottle. He didn’t care much for what it was so long as he could have the alcohol to destress. He snarled when his elbow was jostled, the trucker apologising gruffly before taking his tankard off back to a group of his friends. They clicked drinks before setting their scruffy lips to guzzling whatever it was in the huge cups. The music was some sort of rage metal, playing over the speakers in the corner, though not loud enough for any of the older men to complain about it. Bo was surprised by the choice but noted it as a reason to come back. Too many places played cheesy charts shit that he couldn’t stand. Heavier music had been his outlet since he was young.

The bartender was the one making the swap it seemed, beer bottles clutched to their chest as they flicked through an old ipod and changed the tracks to something heavier still. Bo would come back if he could drink beer with this sort of music on.

You felt burning eyes on your form as you clicked through the tracks of your little ipod. Dark blue gazed at you from the bottom of the bar and you took that as a sign that your little music switch had taken too long for some of the patrons’ tastes. With a smile you dumped the bottles in the box for collection and placed the glasses in the other one for the kitchen to wash. You were unassuming to him. Yet your music taste made him want to cry with joy. He was god damn sick of the classical music Vincent had on in the house. The only place he was free of it was at the garage with his battered tapes.

“Hey stranger, what can I get you?” You asked as you drew out a cold glass from under the polished counter.

Bo looked at you hard, chewing a toothpick as he gazed at the beers and shrugged, “I ain’t picky. Stronger is better but nothin’ that’s a spirit.” He flicked the wood and watched you hum and pull him a pint of a lighter coloured beer, placing it in front of him with a smile as the next riff crashed through your small speaker set up.

“Tab or cash upfront?”

“Open a tab. I’ll pay before I leave.” He offered before taking the beer and sliding himself into the seat on the end, “We alright to smoke inside?”

“Sure, just make sure to stub it out in the ashtray. If I see ash on the counter, I’ll charge you double for the beer.”

Your sour smirk drew a chuckle from the man in the cap. He placed the bleached, blue baseball cap on the bar before rubbing at his wild brown hair and drawing out a packet of cigarettes, wasting no time sparking one up before he took a sip of the beer. His face was pleasant as he took another, then chugged four great mouthfuls. If he was driving, you hoped he wasn’t going to have too many. Ignoring the new stranger, you tended to the other men, drawing beers and whiskeys before returning to your docked ipod, flicking to something metalcore before humming your way back to behind the bar, taking to cleaning glasses as the drum thundered softly behind you. The new band drew Bo’s attention back to the speaker as a vicious low noise growled over the wood. Some patrons rolled their eyes, and the male didn’t miss their chuckles at the music. It seemed like the regulars were used to the heavier stuff. A few seemed like the sort to enjoy this music. Bo felt his gaze linger on you as you canted your hips left and right, humming along to the song as you worked quietly before people came up to ask for drinks.

The eyes were on you as the male drank, his dark eyes peering over the rim of his glass, searching perhaps for something he liked. Maybe the music was pissing him off. You couldn’t find it in you to care about what he thought.

Bo raised his hand with a smile, “Bartender! I’ll have another of whatever that was, please.” He was still smoking, slowly dragging on his second cigarette.

“Sure thing. Half?” You watched him drag on the cigarette, as though he was actually deciding.

“Sure. Half. I gotta drive home.” He ground the stub out in the ashtray, “Thoughtful of you.” He hummed before pushing the ashtray away, handing you back his glass, “You got a name, sweets?”

“As much as I wish it was sweets, it isn’t.” You chuckled, pulling another half a pint for the man before offering your name with his drink, “What about you? I’ve worked here about a year and I’ve never seen you before.”

“Bo. Don’t stand for nothin' either before you ask.” He gave you a smile full of teeth, sipping the beer you put in front of him with something of a relaxed slouch.

“Well, Bo, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, doll. Might see more of me with that music taste of yours too.” Bo winked and glugged the rest of his drink, as though the liquid would get rid of something he was thinking about.

You’d seen his sort before. At least he had the spoons not to drink himself into a stupor. He had to drive home after all. The mechanics overalls moved enough to reveal thick, scarred wrists, the marks puckered, pink and white. You pretended not to see and took the glass from him as he sparked his third cigarette. A man with plenty of baggage. One to avoid. Yet as he cracked another smirk, taking the drink from you, you couldn’t help but smile back, watching him poke at his tattered hat, his hair messy. Something about him was off, yet he hid it behind a southern smile and a honey accent. Bo raised the crisp glass to his lips, drinking slower now, puffing on the cigarette between his lips as he turned to listen to a gruff exchange in the corner. The regulars were getting a little rowdy. The music chugged on in the background. Bo chuckled and turned his eyes back on you, watching under his lashes as you wiped down the counter with a cloth. The burning gaze followed you as you served another patron, and then another. He didn’t ask for another drink, just nursed the last one you had given him as the last of the men emptied out of the bar.

It was close to two o’clock in the morning.

Bo took his hat from the counter as the last man walked out, “Thanks for letting me stay, doll. Sweet of ya considering I haven’t bought more than two drinks.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, “Keep the rest as a tip.”

It was a kind gesture considering his drinks only came to about six dollars, “Thanks. You off back home now?” The glass clicked as you put it back in the box of washing, “Must have been something on your mind to keep you here until close.” You clicked off the chugging guitar of some metalcore song as Bo pulled the brim of his hat lower.

Bo chewed the edge of his lip before releasing it and smirking, “Ain’t nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over.” He tugged the sleeves of his coveralls and stood from the bar stool, tucking his wallet back into his front pocket.

“I’m not worried. You haven’t drunk enough to make a rat tipsy tonight. I’m sure you’ll be safe on your way home.” You put the cash in the register and took your four dollars for your tip jar on the end of the bar, “Thank you for the tip by the way. Not many tend to leave them.”

The male nodded and took a deep breath before moving to the door, “See you around, sweets. Your music taste really might just keep me around.” With another wink, he was out of the door, leaving you wiping your hands on your rag.

Bo licked at his lips as he closed the bar door, looking at his truck in the empty parking lot then back at the door. It was tempting to wait, to drive a little way down and trail behind you. He could, but it was late, and he had a few errands to run early. The man smirked and walked to his truck, tucking the card with the address of the bar into his pocket. Maybe next time he’d get himself a little souvenir?

You didn’t see Bo for a while.

The typical men and women were tucked in the back of the bar. It was still early for a few of them, so most were only a drink or two in. You’d taken liberties with the music once more, bobbing your head by the fridge at the back of the bar as you stocked beers and ciders into it. When the door went, you peaked up over your shoulder, watching the new familiar face saunter in. Bo was earlier this time. Dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt, he walked in with heavy boots on his feet and a smile on his face. He seemed brighter, less in a mood than the last time. He pulled his baseball cap off as he entered and gave you a bright, toothy smile, dangerous as he prowled over to the bar.

“You look like the cat that got the cream, Bo.” With a laugh you pulled out a glass, “What will it be this time?”

The man rolled his shoulders, still happy with the ego stroking, “Same as last time, doll-face. Tab too.” Bo sat down on the same barstool, his elbows on the bar top as he rummaged in a pocket for his crushed packet of cigarettes.

You pulled the pint of drink for him and placed the cool glass in front of him before pulling along an ashtray for him, “What brings you back to our humble establishment?” Joking, you leaned on the top on front of him, fluttering your eyelashes, “Maybe the music?”

Bo drew back slightly, sparking the cigarette before blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth with half lidded eyes, “Something like that. Maybe it was the beer. You got a good choice.” He shrugged and flicked ash into the ashtray.

“Well, you’ll be glad to know there’s plenty more where that came from.” With a smile you headed off to make the next round of drinks for the truckers sat in the far corner, humming along to the next song on your new playlist.

Bo watched under his eyelashes as you swayed and handed back drinks to the bearded, burly male, taking the cash and handing him his change with practiced ease. They seemed to all like you here, and respect you. It was nice to see. He waited for you to come back and continue the conversation. You ignored him and his gaze in favour of changing up the music, this time to a faster beat.

Bo pulled his old phone out to see a brief message. Something from Vincent. They both had little pay phones, though Vincent only tended to send him anything if it was urgent. Apparently red paint at seven o’clock at night was just that urgent. With a snort, he sent a haughty reply about picking it up tomorrow afternoon. Thinking of a way to get you back over and talking was more important right now than his brother’s painting hobby. He’d been away for the week chasing new little victims for their collection. One had hidden out in the woods not far from Lester’s cabin, and had mistakenly banged on the door, and ended up right back in their clutches. He’d enjoyed hog tying the brat a little too much, and maybe enjoyed throwing him down the stairs to Vincent a little bit more. A violent part of him had wanted to beat the young man for the trouble he’d given him, but it wasn’t right. Vincent wanted that one alive for some reason. His younger brother had pointed wildly to some new pose in his notebook and Bo had been loathe to pay attention outside of a ‘Do what the fuck you want’.

Bo settled for finishing his drink before calling your name, “Can I get another one please, sweets?” He asked, sugar on top of the honey that was his accent.

“Sure thing.” You took his glass with a smile and set to getting him a refill as he watched on behind you, his packet of cigarettes perched by his hand, his metal lighter clicking in his hands as he sparked it up, closed it, and repeated.

“You been working here long?” He asked as he snapped his lighter closed, blue eyes crinkled around the edges with his smile. It was a handsome smile.

Blowing air out of your mouth you thought about it, “Just over a year now, I think? Its not a bad job when you get the tips and the crowd seem to like me enough. Definitely makes it more bearable.” You placed his refilled beer next to his hand as he pocketed his lighter.

“I’m glad to hear it.” He smiled as he took his glass in his hand.

“What about you, Mister? What do you do for a living?” You stood next to him as the metal music turned soft, “Something hands on?”

It was probably a bad idea. Definitely.

“I’m a mechanic. Have my own little place. Not real busy but the work comes and goes.” Bo couldn’t stop himself before he was spouting too much, “Out in a little piece of land. The town’s quiet but we all make do. Like the peace ‘n quiet.”

You nodded with a smile, “That must be nice. I always wanted to live out in the country.” Confessing it to the man felt odd, but you were convinced no harm could really come from it, “But there aren’t that many jobs so far from civilization.”

Bo chuckled after a swig of beer, “It ain’t as bad as you think.” But didn’t say anymore as he fingered his pack of cigarettes.

“So Mister Mechanic has his own land and a little town to look after. Doesn’t seem like you’re doing too bad for yourself.” You joked, easing the tension, “All you need now is a little family.”

Bo felt something akin to bile rise in his throat, “Somethin’ like that. Though maybe playin’ happy families isn’t my forte.” He rubbed at his forehead with a frustrated smile, “One can only hope, right?” He laughed, brushing off the gloom with another drink, “You want the easy life I take it? Stayin’ at home. Lookin’ after kids?”

Bo swallowed the sour taste in his mouth as his heart leaped in his throat. A little house-spouse. Something about the idea of it made his gut twist in his belly. He licked at his lips again before taking a few deep swallows of beer.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants? The easy life. No worries.” You smiled and tapped your fingers along the bar counter before sighing, “Though it will probably never happen.”

“Who knows, sweetpea?” Bo smiled over the rim of his glass, “Be careful what you wish for.” He flicked open his lighter to light another cigarette.

Scoffing, you reached for your handkerchief to wipe at your forehead, the summer heat still permeating the bar, making it hot inside, “Thanks, Bo. You’re a real mood sucker, you know that?” You smiled at him.

The smile made his worries ease a little, “Maybe everyone will get what they want in the end, doll.” The toothy smirk was known to you now, and you smiled back as metal thundered over the speakers, pulling him another drink before serving the rest of the clients.

Bo grinned at his hand as he walked out that night, your handkerchief in his hand, your smell lingering in the material. As he sat in his truck, he pressed his nose into the material and groaned.

At first Bo came by weekly. You knew he was busy. Looking after his brothers and running errands while trying to manage a plot of land didn’t leave him much time for socialising. Bo made time. The more he visited, the more time he made. Weekly visits became twice weekly all too easily, and Bo looked forwards to listening to you snark at customers, or music taste, though you both liked the same bands anyway. The handkerchief was still in his pocket, the red cotton kind on his rough fingers. He pushed a finger into the material before he ordered another drink.

“Heineken today, sugar.” His smile was infectious as he seated himself properly, hands on the bar, his cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket this time.

“That’s a weak one for you Bo.” You teased, cracking a bottle open for him with a quick flick of a bottle opener. You placed the top by his hand and held up your pad, scribbling down his drink at the top of a new page.

Bo gave a lopsided grin before pulling a cigarette out and thumping over his pockets with a curse, “You got a light? My lighter is back in the truck.” He asked and held out the cigarette to you.

Rolling your eyes you grasped the spare lighter from under the counter, “You’d think a nicotine addict like you wouldn’t forget your lighter.” You let him hold the cigarette in his mouth before you lit the end with a raised eyebrow.

For your sass, Bo made sure to blow the first lung full of smoke in your direction, “For a bartender you’d think you’d be a lot nicer to the clients that pay your wage, sweets.”

It wasn’t a threat, you knew that, so you laughed at him and turned to give a lady her whiskey before answering him, “I thought you only came here for the music anyway?” You teased.

Bo scoffed, “Somethin’ like that.” And drank a few mouthfuls of beer before tapping his cigarette on the ashtray edge, “Maybe I like the company.”

A grin was his reply, “Mister Bo Sinclair, hard man of the century, just wants a bit of company.”

“Carry on with that sass, doll, and I’ll make sure you don’ do it again.” Bo snatched your wrist from the counter with a dark look, “If you catch my drift.” His eyelashes were low, touching his cheeks as he leaned over the bar.

Bo was coming on to you. The Bo Sinclair, was coming onto you.

A thick wad of spit was hard to swallow, and you managed with a soft gulp as he eyed you, fingers tight around your wrist.

“And just how would you do that?” You knew you were playing with fire now, daring Bo to spout all the things he had been thinking about.

Bo took a drink before twisting you closer, his free hand dragging up over the soft skin on the inside of your wrist, “Maybe I’d rather your mouth be sayin’ other things?” He leaned up to make sure no one would overhear, speaking hotly into your ear, “Or screaming them for me. Bet you sound divine all worked up.”

That was a little too much. With a furious blush on your face, you pulled away jerkily, eyeing Bo with pursed lips, “What makes you think I’d let you, Mister Sinclair?” You really were putting your foot in it.

“I don’t.” He let go of you in an instant, “It was just an offer, should you want to take me up on it.” Bo sat back in his seat, pulling at his shirt as though he was hot before downing the rest of his drink, “Think about it, doll. I’ll be back tomorrow. I gotta run an errand before I head home.”

Like a proud cat he was out of the door, chest puffed out as though he had just achieved the impossible. When you turned over his beer coaster, his number was scribbled on the back, everything blocky and rushed. As a drum thundered you entered his number into your contacts and thumbed at the text button. A customer called for another drink and you tucked your phone back away before pulling another round of pints for the group in the back, smiling and chatting friendly.

The number felt odd in your phone. After your shift, you pulled out your phone and eyed his number again, thumb tapping the little message button once before you made your decision. Typing out the message you took a deep breath before pressing send. His reply didn’t come. It was sent, and as you locked up the bar you held your phone tighter, hoping that tomorrow wouldn’t be awkward. You climbed into your car as your phone buzzed with a response.

‘Did you see me writing my number or is this by accident?’

You swallowed and replied, ‘Thought I’d take you up on your offer ;)’

‘After your shift tomorrow?’

Your fingers shook as you typed, ‘See you then tiger.’ and exhaled, trembling as you turned on the engine and turned on the radio. The late-night talk show didn’t calm your nerves any as you pulled out and chewed on your lip.

One night turned into two, and two turned into four faster than you knew. It wasn’t even a hook up the third time. Bo took you out for breakfast. It was still a little motorway diner, but the pancakes were to die for. It was nice. Almost domestic. The next time you met it was the same. Going for breakfast in another little place. The time after that is was back in the motel, teeth clashing and hands groping handfuls of one another as he fucked you hard into the bed. It was a stark and scary difference, but as Bo placed his hand over yours in the diner, you found it hard to care about the shadows under his eyes and the strange glint in the corner. You looked down at your waffles and hummed, sipping a hot beverage tentatively as Bo chewed his pancakes with a noise of glee. Anyone would think he never ate the way he shoved quarters of cooked dough into his mouth. The coffee didn’t seem to bother him, and he swallowed a few mouthfuls before finally slowing down.

“Anyone would think you’ve never been fed, Bo.” You shook your head as you cut up your waffle.

Bo struggled to swallow his mouthful before he replied, “In truth, I got to get home, doll.” He confessed quietly, strong fingers resting on the table edge, “Something’s come up back home.”

“Nothing serious I hope?” You hid the upset in your eyes.

Bo shook his head, “Nothin' serious but I’m worried about Vincent.” He tapped one finger on the table and drew his lips back, half of his teeth exposed as he sucked air through them, “He...He can look after himself but people keep comin’ up to the house and I get a lil' worried for ‘im.” If he was lying you couldn’t tell. Bo pursed his lips before releasing the tension, licking at them before he posed the question to you, “How about we get the rest to take out? I can show you the house if ya'd like?”

“Mister Sinclair, it’s only the third date and you’re already taking me home to meet the family?” You teased as he leaned over to ask for boxes.

Bo's eyes went low, looking at the dip of your neck into your collar bones before he replied, “Seen as though I’ve already taken you elsewhere, seems about right I take you home.” His tongue made a round over his lips, imagining the taste of you before he leaned back to let the waitress take your food and box it up.

This was the moment. Bo knew it. You could reject him and go back to your little bar job, or you could come with him. He wanted you. He needed you like a dying man. It was like an itch in the back of his head, constant, fogging his brain with something like joy when he thought about you. The cruel part wanted to snatch you now, hunting knife to your neck as he dragged you back to the truck and hid you back in the middle of nowhere, back in Ambrose. Home, he thought, as he looked at your face. He wanted you home. To greet him when he came in, to greet him like a good little spouse. The sick part of his head wanted that and nothing else for you. The sicker part enthused if you were wax, he could have you forever. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t a sick enough fucker to think wax people were real, nor would he do anything with it. He just wanted you to stay. The scars on his wrists ached when he rubbed at them, a subconscious, anxious movement as he waited. His Mama had left, and their Papa had driven himself mad. All he had was their town and his brothers, but now he wanted you as a part of his little family. A perfect little house-spouse. The words thundered in his head before you opened your mouth.

“Sure then, why not?” You smiled at him as the waitress took the money for the food and returned your leftovers in Styrofoam boxes.

Bo felt a smirk widen across his face, “Come on then, sweets, let’s get back to the house.” He took the food and held the door open for you to walk through, his smile infectious as you both dragged yourself up into his pickup and pulled out onto the highway once more. Bo’s hand went to the radio as a comfortable silence settled over the both of you, and turned the knobs, trying to tune into the station he liked. When the rock station came on, he sighed with relief and listened, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm propped up out of the window.

“It’s a bit soft for you isn’t it?” You teased, holding up your little ipod and a cord, “I’ll put some good shit on.”

Bo only chuckled and let you fiddle with his old radio plug in, watching you struggle with a snort as he tried to keep his eyes on the road. When you finally managed it, Bo When you finally managed it, Bo felt the tension ease, the heavy drums rattling through the old speakers as he sped past the junction to civilization and onwards.

“You sure do live in the middle of nowhere, Bo.”

“Somethin’ like that, doll.”

The ride to Bo’s home was odd. The town was off the beaten track, obscured in a small corner of the country that no one had seen in years. The path was well worn, and the town was simply a single street left to rot. It seemed desolate, that was until you saw an old woman peep from behind her curtains, curlers in and tv fuzzing behind her. There was some life still here. There was no one around still though. One woman didn’t make a town. That was when the famous House of Wax came into view, yet Bo didn’t stop to let you see much of it, quickly turning the truck up towards the house, away from the museum and the rest of the town. He turned off the engine and applied the handbrake before taking a breath and getting out. You let him open your door for you and smiled.

“It’s a big old house.” It was more an observation.

