#And undone several rows to fix it

[iampresent]

FUCK CROCHETING FUCK TEXTILES ARGH RAGE ADN HATRED FUCK FUCK FUCK

[totheblood]

superposition. (four)

pairing: dealer!ellie x best friend!reader

summary: a flashback to when ellie and petal first met...they hang out in a bathroom for some reason?

warnings: 18+, no smut! (i'm sorry it's just necessary for the plot) cursing, drug/alcohol mention and use, cheating if u squint

a/n: i am so sorry but this chapter has no smut and yes that was a decision i made on purpose, it will be back and i am already working on it so don't be mad at me.. this chapter is important for the plot and is mainly from ellie's point of view. also there are ai audios but they are not ... nasty... cause no smut! also reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses

wc: 2.9k

masterlist for previous chapters

"why don't we rely on chemistry?"

It was decided, Ellie wanted to crawl inside your chest and live there forever. 

She can’t remember a time she’s felt this involved with someone, this desperate for another person’s touch. Any free space of her mind was taken up by you, by your smell, the way your skin felt under her fingertips. There was only you. 

Ellie had always fantasized about this being a reality. About you leaning into her, delicately murmuring her name onto her flesh, coming undone on top of her several nights in a row, but she never expected it would hurt as much as it did. Every time you rushed out the door, fixing your hair in the mirror before you went, or she checked your location and saw that you were at some new restaurant or bar, her heart sank to her chest. 

She was unsure of what she expected when she first kissed you. She knew it was a bad idea, that nothing could come from it that would stop the swirling in her stomach when it came to you. The pit in her stomach could only be filled by you, by being on, around, or inside you. 

Ellie had met you during her junior year in high school when she was just starting to discover herself. She always knew she liked girls but before she turned 16 she had never kissed one. Everything about her was more chaotic at 16, her freckles seeming more scattered and auburn hair always slightly messy. She had been falling behind in most of her classes, except physics, and found herself not sleeping. She was an overly anxious kid with a mind that never stopped turning until she met you. 

Jackson was a small town with an even smaller high school; everyone had some connection to someone. So when you sauntered into class, with shaking hands gripping the straps of your backpack unsure of where to sit, Ellie had offered you Dina’s seat. She told herself she was just being kind and it wasn’t because Ellie’s brain came to a halt when she saw you, which was wildly untrue. Dina cursed her out for giving you her seat, but when she grew to know you she understood.

Ellie was soccer captain, the one sport that the high school had for girls. When her body was moving she wasn’t thinking, all she could think was: ball, net, don’t trip, you? You slipped into her mind when she was on the field, looking up and seeing you perched on the bleachers, a book in your hand. Upon seeing you, she smiled to herself, but that smile was quickly wiped off her face as another girl on the team bumped into her, shaking her from her thoughts.

She approached you after practice, wiping the sweat from her forehead and briefly smelling her pits before getting too close. Your legs crossed over each other as you hummed, flipping the pages in the worn-down book and not noticing Ellie’s presence. 

“Hey,” she grinned, hands coming forward to lean on the rail of the bleachers as she looked up at you, “came to watch me practice?”

“You wish,” you giggled, tucking your book into your backpack, “needed to find a quiet place to read. Not much action on the field.”

Ellie faked a gasp and rolled her eyes, hoping her face wouldn’t betray her but it did. The sweet blush crept up on her face as her eyes blinked at you, what a tease, she thought. 

“Talking a lot of shit for someone who probably can’t make a goal,” she replied, making the playfulness in her voice evident. It was your turn to fake a gasp as your hand came over your chest. 

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know I was goal champion back in New York,” you added a bit of cockiness to your voice, fully knowing you were faking it.

“Goal champion?” 

“Yup.”

“Never heard of it.” Ellie laughed, shaking her head before turning back and seeing the field empty. The sun was going to set soon, nighttime just around the corner. She usually hated walking home in the dark, but decided she wanted more time with you. Any amount would do. “Wanna show me your moves, goal champion?” 

“I don’t think you could handle it,” you giggled, picking your bag up and walking down the steps to the field. 