Bo shrugged his shoulders, pulling his cap from his head as he walked towards the front door. It was open, and he turned the handle, cringing at the insides ass you walked past him.

A ‘pig sty’ was probably the nicest way of describing the inside of the Sinclair home. It was chock full of junk and stuff from so long ago you were sure it wouldn’t work anymore.

“It’s certainly unique.” You shrugged and perched yourself on the couch with a wave from Bo. He shoved his way into the kitchen and placed a kettle on the stove before walking back into the living area. His eyes were looking at something you couldn’t see as he walked through into another room in the back. The kettle was screaming on the stove. Your heart rate picked up when Bo didn’t come back. With a breath you dared to enter the kitchen, looking at the suspicious brown stains on the sink before you took the kettle away with a towel and placed it on the side, wondering where the cups were.

“Doll?” Bo shouted from the living room, “Shit.” He whispered it before you replied to him.

“I’m in the kitchen! The kettle was screaming!” You shouted through the door and waved, hot kettle in hand, “I don’t know where anything is.”

Bo seemed relieved to find you there, but quickly pulled two chipped mugs from the cupboard over your head and some cheap brand coffee, “Sorry its not the fancy shit. We don’t have no fancy machines for any of the grounds.”

“Don’t worry about it. Did you go and check on Vincent?” You asked, pouring hot water into the mugs.

As though you had summoned the man, a presence lingered in the doorway, “He’s uh, come up to see you.”

You turned around, coffee in hand, and almost jumped a mile in the air. A man the exact same height as Bo stood in the doorway, apron over thick jumper and tough cargo bottoms, boots covered in globs of white wax. His hair shadowed his face, hiding the features.

“Its nice to meet you, Vincent. Bo talks about you often. Only good things of course.” You offered him a drink and watched the man shake his head before he peered upwards, fingers cupped around the perfect skin of his chin. It looked like a medical prosthetic covering his face. It clicked that is was indeed a mask. Made of wax. You felt unnerved but held fast as you took your coffee back. A dark eye looked at you through the mask, analysing you on a level you couldn’t comprehend. The dark curtain of hair covered his face again as he tugged Bo’s shirt.

“A guest, not one of your projects. Well…” Something in the room churned then, darkening, souring the air with something you have never seen on his face, “Maybe if…” The words fell on deaf ears as Vincent reached for the bone handled knife on his thigh.

“Baby, don’t be doin’ no running now. We ain’t gonna hurt you.” Bo smiled and crowded your space, following you around the table as you felt the urge to panic rise in your gut, “What happened to breakfast? We were gonna eat here and have a grand old time!” He spread his arms as you watched Vincent by the door. Bo snatched your face in his hands, “Eyes on me, sugar.” White teeth snapped in front of your face, “We ain’t gonna do nothin’. You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason!” He let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your frame, “I swear, you got an overactive imagination or somethin’.”

And like that, the atmosphere was calm. Vincent looked at you before taking a coffee and walking back out of the door, a dog barking and trailing behind him as he headed back towards the back rooms. As the door closed, you heard the scream that followed and the howl of the dog behind the wood.

“What the fuck is this, Bo?!”

Bo smirked, pulling his hat off before grappling you by the backside, pressing your hips together, “This is your new life, doll.” He snatched your wrists before you could smack at his face. The man leaned over, hand pinching your cheeks before his tongue ran over your hot face, licking you from the bottom of your jaw to the top of your cheek. He pulled away and pressed his face into your neck, breathing you in as the screams in the other room died down, and the dog stopped howling, “Better get used to it.” His hands trailed over your ass as he hugged you tighter.

The air in your lungs seized, “What do you mean?” and the screams started in the next room as the slick sound of a knife cut through the air. A door slammed open and you heard feet thump towards the kitchen. A girl ground her nails into the door frame, a stolen scalpel in hand as she glanced at Bo then back to you in his grasp.

The scalpel glinted before she moved with wild eyes, “You sick fuck!” She howled, launching herself towards the both of you. Bo moved quickly, hand catching her wrist. His grip slipped and the knife sliced his palm, the surgical weapon wet with bright red blood. You panicked, grabbing the girl by the wrists as Bo fisted his hand, blood dripping onto the kitchen floor.

“Get the fuck off of me!” She thrashed with the blade and you grunted as the two of you clattered onto the table. With a heave you rolled enough to smash her hand into the wood, watching her fingers recoil, the blade dropping from her grip. Fat tears dripped onto your face as she howled again, fighting to retrieve her blade. Silently, you snatched the knife and pushed her back. Vincent dashed into the door, grabbing the escaped girl by her hair, hunting knife pressed to her throat, the sharp edge glinting against the soft skin of her throat.

Clapping echoed around the room. Bo was leaned against the counter, his hips pressed back as he watched you gasp and hold the scalpel. You’d nicked yourself in the fight, arm bleeding and shirt sliced open, stained red with your own blood.

“What a show.” He hopped forwards and grinned, fingers moving over your shoulders as Vincent watched from the doorway, “Cut her real good, baby.” The purr made you clench, slick fingers unfurling from the scalpel with a shaky breath as you watched Vincent take the girl away, her tears dripping over her cheeks and onto the hard wood floor.

“You made me...” A sob choked in your throat before you steeled yourself, “I’m just as guilty as you.” It was a whisper.

Fingers pressed into your shoulders, a soft voice shushing your sniffling, “You ain’t done nothing wrong. She wont die. Vincent makes ‘em real purty.” They trailed a path down your sides before he held you by the waist, “Breakfast is getting cold.” He uttered behind your ear, breath hot against the skin, “I hate to waste good food.” Bo pressed a kiss to your neck before steering you to the table, pulling out a small first aid kit to patch up the cut until Vincent could stitch the both of you up.

The stitches in your arm ached. Bo’s palm was a mess, wrapped for a long time before it stayed closed as he moved it. Vincent had put stitches in carefully and watched Bo hiss and pick them sore for days before holding his brother still, disinfecting the stitches, and wrapping his palm so he couldn’t play with the wire. Your arm healed quickly as you tentatively settled into the new life, gazing at the sculptures Vincent often positioned in the House of Wax. Bo didn’t like your silence. You refused to eat for two days before he stirred up an argument. A screaming match on his side that made you swallow the mashed potatoes on your plate and think hard about what you were doing there. Another kid rolled into the town a day later, his hair a mess and his backpack hanging from one shoulder. You sat on the porch swing-seat as Bo sweet talked him inside.

“Fan belt? Oh, sure thing. I got a few in the house. You want to wait here with the spouse?” He nodded and Bo walked past you with a smile. A warning was hidden in his eyes somewhere. The warning was silly. You knew that ratting them out wouldn’t be good for you.

A smile curled on your face as you placed down your lemonade. It was cheap, flat almost, but it was refreshing in the sunshine as you sat with one of the boy’s books on your knees. Bo had been kind enough to drag you to your apartment, but not kind enough to let you ring work. Better you just disappeared, he said.

“Not from round here?” You asked, pushing your sunglasses up to reveal your eyes, “We don’t see many round these parts. A miracle I found Bo here in the wilderness.” The accent was choppy, but you’d been practicing enough to have a twang.

“Its a ghost town.” The male observed, “Just shit luck that my fanbelt snapped. It looked like it was done with plyers or something.”

You shrugged, “Shit happens.” And laughed before offering him a drink of lemonade. Bo was still inside; no doubt piecing together repair stuff to take to the truck.

“I will have a drink, thank you. It took me three hours of walking to find this place.” He took the glass of icy lemonade and drank great mouthfuls.

Bo came back through the door, startling the young man into choking as he glugged lemonade.

“A man goes inside, and a boy is already moving in on his turf. By all means,” he gave a sharp grin, “Make yourself at home.” He smirked at the boys stuttering before holding up a spanner, “I’m playing with you, boy.” He twirled the metal around his fist before placing his tools to the side. You saw Bo's shoulders tense before the metal tool smacked the boy over the head. It sent him spiralling, unsteady on his feet as he let out a squawk.

“What the fuck?!” He held out his hands, dropping the lemonade over the porch, the glass shattering.

Bo was on him quickly, pulling his arms back with a sneer, “You think I gave you permission to make yourself at home, huh?” He threw the boy into the wall of the house.

“Bo!” You clutched your book and gave him a snarl of your own.

In a fury, the man turned around, fists clenched, “I’ll talk with you later, doll.” The words were purred against your ear, Bo pressed into your personal space, before he recoiled like a viper and grabbed the unconscious boy. He pinched his face, looking him over with mild disgust, “You get on with making dinner.”

He left without anything else, descending into the basement, dragging the boy’s dead weight body behind him to try and calm down by exercising his muscles a little. Jealously wasn’t something you’d seen before. It was even deadlier coming from a man like Bo. You swallowed and sighed before pulling the pots out for dinner. You needed to get changed out of your lemonade sticky clothes before anything though.

Dressed in a soft shirt and bottoms, you leaned over the stove, cooking a basic meal for those that wanted it. You’d already shouted to Vincent about food. He hadn’t replied with a knock, so you assumed he was busy with his latest creation. It was probably the boy Bo had taken down. Bo hadn’t resurfaced since, other than slamming the door to the basement link to the House of Wax and storming upstairs for something. You sighed, pinching at the shirt over your torso, wondering if the outfit would appeal to him enough.

Listening to your own thoughts was sick. But you wanted to impress him. Bo was special. It was fucked up, but this whole thing was.

“Bo?!” You dared to shout up the stairs, “Dinner is ready!”

The door slammed open. You made yourself scarce, escaping to the kitchen to turn off the hob. Footsteps made the stairs creak as Bo came down, sighing heavily before he shouted, “Where you at, sweets?” He called before entering the kitchen. He was a state, face red and wrists sore from rubbing and gouging at them.

Your eyes caught the redness, “Baby? What happened?” You knew. The abuse as a child. He'd sobbed one night in the bar after far too many beers, before taking you to the cheap motel you both often went to, and fucking you hard against the wall.

“Nothing.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, “Its all fine now you’re here, sugar.” Bo pressed his face into your neck and sighed again, breathing you in as the food cooled on the stove, “I love you.”

The world froze as you felt the warmth from the man behind you seep into your back.

“I love you too.”

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But was it true? You adored Bo like no other before all of this. Did this change him? You leaned into his touch and made your decision.

Bo purred at your reaction; lips pressed to the hot skin of your neck. The shirt was hooked out of your trousers, flapping over your stomach as he pressed you towards the side. His fingers slid teasingly along your sternum, pressing into the flesh as they danced over your stomach, aiming lower. A hot breath blew over the back of your ear as Bo's hips pressed you firmly against the counter. His fingers dipped underneath your bottoms, stroking as he kissed a spot behind your ear. His fingers slipped around before teasing the flesh, ignoring your grunt against the counter and the cant of your hips towards him.

"Make some noises for me, sugar, I'm a man dyin' of thirst."

You slid your hand around instead, grinning as you pressed your hand to his crotch, fingers splaying over the rough material of his old jeans.

Teeth snapped by your ear, “You better hang on. I’m gonna see what noises I can get out of you.”

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax (2005)#house of wax #the house of wax #vincent sinclair #lester sinclair #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #my writing #slasher reader insert #bo sinclair x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader

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lozza342 · 4 years

Note

49, your choice of pairing!

Would it be too obvious if I picked KinKuni again?

Ah well, it's the only ship I write well. Don't argue with me, it's true.

Oh, and I forgot KinKuni day a few days ago

Since I recently had a conversation about it being Kunimi being the one falling for Kindaichi (since it so often seems to be the other way around)... Here goes!

KinKuni - "I can't stop thinking about you."

Words: 1, 773

Kunimi bites his lip, staring at the ceiling fan in his living room rotating slowly, fanning nothing but hot air. It's warm - too warm - and the days drag on longer and longer in the dreadful heat of summer. He turns to his side, stretching his legs out over the tatami and watches through the open doors to his garden.

It's calm, there's no wind hitting the wooden charm hanging just outside. Everything's… quiet.

He's supposed to be studying, and the silence would usually be just what he needs, but he's only done half an hour and he's, simply put, bored.

The still-green grass of his back garden lawn looks soft. If only he didn't burn so easily, he wondered what it would be like to go outside barefoot, play like he used to as a kid in summer, when Kindaichi came around with water-filled guns and they tactlessly chased each other in the scorching sun.

The days were fun, while they lasted, each summer spent recovering from sunburn, never learning… until they stopped being kids and started to become adults, needing to stay indoors to finish homework and housework, when Kindaichi stopped bringing toys and started bringing books.

Kindaichi still tans so easily, even without endless hours in the sun, the tawny brown an even tone across his body. Kunimi wonders if he suns himself to get it so perfect, that he shows no tan lines even when he rolls his short sleeves up to show his bare shoulders. The image of the sight draw Kunimi's brows together, furrowing in frustration.

He hasn't seen Kindaichi since yesterday. This had meant to be their study session together… Perhaps that's why he's bored.

Resting his head on his outstretched arm, Kunimi sighs, breath dragging outwards, as if even doing that is too much effort. With sweat clinging to his skin, Kunimi can't quite relax, licking salt from his lips. He simply stares outside at the grass and the sky, panting softly in the heat.

There's no way he should be expected to get anything done in this weather. Especially with his parents out, any motivation he had is long gone. At this point he doesn't care about his last year at school, about college entrance exams and volleyball. All he wants is to spend time with Kindaichi, not less…

Kunimi let's his eyelids droop, and then fall shut altogether at the thought, feeling his forehead crease and tears prickle behind his eyes.

One more year and it's all over. They'll go to different colleges and Kindaichi will get new friends, friends he deserves, and he'll forget about Kunimi. They'll grow apart and stop speaking and Kunimi will never be able to tell him-

Shit.

Mood spiralling, Kunimi bunches his hand into a fist and sucks in his bottom lip, willing himself not to start sobbing.

It's obvious. No-one thinks so much about their best friend, not if they're just that…

For the one considered the more mature of the two, Kunimi doesn't feel like it. He's… fed up of it, trying to be the son his parents want him to be, quiet and obedient and smart. He wants them to let him be a kid again, let him play more than just volleyball just because he's good at it.

Maybe it's the heat, bringing up these repressed thoughts. Kunimi never fared well with extreme temperatures at the best of times, let alone right now in his head so confused.

Tongue like sandpaper in his mouth, Kunimi blinks his eyes open, lids heavy. The sun isn't as hot and high in the sky, an orange hue coating the foliage in the garden. His entire body is heavy, stiff limbs protesting the movement as he pushes himself up.

"Ah! You're alive!"

Jumping out of his skin, Kunimi whipped his head around. He should've recognised the voice, but in his sleepy haze, he had completely missed it. Kindaichi looked great, his radiant tan complimenting his warm eyes. Trying to ignore the way Kindaichi stayed so calm, Kunimi settled his heart, turning around to face him and crossing his arms over his knees. The action was swift, but he could feel himself shaking. How long had been asleep?

How… "How did you get in?"

Kindaichi blinked, seemingly taken aback. "You, uh, left the doors open… I-! I knocked for ages but you didn't answer so I…"

"You were looking how to break in."

"I wasn't!" Kindaichi protested, and there's a hint of a whine in the back of his throat he always got when he was telling the truth. Still, it made Kunimi smirk, feeling the lazy curl to his lip falter. "Kunimi, are you OK?"

He's fine. Tired, extremely so, but… "When did you get here?"

"Maybe, like… twenty minutes? I didn't want to… wake you, but… I thought I'd just…" Kindaichi trails off, ducking his head a little and running his hand through his hair, strands fluffed with wax.

Kunimi's brain doesn't enjoy the endless guessing what Kindaichi means, not when it's melting in the heat. "What?"

"Eh, I guess… Keep you company?" He replies unsurely. The movement of his wringing hands catches Kunimi's attention. He notices, apparently, because he stops, and when Kunimi looks back at his face, he's staring at him. "Are you sure you're OK? You look a little…"

"What?" Kunimi snaps, wincing at the way it makes him feel light-headed.

Only then it dawns on him.

"I need-"

"Lemme get you some water!" Kindaichi bashes his knee on the kotatsu as he stands, and almost trips over himself, but he doesn't waste any time dashing to the kitchen.

Always so quick to react in a situation… That's Kindaichi. He's not so much calm about it, but he… cares about other people.

While Kunimi likes to think he'd only react so quick for him, he knows that Kindaichi's heart is made of gold. He'd do this for anyone. It doesn't stop him wishing and wanting, throat tightening with the desperation.

He needs Kindaichi like he needs water, like he needs air.

Each breath he takes is a little difficult, leaves him needing more air in the next. By the time there's movement at the door, the edges of his vision darken.

A warm hand lands at his back, rubbing soothing circles over his shirt. Kindaichi puts the glass of water down and takes Kunimi's calves, pulling his legs out straight. "Breathe, Kunimi, slowly." Kindaichi says, right close to his ear. Kindaichi's other hand settles above his knee and rubs a thumb there. "Just like that, Kunimi."

Slowly, Kunimi catches it, a slow rhythm that no longer catches in his throat, and yet he lets himself slump to the side where he knows Kindaichi's body is, gripping the sides of his shirt. "Kindaichi…" He sobs into his chest, desperate.

"Kunimi?" He asks dumbly, and Kunimi wants to scream. His throat is dry and he knows doing so would scratch it sore but he still wants to. The circles on his back don't stop, he never wants them to. "You should drink, now you've got your breath back…"

Stupid, dumb, idiotic Kindaichi… Why can't he understand?!

So much, Kunimi wants so much for Kindaichi to put his strong, sturdy arms around him, tell him he's not going to leave him. Instead, he pulls him back, careful and slow, hands safe on his shoulders. "Did you sleep all day?!"

Kunimi doesn't feel the need to respond, considering he can't remember… when did his parents go out? What time is it now? When he looks at Kindaichi, it's with blurry eyes, even blinking away tears doesn't help to see his face, just the shape of it. Reaching out, he runs fingers over his cheekbone, down to his chin and sighs before dropping his hand.

"Please, Kunimi," Kindaichi pleads, taking his shaking hand, "You're dehydrated."

Kunimi thinks that fact is less important than the way Kindaichi's fingers curl around his. He blames Kindaichi for the prickling in his cheeks, the light-headedness, his heart racing. "Kindaichi." He says, tongue sticking to the insides of his mouth as he does. It comes out raspy in his throat and at that, Kindaichi releases his hand to grab the glass of icy water from the table. Kunimi can't bring himself to resist when Kindaichi presses the rim to his lips.

The water doesn't last seconds. As soon as the liquid touches his dry lips, Kunimi downs the glass, taking it from Kindaichi's grip and tipping it to the ceiling. Cool water runs down his chin and his neck to soak in his collar.

Panting, Kunimi keeps his grip on the glass, so hard he swears he could crack it. Even so, it shakes, his entire body shakes._ Selfish, selfish._

He made Kindaichi worry, just because of his self-pity.

"Why are you here?" Kunimi snaps, again, and Kindaichi flinches. He leans back on his heels, turning his head away. For a moment, Kunimi opens his mouth to apologise, but the blue is fading, and Kindaichi it biting his lip. He's blushing.

He looks amazing, right there, in the evening sun, in seiza with his head ducked. "I wanted to see you, do I need a reason?" He asks.

Kunimi knows he shouldn't need a reason, the only reason he sees Kindaichi is because he wants to… Why should Kindaichi be different? Yet… He's the one in love with Kindaichi, not the other way around. "Yes." He replies, curt, turning his own gaze away when Kindaichi looks back at him.

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Kunimi has never reacted so fast, head going light with the movement, snapping up to see Kindaichi staring straight right in his eyes. "Wh…" Kunimi starts, and Kindaichi simply gapes at him, whipping a hand up to cover his mouth.

"I-! I meant-! I meant I was thinking about you, because…"

A deep red blush spreads from Kindaichi's cheeks to his exposed collarbone, only accentuated by the deep, rich colour of the sun. "I can't stop thinking about you, either…"

"K-Kunimi, you don't mean that, the dehydration is-"

Without a second delay, Kunimi leans forwards, aiming his lips against Kindaichi's. Kindaichi jumps back in surprise, and it falls on his chin, but Kunimi re-adjusts, only glancing once in Kindaichi's wide eyes for reassurance before planting one square on his lips.