“Try me,” Ellie looked back at you, a shit-eating grin on her face as she ran onto the field. The night was spent with you trying, and failing, to make one goal against Ellie. She giggled as you made one goal and threw your hands up in the air chanting ‘goal champion’. She decided to never tell you that she let you make that goal. Her smile never left her face and for a brief moment in time she wasn’t thinking about all the work she had to do, or how she was going to do it, or how Joel would react when he found out she failed her Algebra test, she was just happy. She slept like a baby that night thinking of the sound of your laugh. 

She kept her crush on you secret, letting it fizzle out slowly. Every sleepover the two of you had, the fear that if you found out about her crush on you that you would think she was a creep crept up the back of Ellie’s neck. It was a fear that wasn’t exclusive to you, but the rest of her feelings were. The way you sat posed for her, smiling with your teeth on display as she painted a portrait of you for art class created a new feeling she had for you, and only you. She couldn’t name it but she believed it was love. 

When you came around to look at the finished product, you gasped. Ellie had painted you with flowers coming out of your hair, tulips, lilies, and roses surrounding you. You never believed you could look that beautiful, but it was how Ellie saw you. Your mouth hung open as you gasped, eyes taking in the artwork and glossing over with tears. The pink, orange, and red hues adorning your pictured face. 

“Ellie, this is-” Your mouth fell open again, eyes too shy to meet her. 

“You like it?” Ellie asked nervously, eyes darting between you and the painting. 

“I, I love it, Ellie,” then a smile was on your face from ear to ear, “I didn’t know I could look so beautiful… and the flowers I mean?”

“The flowers are meant to represent you,” Ellie’s voice was small as she looked up at you, “beautiful and delicate.”

When you beamed at her and brought a finger to trace the lines of her art she was sure she melted. It was over for her. Every waking moment would be now spent trying to get that reaction out of you. That was the day she began calling you ‘Petal’, her own face blushing at the memory. 

Her plan had always been you, even when she wasn’t sure she was making a plan. So when you and Malia had become ‘Instagram official’ she couldn’t stop herself from keeling over and throwing up into the trash can she kept beside her bed. She didn’t feel like she was going to be sick, she was just sick. 

There was jealousy, and then there was whatever Ellie was feeling right now. It was almost a blind rage. She knew she didn’t have any claim to you, but didn’t she? It was her fingers, her lap, and her mouth that you came onto, not your ‘girlfriend’s’ and Ellie made sure of that. 

She didn’t feel the need to call you for two days after seeing the post. She texted you to let you know she was sick, which wasn’t technically untrue, and you texted her back a sad face paired with a message to get better before the formal on Saturday insisting that you couldn’t do it alone. She wanted to reply with some snarky comment about why your girlfriend couldn’t take you, but she refrained. 

The upcoming formal was something you attended for Dina and Jesse’s sake. It provided an excuse for you to wear a fancy dress while also providing a large and willing customer base for Ellie. These things were boring, and at most became fun when the music got slightly more uptempo. The point was to raise money for the fraternities, not shake your ass in front of your classmates. 

Despite how excruciating these things felt, you and Ellie had gone together for the past two years. She always wore a suit and tucked your pink flask into the pocket inside her jacket, spiking your drink whenever you flashed her the signal. What started out as a boring night always ended with you and Ellie in a fit of giggles on the bench outside the venue. It was one of those traditions that you continued to look forward to.

Ellie showed up that night, a tequila-filled flask pressed tightly against her shirt. She even felt bold enough to wear a bowtie. She waited in the lobby of the venue, occasionally staring at her feet as she waited for you to arrive. She expected to drive you but you told her that you would come on your own. That alone should have raised some flags. 

You showed up with Malia, her arm linked with yours. Ellie's green eyes widened but she had to maintain her composure as you approached her with a giant smile plastered on your face and arms open for a hug. She took you in, breathing in your scent which now felt unfamiliar to her. You smelt like pink pepper, Malia was rubbing off on you. Ellie shivered at the thought. 

“Malia,” your voice was sweet and sing-songy, “this is Ellie, my best friend.” You gestured to Ellie who reached out her hand to Malia, a smile on her face that said ‘I’ve fucked your girlfriend, in fact, I took her virginity and I felt good doing it’ but only she knew that. 