Everything's on fire, but not like before. The only heat is from inside him, curling in his chest, uneasiness dissipating from his stomach. When Kunimi pulls back, he looks at Kindaichi's fluttering eyelids, until the slowly peel back again to reveal deep blue, surprised eyes.

"I like you, Yuutarou."

#ask #kinkuni #kindaichi x kunimi #kindaichi yuutarou #kunimi akira

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the-walking-memelords · 4 years

Text

A2 - Chapter 3: The Deal

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Series is rated M

Word Count: 4030

Clementine and crew arrive at the Caravan's camp, but their reunion isn't as sweet as originally hoped.

Not when something so bitter lurks beyond the forest.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

The fenced-in play area of an old elementary school was brimming with the chatter of a rather large group setting up camp. Faded paint was barely visible on the ground, drawing out hopscotch sets and basketball courts. Rusted poles with off-white boards sticking out of the ground, nets long worn away from the hoops. Guards watched the gate leading to the parking lot while others patrolled the field where horses rested from the long journey.

The sharp sting of the peroxide reminded Clementine of where she was. Lost in her own head for so long, the remainder of the trip was more of a blur. She couldn’t remember the things they talked about on the way, or being escorted to the medical station.

“It’s shallow, doesn’t need stitches.” The olive-skinned woman said, brushing a lock of her short, sleek black hair behind her ear.

“Just keep it clean and it shouldn’t even scar.”

Scars were never something Clementine ever paid attention to, but some had rather loud memories attached that she tried to ignore.

She let out a sigh as she shifted on the crate she sat on, nails scratching into the water-stained wood. This woman was a stranger to her. Another new member of Layla’s crew. She acted friendly but there was an air of skepticism around her as if she was evaluating Clementine.

“You the new doctor around here?” Clementine questioned, not seeing the older gentlemen who usually greeted them, eager to help treat any injuries.

“I was... enrolled in a med school at some point, yes, but no.” She chuckled, crow’s feet appearing next to her eyes.

“Doc took Paige inside the second it was secured so she could get some real sleep away from the noise. I swear she’s such a light sleeper a walker could step on a twig a mile away and she would bolt upright.”

“Pretty useful for a traveller.” Clementine commented. She’d met Paige a few times, her and her two younger brothers. Her blond hair and fair skin were quite the contrast with the two younger boys, who were closer to resembling the woman in front of Clem.

“Is she alright?”

The woman paused for a moment, hands hovering over the first-aid kit she had been packing.

“She got bit almost a month ago.” She said quietly.

“The walker took off a few of her fingers, and Doc had to take off the rest of her hand.”

“Shit.”

“No kidding…” She sighed.

“To make things worse it got infected like a week later. She’ll live but she’s still a little unsteady. Doc feels guilty about it I guess, he cares about her and those boys like his own family. Boss was talkin’ about convincing her and the boys to stay at Alexandria on our next rotation but it’d be hard to get them and Doc to say goodbye.”

Clementine shifted her left leg, her prosthetic feeling like dead weight tied to her body. All this time and she wasn’t quite used to it. There were some days she woke up, pulling back the covers with a shock to realize it was really gone. Even still she had some bad nights spent with her face buried into the crook of Louis’ neck quietly sobbing as he held her, aches and cramps shooting through a part of her that didn’t exist anymore.

“CLEMENTIIINNNEEEE!” An extremely worried voice rushing towards her made Clem look up just in time to catch the young woman who practically flew into her arms.

“I missed you so much and Louis told me you were in the med bay and I was so worried and ohmygodareyouokay?”

“Layla please I can’t breathe.” Clementine begged her friend to release the crushing grip on her ribcage.

Layla was a young Persian woman about the same age and height as Clementine, but their personalities were quite opposite. If you hung around her for long enough you wouldn’t think the world had ended. She was bright and cheery not out of naivety but perhaps just to spite the horror of everything else.

“Oh my god yeah I’m so sorry I just wanted to make sure you were okay and ADDIE!” Layla’s curly black ponytail whipped around as she faced the woman.

“You made sure she isn’t dying, right?”

“Relax, boss, it was just a scratch.” Addie replied exhaustedly as she casually put up her arms defensively.

“Yeah but it’s the Clementine! She’s a hero!”

“Please stop calling me that.” Clem sighed. Clementine hardly thought anything she did was heroic. It was just… war. Nothing to be glorified.

“Hun, the Delta fell because of you! Maybe not directly… but it was a huge blow.” Layla reassured her.

“Either way, you made our jobs a lot easier. Y’know how hard it is to keep up like five trade deals when people try to rob you every other day? You’re late a lot.”

“Things seem to be settling down now.” Addie said, stretching back in her chair.

“Saviors are gone. Delta’s gone. The Whisperers are gone. Hell, even the Pack seems to have dropped off the face of the Earth. Probably fucked with Hilltop or something and got demolished by the alliance.”

Clementine’s blood ran cold at that last one. She scratched at her hands, trying to pick away the blood that would never truly wash away.

Two wrongs don’t make a right, Lilly.

We were never the good guys.

“The lesser of two evils.” Was how that vile woman justified it. How everyone justified it. How Clementine tried to justify it to herself as she stood by, watching the people she tricked suffer her fate over and over.

There was nothing just about any of it.

“Clem?” Layla’s voice called to her a lot softer and calmer than it had been. Her dark brown eyes seemed to see the storm inside of her.

“Are you alright?”

I thought I was.

“I’m fine.” Clementine hoped to convince her.

“It’s just not a time I like to think about.”

The two of them nodded in understanding. Layla pursed her lips as if thinking of a way to change the subject.

“Clem! C’mon, let’s go get Connor to look at that leg of yours.” Layla said as she grabbed Clementine’s hand, tugging her out of her seat and dragging her into the crowd.

“You better have been keeping up maintenance or you’re in for a lecture. That guy is worse than my old dentist when I forgot to floss.”

---

Louis and AJ wrapped the jars of preserved fruits in cloths as he placed them in Louis’ duffle bag, keeping in mind not to jostle it too much on the way home. Across the table from him, a brown-haired man with striking green eyes examined each fish a second time before placing them in an ice-filled cooler.

“Thanks, man.” Eric said.

“God, it feels like forever since we were last at Oceanside. It’s hard to get decent amounts of fish anywhere else.”

“We get lots from the river.” AJ stated with a wide grin.

“I help fish all the time!”

“Well, you’re doing us a favour. This is our farthest stop from Oceanside so we don’t get a lot of fish trades around here.” Eric smiled at AJ, leaning on his elbows on the fold-out table.

“You ever seen the ocean?”

“No.” AJ’s eyes filled with wonder and intrigue.

“It’s a giant body of water so big you can’t see where it ends. Filled with colourful fish big and small, some friendly and some deadly and so deep, even before the dead, we never figured out what lived at the bottom. For all we know, it could have been some great beast from ancient times, hidden forever from our mortal eyes.” Eric dramatized, speaking in a hushed whisper as if sharing the secrets of the universe.

“Woah.” AJ whispered back, his eyes as wide as they could possibly be.

“Louis, will we ever get to go to the ocean?”

“Maybe someday, little dude.” Louis pushed the brim of his hat down over his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Wait! One more thing...” Eric stopped them as he dug through his coat pockets.

“Here it is. Think fast, kid.”

Eric tossed a small pouch in the air towards the boy, who barely caught it. He untied the string, pulling out a marble-sized ball wrapped in wax paper.

“What are these?” AJ questioned as he unwrapped the paper, revealing a sticky dark gold ball that smelled sweeter than anything he’d ever eaten.

“Honey candies Raha cooked up a while ago.” He explained.

“Where the hell did you guys get good honey?”

“That shit never goes bad, dude.” Eric cheered.

“As long as it’s sealed right, that is. Hey, no one’s gotten sick yet! They were a hit with the kids at the last few communities. She asked me to give some to AJ since you’d probably be hiding from her again.”

“Louis!”

Speak of the devil, and she shall appear.

The bellowing voice of the small woman rang from halfway across the yard. She wore an immaculately white blouse in contrast to her knee-length black skirt, boots, and headscarf. Her brows were knit together in frustration as she approached the freckled man.

“Well if it isn’t the fashion police.” Louis teased, sighing as he knew what he was in for.

“That coat of yours looks sadder every time I see it.” Raha frowned, the older woman ignoring his comment in her own disappointment. Thumb on her lips, she squinted at him behind the black frames of her glasses, flicking an old piece of tape stuck to one of his sleeves.

“At this point, I might just give you a new one for free if you’ll let me put that old one out of its misery.”

Louis rolled his eyes and sent AJ to check on Clem as she dragged him over to her collection of textiles and jewelry. She sifted through neatly sorted boxes until she found the one she was looking for.

“I saved this one just for you!” She said excitedly, holding up the jacket.

It was a deep brown leather jacket lined with creamy white fur. It was waist length, a lot shorter than the one he’d been wearing all this time. But winter was coming, and it did look pretty warm, not to mention clean.

“Hmm... I don’t know.” Louis pretended to closely examine it, rubbing his thumb over the material and deciding to ruffle her feathers a bit more as payback for all of her nagging.

“Not sure it really suits my taste.”

“Sorry I don’t have anything as filthy as you prefer.” Raha tsked.

“Ugh! Just take it! In return, it’ll give me a little hope I may be able to save you from dressing like the dead.”

Raha threw the coat at him as she defeatedly closed the lid on her box of jackets. Louis could almost see the lightbulb appearing above her head as she gained a sly smirk, pulling out a wooden jewelry box.

“If you can’t find anything here that fits your style, perhaps you could find something that fits Clementines?” Raha sang as she showed Louis a selection of rings.

Raha’s collection was nothing narrow. Some were simple and cheaper designs while others would’ve fetched a pretty penny. Silver bands to gold ones all with varying gemstones and settings, all evenly displayed in the box’s green velvet interior.

“Where the hell do you find this stuff?” Louis gave a slightly nervous laugh.

“From a lot of people who weren’t using them anymore.”

“No thanks.” Louis couldn’t bring himself to take a closer look at any of the shining stones. It was as if his hand preferred to retract farther away from the box, his fingers instead tracing a circle near the collar of his shirt, feeling the band of his mother’s ring that hung from a chain around his neck.

I’ve already got one.

“Oh, c’mon.” She groaned.

“I know a lot of people don’t care about that crap anymore but don’t you think it would be romantic? I mean you two and that kid are already a family, don’t you think it would be a romantic way to show your undying devotion.”

And people say I’m dramatic.

“If you’re so much of a love guru then why am I the one with the girlfriend.” Louis teased.

“I-” Raha’s mouth hung open as she tried to think of a retort.

“Listen here you little shit.”

Laughter roared from a few meters away from where Eric had been eavesdropping. Raha immediately followed after him, hurling a string of something in Arabic he couldn’t understand.

The freckled man smiled at the idea. Marry Clementine? He couldn’t picture himself marrying anyone else, but getting married in this world? Would she even want to?

That’s a thought for a different day.

---

The young woman sat awkwardly in her seat inside the patchwork thin tent. Its purpose more to offer privacy than protection from the weather. Crates of tools and materials scattered the ground is just enough array to be quickly packed if the situation arose. Clementine pulled the hem of her dark teal jeans over the scarred stump of her left leg, hanging over the empty boot she wore over the wooden prosthetic which sat a few feet away laying on Connor’s work table. She rubbed the skin of her thigh over her pants, never realizing how much the straps dug until she took them off.

“Any malfunctions since the last time I looked at it?” The old Nigerian man stroked his salt and pepper goatee as he surveyed its condition.

“No, it’s been steady” Clementine scratched the dirt around her nails nervously. She hated doctor’s appointments when she was a kid and this was… almost the same thing? Kinda similar? Something about it made her uneasy at least.

“It’s cracked.” Connor stated flatly.

“What?” Clem sat up straight with a jolt. How could she have missed something like that? If it were to break in the wrong situation, that could be it.

“Look.” Connor pointed to around the joint of the ankle. Tiny splinters poked out like lightning bolts from under the screws holding it together. It wasn’t a completely worrying amount of damage, but wear and tear would only make those cracks grow.

“I could fill these with resin now and then have a new one ready for this time next month, or your group could stick around and I could have one ready by tomorrow. Although, one is more pricey than the other.”

Clementine didn’t want to risk her mobility if she didn’t have to.

“How much for an express order?”

“Bones and antlers are very good materials for making strong joints, and rumour has it your boy shot a deer recently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Plus Layla is very good at finding work for people to do, surely she’d appreciate the help of you or a few of your friends.”

“Clem?” AJ peaked past the tent flap.

“C’mon in, kiddo.” Connor said in a friendly voice.

“You still got those deer bones?”

“Aasim has them.” He said, eyes glued forward as if he was trying not to stare at Clementine’s stump.

She knew he didn’t like being here, in this tent. A lot of guilt clung to him, and Clem feared it always would. She knows he doesn’t regret it, but sometimes the gravity is enough to weigh him down.

“I saved you, but at the same time now we’ll always be paying for it.” Was how he always described it.

“It still hurts you. You can’t move like before. And you always worry about your fake leg breaking.”

Clementine gave him a small smile when he did glance her way.

“Let’s go find him.” Clem said, cheerfulness slightly exaggerated as Connor helped reattach the prothetic before slipping her boot back on.

---

Clementine found Aasim in what appeared to be a mildly heated conversation between himself and Mitch, with Brody looking exasperated as she tried to referee it while Louis seemed to watch in amusement.

“It’s a stupid idea.”

“One stupid idea is still one more idea than you have, Aasim.”

“Oh thank god.” Brody whispered under her breath and Clementine and AJ approached with puzzled faces.

“What the hell are you up to now?” Clementine raised an eyebrow at them, which Louis shrugged off. “This moron wants to trade the last of the deer skeleton for a goddamn medieval battleaxe.” Aasim huffed in disbelief of his own sentence.

“...Seriously?” Her disbelief mirroring Aasim’s.

“I tried to make him at least pick something more practical.” Brody sighed.

“It sounds stupid but they have a shit ton of badass weapons and they’re not willing to trade most of them!” Mitch pleaded with their leader.

“C’mon Clem, you know it’d be cool.”

Clem stared at the freckled man, his sincerity surprising and unsurprising at the same time, to a very exhausted redhead and finally to Louis, who had been struggling to contain his laughter for a while.

“Sorry Mitch, but I need a new leg.” Clementine said, crushing Mitch’s dreams.

“Aasim, can you drop off what’s left at Connor’s tent?”

Clementine explained the rest of the deal to them, Louis and AJ agreeing to stay behind while the others brought their haul back to the school.

As the day dragged on, the rock that had formed in Clementine’s stomach only grew and no amount of manual labour seemed to distract her enough. A chill settled on her skin as the sky began to darken. She needed to talk to Layla. And Louis.

The Pack.

The Delta.

Saying their names was like poison on her tongue.

When will they ever let me go?

Clementine lost time as she sunk into her own thoughts. She jumped when she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, whipping around to see the smiling face of her boyfriend.

“Layla wants to talk to us.” He said as he held out his hand to help her stand and once she reached for it, she didn’t let go as they walked into the school building.

Water-stained papers laid practically cemented to the floor, coloured green and brown not by the gleeful hands of children, but the cruel hands of time and neglect. Lockers caked in chipped blue paint lined each side of the hall, some frozen shut with rust while others hung slightly ajar and some with no doors at all. The contents revealing long-abandoned backpacks of kids who had little time to escape or never made it out at all. The mental image was enough for her to walk a little closer to AJ.

The end of the hallway was heavily sectioned off by neatly stacked piles of desks and chairs from floor to ceiling ensuring nothing got through and if it did, it would certainly cause a scene.

“Come in.” Layla’s voice called from the last room of the hallway just as they approached.

Layla sat at the teacher’s desk, a detailed map of every community on her route laid before her. She chewed on the end of her pen as she scanned the elegantly written notes jotted around each indicated area. Ink of many colours traced streets and pathways between each plotted point, some older routes more faded than others. As Clementine got closer, she could see a dark spot on the map where something had been crossed out with a black marker, all of the newer routes avoiding this area. Just barely, she could make out the name written next to it.

The Kingdom.

“Thanks for helping out today, guys.” Layla said as she folded up her map, sliding it into an inner pocket of her jacket.

“Every set of hands helps, though I heard it was because of Conner driving a rather hard bargain.”

“We owe you guys a lot.” Louis acknowledged, giving Clem’s hand a squeeze.

“Plus, it’s probably fair payback for all the haggling ‘Sim puts your merchants through.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Layla laughed with a snort.

“Anyways, you guys can sleep in room 303. It should be easy to find, since it’s the only room with a number still on it.”

Louis and Aj began to move towards the door, but Lou’s hand ended up pulling on a non-budging Clementine as she decided there was one more thing she needed to discuss.

“Clem?”

“What ever happened to The Pack?” Her question came out in a flurry of words and suppressed emotions.

“Addie said they ‘Dropped off the face of the Earth.’ but what happened?”

“I wish I could tell you.” Layla’s face softened.

“I’ve asked around and they just… disappeared. If I were to guess they moved on to another area looking for someplace more divided to pick apart.”

Layla scowled at the grain of the wooden desk as Clementine stood with just as many questions as she started with. So much uncertainty in the situation. How does a group that large and malicious just… vanish? At first, it was a relief, knowing they had nothing to fear in the aftermath of the war. But now it was beyond frustrating. Fang-marked walkers appearing after all these years… It left her with an overwhelming beg of “Why?”

“Why are you bringing this up now all of a sudden?” The caravan leader asked with a tone of deepening worry.

“We’ve been finding his walkers.”

Clementine watched the colour drain from the young woman’s face. Louis must have seen it too, because he finally spoke up with panic edging into his voice.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice begged to be let into the loop.

“What the hell is ‘The Pack?’”

“They’re the reason I was sent to recruit you.” Clementine’s voice fell flat, hand letting go of Louis’ as her fingernails dug into her crossed arms. Her heart raced a mile a minute as the realization sunk into everyone in the room.

“A-Are you sure it was them?” Layla got up from her chair, biting her thumb as she began to pace.

“What if it was just some of their walkers that got loose.”

“Dead walkers don’t disappear on their own.” Clementine looked at AJ.

“I saw the symbol.” AJ spoke up, very confused about what was happening.

“Fangs. But the walkers weren’t there anymore when we went back. I know I killed them I aimed for the head.”

AJ bit his lip before taking a deep breath.

“The Delta tried hurt us, and they lost. If these guys want to hurt us, they’ll lose too.”

A heavy silence fell over them as Layla appeared to fight an internal battle, trying to cling to any reason to deny what was beginning to look obvious.

“I’ll send a patrol out tomorrow.” She decided, facing away from them and looking through the parts in the boarded-up window.

“Get some sleep, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Feeling defeated physically and emotionally, Clementine turned to leave, loosely tugging on her boys to follow her to the room Layla had mentioned earlier.

Most of the debris had been piled in one corner of the room to make the tiled floor somehow more comfortable. A light-haired woman handed them a few blankets and pillows from the pile before the three of them picked a spot on the floor amongst the other sleeping people. Clementine elected to wear her prosthetic that night, not feeling anywhere safe enough to take it off. Even with the thick faux-wool blanket beneath them, she felt as if the broken tile sapped whatever bit of warmth she had left in her. She cuddled closer, AJ laying between her and Louis. Her boy wasn’t as small as he used to be, but getting to grow up was something Clem was overjoyed about.

Is that something I can still guarantee?

“I love you both.” Clementine said in a choked whisper, attempting to make determination replace her overwhelming sense of dread.

“We love you too.” Louis hugged the both of them close, placing a soft kiss on Clem’s forehead and a ruffle of AJ’s hair as the three of them dozed off.

#my writing #a2 #clouis #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg AJ #the walking dead game season 4 #the final season

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nam-nam-joon · 5 years

Text

attempting

Pairing: jungwoo x reader

Genre: university au, fluff

Wordcount: 4.9k

Warnings: a lot of attempted kisses on jungwoo's behalf, platonic relationships with everyone

Summay:

it was a game, really. him leaning in for a kiss, and you dodging him every time.

but really, he never just asked.