“Nice to meet you, Ellie,” Malia said as she shook Ellie’s hand, her own warm smile on her face, “this one’s told me so much about you.” Internally, Ellie scoffed. 

Ellie wanted to hate Malia, and for the most part, she did. She was objectively beautiful and had this aura around her that made things in the room glow. Everyone who knew her always raved about how kind and caring she was, you being one of them. Ellie wanted to hate her, but more than that she wanted you to be happy. Malia made you happy. She had to like her. 

“Same here,” Ellie shook her hand before pulling it back. Her eyes glanced to the door of the room the event was being hosted in, classical music seeping from the walls. “Should we go in?” 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you smiled as you took Malia’s hand in your own and walked towards the room. Ellie followed after, feeling like a third wheel. This was the night that your tradition would die. 

Ellie had to make some quick exchanges and so she had to reluctantly leave you. She didn’t want you to get too comfortable without her, but she had a job to do. When she returned she found you and Malia on the dance floor and had to actively ignore how much she wanted to throw up again. 

Ellie leaned back against the cold metal backing of the chair as she watched you and Malia dance in the center of the room. You looked like you were having fun, laughing and throwing your head back as Malia whispered something in your ear. Malia’s hand was on the small of your back, mine, Ellie thought. Her lips grazed the shell of your ear, mine, Ellie’s mind rang again. Her hand moved down to rest at the top of your ass, min-

Fuck it, Ellie thought, as she got up and stormed out of the room. She found herself in the ladies' room, eating the mints that were in a bowl by the sink and taking swigs of the liquor she bought for you. The bathroom surprisingly smelt nice and some lady handed Ellie a five, thinking she was the bathroom attendant, and tipping her. She didn’t even try to correct her, she just thanked her by nodding her head and opening the door for the woman. Easy five bucks.

Then you were pushing through the door, looking underneath the stalls, and locking the bathroom door behind you. Ellie was so flustered she didn’t even know what to do. She just stood up straight as she watched your movements carefully. 

“Hi?” she questioned, eyeing you with a confused look on her face. 

“You brought the tequila?” You questioned, your eyes wide and frantic, glancing down to her chest where you knew the flask was. 

“Oh, um-” Ellie’s fingers pulled the flask out and handed it to you. She watched you intently as you took a giant swig, attempting to pretend she couldn’t read you like a book. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m a shitty fucking girlfriend.”

“No, you-”

“Yes, I am,” you sighed, leaning your head back against the wall, hitting it with a cold thud. You were about to groan in pain when someone tried opening the door. “It’s fucking occupied!”

“Jesus, Petal,” Ellie cursed under her breath as she watched you take another swig from the flask. 

“I just, I can’t do it,” your eyes looked glossed over, Ellie had to stop herself from pulling you into her arms, “She’s just so nice, and every time she tries to… you know, I just can’t.”

“Is she pressuring you?” Ellie’s voice had a bite to it as she crossed her arms across her face. Her eyebrows knit together and her mouth was in a permanent frown.

“No!” you quickly assured her, “not at all. She’s actually been really nice about it and I have no idea why I can’t just go all the way with her.”

“You’re not ready,” Ellie’s voice was softer now, “that’s okay. You don’t have to be.”

“Then why…” you took another deep breath, avoiding eye contact with her, “why am I ready to do it with you?”

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat, the words getting lost on her. She wanted to speak or to lean forward and kiss you, but she couldn’t. She was a lot of things, crass, rude, occasionally a bitch but the area that was once grey was now so clearly black. You had a girlfriend, and if she kissed you, she would be a homewrecker. She couldn’t speak, but she could whisper your name. It sounded like an apology. 

“Ellie, I know you were just being a good friend but I think you ruined me.”

“What?”

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Every time I kiss her, it’s just…” Your hand came up to pinch the bridge of your nose, “It’s not you, and I can’t understand why that’s so disappointing.”

“I’m not,” Ellie breathed out the words, eyes staring at the floor, “I’m not a homewrecker, Petal. I can’t keep doing this.” 

“I know,” you took a step closer to her, causing her eyes to look back up at you. She looked so sad, or conflicted, you were having trouble reading her, “I know you’re not, I’m sorry.”