The tightening of his hand on your side was the only warning you got before Jungwoo’s face came a little too close and you strained your neck to get your own away from it. He didn’t follow your movement, instead resumed his former, more relaxed position, for which you were grateful.

“Ew, gross.” You commented, wiping the not-happened smooch off your cheek and detangling your bodies from each other before leaving the light brown haired guy. He pouted in your direction as you shimmied in between Jeno and Mark, currently both very busy in spooning their icecreams. Jeno glared at Jungwoo.

“Dude, chill. This is a group-hang-out, keep your flirting to yourself!”

You huffed and took another mouthful of your own ice cream. “This boy couldn’t flirt with anyone if his life depended on it. He’s just a pain.”

A grin spread on your lips as the teasing made Jungwoo’s ears heat up and he jutted out his bottom lip in fake hurt.

“You wound me! I thought we had chemistry!”

“Your mom has chemistry.” Jaehyun commented from shortly behind and Mark snorted in his McFlurry. Jungwoo’s ears were the colour of cherries now, but he laughed along with Mark.

“What movie are we watching anyways?” Johnny piped up from where he was trailing behind Jaehyun and Doyoung, waiting for Taeyong who rose from where he’d just re-tied his shoelaces. The latter took his own ice cream cup from Johnny and then both sped up to merge with the rest of the group.

“Uh…” Jeno dragged out, squinting his eyes at the still too tiny movie posters plastered over the front of the cinema that had appeared at the border of your vision, despite the glasses on his nose.

“Something funny or action-y please, I can’t take another hit like Infinity War or some shit.” You grumbled.

“IW was… like so long ago.” Jungwoo seemed to have recovered from the earlier rejection and sidled up to you once more. That was, he attempted to, but Jeno poked his elbow into Jungwoo’s ribcage, clearly showing he was not willing to give up his own spot besides you just like that. The brunet rubbed his hand over the sore spot but didn’t lose his train of thought.

“And if I remember correctly you weren’t even that much of an emotional wreck, you didn’t cry right? You were just… angry.”

"Anger is an emotion, Woo-woo.” Jeno commented quietly, looking at Jungwoo. He was met with slightly puzzled eyes and an expression the opposite of understanding.

“Good point though, I could make for something exciting, too!” Jaehyun chimed in, underlining your previous statement.

You wrinkled your nose at Jungwoo but swallowed a remark with the last of your icecream, dropping the cup in a nearby bin afterwards. The gap you’d been in previously closed in your absence. Upon rejoining the group your right side was left defenseless when Jungwoo bumped the side of his hip into yours, pushing you into Jeno’s bigger frame who immediately wrapped a protective arm around you to keep you close. You stuck out your tongue, relishing in the slightly miffed expression on the brunet’s face upon the new evolvement of the situation.

You were spared of Jungwoo’s attention during the movie, seated safely between Taeyong and Mark, who were both quick to shut up everyone who might interrupt their film-watching-experience. Only a single piece of popcorn found its way into the salsa sauce accompanying your nachos, expertly thrown in a high arch over the head of an unassuming Taeyong.

You leaned back to make eye-contact with the marksman behind this kill-shot and complimented him on it, earning a confident grin in return.

Jungwoo’s arm slinging itself over your shoulder was enough to make you suspicious. Nevertheless you smiled up at the fellow student who fell into step with you effortlessly.

“Hey Uwu, what’s up.”

He shuddered.

“Never say that again, please. I’m allergic.”

“What, uwu?”

He cringed again, wrinkling his nose, looking unfairly adorable doing so. Not even bothering to attempt to hide it, you laughed out loud, which prompted an exasperated gasp from your current attachment.

“Don’t do that too often, you’ll get the wrinkles stuck on your face.” You only noticed he didn’t look away from your gaze after you were done smoothing down his forehead with your fingers. The soft smile on his face was radiating with happiness, warming you thoroughly.

Seeing your friends happy was more often than not the source of your own increased levels of endorphins.

Before you could inquire as to why he was being so cheerful today of all days - there was a particularly nasty test coming up around noon - something in his expression changed. It was minimal and you needed a moment too long to decipher it which gave him the advantage of getting way closer to your face than you usually allowed.

“Jungw-oh my god, no!!” You took a generous step sideways, slipping out of Jungwoo’s grasp. He let you, as always, sheepishly grinning while stuffing his now free hand into his pants. His face turned towards the front, like nothing ever happened. Grumbling, you moved back into the spot by his side you had had before.

There was an ease in Jungwoo’s steps, the way he carried his jacket over one arm and had his bag slung over one shoulder.

“What got you so cheery today?” You finally asked, not being able to let the almost outright smugness in the usually so very timid guy, go.

“You.” He answered in the same breath, unabashedly turning his head and looking down on you with a smile that could light up the whole campus. You kept the most neutral, unimpressed expression on your face, only rolling your eyes at the sappy answer on the inside.

It never took long until Jungwoo cracked and admitted to what actually had him in such a great mood. Today, it was because he finally got his car back from his parents after they borrowed it for an extended amount of time while moving places.

“We can finally go stargazing outside the city, like I promised you at the beginning of school!” Jungwoo exclaimed, twirling around to fully face you, holding out his arms in enthusiasm.

“Uh, are we remembering the same thing? I mentioned I liked your NASA shirt and you basically invited yourself into hanging out with Jeno and me, before inviting-out Jeno so it’d just be us two.” You shook your head, one corner of your mouth pulled into a lopsided grin.

Jeno, your self-anointed bigger brother, had not been thrilled by Jungwoo’s sudden intrusion into the previously calm conversation.

Now, the brunet whined and poked your side. “C’mon, I wanna celebrate having my trusty ride back! My DeLorean. My Batmobile. My Tardis-in-disguise. My ride or die. -My baby.”

You look back to him and huffed.

“Fine, you convinced me. Let’s ace the test and go for pizza afterwards.”

Like a switch flipped, the previously euphoric expression slowly faded from his face. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, mildly offended.

“No? No Pizza?”

He completely ignored your last comment, instead continuing to lose all colour in his face.

“Test? We had a test today? Since when??”

Jungwoo was still a puddle on the floor four hours later, after the test had well passed, and it took the combined effort of Taeyong and you to get him out from under the black cloud hanging over his head.

He looked slightly better once he sat down behind the driver’s seat of his cute VW, even though his eyes were still a little distant.

“Hey.” You said softly, leaning forward to catch his gaze. He looked over briefly, fiddling with the steering wheel.

“You’ll be fine. It’s not even that big part of the grade, if you really did completely fuck it up, you can still do some of the extra work during the rest of the year and smooth out whatever dent you made today.”

He sighed and placed his outstretched arms over the wheel.

“I know. I just- I completely forgot about it. How could I just, forget about it? -I don’t deserve pizza.” Another sigh, and you looked ahead again, sat on your hands.

“I’ll pay. C’mon. I’m hungry, and you know, one of those little lava cakes from Domino’s will get you your good mood back. I’m sure of it.”

He turned his head, expression still droopy and lowballing your stomach. Legitimately upset Jungwoo had an unparalleled stronghold on you like nothing else - not that you’d ever admit that to anyone out loud.

“How sure are you?”

“Like… 80.97% sure.”

You held his eye contact until he looked away and mumbled a defeated “Damnit.”

A grin spread on your face as he put the little car in reverse, guiding it out of the maze that is the student parking lot, and out on the road.

His mood did brighten tremendously after you insisted to pay once more and gave him both of the little lava cakes. He protested at first, knowing how much you liked them, until he saw you ordered cookies for yourself and finally shut up. You ended up sharing the cookies and having a cake each; Jungwoo offering to carry the boxes with leftovers once you get ready to leave the restaurant.

Your connected hands gently swung back and forth on your walk to the car, parked a few minutes away. After dropping the boxes in the trunk and closing the door, Jungwoo turned to you, one hand still resting on the roof of his car.

“I’m sorry. I can’t draw- draw? Draw. Drive. I can’t- Stop laughing, this is serious!”

You did your best to rein in the laughter that bubbled up after he’d slipped, pressing the knuckles of your fist against your lips in anticipation for whatever news he had to break to you. Jungwoo took a moment of staring into the distance before his eyes landed on you again. He opened his mouth, the corners twitching already, and you lost it once more.

“Ahem.” You cleared your throat and demonstratively furrowed your eyebrows.

“As- I was saying; I’m sorry. But I can’t drive you home right now.” He came closer, placing both his hands on your sides, tilting his head forward.

“Hmm,” You played along, linking your hands behind his neck and looking over his left shoulder. “I wonder, why is that?”

The brunet made a show of attempting to say something before stopping, rethinking it once more, before, finally, licking over his lips and deepening the stare into your eyes.

“I- God it’s so hard to say it, but… I simply… I ate too much. I can’t move one bit. So I can’t drive. I’m sorry. Looks like we’ll be stuck here, in this beautiful-” His brown eyes swept to the side, over the dumpsters and the shabby walls where the paint peeled off, the traffic sign that was so bleached by the sun it was almost entirely white. The unidentifiable pile of something a few meters away that could be garbage, puke or a dead animal. “-this beautiful place.”

You quietly raised your eyebrows, playing with the tiny tip of his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Well,” And now it was your time to lean forward, closer to him. Maybe it was the sun painting a blush across his cheeks, maybe wasn’t. “Lucky for you, I am a very able and, dare I say- great driver? So I will happily be your Chauffeur for the evening, Mr. Kim.”

Two fingers fished the keys out of his pant’s right front pocket and you slipped faster into the driver’s seat than Jungwoo could defrost his legs after you had reached into his pants.

After another heartbeat he begrudgingly joined you in his car, tensing every time you cranked the stick shift a little too unforgiving, touched your foot down on the gas a little too enthusiastically.

The city grew smaller behind you as you approached the outskirts of town, where you and, a little further out, he, lived. The sun was notably setting earlier each day.

Jungwoo’s hands tensed around each other as you momentarily looked away from the road, with one hand reaching over his lap to the small cupboard hiding behind the panel above his knees. You vaguely remembered a pair of shades in there, your fingers finding them quicker than the owner of the car could ask just what the hell you were looking for. After shaking them open and propping them on your nose you gave his baffled face a victorious grin.

"Ayyy who’s the most badass on the block now, eh?”

He laughed and bit down on his pointer finger as he looked out the passenger side of the car, but you could tell when his eyes came straying back to latch on to you.

The sun was golden, the leaves on the trees lining the street red and orange and yellow in an early greeting of autumn.

You could hear your phone ping with a new message as Jungwoo clicked his own shut and dropped it back between his legs on the seat.

“You know, if you’d tell him to shut the fuck up he’d probably leave you alone with his attempts at kissing you or all that physical affection stuff.” Jeno took his bubble tea back from out of your hands, and you stuffed them into the kangaroo pocket of the oversized hoodie you were sporting.

“Maybe I don’t want to tell him to stop.” You avoided Jeno’s caring, dark eyes, as he sipped on the tea. “Once you tell people to shut up, a part of their soul dies. At least for you.”

He continued to look at you, you could tell, but you were too stubborn to lift your view from the cracked cement tiles that made up the sidewalk.

“Maybe I like having his attention. Maybe I like the idea of the possibility of being normal.” Your voice died down towards the end.

“Hey.” Jeno’s voice was soft, the hand that fell on your shoulder gentle. “You are normal. Okay? I, as your big brother, am telling you right now. You are normal. There is nothing weird or alien about you or your orientation. Okay?”

Jeno tries, he really does, you thought as you watched him with a tilted head. A moment longer in which you tested his unwavering gaze before giving in and nodding, accepting the hug he offered.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- My words were garbage. I’m an idiot. This is why I’m failing my language tests.”

You huffed out a laugh into his chest and playfully smacked his arm.

“You are an idiot, I agree on that. But I’ll give you another chance at voicing your thoughts a little more articulate.”

He let you pluck the drink out of his hand and take another sip, looking at him expectedly.

“Okay, what I meant was; Jungwoo? He’s a lost cause. Absolute crackhead. Totally hopeless. But I really enjoy watching you two interact. It’s cute how he always tries his latest pick-up lines on you. And I must say, you? Shutting him down every time without doing literally anything? An art. You’re an artist. And I respect, and possibly, fear, your resting bitch face - that’s a absolute unit and a force to be reckoned with. And believe me, I’m not saying you’re not capable of defending yourself in- any case. But if you ever grow tired of Jungwoo’s flirting, and want him to stop, but he doesn’t- just tell Taeyong, or Mark, or me, or anyone of us, and we’ll take of it. Okay? I’m taking my job as your bro very seriously.”

He puffed out his chest for show and you chuckled, but his expression didn’t lose its serious undertone.

“Thank you, I am delighted at your praise.” You raised your eyebrows at him, attempting a fake-eloquent english regal person’s expression. “But really, that with Jungwoo is just banter. I don’t know where you guys all read your guide on flirting, but if you think that is flirting, then what Haechan does with our tutor is like, 10th base or something.”

Referring to the eagerness of said fellow student to aide the tutor of the Math course that basically only existed so anyone who needed to study it and understood shit all in previous schools could catch up, you slurped up some of the coconut jellies. Jeno let out a sound of protest at the action and resolutely took his cup back.

“Besides. You agree with me when I say Jung-uwu is all bark and no bite, right?” At that, Jeno laughed.

“Yes, totally. He’d probably melt into a puddle of despair if someone were to actually, you know, flirt-flirt with him.” He paused, to have a moment where the image sunk into both your heads. Without a word said, your eyes found each other again, a similar expression of uneasiness mixed with laughter on your faces.

“Let’s not think about dear KJ at the mercy of a lapdancer, shall we?” The black haired male said, then, a serious expression that shifted into a face splitting grin right after the words left his mouth. You voiced your agreement in a similarly serious manner before laughing about the ridiculousness of the scenario.

“What if he’s actually really smooth though?” You continued, a finger on your lips, but the tension from before had dissolved. Jeno gave you a side-eye before buying into the speculation, and you continued to wager the arguments about any of Jungwoo’s possible, hidden mannerisms.

Nonetheless you observed Jungwoo’s actions a little closer of the next weeks.

He continued his attempts, as always, and it only added to you thinking of it as a big game of his, nothing that had actual intent behind it.

He knew you knew he was trying to land a smooch, and you knew he knew you were going to deflect. It was a dangerous game you were playing, but the thrill - at least on his side - seemed to be worth it.

Winter had come by now, yet the campus was cozy warm inside.

You met up in the library one sun-flooded afternoon, to study for the last test of the season before winter break and the new year would reset the clock on that.

Jungwoo had already secured your favourite table, right by the window overlooking the nearby park and the local lake, dubbed duck pond. The sun was filtering directly through the glass, and in an attempt to lessen the impact of the heat, the brunet had stripped off his clothing, peeled off the numerous layers until all that was remaining was a loose t shirt. His hand, supporting his head, was clamped over the junction of neck and shoulder on his right side, where his shirt had slipped aside and exposed his collar bone; his left hand busy holding up the corner of a page his eyes were scanning over.

“Heyo.” You greeted him, dropping your bag and mix of winter accessories on the unoccupied half of the table. Jungwoo looked up, and by the unfocused gaze you could tell he was still halfway going through the material in his book before he blinked and a smile lit up his face.

“Hello! Please, have a seat. Have a cookie. Make yourself at home.”

You gasped, touching a hand over your heart and batting your eyelashes demurely at the gentleman seated next to you.

“My, what a royal welcome! Ok, what do we really need to work on with you today?”

He bit off half of a biscuit that he had treated himself to, holding it between his teeth while humming and skipping through the pages closer to the window.

“Here’s- a list I made.”

The sun sped across the sky, similar to your pen and highlighter gliding over paper.

As it closed in on five, the sun dipping Jungwoo’s hair in a pretty shade of orange, you furrowed your eyebrows at one of the pages in your own notebook.

“Hey, Woo, can you take a look at this?”

“Mhm?” He had another biscuit in his mouth but placed down his folder, sliding into the chair next to yours to get a better look.

“So, this one. I think I copied it wrong - the equation doesn’t add up, does it? Can you- Do you know where I went wrong?”

“You went wrong in not following my lead.” Was the first thing coming out of his mouth after he had swallowed his cookie and you groaned. He licked his lips and grinned, apparently feeling something akin to satisfaction at your reaction.

Jungwoo suddenly leaned forward, and on impulse rather than conscious decision based on past experiences, you leaned back, avoiding contact once more. He laughed after seeing the perplexed expression on your face at the sudden, uncontrolled reaction.

The talk with Jeno, speculating about whether or not Jungwoo actually had something to back up his endless compliments and daring talks, filtered back into your head.

It was half expected when he froze as you turned the stick around and leaned in, yourself, maybe a little closer than he did.

“You wanna kiss me soo badly, don’t you…” A quick glance around the library proved the area you were sat in currently deserted. Deciding to lay it thick, you bit your lower lip, letting your gaze flicker up from his lips to his eyes. “C’mon, do it.”

You were so close, you felt when your breath touched his face. An agonizingly long moment neither of you moved. Then you leaned back, poorly attempting to hide the grin spreading on your face at the utterly stunned look on his face.

“Don’t tease me.” You whispered, and it visibly shook him. He averted his eyes and ducked his head away until you knocked your shoulder with his.

He looked back, somehow still very much resembling a deer caught in the headlights.

“So? What about this equation?”

“The-? Oh. Yeah. Uh, um. S-so, you…” He trailed off, looking back and forth between his notes and your own, trying to figure out where the mistake had slipped into your writing. You could almost see the beads of sweat roll down his forehead, similar to a cartoon character.

He was still giving you looks when you exited the quiet space of learning later on, once more bundled up against the cold that made the duck pond freeze over a few days ago.

“Aw c’mon,” You pouted, as you caught him looking away once more, his ears still considerably much redder than the rest of his face. “Are you still upset about me making an advance on you, for a change?”

He grumbled something into his scarf before meeting your eyes again.

“You’re supposed to flinch away! I- I didn’t plan for you to ever-” He stopped himself and jutted out his bottom lip. You laughed.

“Okay, I promise, I won’t tease you again. I need you functioning for my test, I can’t close the year with a bad grade.”

He latched onto the change of subject, falling into step with you literally and metaphorically.

“You won’t even know what grade it’ll be until next year.”

“Yeah but- It’s the feeling, you know?” You lifted your hands to emphasize your words under Jungwoo’s laughing eyes. “I’d like to finish on a high note. And you, Mr. You-won’t-know-your-grade-until-next-year, the God of Studies knows you could use a good grade, too.”

Referencing the completely messed up test from months ago had the brunet groaning and dropping his head on your shoulder.

“Whyyyy did you have to remind me of that… that absolute disgrace of a wasted hour of my life.”

“Because I can’t stroke your ego all the time, Woo-woo; Sometimes you need to be brought back down to reality, too.”

He lifted his head to shot you a hurt look.

“I don’t like the words coming out of your mouth right now very much. I’ll pretend you haven’t said anything.”

You both took the subway home because the front window of his trusty little car had been too frosted over this morning to get it scraped clean in the few minutes your friend had had left after oversleeping.

You looped a facemask over your ears before boarding the train, having battled a cough in the last days.

To your unfortunate luck you caught one of the first trains of rush hour, and soon enough your back ended up pressed flat against one of the separation walls, your bag held in front of you, with Jungwoo and his legs to either side of yours and holding on to a bar over your head with one hand. He sighed as another wave of people pressed into the decidedly too tiny compartment and forced him to minimally shuffle forward, further invading your personal space. Not that it mattered.

For a station, he rested his head on your shoulder while you absentmindedly scrolled through twitter. Once more the doors closed and the train jostled into movement.

“Hey.” Jungwoo breathed, and you turned your head. He was right in front of your face, noses a finger-width apart, and now he was the one biting his bottom lip. He wiggled his eyebrows and you looked away, laughing under your mask.

Without warning gravity increased as the train lurched to an unscheduled stop in the middle of the tunnel, the windows showing nothing but darkness. Vaguely you registered Jungwoo was now a lot closer than before, his elbow meeting with the plastic glass next to your head in what must have been a painful thud. For a moment you stared into each other’s eyes.