“Do you like me?”

“Of course, I like you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters to me.” Her voice was louder now as she attempted not to choke. She knew the liquor was giving her the confidence to do this, but also knew that it would give you the push you needed to be honest.

“Do you like me?” 

“Yes,” Ellie answered quickly, too quickly. You took a step back from her causing her to shrink almost immediately. This was the first time in her life she felt like she couldn’t read what was going on inside your head, “I like you, not as friends or any of that crap. I like you more than I like myself, more than I like anyone, and now that I know what it’s like to kiss you… I can’t go back to being your friend.”

“Ellie-”

“And you know this has been really shitty for me. This was supposed to be our night and you bought your girlfriend?” She took her own step back, leaning against the counter of the sink. “And I know this is my fault, I shouldn’t have kissed you or,” she made a weird gesture with her hand, “done any of that. I know but, it’s you, Petal. I would do anything for you. I will do anything for you, except for this.”

“Ellie, I-” your voice was cut off by the sound of your name being called from the other side of the door. It was like reality had hit the both of you and immediately you were both sober, “I have to go.”

“Of course you do.” Ellie rolled her eyes, moving back to sit on the bathroom counter. She watched as your nervous eyes scanned her and you turned around to open the door, hand stilling over the lock. Quickly, you turned around and hurried over to her and pressing a kiss at the side of her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed at the feel of your lips so close to her again. She was fucking losing it. 

“We’ll talk about it?” You whispered, mouth still close to hers, “I have to go but can we please talk about it later?”

Ellie nodded, eyes still closed. She heard you breathe a sigh of relief before opening the door and leaving. She only opened her eyes when she knew you were gone, letting the tear slip down her cheek.  

ai audios:

[emilypemily]

i have been writing and mostly ignoring the same album for the last 5 years. the songs have been pretty much entirely written for a long while now, but i have been putting off the recording process bc, idk. i think i'm a much better like, producer than i was when i did the first two albums so my standards have changed, and so suddenly i've got these perfectionist tendencies and it's been putting me off recording anything at all. and the stuff i recorded a while ago i've been put off fixing or changing the stuff i need to fix or change.

anyway, this past week i've kicked myself in the butt and actually made myself sit down and record, and it's been going really well. i think they're shaping up really well. i have the track list and in brackets i write what i still need to do, and i've been tackling each song like, guitar on a bunch of them first, and then keys on a bunch of them next, and then vocals etc etc. not always in that kind of order but that's some of why it's been going well.

there are 4 songs left of 14 that need recording at all, as they're still undone, and the rest is just rerecords or adding bits. 3 of them are finished, but it's the same 3 that's been finished for ages now. one of them is very close to done but i'd like my friend to play piano on them so that will take a while as we don't live in the same place and i don't want just a recording off a phone.

idk, it's not five years of writers block bc i've never had an issue with that. if i'm not writing that's like, fine, i'm doing something else. but, recording block? production block? the technical side of it is the thing i've been ignoring. it does feel good to be getting somewhere now.

i think the whole time i've thought and still believe that the songs are good. or at least, i like them. and i want them recorded and put out. every now and then i think 'if i get hit by a car and die and i've never really this fucking thing i will be so mad'. it's weirdly not very motivating. i think the motivating thing was complaining about it several weeks in a row in therapy to the point that it becomes cringe if i don't actively change something.

it's not really close to being done bur it's significantly closer than before.

[give-soup-please]

Hello soup! I understand that you are leaving soon so Id like to request something:

Teenage Reader stuck in the parable, who always listens to the Narrator. He originally thinks they’re doing it to be nice and he finds it wonderful, but realizes they’re doing it because they’re scared of what would happen if they didn’t do as asked, maybe he finds out by him raising his voice for some reason and the reader being terrified

Sorry if this is specific-

Teenage reader stuck in the parable, frightened of the narrator (platonic)

You cautiously tiptoe through the story, hoping you don’t end up pissing that voice off. He’d started narrating your every action, and… You were too terrified to disobey.

You’ve forgotten how many times you’ve been through the freedom ending, hoping that somehow you’ll actually escape this time.

You didn’t trust this voice. He was clearly a reality warper of some kind, with his ability to make things happen, items appearing and disappearing throughout the office. He could do anything to you if you made a wrong step. So you are quick to obey, quick to follow the steps that have been laid out since long before you arrived.

Your muscles are tense. You’re suppressing a flinch every time he speaks. You’re more anxiety than a person at this point.

The narrator himself is having a delightful time. You’re so quiet and obedient! You’re the perfect protagonist to tell his story. Again, and again, and again he leads you through his script. It’s perfect. He can’t tell that you’re scared. While living in the parable, he’s fairly oblivious to anything except himself.

It’s too much. Everything is too much. You need to find a way to escape. You begin going off the beaten path, trying to find somewhere where his voice can’t follow. 

The narrator is shocked. You were just about to cross the threshold for fifty freedom endings in a row. So close to perfection… He’s upset.

He isn’t commenting on the wrong choices you’re making, he’s too astonished.

“Reader- What do you think you’re doing? I- I don’t understand. You can’t leave, there’s no way out. Reader!”

That last word was a shout, an attempt to get your attention which he assumes is currently misguided. He can hear you breathing harder and harder, you’re yanking at your hair, blubbering. “Please-” You gasp. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Now that was alarming. The most he had intended on doing was snarking at you, maybe raising his voice a bit, just like he did with Stanley. “What on earth are you talking about? I- Why would I want to harm my protagonist? What possible purpose could that serve?”

He begins to gain a new insight into who you are. Did you always look so young and scared, or was he just too blinded by his enjoyment of someone listening to him for once?

The more he watches you stumble around, clearly terrified of him, the worse he feels. “Oh dear. I think there’s been a misunderstanding of some sort. I- I’m a storyteller at heart, not a…” He feels somewhat grossed out. It’s not in his nature to hurt people, not really. Yes, there are bad endings in the game, but it was never something that couldn’t be undone by a reset. 

He stays very far away from such concepts as permadeath, finding the idea distasteful. The parable is the safest place to be, if a bit boring. The idea of permanently disfiguring you or hurting you in some way is completely detestable. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, reader. I apologize for yelling. I didn’t realize the situation was that severe for you.” 

Your shoulders are still hunched, and your eyes are darting around. There’s no easy fix for this. 

The only thing he can think to do is to control you in the same way you’ve been letting him. “Now, listen. You are going to do exactly as I say. Is that clear? Take a deep breath. Hold it, now let it go. Again. Breathe in…”

He leads you through breathing exercises in an attempt to get through to you. You’re slightly calmer, but still very much on edge.

He’s tempted, for a moment, to keep you in this state of fear permanently. He’d never be disobeyed again if he did that. His story would run to perfection again and again.

But the more he looks at you panicking, the more your eyes fill with tears… He can’t bring himself to go through with it. He’s not that much of an antagonist, when the chips are down. 

“Reader, I promise you that you’re safe here. I don’t know how to convince you of this, but I really do want to help you. If there’s any part of you that wants to believe in my words, then go to the employee lounge, and we can discuss this.”

You walk to the employee lounge as… Instructed? It may have been a genuine request, you’re not sure.

“There now. Isn’t it much better to be calm, and keep an ear open?” 

You sit uncomfortably on the couch, not looking anywhere in particular. You aren’t sure what to expect, but you know that anything that puts you on friendlier terms with him isn’t a bad thing.

It takes time. Several weeks before you stop flinching at him, another few weeks for your shoulders to drop to a more neutral position, a few more for your anxiety to quell, and a few months before you trust him.

The narrator watches your progression with relief. The sick feeling in his heart starts to dissipate. The two of you can have proper conversations now, and it’s a relief to have company that can talk back and give live reactions.

He needs you. Not just for his story to be told, but… genuine, active company? Someone who has the potential to be a friend? And this is a secret desire, unknown even to him, but- someone to make happy… To be rewarded with a smile or a laugh or any kind of positive reinforcement at all. It’s huge. He’ll do anything to make it happen.  