Then you closed the tiny gap and pressed your fabric covered lips on his for the fracture of a second, breaking away laughing right after. Jungwoo’s face displayed nothing but shock, for the second time today.

His eyes were wide as marbles and his mouth left agape. His ears were burning again but you only caught a glimpse of them before he buried his face in your shoulder, where your scarf spilled over your coat.

The crowd surrounding you thinned out at the next station which gave him room to breathe and seperate himself from you.

He leaned his back against the bar next to the plastic glass that you’re resting against, a hand covering his mouth.

“Space control to planet Jungwoo? Do you copy?” You asked, barely able to contain the chuckle. He shot you a glare, half exasperated and half annoyed.

“I- I told you not to-”

“Hey, I didn’t tease.” You lifted your hands in defense.

“This- No! This is not how this works.” He stared at you for a moment before turning his head the other direction. Heartbeats later he looked back, as if to check you were still there, only to avert his eyes again, flustered.

“Did you ever plan on actually kissing me?” You asked after following him when he found two free seats.

The moment your eyes met didn’t last long.

“I don’t know. I never thought this far.” He huffed out a small sigh before turning his head and finally looking at you for longer. “I didn’t have the impression you ever wanted me to.”

“Well… If you ever need someone to platonically make out with, I guess I wouldn’t mind if you asked me.”

He swallowed and nodded, busying himself in looking down at his knees.

“What about now?” His eyes were a bit slower in leaving his legs than he turned his head towards you. You lifted an eyebrow.

“I’m sick right now. I doubt it’d be worth catching a cold over a kiss.”

“What if I don’t care?” His voice was quiet, the usual playfulness gone from his expression. Both of his hands were pressed flat between his knees.

“I don’t know. Then it would be very irresponsible for allowing myself in getting my friend sick, no?”

He bit down on his lips, sighing.

“Okay, let me phrase that differently. Can I please kiss you?”

“Yes of course, Jungwoo.”

He was very careful in taking the mask off your face, curling one hand around your jaw and then leaning forward.

The kiss was very much like him; Soft, easy, sweet. Lips molding to yours in and ease you'd missed for monthsof not receiving any of this kind if attention. You broke away after a moment, foreheads touching, and smiling.

“And? Feeling the sickness yet?”

“I think I can risk one more.” The words he uttered were in such an unfamiliar low pitch it almost sounded strange.

The second kiss was similar, testing, inching forward. Until he tilted his head more and added pressure, until you felt his teeth nibbling on your bottom lip, until the tip of his tongue flickered over the spot his teeth had been at seconds before.

This time it was him leaning back, his dark eyes only leaving your mouth after a few short breaths. When a grin broke out over his face you knew you were good.

He was downright giddy, smiling at you with such pride in himself it was difficult to keep your own composure.

“You’re cute, you know that?” You shook your head, feeling his hand tightening around yours.

“You’re cuter. All flustered and bothered.” At that your eyes were quick to jump back to his face, offense written all over yours.

“Me? Flustered? Excuse you but have you-”

He dropped his head on your shoulder before you could finish, quelling the exclaim in its sapling state.

“-I can’t believe I fell for that tease. You’re a little shit, you know that?”

Jungwoo only giggled, snuggling closer.

author's note:

inspired by Jungwoo's countless (haha) attempts at kissing the other members, and on this blurb written by @zerojisung - thanks for letting me use it!

if you enjoyed this, consider leaving a comment + making my day ^-^

143 notes · View notes

lafeae · 5 years

Text

Prompt: Chronic Pain

Fandom: N/A

Characters: Li Nguyen (OC), ChangChang (OC)

For: @badthingshappenbingo

Chronic Pain

When the sun set in Hong Kong, the city awoke. It’s nightlife hustled brightly, it’s towers illuminated in a rainbow of colours and flourish until the façades moved and danced to the Symphony of Lights, making it easy to drown out and worry or concern as it beckoned people deep into the deeming trenches of barely moveable streets and new-age infrastructure. The tourists and the outdoor vendors, yelling loudly and capriciously while they stirred noodles and clapped their hands, knew nothing about the kinds of things that were happening under their feet.

The world was changing.

Behind the tall and beautiful edifices, mouths moved and papers shuffled, preparing the world for the be all, end all of tectonic shifts. Where money, power, and information were all going to share the same surface. The swipe of a tablet, or a badge, or a watch was all it was going to take. Every detail linked to a fingerprint of a retina scan. Hell, even a face.

Li didn’t know how they didn’t know. Maybe the beautiful skyline had tricked them. Hong Kong was a state of mind. Precariously stuck in between between old world and new ideals, a border where east met west in the most cliché sort of descriptor for those that were looking for a way to ease into the eventual culture shock, Hong Kong had a way of hypnotising people into a sense of ease. And really, if you weren’t there on business, that was the point.

But Li was there on business. More specifically, he’d moved there for business four months ago and would remain there, at least until the wedding.

He sighed. “Stop the car.”

The sleek car broke out of traffic and parked midway up a busy causeway. A block away was The Lotus. A tall, twinkling building whose front had rose petals raining over the silhouette of curvaceous, beckoning beauties called to him. Soon.

Planting his cane first, Li heaved out of the car.

“Are you sure, Mr. Nguyen?” The driver asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“But the Mistress said...!”

Li dug in his pocket and handing over a colourful array of banknotes, thumbing down enough to see the a golden yellow one waded in the centre. He opened up the front passenger door and leaned over the leather seats, passing them to the driver.

“Go have fun. I’ll be a while.”

The money was snatched up immediately. The driver licked his fingers and counted the notes. He nodded vehemently, but Li knew, no matter how much money he handed over, that this would still be reported back to Fayola. The Mistress. The Princess. The Bride-to-Be. Maybe it would buy him an hour or two, though. Which was enough for a stroll and aimless sight seeing.

He began to long walk to towards The Lotus, taking the same careful and steady steps he always did, keeping in queue with the faster legs in front of him. His pace was even, and his footing sound, but it was never about that. It was the pain that shot through him at random intervals and made him hear cymbals crashing over the sharp throes of Cantonese and Mandarin and the deep-bass rhythm of live music being played somewhere adjacent to him. Coins still shook in his pocket, maybe he would visit the musician.

When the pain dissipated for a few fleeting moments, he picked up the pace and made it to a corner stall with steam rising out from beneath moist, navy blue banners likely soaked through with the grease and oil from the egg waffles.

Artfully, one of the cooks twirled a long string of chocolate sauce over the puffy fried batter balls and handed them off wrapped in paper. A hawker was in Li’s shouting, “Stop staring. You scare people!” before smiling and quickly wrapping one of the pastries. “One or two?”

“Three,” Li replied.

“Three!” The hawker laughed. “No eyes on you tonight?”

Li shrugged and handed over the last of the bills in his pocket. “There’s always eyes. I just...had a craving.”

“Mm. That bad, huh?” Asked the hawed, pointing towards Li’s legs. Li didn’t answer, holding the warm pastries in his hands before lifting them back up, where the hawker drizzled chocolate sauce on them. “Must be that bad. You ever think to drink instead?”

Li snorted. “I’ll be back.”

“I know! You keep me in business!”

The egg waffles were torn into as Li walked. The pain was flaring up again, pulsing from his knee and shooting down to his foot until the toes were numb. Wonderful. They couldn’t bother him with anymore than a tingle that way. It left him leaning against the cane to combat the sensation of the muscle in his knee constantly tightening, or his thigh muscle ready to burst out from beneath the skin. The less pressure, the better.

Eventually, he made it to The Lotus, staring up at its infinitely high billboard and the many, many windows tucked behind the glittering pixels. People danced in the dim windows, unaware how apparent their shadows were on the glass, especially the very round breasts suctioned on again, off again, from the fourth floor while the person behind her shimmied her slim panties off. The light in the room flicked off after that, but Li was sure he could make out the smear where her breasts had been.

Two egg waffles were chomped through to the hard edges resting in the bottom of the bag, the third cooling against his hand. He didn’t want it, it was too much for one person, but he knew in twenty or thirty minutes, his brain wouldn’t care what his stomach did or didn’t want. He was going to get that plastered and probably throw up.

That was the only way to get through this.

Chocolate sauce was wiped from his mouth as he stepped through a side door, nodding to the bouncer who barely glanced at him while others complained.

Inside, the dim lighting flickered with stones and glitter, the entire room beating with a terrible, autotuned rhythm that could have taken some notes from the street performer that he’d forgotten about.

“Mr. Nguyen!” A woman with too much eye make-up approached him, her long lashes batting. She took his arm. “Come to join the party? Kitty’s here! She’s just climbed on a table and—!”

“Just the bar, thanks.”

Fluttering her big lashes, the woman looked down at the egg waffle and licked her lips. He broke off a piece and handed it to her, watching her devour it behind her hand. If it went to her wide hips, it wouldn’t hurt her any.

“You need ChangChang?” Big Lashes asked.

“Always.”

She pivoted on the stiletto heels and walked him to the elevator, stealing bites of the egg waffle the entire way. Maybe that was the price for this service. A pretty girl as a crutch wasn’t such a bad thing. She gave a good lap dance, too, when he was sitting. Looking into her big, often glittering lashes made him ignore almost everything just so he had a moment to himself.

But she left him at the empty VIP bar, waving goodbye as she stole the last of the egg waffle.

Li dropped into one of the barstools and used both hands to pull his leg up onto the low bar. His toes were the only thing saved from the rippling pain that, even as he rested, refused to subside. For a few minutes, he steadied his breath and rubbed his thigh between both hands while focusing on the bay in the distance. A perfect location for a luxurious high-rise club, and especially perfect for the VIP lounge, where the elite could sip their VSOP and Remy while looking out at the lights twinkling on the choppy water like underwater fireworks.

The back door slammed open, drawing his attention to the wall of liquor lit up by a bright backlight.

“You again?” The shrill voice belonging a tall, lithe woman, asked. Her long hair was oiled back, with big curls pinned above her forehead and ears. Sharp make-up around her eyes and bold-lined lips contrasted her blue tracksuit. He’d caught her getting ready for the night. “I should charge you rent.”

“Booze is worth more.”

“Ha, as if you pay.”

Li rolled his eyes and braced the bar, shifting his weight to the right side. “Nice to see you too, ChangChang.”

The woman scoffed. “What you want?”

“Usual. Double, if you could.”

Bottles clanked together, and Li buried his face in his hands for a few seconds while he gathered his breath.

One, two, three, stretch out the knee. Four, five, six, swing it back. Seven, eight, nine, straighten the back. Wash, rinse, repeat, holding his leg out as long as he was physically able, until the muscles burned and his knee cried for relief. Tingling returned to his toes, not that he wanted it. He’d give anything for his knee and calf to stop pulsating. Not that it would, it never had, but there was a faraway hope that it might.

Because sometimes it dulled. Under the right circumstances, it dulled to a whisper and he forgot about its existence. That thinking led him down the slippery slope of believing that if he replicated those exact circumstances—if he moved the right way, sat the right way, acted the right way—that it would go away. The worst part of it was that it sometimes worked. Always sometimes. Just enough to make him do it again and again, living in the same loop, and the same lie, that this could be cured.

Wishful thinking.

Nothing had changed in seventeen years. Li knew he was a fool for thinking it would change, but pain wasn’t logical. It drilled into that part of his brain that made him foolish, happily misinformed, and hopeful that if he just got this right! he could prove the illogical. That he could help himself and everyone else plagued with the dark, transporting thoughts and feelings (and actions, he murmured to himself when alone, when no one was listening to him and there was a block of knives in the room, but that required walking) and be the miracle for someone else.

“Hey, no passing out on the bar,” ChangChang said. She sat a glass down in front of him.

Li’s grimace fluttered into a tight smile. “Not passing out. I haven’t even drank yet.”

“I’m gonna charge you extra when you do.”

“I’m not going to.”

ChangChang snorted. “Be a first.”

The liquor was thrown back. People always described a burn, but he never felt it anymore. He hardly even remembered what it felt like to begin with. For a second, he lingered with his eyes to the ceiling while the first drink impacted into his brain. Only...he didn’t know how many more...to go.

“Oh, we’re self-Indulgent today, I see.” ChangChang clicked her tongue. “Don’t try telling me answers to universe. I don’t care, okay? Got enough of those to make book from.”

“I don’t have any answers.”

“Yet.”

Li slid the empty glass towards her. “Only one way to find out.”

“I said ‘not interested’. Keep that shit to yourself,” ChangChang said. The glass was taken.

In the time it took for ChangChang to fill it back up, Li’d attention drifted towards doors at the far side of the bar, where flashing lights beat to a rhythm in the cracks. If he closed his eyes, he heard people laughing and screaming. Recklessly enjoying themselves, girls jumping into boy’s arms and swinging around the room to the rapid-fire mix of songs he was too old to give a damn about. Someone, somewhere, was getting busy before paying for a girl or booking a room. To each their own.

There was a time it was him. When, underneath ultraviolet light and shimmer glow, he lost sense of space and time. When his only idea of where his curly-haired, five foot nothing tall of fierce and stubborn Goddess was was by following the soft hush of her voice and the warm trails of her fingertips on his back.

She always got him into messes. Pushed his boundaries; mentally, emotionally, sexually. She left him with humid memories of laying in the sands of a beach in the Philippines after a day-long binge of self-discovery with one Guillermo (“call me Gil,” he purred) while she watched on and eventually joined because she was a little selfish and impatient. She would deny it when Li teased her for it.

A stab of pain thrust through his knee. He’d leaned too forward in his daydream, and cursed to himself as he slipped off the stool.

ChangChang wasn’t looking at him. In that moment of white-hot pain, he reached across the bar and grabbed the bourbon bottle she’d left out.

“Hey, you! Stop that.”

“Put it on the tab,” Li said. He grabbed a short-stemmed glass and poured an amount that almost sloshed over the rim. Just so he wasn’t drinking straight from the bottle. “I’m sure it’s appropriately overpriced.”

ChangChang was silent. The bourbon was sipped in one long, slow. Li didn’t come up to breathe, too focused on the colourful door. When he finished, his ears were a little warm. More out of worry than from the drink, because he knew he wasn’t a lightweight. Not anymore.

It was refilled. Scrutinising eyes were on him, but after two or three more drinks, ChangChang’s quizzicalness, or maybe it was disgust, would go away. Everything would go away. Everything but the pain, but he would be in a good place, so it would slip to that dull, almost right, feeling that he remembered. If he remembered. He thought he knew what it felt like to not be in pain.

“I’ll tell her you’re here,” ChangChang threatened after the third, or was it fourth, fill of the glass.

Li snorted. “Fuck Fayola. She knows.”

“Not her, dipshit.”

“Masiko?” Li asked, lips puckering.

“Yes.”

“Is she here?”

“Yes. And I tell her you’re being stupid.”

“What else is new?”

ChangChang crossed her arms. “I call in your ‘tab’.”

“Do it.”

“I will.”

The glass was slammed on the bar. “Do it! Make her come out here.”

God, the pain was blinding. The very thought of his Goddess strolling through that door and looking him up and down, seeing him wavering as he put all of his weight on his bad leg just to test how many more drinks it was going to take to make it go away, was embarrassing. Not that she hadn’t seen him shit-faced, passed-out, wallowing in places that they shared with in ever long, intimate sessions of silence and touches. It was just different now. It lacked the intimate. The good intimate, at least.

Intimate hate was a thing, too. For self, for others.

It made every detail so vivid, so precise, that no matter how much alcohol churned in him, Li could never escape the memories. The pain of the memories. No, pain in his leg, not memories.

ChangChang’s lips pursed. “Go home.”

“No.”

“Now.”

Li shook his head vehemently.

“You only make it worse on yourself, asshole. With Fayola or Masiko,” ChangChang said. If it weren’t for the soft lilt of concern in her voice, the gentle mothering instinct she had feel down in her, Li might have believed her despise. “Fucker.”

“Yeah, I know.”

ChangChang refilled the glass and took the bottle. “I need to change. Don’t fuck up my bar.”

Li laughed to himself. He rested his forehead into knit fingers. “I won’t.”

“Don’t go through the door, either.”

“...I won’t,” Li said, so soft that it might have been a thought.

ChangChang left, and he nursed the glass slowly while peeking over to the door. Despite the warning, he wanted to go through it. He wanted to search through the sweaty bodies and find his Goddess. He didn’t need to hear her or see her, just feel her. He’d know Masiko by touch.

But he couldn’t. His leg hurt too bad.

Or that’s what he told himself.

#original story #short story #pain #chronic pain #hurt no comfort #whump #badthingshappenbingo #li nguyen #changchang #alcoholism

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momestuck · 5 years

Text

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim - volume 10!

We’re over the halfway mark. Nineteen friends. This time, Of Faraway Lands and Nearby Pals.

Our trolls are going to be...

These two.

Incidentally, I haven’t commented, but every troll select screen has a different drawing when you mouseover the troll. Usually they’re just the same troll with a light shining on them, looking more enthusiastic, but you gotta see Tegiri’s one...

In addition to the Jojo-like art style, that’s the katakana character ゴ ‘go’ repeated. For some reason, katakana is commonly used over hiragana for sound effects in manga, such as laughter. So yeah. We’ve finally found the mall katana guy mentioned waaaaay back in Polypa’s route!

Oddly, while ‘Tegiri’ would be valid romaji (although not, I checked, on lists of Japanese names I could find... I wouldn’t want to guess at a pseudo-’translation’, there’s a few possibilities), ‘Kalbur’ is decidedly not, and would be turned into something like ‘karuburu’ if it was transliterated into Japanese. That might be significant...

But that’s as far as my rudimentary Japanese knowledge can take me. We’ll come back to Tegiri shortly. First of all, it’s...

youtube

...beloved The Magic Roundabout character, Zebedee!

I really hope that’s not a coincidence.

Zebede

Zebede is the third and final troll by Magdalena Clarke, author of Vikare and Elwurd. Well, I enjoyed Elwurd, so that’s a good sign... hopefully...

This begins with getting a chittr notification. God, push notifications, am I right?

The name suggests we’re going to deal with the bees that made Sollux’s ‘mind honey’, granting goldbloods fantastic powers. (The game seems to have decisively chosen ‘gold’ rather than ‘yellow’, so I will defer to this.)

Who is this new friend? It seems to be someone who knows Cirava...

Their speech quirk seems to be using z in place of s, but not always.

Zebede invites us to download a video chat app...

Surprisingly, this does not result in our phone getting inducted into a botnet. Apparently the app we downloaded is called ‘grype’.

It’s weird to have so many Skype jokes given that Skype has pretty much given way to other messaging apps, at least in my experience...

He’s really excited to hear about how we know Cirava, and we tell him. He lets on rather unsubtly that he’s lonely and would appreciate a visit. Apparently he lives a long way out, for the sake of the bees.

We get our first choice...

Honestly no idea which one is the instant death option here. Probably asking if it’s really fine, but the ways we die are so random in this game, who knows?

Let’s go with asking where he lives.

We mention we went out to visit Skylla in the countryside, which leads him to... more self-deprecation. Wow, this guy sure is insecure.

And he decides like... we’re not really interested in visiting him. ‘A wall has been raised’, as the game puts it.

Dude, no wonder you don’t have friends.

OK, well, that was a short branch. Let’s try asking about his living situation and his lusus, whether it’s really fine.

Ah yes, play on his feelings of resentment. Get him to complain and wheedle in that way. That’s our narrator.

This guy’s face is so... pointy... I don’t have much commentary to add.

This leads us to a non-choice of saying we’ll go visit him immediately. This seems like a really healthy, non-manipulative friendship we’ve got going on here.

Apparently Zebede’s got some of whatever concentrated loneliness and fetishisation of friendship our narrator is suffering.

The narrator goes through a few friends to try and figure out who to get a lift from... and after rejecting Tagora, Amisia, Zebruh (oh god no), taxis and public transport, they decide the only option is to do crimes. Hey, I can get behind it.

By crimes they mean, finding an unlocked car and nicking it. Unlike Konyyl, they can’t punch locks off.

Apparently we know how to turn on the auto-pilot in a troll car. Not sure when we figured that one out!

Fittingly, Zebede’s hive is full of bees.

Inside, too, it’s a nice rustic bee farm.

We get a text message from... Cirava, it turns out. I wonder what they want...

We have the choice of ignoring it or letting it go to voicemail. Wow, we’re getting a lot of phone calls in this episode! Let’s try chatting with Cirava, maybe we can invite them over and all chill here...

It’s nice to see Cirava again. The protagonist’s weird obsession with collecting more friends instead of spending time with the ones they’ve made is highlighted...

What’s up with that?

The matter of Cirava’s clothes comes up.

Oh right so that’s what happened to Cirava’s clothes... I honestly forgot.

Anyway, Cirava’s a little worried when we say we’re hanging out with Zebede, who they know by chittr handle if not by name. They are worried that we’re tight, and we say we’re working on it.

Called out!

Anyway, Cirava warns us about getting too close to Zebede, and links... his fanfiction. OK, sure. It turns out to be... RPF. Of Cirava.

Oh dear, we’re gonna get into the RPF discourse in this episode, huh? That is something I generally want to stay a long way away from.

Anyway, Zebede comes back while we’re reading one of his fics.

That sure is an expression.

Anyway, when we explain that Cirava linked this, Zebede decides we’re not prioritising him after all, and clearly Cirava is more important than him.

I’m really not sure we want to be this guy’s friend.

He breaks down crying at the perceived slight of mentioning that we have other friends.

The protagonist starts feeling like a dick. There’s a poke at the blurry line between inner monologue and spoken dialogue on the protagonist’s part...

But anyway, that’s that for Zebede’s route.

So, how do we actually befriend this guy? Trick seems to be to pretend we care about literally nothing other than him, I guess. So let’s go back and ignore Cirava’s grype call.

Instead of answering the call, we work on our chittr profile. God, that’s hard enough irl, let alone when you’re on an alien planet...

So, we assure Zebede that we weren’t about to take a call in the middle of a hang sesh, and he starts showing us some pirate films. Then, switches to space pirate films. Poor guy’s really thrown for a loop by our indecisiveness.

The narrator is sympathetic, but unhelpful. Honestly narrator, just pick something. Fake some enthusiasm. If you really want to be friends with this kid...

We suggest watching the last thing he watched on grubtube. Which... seems like a shitty suggestion to me, since like, if it’s the last thing you watched...

But to Zebede, that seems to be something much worse.

You promise you absolutely won’t judge him. We may regret this.

Mostly, it turns out to be videos of Cirava. Yeah, we get it, he’s got a crush.

He shows us some music videos of a group called hatched2dance. I’m guessing this is a KPop (or perhaps JPop) parody, especially given the whole RPF angle...

Honestly like I probably couldn’t stand this guy in real life but I have some sympathies for his whole awkward gay teenager reading fic thing.

Anyway, seeing themselves reflected in Zebede prompts some reflection in the narrator.

The narrator has kind of a freakout on realising how offputting they’ve been - that they’ve been ‘a big phony’.

We’re saved from an existential crisis by someone showing up to reclaim their scuttlebuggy.

The narrator decides they should probably go out and face the music before this troll carves their way into the hive. This wins over Zebede even harder.

We learn that Zebede’s psychic power is... controlling bees. Using the bees, they drive off the troll outside.

And so we chill with Zebede, and the protagonist takes notes on ‘not being such a desperate piece of shit’.

We’ll see if this whole change of heart actually lasts.

The Alternian text in the picture says ‘ALTERNIA K-POP ALL-STARS’ in the Hiveswap version of the alphabet. Just in case you had any doubt what videos he’s into.

Tegiri

And now... time for things to get anime. This is the debut of David Turnbull.

The protagonist notices the edges of sunrise, and concludes they need to make a friend before daybreak. At that moment, someone accosts them.

Tegiri also gets chiptunes, in common with our other anime troll. I think it’s a remix of one of the tracks elsewhere in Homestuck. But it could easily fit in with a genuine 8-bit game.

Reassuringly, Tegiri concludes that since we’re an alien not a troll, he doesn’t have to cull us.

His typing quirk is that he replaces the letter ‘L’ with slashes.

And his character trait is, sure enough...

HUGE WEEB. Though, glass houses, stones, etc....

Naturally, the initial instant death choice is...

Unusually, we get three choices.

I can assert with 100% confidence that if I click anything other than ‘subs’, I will be executed by katana. So let’s try... both are good.

He casts us out for our indecisiveness.

The Alternian text here reads ‘PATHETIC.’ The drawing here recalls a particular anime meme... after some digging I was able to identify it as a screencap of Asuka from eva:

Think this is probably from End of Evangelion? But I can’t really recall.

...god I’m not helping my case for not being as much a weeb as Tegiri here, am I?

OK, let’s try subs now.

...lol, I’m wrong. He prefers dubs. What kind of weeb is this guy?

However, even though we’re wrong on the Most Important Question, we get to come back to his hive.

We can see body pillows around his recuperacoon, an improbable number of katanas, a bunch of figurines... the text above his bed says OPPAI, which is, well... Japanese for boobs. Yeah.

If you look closely at the anime figurines, I’m sure you can identify a few.

But except for Luffy in top right, I’m not sure about the rest. Someone who knows more about anime, feel free to fill me in. Bottom right might be a machine lifeform from NieR Automata, but that seems too recent, and wouldn’t 2B be a more in-character one for him to have?

Anyway...

I like how this casually assumes that the reader knows what an otaku is, but then again who reads Homestuck without knowing that I guess.

The narration says Tegiri has sorted his merch by blood colour, which is like... contradicted by the illustration which clearly has a bronzeblood troll at the top, but who cares I guess.

This guy is just too quotable lol.

Anyway, we get to meet a lusus again. This time, the lusus is actually drawn, not just a filtered stock photo!

It’s also mildly terrifying :D

It’s called Tadashi Inu, which means... well it kind of doesn’t mean anything (‘however dog’???), but if it was Tadashii Inu, it would mean Correct Dog.

Anyway, naturally what does an anime club do but watch anime?

He’s presently in the middle of watching ‘Philosopher’s Half-Iron’, which I’m guessing is a joke about Fullmetal Alchemist? Instead, he proposes Schoolfed Heroism (BNHA maybe?) and Kismet:Stuck Morning (no guesses for this one... I’m a fake weeb).

It’s also interesting that we’re watching on DVDs. If they wanted to go full weeb, they could put in fansub jokes here... but then this guy prefers dubs to subs, so maybe he likes to buy official releases.

Naturally, we run into translation issues.

He wanted the first edition and ‘paid extra for it’. So rather than enjoy the rest of the episode, we set off to have a word with the importer...

I have to ask... how does the troll economy work? There’s hints at a capitalist economy, money is mentioned and we had the guy running the club just now, but none of the trolls seem to have jobs. They seem to just get issued money according to their blood colour?

Speaking of which, we get some comments on troll retail...

So yeah, we’re gonna find another weeb I guess.

If that’s the billboard in the background, it's too small and blurry to work out what it says, unfortunately.

He seems pretty opposed to any ‘rebel sentiments’. Which of course he discusses with the weebiest metaphors. Alternia balances on...

He goes on about katanas for a while, like he’s going down a checklist of orientalist tropes. Naturally it’s a prelude to a challenge to ‘dance’.

We say swords are cool and this gets a little rant about bushido. You know, that self-serving horseshit some guy in the late 1800s fabricated as nationalist mythology...

We arrive at the anime store.

More text to transcribe, oh joy. At the top of the store it says the name of the shop, mentioned in dialogue, ‘SUPER TOPATO IMPORTS’. Above the door behind the counter it says ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’. On the bookshelf full of manga it says something too squished to easily read.

Anyway, we’re having a look around, but Tegiri starts kicking up a stink.

It’s basically the navy seal copypasta, slightly modified to be more trollish.

Meanwhile we’ve accidentally knocked some anime and manga out of someone’s hand.

Still not getting these references, unfortunately.

The troll with a pink sign is apparently against troll law - ‘depiction of nonstandard hemological attributes’.

This is all going over my head at this point. The references, I mean. Obviously the text - that Tegiri is an entitled douchebag - is clear enough.

Oh, this one I get - Ace Attorney, of course.

Anyway, this is where we get a choice. Do we stop Tegiri straight up murdering someone for peddling the wrong kind of anime?

Obviously we will try. Even though this seems like a great way to end up dead ourselves.

We speak up for the shopkeeper, and manage to convince Tegiri not to straight-up kill him. This leads to... a story, of a previous time he showed mercy, in contradiction to the law.

Of course, we know who this baby - who should have been culled for lacking a lusus, by troll law - would have been. God, I’d sure rather be hanging out with Polypa than this guy.

The narrator, of course, has one thing on their mind...

We suggest that the law, and what is right, are maybe not the same thing...?

The hard decisions such as ‘do I murder this baby?’

The narrator decides they know something about bad ways to manage loneliness...

The narrator manages to divert his rant by asking about his eyes. Which are... any guesses? Contact lenses. For cosplay.

Before we can make the error of accusing him of breaking the law by cosplaying a nonexistent blood caste, who should show up but...

Oh thank god. Save us, Polypa.

Of course he says 何 nani instead of ‘what’. And as for 後輩 kōhai, that’s basically the counterpart to senpai, the junior partner in an informal hierarchy within an organisation, dictating the use of certain honorifics. If my reading of the wiki article is right, he’s using it quite incorrectly.

Polypa lets on that we’re moirails. This causes Tegiri to be a little taken aback. The narration has some fun.

Tegiri claims - despite his huge stack of body pillows and figurines - that he has no time for quadrants.

‘Were it not for the laws of this land’ is most commonly associated with a meme from a Ghanaian film, not anime, but the sentiment surely fits.

Polypa tries to talk some sense into him.

So we end up doing an anime sleepover...

The dog is saying ワンワン (wanwan), which is standard Japanese onomatopoeia for a dog barking.

The text in this screen says... ‘Ore wa kaizoku-ou ni naru otoko da!’, which is a One Piece reference, meaning ‘I'm the man who will be the pirate king!’.

So, Tegiri may be insufferable, but at least with Polypa around we can keep him more or less under control.

There’s a few more options to explore. What if we’d picked dubs, not subs, near the start? He praises our choice, but otherwise, the story proceeds in the same way. I think that’s actually the first time we’ve had branches merge.

Now, what if we let him kill the shopkeeper?

Shockingly, he’s not as much a swordsman as he makes out. And the shopkeeper, it turns out, is psychic, and zaps him before legging it.

I was under the impression that psychic abilities were rare in goldbloods, but what do I know?

We ask like... was that really necessary?

Well, he’s certainly a tool, he got that part right. (Sorry.)

We go to report the shopkeeper’s terrible crimes to the drone, but unfortunately... it seems that the protagonist has a rap sheet themselves!

They can’t pin it on us! We’re innocent!

God, the ‘everything happened’ approach to continuity is still fucking with me. Did we make friends with Remele? Did we not? Earlier, the narration mentioned making ‘between 1 and 19′ friends. What if someone didn’t obsessively explore and replay every branch? They’d be so confused!

But despite his ineptitude with a sword, our attempted escape over an overpass leaves us...

Dead.

I’m sure this shot is also an allusion to an anime meme, but I can’t say which one, so yeah.

That’s Zebede and Tegiri. Not the best friends we’ve made, but I enjoyed the chance to be a huggggeee neeeerrrd in this post. (>implying that I could be anything other than a huge nerd on my homestuck liveread blog)

#momestuck #lets read hiveswap friendsim

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years

Text

Balance on the Head of a Pin

Chapter Thirteen

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x OFC | Word Count: 5992 Warnings: smexy, swearing, angst and heartbreak

Lauren stared at the change in the pendant around her neck with awe. Towel wrapped tightly around her, she touched the web of intricately laced branches which now rested where once the delicate chain had. It was only about an inch wide, maybe two where the branches fell to a point beneath the pendant, surrounding it as if to highlight the golden rectangle. It was exquisite, like nothing she’d ever seen before, but she wasn’t so foolish not to realize there was more going on here than a simple gift.

“Loki, explain this to me?” She tapped it gently with her nail.

He appeared behind her in the mirror, chest bare, towel riding low at his waist. The smile he wore was simply sinful as was the look in his eyes when he peered at her through the glass. Tapered fingers landed ever so gently on the delicate gold filigree, tracing the design with care.

“Isn’t it stunning?” he asked, stroking his fingers up her throat to cup and lift her chin.

His touch made her shiver most delightfully. “It’s gorgeous, but why is it different?”

Even though he’d followed through on his comment to wash everything, he’d been… mostly a gentleman about it. His soaping of her back, belly, and chest might have been a pleasant experience, but it had just been a washing, one which she’d returned in kind, washing both their hair as well.

It had been fun, actually, to do something like that for him, especially when she’d scrubbed her nails lightly over his scalp and he’d darn near purred with pleasure.

“Because,” he murmured, lightly kissing her cheek, keeping his eyes on hers in the mirror. “You are my Ástvinur, my chosen. As we learn and grow together, as our bond grows stronger the more you accept me for who I am, so does the brúðr steinn.”

“Brúðr steinn,” she murmured, touching the pendant. “Sounds fancy.”

“Very fancy,” he whispered against her ear.

The heat in his eyes had her lips parting on a sigh. “Loki.” She watched, enthralled as he ran his teeth over the shell of her ear.

“That’s four, my darling,” he crooned against her before slowly pulling away, allowing his finger to trail down her neck and over her bare shoulder.

Lauren picked up her brush with a shaking hand and began running it through her hair, hoping to regain some semblance of composure only to have him return to her back and steal the brush from her fingers to do it himself.

“Seeing as how you have enticed me out of bed at this unseemly hour, I think you should make it up to me.”

Arching a brow, she ignored the heat in her face when she muttered, “After the last twenty minutes, you’re gonna whine about gettin’ up early?”

He paused in his brushing to look at her with eyes full of censure. “An act we could have easily accomplished had you remained in my bed.”

She tilted her chin up defiantly. “You’re short-term memory is goin’, peaches. You’re the one who flounced off into the shower.”

“I do not flounce!” he scoffed. With a narrowing of eyes, he dug his fingers in along her ribs and made her squeal. “Oh, ticklish are we?”

“Loki, no!” she laughed when he did it again. “Stop! Stop! Noooo- aha!” Grabbing hold of her slipping towel, she darted out the door with him hot on her heels.

It came as little surprise when strong arms banded her waist, scooped her up off her feet and tossed her to the bed, causing her breath to oof out before being replaced by gasps and giggles as he attacked her ribs with a vengeance. She belted out a peal of laughter as she tried to keep her towel in place, pushing at him to stop. “Stop!!”

Crouched over her, Loki snickered as he captured both her hands into one of his and held them above her head. “Admit I do not flounce, and I may grant you mercy.”

She bit her lip to hold in her giggles. “Fine, you don’t flounce.”

“Very good.” He smiled triumphantly.

“But you do skulk!”

“Why you little…” he growled softly, skating his hand down her ribs.

“Ah haha!” she screamed, twisting to get away, only to finally have her towel come free. “Big bully!” she pouted when he stopped, eyes full of appreciation for her half-naked form.

“Poor baby,” he chuckled, skimming his hand up her bare flesh to caress her exposed breast. “Should I kiss it better?”

Lauren bit her lip while nodding.

The way his eyes went from sky blue to deep oceans as they warmed was enchanting.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, waiting for him to lower them to hers. She sighed and tilted her face up, the anticipation half the fun when his nose brushed gently along the tip of hers, and his breath washed across her lips.

He settled slowly to the bed, his body at her side, arm stretched out to keep hers contained. The softest touch of his lips made hers tingle. They brushed, a whisper, brushed again, brushed and made her whimper a quiet plea.

When they finally sealed to hers, she moaned, arching up, loving the shock of heat which rapid fired through her system with his kiss, with his closeness. Lauren hooked her heel behind his knee and tugged until his weight half pressed her to the mattress. But it was his mouth she focused on.

The silky glide of his tongue against hers. The way he seemed to be able to twist it in the most impossible way. He flicked it over her teeth, discovering every corner of her mouth. He moaned, deeply, and the coolness of his voice along with the magic which lived inside him washed down her throat making her shiver.

The release of her hands saw them flying up to sink into his damp locks as she kissed him unendingly, catching a breath when he let her only to have him dive back in until her lips felt swollen, and the hand on her breast wandered down her side to jack her thigh up around his waist.

His hand was making its way over her ribcage again when a loud growl came from her stomach.

“Oh!” Jumping at the unexpected noise, Lauren flushed with embarrassment.

Loki groaned softly in disappointment as his head fell to her shoulder. “I forget how often you Midgardians need to eat,” he said, sounding distinctly grumpy.

“I forgot how often you don’t,” she grumbled. “C’mon, hun. I’ll make you a breakfast that will have you wantin’ to eat.”

“And just what, pray tell, are we having for breakfast, my sweet?” Loki asked, lips gliding across her cheek. “What could you possibly feed me that would make letting you up worth my while?”

Smiling, Lauren traced her nails down his back. “Mm, you’ll have to wait and see, peaches.”

Nipping at her lip, he sighed, long-suffering and full of irritation. “If I must, but you will simply have to make it up to me.”

“Me? Make it up to a God? Why however, shall I accomplish such a thing when I am just a shy, fair maiden with not but pennies to my name?” She fluttered her lashes, smiling innocently up at him.

He snorted out a bark of laughter before fighting it back to give her a dark look laced with mischief. “By using your own two hands, fair maiden, to treat me as I deserve.”

“And whatever shall I be doin' with my hands, oh gracious God of Mischief?” she asked, a touch breathless.

“Why, what every man desires of his woman,” he murmured softly, eyes drawing down to land on her lips. Leaning closer, his mouth a breath away from hers, Loki whispered, “Bake me a cake, woman.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief as he leapt from the bed, laughing wickedly while escaping back into the bathroom.

“You’re a horrible tease!” Lauren griped.

“But a fantastic flirt!” Could be heard before the door shut tight.

***

With his chin in his hand, Loki watched Lauren move around the kitchen with an ease born of familiarity. She was at home here, cracking eggs and cutting up peaches, strawberries, and bananas. There were bowls of fresh berries on the long marble island and a cup of steaming coffee at his elbow.

She stood before the hot stove, bowl of batter in her arm, stirring gently while she waited for the pan to warm. A white t-shirt, old and thin from many washings clung to her curves, while shorts made from jeans bared the generous length of her legs.

He was having a decidedly hard time pulling his eyes away from her long limbs and colourful bare toes. The soft pink was most enticing, making him wonder if she would giggle if he nibbled upon them or if a moan would fall from her lips. Her pert bottom in those shorts wasn't helping matters either.

Drawing his eyes up, he smirked a little for her hair really did curl in the humidity already present in the early morning heat. Soft waves fell around her shoulders, caressed her cheeks, and draped down her back. She looked adorably youthful, like the girl in her Gran’s pictures.

She hummed softly while pouring batter onto the hot pan, hery smile small but happy as she did something which obviously pleased her.

Loki sipped his coffee and glanced toward the clock upon the wall, one reading just gone six-thirty, an hour he would not have been awake at without a good reason on any other day he’d chosen to sleep. Still, to watch her cook for him, just him, in a kitchen with whitewashed cabinets and marble countertops, glass front doors and gleaming steel appliances that put the kitchen of Stark’s to shame, caused his heart to clench at the domesticity of it all.

He could get used to this.

He set his coffee down with a quiet click of porcelain on marble. “Whatever was your sister trying last night with her action? I cannot figure out her motivation for breaking into your room as she was.”

She placed the bowl down beside the stove and took up a utensil to flip the first round of pancakes. A slight sigh escaped her as the smile fell from her lips, and Loki regretted asking. “The belt.”

“Excuse me?” he asked, stiffening in shock.

“The one you made me. It wouldn’t be the first time Cissy took what wasn’t hers cause she wanted it.” Moving toward the big double door fridge, she opened it and took out a small silver bowl filled with cream she’d previously whipped up into frothy peaks.

He stared at her aghast. “She steals from you as well?”