[harpywritesfic]

Stephen growing up on a farm is one of favorite facts about him, since I’m a farm kid myself. If any of you city/suburbia people want help writing Stephen’s childhood, here’s some farming knowledge, which I will try to keep relevant to Nebraska and the 80s/90s when we can assume MCU Stephen was young. I’m planning to follow this with another post of general country kid stuff, so if you want to see that, just lmk and I can tag you in it! Also, if you have any questions, feel free to ask!

Farming vs. Ranching- Farming is crops, while ranching is livestock (typically cattle. Cattle are the most common livestock in NE). We’ll talk about farming, since all I know is farming.

Crops

Nebraska is known for corn. So much corn. Hay (timothy hay, oat hay, or alfalfa) is another common crop- many farmers grow both corn and hay. Crops in NE are usually corn or hay because that’s what you feed cattle.

There are different types of corn! The big two are field corn and sweet corn. Field corn is usually for animal feed (cows, remember?) so that’s most common in NE. Sweet corn is the kind we eat.

Irrigation

I’m only talking about sprinkler irrigation and siphon tubes here, fyi! Other methods (i.e. drip lines or subsurface) are for different crops. (I should rly go take my own photos, but it’s dark out ;-; )

Also worth noting: the amount of land you can water decreases with each method down the list, because of the work involved increases for the lower methods.

Circles

Nowadays the most popular and most efficient method of watering corn and hay is the circle (aka center pivot, but no farm kid calls them that). They have a central tower with a control panel (lets you choose how fast it turns, when to stop, etc.) A line of pipe and sprinklers pivots around the tower (hence the name). They’re very expensive, so if you want to write Stephen’s family as lower-class farmers, no circles for them! Middle-class, they either had circles or a mix of circles and the other types below. 

Lots of things can go wrong on a circle, from a sprinkler head getting plugged, hoses leaking, wheels getting stuck when it’s muddy, and on and on. Not fun maintenance-wise.

Here are a couple photos of a circle, in case you haven’t seen one! The first shows the tower and the second shows the sprinklers (hoses attached to the pipe) and endgun (water gun on the end, increases radius of water). Each section between the wheels is called a span, and a span usually has between 8-30 sprinklers, depending on the length of the spans and the amount of spans in the circle. A circle can have anywhere from 2-10 spans, maybe more. The wheels move a little bit at a time, starting at the span farthest from the pivot and moving inwards.

Wheel lines

These are the second-easiest method of irrigation. Water is distributed from a long pipe on wheels, and they have a motor to move themselves. The wheels are about 7 or 8 feet in diameter, so standing next to them, they’re as tall or taller than a person. Each span has a sprinkler with a leveler to keep it facing up. Usually a field has several of these in a row.

Similar deal as circles on what can go wrong, but on a smaller scale and easier to fix/replace parts.The connection between spans can come undone and leak, or the sprinkler heads will spray water everywhere. If the pipe breaks, the water will shoot straight up.

Hand lines

These lowkey suck. You have to move and connect each span by hand every time you need to water a different section of the field, and it takes half an hour or so for a small field. 

Maintenance and issues here are the same as wheel lines, except for the way mice start nesting in the pipes if they’re disconnected and not used for weeks.

Siphon tubes

These. These suck. They work by using a tube to siphon water from a reservoir (called a head ditch) over a mound and into a ditch that runs alongside the crop rows. You have to start the suction on each tube with your hand morning and evening, or whenever you want to water. This is done by shoving the pipe in the water, then pulling it out with your hand plugging the end, and repeating that until the water comes out. Then the suction will keep the water flowing until the head ditch is drained. For most farmers who use these, this is a sunrise chore. It also takes a lot of time to start a hundred or more of these.

These are the cheapest (and least efficient) way to irrigate. Not many parts to break here, just a lot of work and time.

[notmrskennedy]

Professor, pt 1

A/N - so i heard from like four of you which is enough to warrant me posting drafts that weren’t supposed to see the light of day - ANYWAY this was originally written in third person and let me tell you it takes a ridiculous amount of effort to change tenses like holy hell. 

(Technically the prequel Friendliness but can stand alone if you really want it to. There’s a part two to this so watch out for that tomorrow.)