“Borrows, hun. Only she conveniently forgets about returnin’ what she's borrowed,” Lauren muttered, putting the bowl on the counter near the berries before ducking down to open a cabinet and remove a small canister which she placed near the bowl. “That’s how Cissy explains it at least. At which point I get, Lauren Guillemin, why can't you just let Cissy have whatever this one time? ”

“Lauren,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, unable to believe the audacity and how it was compounded by what was evidently her mother.

“There’s a reason I only brought one bag. I’ve had things disappear before when I brought them home with me. Considerin’ I could smell the booze on her last night from across the room, ain’t surprised she fell against the door.” She shrugged, dismissing it. “She’s doomed to disappointment anyway.”

That Cissy was. The belt and the outfit he’d created for Lauren no longer existed. He could bring it back should she wish it, but he was really beginning to despise this family.

Flipping the pancakes onto a waiting plate, Lauren poured more batter into the pan and turned toward the island where she began spooning fruit over the hotcakes. The canister was opened and a sieve obtained to shake the fine powdered sugar over the plate. Dollops of the whipped cream were added next before she drizzled a smattering of honey over the entire thing.

Lauren set the plate in front of him with a smirk and nudged a fork his direction. “Eat.”

He eyed both her and the plate before arching a skeptical brow. “I have had pancakes on numerous occasions, my sweet. How is this any different?”

She scooped a bit of cream up with her finger, a dab with a drizzle of honey on it and held it out. “You ain't never had pancakes till you've had ‘em with fresh cream and wildflower honey.”

Loki watched her face as he took her by the wrist and brought her finger to his lips, swirled his tongue around the tip, and placed it into his mouth where he sucked it clean with a sensual purr of pleasure. “Delicious. Especially off your skin.”

She gave a slow blink, a sly smile, and leaned closer to kiss him only to suck his lip into her mouth. “It's even better off yours, peaches,” she murmured, flicking her tongue over his lip. “Eat.”

“There's something I'd like to eat,” he muttered, setting her laughing and blushing as she returned to the stove.

When he dug in, Loki had to bite back a moan of pleasure for her meal was just delicious. As he ate, he again watched her move with ease around the kitchen.

Before the pancakes, she’d mixed a large bowl of batter, poured it in pans, and placed them in the oven. The entire kitchen smelled of spiced cake, mouthwateringly scrumptious. She returned to the fridge, took a block of something - the box reading cream cheese - from it and set it on the counter. The oven was checked, and she flipped her own pancakes before turning her attention back to him.

Collecting a piece of peach on the end of his fork, he held it out to her temptingly. She walked toward him, a sway in her hips, leaned over the counter and opened her mouth.

Pulling the fork back, Loki tsked, “Closer, pet.”

Lauren skirted the counter and stepped forward. “Here?” she asked, smiling.

Turning toward her on his stool, Loki slipped his foot between hers, caught her around the waist, and pulled her forward to straddle his thigh. “Here,” he quipped, bringing the peach to her lips.

Her eyes danced and sparkled when she bit the peach off the tines.

While she chewed, Loki stroked his hand down her back, gently cupped her bottom, traced his fingers over the curve and down past the edge of her shorts where he could lightly caress her bare skin. “What would you have us do today, darling?”

Her fingers traced the line of buttons on his white shirt. “Anythin’ long as we’re outta this house.”

“It has been some time since I rode. Yesterday’s adventure with your stallion reminded me of how I missed it.” Loki slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her t-shirt, dragged them gently over her skin, squeezed her ribs and brushed his thumb over the underside of her satin encased breast.

Plucking a strawberry up between her nails, Lauren brought it to his lips. “We could take the horses out. Go down to the river. We could swim and have a picnic for lunch.”

Sucking the berry from her fingers, Loki hummed happily. “Sounds delightful.”

“I think so,” she smiled, leaning down to kiss him gently, pulling away only when the scent of pancakes got stronger. She returned to the stove, clicked off the burner, dished up and prepared her own small mound of pancakes before taking the seat at his side.

Loki gave her stool a quick jerk, drawing it in close. She squeaked, grabbed for her plate, and made him snicker. A sharp glare was sent his way before she stole his coffee to sip from his cup. He slid his hand up her thigh and gave her a second jerk that saw her sitting nearly on his lap. Not an easy feat to accomplish, but he wrapped her leg behind his hips and settled his hand on her lush bottom to keep her in place.

Perched on his leg, she eyed him with amusement. “I could sit on my own stool.”

“But then how could I do this?” Stealing her fork, he speared a piece of banana, dipped it in the whipped cream and held it before her mouth.

Her lips twitched, fighting to contain her smile. “I could feed myself as well.”

“Oh?” he pouted, rubbing the edge of the banana against her lips. “Pity,” he crooned, pulling the fork away. “Feeding one’s beloved can be such a… sensual experience.” Lifting his foot to the rung on her stool had her sliding down his thigh, the seam of her shorts bumping up in just the right way.

When she gasped at the sudden jolt of pleasure, he tucked the fork between her lips.

“Now, be a good girl, pet, and let me have my way.” He rocked his foot on the rung of the stool, smirking as he watched her eyes darken when the hard seam rubbed and pulled just right.

Lauren reached past him, ran her finger through the last of the cream and honey on his plate and held it before his lips. “Two can play these games, Loki.”

The mischievous light was back in her eyes. He made to lick her finger when she pulled it away and sucked it between her lips, right to the last knuckle. She moaned softly, eyes on his, as she pulled it from her pursed lips, leaving it slick with saliva.

“Flames of Valhalla, woman,” he groaned, feeling the sudden throb and tightening of his core.

“Still want to play?” she teased, leaning closer.

“So many, many games, darling,” he breathed, sinking his hand into her hair.

Her arms went around his neck, and her body softened into his. “You’ll have to teach me all of them,” she whispered against his lips.

“And invent a few just for you, my heart.” He nipped her bottom lip, making her whimper. Stroking his hand up her spine and back down, he rocked his thigh into her core as he played with her lips, kissing and coaxing, leaving teasing bites and tender kisses, contemplating how quickly he could clear the space on the counter to lift her to it.

“Hey, mama! I smell somethin’ delic- oh, shit!”

The masculine voice had Lauren jerking back, but Loki only held her tighter as he turned his head to glare at the interloping male.

“Uh, mornin’, Lafayette,” Lauren mumbled, cheeks as bright a red as the strawberries on her plate.

She pushed at his chest weakly, but Loki didn’t let her go. The man was wearing a look of embarrassment, but there was envy in his eyes when the dark brown of them connected with Loki’s blue. He knew the instant his flared green for the man dragged the hat from his head and held it twisting between his fingers.

“Miss Lauren. Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone but mama to be up cookin’ this time a day.”

This time the push was less weak and followed up with a solid fist to the chest. Grunting, more out of surprise than pain, Loki finally allowed her to escape, dropping his foot to the floor so she could slide off his thigh.

Lauren smiled at him as she did, her hand stroking over where she’d punched him in apology, one Loki accepted graciously with a tilt of his head.

“It’s good to see you, Lafayette! I missed you yesterday when I was showin’ Loki around.”

Loki watched narrowly as she hugged the large stranger.

A big man, Lafayette had the ruddy complexion of a person used to working outdoors. His sun-darkened skin and bronzed hair confirmed this as fact. Bulky muscles were encased in a t-shirt already sweat-dampened and blue jeans with dirty knees, while a red handkerchief hung from his back pocket. Though he hugged back, Lafayette didn’t touch her with his hands, keeping the dirt on them from smearing Lauren’s white shirt.

“Had to run a few errands in town for Teddy, plus pick up more party things for your mama’s shindig,” Lafayette said, pulling back and heading for the sink to wash up. “Didn’t mean to interrupt… uh… breakfast.”

It came out more a question than a statement.

Getting to his feet, Loki prowled slowly toward Lauren where he collected her fingers and brought them to his lips. “Yes… breakfast,” he smiled as he kissed her knuckles. “You should finish yours, love.” From the corner of his eye, he watched Lafayette flinch at the endearment.

“I will, but I want to introduce you first. Lafayette and I grew up together. His mama is Sue Ann.”

“Ah, the lovely woman from yesterday. She was quite charming,” he said, leading Lauren back to her stool with a gentle tug, encouraging her away from the man who clearly had feelings for her.

“Yeah, mama was full of praise for you, too.” Lafayette leaned against the island and looked him over.

“Really? How delightful.” Loki smirked at the assessing eyes and played with Lauren's hair. While the man was almost as big as Thor, there would be little contest in who would win in wits or strength. The man was quite out of his depth.

“Lafayette, meet Loki Laufeyson.” Lauren smiled up at him.

“You eat, darling. I can make my own introductions.” Loki lightly stroked his palm up her arm. The move had Lafayette’s eyes glued to his hand.

“Don’t summon the staff,” she mumbled, reaching for her fork, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“Why ever not?”

“You’d shake the china. It’s fragile,” she warned, returning to eating.

“As you wish, darling.” Loki kissed the crown of her head, keeping his eyes locked on the brown ones across from him.

Lafayette’s jaw tightened.

Chuckling softly, Loki made his way around the island and held out his hand. “As my Ástvinur has said, I am Loki.”

“Lafayette.”

The large hand grasped his, squeezed in the way most men of this world would to try and intimidate a rival. It only made Loki grin. “She did leave out one thing though.” He increased the pressure of his grip ever so slightly, gaining a modicum of pleasure when Lafayette’s eyes widened.

“What’s that?” the man asked, tightening his grip as well.

He gave a slight shrug. “That I am the adopted son of Odin, brother to Thor, prince of Asgard, and the God of Mischief.”

Lafayette’s hand jerked in his. “What?”

“And one of the Avengers,” she said from behind him. “Don’t be so modest, peaches.”

Glancing at her, Loki shook his head. “Are you teasing me, my sweet?”

“Who would dare?” she gasped as if shocked at the very thought.

“Troublesome woman,” he grumbled, removing his hand from the slack one of Lafayette.

“Holy… fuck,” breathed Lafayette, stunned. “I thought you looked familiar but… sheet!” He slapped Loki roughly on the shoulder with a wide grin. “An honest to god Avenger runnin’ round Annandale Farms! Son’ bitch! Good to meet you!”

Loki blinked, surprised by the about-face in the man’s demeanour. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, evidently amused by Loki’s confusion. “Thought you were some high society fucker Lu brought home with her to screw with her mama.”

Lauren snorted, covering her mouth as she chewed, eyes sparkling with wicked amusement.

“Did you set me up, darling?”

“Maybe, little,” she smirked, continuing to eat. “Kinda got both of you in one. A double set up. Natasha would be proud.”

“The Captain would be horrified at your deviousness, but Barnes would be quite amused.” Loki shook his head and returned to her side.

“Shit, Lu. Still can’t believe you know the Avengers,” Lafayette muttered, helping himself to the coffee.

The timer on the stove buzzed, but when she made to go to it, Loki pressed down on her shoulders. “Sit.”

“The cake.”

“I have it.” Flicking his finger, Loki moved the cake from the oven to the racks on the counter, turning the oven off in the process.

Lafayette jumped, sloshing coffee over his hand and hissing at the burn. “Fuck me!” Shaking off the liquid, he wiped his hand on his jeans.

“I see your mouth ain’t improved a lick,” Lauren snickered. “Don’t let your mama catch you using that language, or she’ll wash it out with soap.”

“Can you blame me? Damn, Lu! He just… and the cake just… and y’all are just sittin’ there all pleased as punch!”

Lauren smiled. “Takes a little gettin’ used to, but then I’ve had the time.” Her hand drifted up to rest against her pendant, hidden by the neck of her t-shirt.

Sitting beside her, Loki nudged her cheek with his nose, kissing the enticing line of her jaw. “That you have, my love.” Hand settling on her thigh, he rubbed circles with his thumb.

The clicking of heels on hardwood coming at a rapid pace had Lauren stiffening. “Yeti.” She tilted her head to the side, and Lafayette scooted around the corner into what Lauren had termed the butler’s pantry.

Arching a brow, Loki squeezed Lauren’s thigh.

“Mama. She and Yeti don’t get on. He’s a bit... brash for mama’s sensibilities,” she snickered, “It’s better if they just avoid each other. She puts up with him cause Sue Ann’s the best cook in the county. Plus he’s got a knack with the gardens no one can compete with.” She shrugged, dismissing it.

Loki hummed his understanding as Magnolia burst into the kitchen, robe flapping and hair in disarray, day-old makeup beneath her eyes, and a piece of paper clutched in her hand.

“Lauren! Have you seen George?” she asked, breathless.

Lauren shook her head. “No, mama. Why?”

“This!” Magnolia shook her fist with the paper in it. “This was left on his bed this mornin’!” Stalking forward on heels which had fluffy toes, she thrust the paper at Lauren, dismissing him altogether.

“Good morning, Magnolia,” Loki smirked, forcing her attention from her daughter. “How your beauty astounds me, transcending from night to day in such a way.” The choked sound from the pantry would be heard by none but him, though clearly, his words amused Lafayette.

“Oh, well, yes.” She patted down her hair and closed her robe. “Thank you, uh, Loki. I do apologize for soundin’ a touch… frantic. It’s just this letter has got me all stirred up.”

“Oh?” He arched a brow, leaning to read over Lauren’s shoulder. “What a pity. Montgomery has been called away. And look, my love,” he traced his finger over the hastily written line, “it appears he has acquiesced to your wishes and will no longer seek your hand.” It wasn’t what he’d wanted the idiot male to do, but at least he was out of the house and away from his Lauren.

She tilted her head, sending him a quick smile. “As it belongs to you, Loki that was only ever goin’ to be the outcome.”

“Be still, my beating heart,” he breathed, kissing her shoulder. The shudder went unnoticed by her mother, but Loki felt the quake of her desire right to his soul.

“But that can’t be!” Magnolia wailed.

“Mama?” Lauren frowned. “Why can’t that be? George knew last night I wasn’t gonna marry him. I made that perfectly clear. Why else would he have stayed?”

Magnolia paled swiftly before an angry flush came to her face. “Why for the party of course! What other reason could there possibly be? Don’t be stupid, girl!”

Going ridged at her side, Loki glared at Magnolia when Lauren flinched at the harshness. “Yes, what other reason could there possibly be for Montgomery to be in this house? To stay the night when, clearly, the reason he was here was moot?”

Magnolia blinked at his vehemence, blinked again when the words sank in and stepped back quickly. “I… I don’t have a clue what you might be talkin’ about, sir.”

“No? Hm, I thought not.” Lifting his chin, he stroked his hand down Lauren’s spine. “Well, it seems Montgomery has left us. What a shame.”

She eyed him, worry and fear on her face. “I… I guess, yes. Too bad.” Turning on her heel, she fled the room.

Shifting his attention back to Lauren, he had a moment of concern with how still she was, staring at the last of her breakfast, the note clutched tightly in her hand. “Lauren?”

She spread the note out on the counter with both hands. “Loki, I’m gonna ask a question. I need you to tell me the truth.”

“Always, my love.” Stilling the hand on her back, he brought the other down on hers.

She blew out a hard breath, inhaled deeply and asked, “Was my mother sleepin’ with George?”

Everything about her braced as if awaiting a blow, one he was seriously disinclined to give. “Darling…”

“Oh… wow,” she gasped, his non-answer answer enough. “That hurts more than I expected.” Turning from him, she bent over her knees to pant softly.

The pain tearing through her was so intense, Loki could feel it himself. “Please, love,” he whispered, lurching from his seat to gather her close when she nearly slid from the stool. Holding her as she shook, he became aware of Lafayette watching, eyes full of pity before the man slipped away.

They both ended up on the floor, Lauren sobbing into her hands, completely destroyed by her mother’s betrayal. When harsh cries eventually became soft whimpers, he gathered her into his lap. Limp and exhausted, she turned her face into his throat.

“How long?” she whispered.

He sighed while rubbing her back. “I can’t say with certainty.”

“Hazard a guess, Loki.”

The harshness of her voice nearly made him flinch. “If not the beginning, likely near it.”

“Was this what you were hidin’?”

He closed his eyes and held her tight, wishing with all his heart this was not happening, that her family were not these wretched people. He wished almost desperately for Frigga to be alive. For her to meet and mother his Lauren. To fuss and coddle the woman who was his heart. “I’m sorry, elskan min. I’m so sorry.”

Fresh tears soaked the collar of his shirt.

A few minutes later, when the pounding of her heart was not nearly so strong, Lauren pushed back from him, but her head remained bowed, her hair falling down to hide her face. “Why?” she finally asked, lifting her head to look toward the ceiling. “Why?”

He cupped her face, bringing her eyes to his while he wiped at her tears. He’d never seen her so sad, so heartbroken, and twice in less than twenty-four hours she had cried like her soul was crushed over these people. “I don’t know, darling. I don’t know why people are this way. I don’t know why they do these things. I don’t know why they hurt you.” He drew her in until her forehead rested against his, and her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “But I won’t. I will never hurt you. Not ever. I will never cheat. I will never lie. I will never dishonour you or treat you like less than the queen you are. I vow it, my heart. I swear it!”

She whimpered softly, “Loki.”

“I love you, Lauren.” Her lips tasted of tears and sorrow mixed with shame and regret when he kissed her, but he sank past it, sank deep, kissed her and poured out his heart. He wrapped her in his love and his magic until sadness turned to fire and left him breathless on the tile floor.

When she pulled back a second time, her lashes were slow to lift, but when they did, her eyes were full of sweet affection. The sorrow was still there but muted, and a smile was beginning to bloom gently on her lips.

“That was quite the promise,” she said softly, lightly touching his lips.

He nipped gently at her fingers. “And Asgardians always keep their promises.”

She wiped at her cheeks. “I know, peaches.”

Disentangling their limbs, Loki assisted her back to her feet. “What now, darling?” Did she even want to stay? Would she ask to go home?

She breathed out, composed herself, and headed for the cake on the cooling racks. “Now, we finish your cake, make a picnic, grab the horses and get the hell outta this house before I do somethin’ else I regret.” The worry from last night was present between her brows again.

Flicking his hand at the dishes, he set everything to rights from their breakfast. “Your mother seems to have forgotten you made that declaration.”

“Figures. Magnolia ignores anythin’ which don’t fit in with what she wants.”

If there was a touch of bitterness to the words, Loki didn’t hold it against her. Lauren had gathered a bowl and what ingredients she needed for this next step of cake making when Loki moved up behind her and pinned her hips to the counter with his own then wrapped his arms around her waist. “Will you be alright?”

Her hands clenched on the countertop before relaxing to lay flat. “The worst part? I can’t hate her. She’s still my mama. I seriously want to whip George’s behind from here to the next county, and I’m a little… nauseous, but I can't hate her. Does that make me weak?”

Tucking his nose into her hair, he sighed. “No, darling. It makes you far stronger than most. Frigga said nearly the same to me once. She hated what I’d done, what I’d become, but she still loved me.”

Her hands went back to adding things to the bowl before they, again, slowed to a stop. “Do you ever wonder if the mind stone was part of the reason you gave in to the Chitauri?”

“What?” It was such a jump in topic it took him a moment to follow her leap.

“I’ve seen the files. How you used the sceptre on Clint and the others. If you could use it on them, couldn’t the Chitauri have used it on you first?”

“No… I… no.” He pulled away, frowning, shaking his head in denial. “I don’t… my magic...”

“It’s possible, isn’t it?” she asked softly, turning to look at him.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Loki shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. My magic is far too powerful.”

“More powerful than an infinity stone?”

He stared at her for a long moment, her question causing his mind to race with the implications. “There isn’t much more powerful than an infinity stone.”

Her brow arched, she nodded casually, then turned back to her bowl. “Hm, ain’t that somethin’.”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Did you just… distract me, woman?”

She bit her lip, but the giggle still erupted. “Maybe.”

“What a tricky creature you are becoming,” he snickered, returning to press himself against her spine. “I like it.” Placing his hands on her ribs, he nipped at the ear her hair was tucked behind.

Laughing softly, Lauren murmured, “I know.”

“Cheeky, girl.” He liked that too.

With her laughter drowning out the sound of her tears from but moments ago, Loki sighed, happy to be her distraction, sneaking his finger into the bowl of frosting, tickling her ribs to make her squeal, and generally being a nuisance to keep her smiling.