Summary - Spencer meets a professor and falls in love for a few hours

W/C - 2k

Warnings - none-ish? there’s a small smattering of violence and horrible changing of the tenses 

-----

Spencer can’t help the irony that he’s in a freshman college class for the first time ever while protecting one of the students. Who knew that a tiny club of DnD players could incite so much rage out of an un-sub? So here he was, trying to blend in—even though he’s 25, he still looks 14 and there’s really no real reason why he should be worried about being caught—in order to protect a freshman who was more pimple than male specimen. 

Joesph—the poor kid in question—takes a seat in the front row and Spencer’s obligated to sit within tackling distance, though he hopes it won’t come to that. Hopefully, Morgan will have the kid the un-sub goes for and Spencer can just enjoy being in college again. The painfully familiar auditorium seats, the stale air, and bad fluorescents feel more like home than he cares to admit. 

College hadn’t been all too unpleasant. High school he’d gotten picked on mercilessly. College, however, had meant getting doted on by hot sorority girls and earning the protection of frat boys—they’d picked up rather quickly that he knew football strategy better than they did after Spencer had hustled a TV and 400 dollars from them. Sure, he didn’t drink, but every single drunk teenager had welcomed him with open arms and lots of ginger ale. 

There’s chatter and for the ten minutes before class starts, Spencer is torn between trying to figure out which song is quietly playing around the room and watching for a particularly rage-filled college student serial killer. Instead, he just finds too many bored faces. Most of the kids are drinking coffee like the best of them and he’s itching for his next fix just looking at it. 

The first two rows: a terrible vantage point to be profiling, but a beautifully defensible post. He watches absently as one of the TAs, who looks a little younger than him, organizes three stacks of papers on the front desk and flips through several different pages on the podium. His attention is focused solely on you for nearly a minute too long—he can hear the voice in his head chastising him for how often he gets distracted by pretty people. 

You look of the fragile sort, the in-the-lab kind of future scientist. There’s something about you that’s captivating. It might be the way you keep reorganizing the papers to perfection or maybe it’s the way you study the room so closely. And while he thinks that you might not be able to physically stop someone, you sure look like the kind of person that could crush him in chess. 

He’s 25 and is considering chess as a marriage proposal.  

Joesph shuffles his books around in the seat in front of Spencer and you, the beautiful TA in question, hold a watch up as you move to the centre of the room. Class is starting. Class is starting and he’s hopeful the professor never actually shows up. 

He notices your watch is on your right wrist—are you left handed?—as you smile widely and clap her hands together. First day jitters seem to keep everyone silent, waiting on baited breath for you to start. Spencer would stay on baited breath for the rest of his life for you. You were utterly captivating after all—he could see the drool from several students’ mouths a few seats over. 

“This is Anthropology 101,” you announce. “If this isn’t your class, you’re free to leave. Or stay if you want. Did you guys know that anxiety disorders affect more than 40 million US adults? Or 1 in 5, I guess, if you want the easier pill to swallow.”

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat and he wants to raise his hand just to ask you to marry him. 

“Anyway,” you sigh, leaning back agains the front desk, “I spit out a lot of facts. Usually something that begins with ‘did you know’ won’t be on the tests. I try to be fair. Which brings us to ice breakers.”

The class collectively groans. You scoff. 

“Oh hush, I’m the only one doing the ice breakers so chill out. Jeez.” Spencer waits patiently for your soft breath and then your further announcement of, “I’m officially Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, but that’s like only if my boss comes in or for any emails you send. You can call me Y/N because that’s like normal. I got my doctorate in forensic anthropology a year ago and I’ve been teaching since I started grad school three years ago. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”

He almost kicks himself. You’re the professor. How many times had he been nearly kicked out of a classroom when he was in grad school for saying he was the professor? How many times had he been 18 and trying to get an ounce of respect for himself? 

You continue, waving your hands about like you could pull your ideas back down to earth. “Um—a fun fact about me is that I am not welcome in certain parts of the world for ‘violating’ what are called exhumation laws, which is silly in my opinion. I had the legal right to carry that head on the plane and—and I hope you did the reading because there’s a first day pop quiz.”

The entire class lets out one simultaneous frustrated whine that alights something almost wicked in your eyes. You wave over two students from the other end of the front row and they begin passing out test papers as you explain. 