When the feeling of being watched registered, he turned his face to the heavens, grinned wickedly, waved his hand and hid them from Heimdall's view.

He could almost hear the Guardian laugh.

Next Chapter

#balance #loki #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction #fanfiction #southern belle #testy

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whispering--memories17 · 7 years

Text

[Prophetic Phrases - Armin Arlert x Reader]

Ok, guys, gals and nonbinary pals, I am a blog that is only trying to make its way through the dark forest of Tumblr and you would really be helping me out by sending in some requests for art and one-shots. The fandoms which I write and draw for are; • Harry Potter (Including the marauders era) • The Maze Runner • Percy Jackson and Heroes of Olympus (I am such trash for Solangelo I stg) • Divergent • Shadowhunters • Dear Evan Hansen • Heathers • Falsettos • Hamilton • Attack on Titan • Free! Iwatobi Swim Club

Right, onto the fic.

Word Count - 2346

Warnings - None

Please don’t repost or plagiarise

Soulmate Au where the first words your soulmate says to you are written on your wrist.

You ignored the voice of Shadis as he explained the anatomy of the titans. You stared down absentmindedly at the words written on your wrist. You traced your fingers over the raised black writing, the black marks on your skin standing out. I’m not a blonde coconut! You giggled slightly at the words, slapping your hand over your mouth as a few people in front of you turned around to stare at you as if you lost your marbles. “Sorry,” You whispered, looking down at the piece of paper in front of you. “Worrying about the words isn’t going to change them you know?” Sasha uttered from beside you, glancing down at the marks. “Aren’t you worried about yours? What do yours even say anyway?” You asked her, both of you abandoning the lesson that was taking place in front of you. Sasha shoved her wrist onto the desk in front of you and you snorted at the words written there. Hey! That’s my bread! “You’re not the only one confused,” Sasha said, her hand falling back to her side. “Why do you think I steal everyone’s bread at dinner? Who knows?” “I thought that you were just hungry?” “That too,” She huffed, doodling on the sheet of paper in front of her. “I want to know what is on the wrist of your soulmate though, and why they think you think of them as a blonde coconut.” --- Ah fuck, blonde coconut! When Armin had first gotten enough confidence to show Eren what was written on his wrist, the brunet had burst out laughing. Armin didn’t know what to make of the words. His pale fingers ghosted over the words in theory, his eyebrows scrunched together as he got lost in thinking what kind of human would call him a blonde coconut. Obviously not a normal one. “If you don’t stop rubbing at it like that then the comment about the blonde coconut will become even more obvious, and I doubt that that is something you want,” Eren snickered, prying Armin’s hand from his wrist. “How come you’re so calm? Yours is even more obscure than mine!” Armin whisper yelled. “I can’t help it that my soulmate is probably a sadist!” Eren replied, his hand latching onto his wrist to hide the words. But Armin already knew what they were. I find pain to be the most effective method of discipline. “I bet that will be a fine start to the relationship,” Jean snorted from the other side of Eren. “Shut up, Horse face!” Eren muttered, his face a brilliant shade of crimson. Armin sighed as the attention had been taken off of him and he turned around as a snickering from the back of the room drew his attention. Armin’s eyes widened as Sasha had grabbed your arm and was looking from back and forth between your wrist and him. His eyes flickered to you as your face darkened considerably, shrugging apologetically at him. He spun back around, a blush on his own cheeks as he stared down at the desk. He had been training for three years and he couldn’t remember speaking to you once at all, how was that even possible. You grabbed your arm back from Sasha and glared at her, your cheeks still crimson. “It makes sense! He matches the description of the blond coconut and you said so yourself that you’ve never spoken to him before! It could be him!” You clamped a hand over Sasha’s mouth as she was practically shouting. “I don’t want to make any assumptions yet. Plus, with that little skit of yours a minute ago, I think I just scared the poor guy off.” “Yeah yeah, whatever you say,” Sasha grinned, turning back to the front of the room as the lesson continued. --- You unstrapped your gear and dumped it on the ground in front of your bed. You were just about down with training. Shadis made you run an extra twenty laps for dozing off in theory. You groaned as you collapsed down on your bed, burying your face into your soft pillow. You wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep but you knew that Sasha would kill you if you missed dinner, knowing that she usually counted on you for your left overs. “You can’t skip dinner two days in a row, you know. You’ll collapse in training,” Krista said worriedly from her bunk. You grunted, shoving your head further into your pillow. “Do you really want to face the wrath of Sasha when she’s hungry?” Ymir asked and you shot out of the bed, running out of the door as fast as you could. Sasha was normally a kind a cheerful person, but she could be terrifying if she was hungry. You were just lucky that she had forgot about you evading her last night. You barrelled down the corridors, running as fast as you could. Your weariness was forgotten as you focused on getting to the mess hall. You really should have paid more attention as to where you were going. Your eyes widened as a blonde blur was suddenly in your way and you were unable to slow down. “Ah fuck, blonde coconut!” You screeched, trying to warn them to move out of the way but it was too late as you bashed into the poor person, sending both of you tumbling to the floor. “I’m not a blonde coconut!” Your head snapped up as the person in front of you spluttered out the words that had been inked on your wrist since birth. The guy that Sasha had pointed out to you earlier was sitting in a heap in front of you, his blue eyes also staring down at his wrist. “What type of human being are you?” He chuckled, looking from his wrist and then back to me. “Wait does it seriously say that on your wrist?” You snickered looking down at the black writing that stood out against his pale skin. Ah fuck, blonde coconut” “That must have been confusing to say the least,” You giggled. “Yours mustn’t have been better,” He chuckled glancing down at the writing on your wrist. “This wasn’t the best start, was it?” “It could have been better,” You agreed, wincing as you brought your hand up to the back of your head. You felt something sticky and wet. “That’s not a good sign, is it?” You asked Armin, showing him your hand which was covered in blood. Your vision blurred in front of you and Armin’s eyes widened as you blacked out, slumping back against the stone floor. --- “God, that hurts,” You whined, shielding your eyes from the bright light which streamed in from the window. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you say anything about hitting your head? You passed out and you have a concussion and we thought you weren’t going to make it and-“ “Okay, she literally just woke up from a two-day coma, relax a little bit Armin,” A second voice said and you opened your eyes into slits, staring up at the few people that surrounded your bedside. Armin sat on the chair beside your bed, Eren and Mikasa standing beside him. Connie stood at the foot of your bed and Sasha sat at the bottom of your bed, eating a baked potato. “I’ve been out for two days?” You asked, your throat hoarse. Armin hurriedly handed you the glass of water, spilling a little bit of it on the floor. “Yeah, Levi gave you the week off to get better,” Eren said, his cheeks colouring at the mention of the short corporal. “Not without some convincing from you, I’m guessing?” You asked. His face flared and he looked at the floor, unable to respond to your comment. “Ok, one at a time, I don’t want this one passing out again,” Hanji said, a grin on her face. “Armin, you first,” The squad leader winked at you before ushering everybody else out of the room. “Wow, she’s really subtle,” Armin said after everybody had left, his voice monotone. You giggled, sitting back against the pillow. “Why didn’t you say that you hit your head?” “I kinda hit it so hard that I didn’t really register it at first.” You shrugged, clutching your head when it started aching at the small action. “Do you need be to go get anything? Water?” Armin asked, standing up when he saw you clutching at your head. “It will be fine in a while, I’ve had migraines worse than this,” You touched the bandaged that wrapped around your head, another jolt of pain shooting through you. “Sorry, I should have looked where I was going-“ “I was the one that ran into you remember?” You reassured him, looking back down at the now red writing on your wrist. “Yeah, it takes a little getting used to. Eren couldn’t stop looking at his for a month after he met Heichou,” Armin chuckled, showing you how the writing on his wrist had also turned red. “What do we do now?” You asked him, and Armin hesitated at the question. “Get to know each other, I guess.” --- “What the heck are you doing? Get back from there!” Armin yelled as you started moving through the trees, branches scraping off your face as you followed the loud screeching noise further. The Female Titan had chased Squad Levi into the forest and your squad was stuck in the trees waiting for orders. You were sick of the waiting around, not knowing who was getting cut down as titan after titan clawed at the bottom of the trees. You ignored Armin’s shouts after you as you whizzed past tree after tree, your manoeuvre gear hooking onto anything it could. Over the course of the past few months you had become good friends with Armin, Mikasa and Eren. When you had heard a loud scream come from deep inside the forest, you knew that Squad Levi was in trouble. And you weren’t just going to sit there completely useless. You landed on a thick branch and watched as Eren was eaten by the Female Titan. You didn’t even notice that Mikasa had followed you until she screamed from beside you, darting forward to try and help him. “What are you doing, Brat? You can’t help him in the state that you’re in!” Levi yelled, dragging Mikasa away from the fight. “You can’t just leave him there!” “And I’m not planning on it!” Levi growled, his sleeve slipping up the reveal the red writing on his wrist as he darted towards the Female Titan. “You need to get back to Armin,” Mikasa said, preparing her gear. “I can’t just leave you two to get Eren back by yourselves!” You objected. “We’ve got this. Just get back there before Armin freaks,” Mikasa jumped off the branch and swung towards Levi, cutting along the Titan’s jaw. Fuck it, you thought, turning around. You looked down at the ground and gasped at the mangled figures of Squad Levi. What on earth is that thing? It took out the some of the strongest members in the Survey Corps, that’s not supposed to be easy. --- “What the hell were you thinking? You could have died!” Armin screamed once you had arrived back to the edge of the forest. Looking down warily at the titans that were trying to climb the trees. “I wasn’t thinking, I was doing. I wasn’t going to sit here whilst Squad Levi got slaughtered,” You replied, slumping back against the rough bark of the tree trunk. “Wait, they’re dead? You can’t be serious,” Jean asked. “Eld was bitten in half and Petra was crushed against a tree trunk. I’m being serious,” You snapped. “Are you okay?” Armin asked. You shook your head, clasping your hands to your skull as the images of their corpses sprung in front of your closed eyelids. You felt an arm go over your shoulder and you sobbed, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “What the hell was that thing?” You gasped. “We need to retreat,” Armin said, rubbing circles onto your shoulder. “Yeah, tell that to our friends here,” Jean snorted, hopping onto a higher branch when a hand almost hit him off the tree. --- “Next time warn me before you do that again,” Armin sighed, grabbing your hand. “Yeah but if I warned you then you’d try to stop me.” “That’s the point,” He chuckled. Levi and Mikasa had rescued Eren and then the Commander had issued a retreat. You had only been back at the HQ for a few hours until Armin had asked to speak to you. “I’m sorry,” You apologised, looking down at your feet. “Just don’t do it again.” You both sat in silence, embracing the serenity of the meadow around you. Living in a world where your enemy could destroy everything at any second, peace was a tricky thing to find. You wanted to enjoy it whilst you still could. “Hey Y/N?” “Yeah?” “Can I maybe- you don’t have to say yes or anything if you don’t want to I was just wondering if-“ “Armin?” “Yeah?” “Calm down a little bit,” You chuckled, rubbing circles onto the back of the blushing blonde’s hand. “Can I kiss you?” He rushed out in one breath, clamping his hand over his mouth when he realised what he had just said. He stared at you, blue eyes wide. You pulled his hand away from his mouth and leant forward, kissing him gently. You pulled away after a second, checking to make sure he was okay. His jaw was slack as he stared at you, his face a brilliant shade of scarlet. “Get in there, Arlert!” Reiner cheered, fist pumping the air. You looked back towards the HQ to see the other cadets that had transferred to the Survey Corps, with you, cheering loudly.

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nobuckingway · 7 years

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Recently Dante & I attended our first ever proper show! Yes, you heard that right me & Dante went show jumping! For anyone who has followed Dante’s progress from when I bought him in October, I honestly thought this day would NEVER come!!!

He was quite the problem horse to say the least, but it just goes to show that sticking at something and working hard really does show results. We are still not perfect, far from it! These last few weeks I feel like we are both progressing well together, but now as a team.

Have a read below, find out how our practice day went two days before the big show itself, find out how I got him washed & prepared! It feels like a lifetime since I have done it all!

Practice Round

To give a quick explanation of what was going on, the yard I had previously been at run an annual jumping event against a neighbouring yard . where they both compete teams & individuals for a chance to win the winning cup. With the show being on Monday, the Friday previous a practice course was set up, for all teams & individuals competing on Monday. As Dante has never done a proper show or jumped a proper course I thought it was best to bring him here first, that way I could decide from his behaviour if he was ready to partake on Monday.

OMgod I was so nervous. I really did not know what to expect from him. As we arrived at our previous yard Dante was on his toes. There was a lot going on, horses & people everywhere but I was very surprised by his relaxed behaviour besides the few looks here & there. I popped him into a stable to let him settle down, as I had a quick catch up with everyone, and to have a quick learn the course!

I lunged Dante at home before I brought him over, it helps to get rid of that bit of extra spice in him & so that I didn’t have to spend the guts of an hour warming him up trying to get him relaxed. So with that I walked him into the practice arena & hopped right up on him.

It was so weird. I kind of feel like the two of us were walking around the arena for the guts of 5 minutes thinking what the hell are we getting ourselves into. I had a quick trot & canter on both reins and jumped the two practice fences set up, with that I headed down to wait for my turn to jump.

I was absolutely shitting it as they called us into the arena but the minute we walked in, it was as if the two of us turned our game faces on. The nerves were suddenly gone and before I knew it I was cantering into fence number 1. Dante was amazing to say the least, he kept a steady rhythm in his canter through out the full course. He was disunited quite a good bit and did keep changing legs in between fences but as long as I kept pushing him on through it we were flying. I have zero faults in his performance, I was delighted with him, besides a few knocked poles everything he done was a step forward in the right direction.

Delighted with his performance, I decided it was time to take the plunge and finally start entering shows with him and that I did. Myself & Dante put our names down for Monday, unaware if we were going to be on a team or as an individual but either way I didn’t really care as I was so happy with the way he worked around the course we had just completed.

Preparations

After arriving home ecstatic about our performance, A day later I received a text to be told Dante & I had been selected to jump as an individual & as part of a team. That nervous feeling crept back in again, but I suppose you have to power on and get over these fears if you want to get anywhere!!

So I began prepping & getting him ready for our very first show. He needed to be plaited, washed, groomed & our tack needed a little bit of a sprucing up! You may think I am mad, but I have began using hair masks for Dante for his mane & tail as it is very coarse & fluffy! (I needed something to tame it!) With a glass of wine, and a bucket of warm soapy water I began my mission to scrub Dante until he was sparkling!

With baby shampoo & warm water I simply began to sponge him down scrubbing the visible dirt away, he’s a bay horse, so he is quite clean besides his 3 white socks, (I didn’t wash the bottoms of his legs until the morning of the show as he is not the cleanest horse when it comes to standing in his stable!!) Once his body had been hosed of, I used my Elvive hair mask. I simply rub it through his mane & tail, on the package it says to leave it in for 5-10 minutes but I leave it in for 15 minutes & rinse out. After all the scrubbing was complete, I threw Dante on the walker to dry, leaving him in his stable with his cooler on! At least that way I had a good chance of keeping him clean!

Before every show, I plait the mane the night before, and bud them up the morning off. I can’t imagine it being too comfortable with rosebuds in over night. Regarding his tail, I don’t really tend to plait it, he likes flicking it and swishing it around the place & he keeps it relatively clean, so I did not see the need to!

Show Day

As mentioned above, the morning of the show I washed his four socks (legs) before loading him up into the box, using a whitener shampoo to try keep them white, sealing them with a bit of baby powder to keep the colour vibrant! After all of this was done, I threw on his travel boots, his cooler & loaded him up into the horse box and we set off to the venue!

Driving into the venue I was half expecting Dante to start kicking and jumping around the box in excitement, but needless to say he was lovely and calm. There was so much going on, horses walking and trotting by the box people everywhere, after 20minutes of him standing around in the box he began to get quite anxious.

To be fair to him he could hear everything going in but couldn’t exactly see anything, so I don’t blame him! I took him out of the box, let him have a stretch and put him into a stable to let him properly relax before getting him tacked up & ready!

The Warm up

There warm up arena, which is an indoor arena, it is quite small & uneven so I decided it was best to give him a quick warm up out in the field before hand. Dante was taking everything in, no bold behaviour, but he was looking at everything and had that real spring in his step. As I began to trot him he was really using himself, I could feel the power in him! This quickly came to an end as a few kids from the yard kept cantering up & down the field with their ponies and this was really beginning to set Dante off. I felt as if I had lost his concentration completely as he was way too focused on what was going on around him to bother listening to me. So as I pretty much brought everything with me just in case, I decided to throw my draw reins on him so I had slightly more control & I headed into the indoor arena to try get a good warm up done before our first round.

To be fair to everyone, they were so accommodating towards us when we went into the indoor, they gave us the space we needed to get a proper warm up. He was working so well, in trot & canter he was a bundle of energy, but it was controllable so it gave me a good ground to work with. He was very responsive to everything I was asking him to do, which did surprise me. He can be quite a difficult horse at time in terms of keeping him from getting flustered. So with this I acted quick, took the draw reins off and I popped him over two or three jumps before we headed into the arena for our first round.

Tip: I highly recommend not over jumping a horse too much before entering your round. Working on transitions and making sure your horse is listening to you is far more beneficial. I would keep my jumping at a max of 4 times, unless you run into major problems or really sloppy jumping.

Round 1 – Midi

I was left to wait 5-10 minutes outside the gate before I entered the arena. My nerves were totally forgot about at this stage as Dante literally would not stand still. The tables had turned, I am pretty sure Dante began to gain more nerves than me at this stage. So with a few reassuring pats on the neck & talking to him trying to relax him he settled as we walked into the arena.

The crowd was huge. There were people talking, shouting, microphones being spoke into & Dante didn’t bat an eyelid. I was amazed, we were both in our happy place, back jumping!! Dante awaited instructions from me and instead of flapping around, I got straight into it, I heard the bell and I began to approach the first fence.

He was fantastic. He came back to me in between fences when I asked and didn’t rush or take off unannounced. He did have a good look at a big red sign hanging up on one of their fences, but as I ignored it and rode him on he began to ignore it too. I wont lie, our jumping was slightly sloppy. We knocked around 4/5 poles, not to blame Dante but he wasn’t really lifting his legs over the fences, he wasn’t appreciating the height of them one bit, they were 70-80cm!

Overall I was delighted with his first round, knocking poles didn’t really bother me one bit, as I was more focused on how he behaved over anything else. This was all a brand new scene to him so keeping him relaxed was key. Beside it was more like a warm up for our team event coming up next!

Round 2 – Maxi

He was yet again taking everything in his stride, the crowds, the noises. As we entered the arena for our Maxi round, I could feel him a lot more relaxed underneath me. With the first round out of the way he knew what he had to do & we both knew the course.

Again, we got straight into it, once the bell sounded we started approaching our first fence. I will admit his strides are so hard to read at the moment! But that will take time as we both have only started jumping properly!

Once over the first fence, he did knock it, but as we approached the second fence, I pushed him. I pushed him for the big stride and he met the fence perfect. The next 4-5 fences I kept pushing him for the longer stride and he met everything spot on.

I was delighted with him, but when it comes to our jumping at the minute we both just need time to adjust to each other more & get used to each other. His jump can be huge at times, I am just about getting to grips with staying in the saddle!! But jumping the bigger fences seemed to be a lot more comfortable for both me & him.

We finished the course with 8 faults possibly 12, but again I didn’t really care about the knocks, his behaviour was all I was worried about for his first show out! That and well we had no refusals either! So overall I was delighted with his performance.

We ended up placing 3rd in our Midi round & 4th in our Maxi round, so with these results I was delighted! But like I keep saying, I was mostly concerned about his behaviour over his performance, bringing him to this show has really opened my eyes to how far we both have come!

When I first bought him back in October bringing Dante to this show was my goal, and I am still fairly shocked that we reached it, considering how much trouble I had with him up until 2 months ago!

So for everyone reading this, if I can do it ANYONE can do it!!!

Onwards & upwards from here!

#NeighNSlay

Darielle

Our First Show – Reaching That Goal Recently Dante & I attended our first ever proper show! Yes, you heard that right me & Dante went show jumping!

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