“You’ll have a total of fifteen minutes to answer ten questions. We’ll start on my mark. If you have any trouble, give me a shout and I’ll help you out. After this, we’ll go over the syllabus and if you’re lucky, leave early.”

Spencer’s passed a test and immediately notices there’s no place for a name. Just a bolded “Student #21” at the top. Another girl raises the question and you snicker. “I like puzzles,” is the only answer you give before the time starts. 

Question four: what are the top three songs you’ve been listening to? Please list.

Question six: why are you taking this class?

A: This is a requirement

B: I heard it was easy

C: I heard the professor was hot

D: I really enjoy anthropology! (liar)

Question nine: Creationism or Evolution?

Question ten: Quickly. If you were going to have dinner, would it be with Bill or Hillary Clinton?

Spencer can’t hide the grin he’s got the entire test. It’s all ridiculous get-to-know-you questions. He can tell what merit you’re getting out of them. There’s one judging study habits, one judging religion, feminism, politics—you’ve created her own little innocuous questionnaire. Spencer was sure the students would just think you were strange, but he saw the cleverness. 

Spencer also notices that once you notice him, you don’t stop noticing him. He wonders what you see. You’re so obviously profiling him that it hurts. Do you see the FBI agent? The scholar? The doctor? The drug addict? The man in a boy’s skin?

Your timer beeps and you shout for pencils down. Your makeshift TAs are dispatched to collect the papers and you make the stacks perfect when they make it to the desk. You move to the whiteboard, a set of papers clutched in your hand, and lean against it to address the class. 

“Test go alright?” your grin is contagious and Spencer can’t help but mirror it. You glance at Spencer, turns back to the class, and tuck your hair behind your ear. You let the class chatter on for a moment, setting the papers down on the table, and readjust the undone cuffs of your white button down. He never thought that a sweater vest and jeans could look so hot. 

You smirk and check your watch one more time. “Let’s talk about tests because I know you all have questions. Everything on the test is either written on the board, on the notes, or in the study guide—if you fail after that, come to office hours. I’ve got Advil for the hangovers.”

#

Thankfully, Joesph is one of those students who has to speak to every single one of his professors. Spencer waits patiently behind the kid, trying to keep the smell from the lack of deodorant just out of range. 

He keeps a hard gaze on all of the students moving in and out of the auditorium. There’s nothing to see, just a lot of students with a lot of normal college apathy. No anger, no serial killer, no one to tackle. 

“Sometimes the BO is worse than a corpse’s expulsion of gas,” you joke from your place atop the desk. Spencer looks up, and furrows his eyebrows as his brain processes. Your face falls for a split second, but your curiosity replaces it just as quickly. Joesph’s jaw hits the floor, stumbling for some way to explain himself or maybe some half decent way to insult the pretty professor. 

Spencer laughs, probably a little more than he should have, considering he wasn’t supposed to out himself as an FBI agent. You tuck your hair behind your ear again and, for someone younger than 25, you are surprisingly wide eyed with perception and curiosity. 

“Do you like puzzles, Doctor—“

“Reid,” he supplies, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. “Spencer.”

You raise an eyebrow, chewing on your bottom lip in contemplation. You turn your focus back to Joesph—a boy worse at talking to those scoring higher than an 8 than Spencer was at the same age. “So, Joesph, why does the good doctor need to be within tackling distance of you?”

Joesph flounders, turns to hide his blush, and yelps like God himself has come down to kick him in the ass. Spencer takes one good look at the 18 year old girl charging towards a pimple of a boy and he launches before he can give much consideration to how much its going to hurt. 

But between the noticing and the launching, he makes a list: she’s got so much black eyeliner that Emily’s high school yearbook photos would be jealous; she’s about to inflict about a 9 on the pain scale if she’s left to her plan; there’s obviously no plan other to scratch Joesph’s eyes out; her nails are the size of tiger claws and Spencer desperately wishes he had a better pain tolerance; there’s no weapon. 

The tackle takes seconds. It’s a practised movement. Roll. Knee. Handcuffs. The girl is screaming and crying and kicking and biting. His arm’s on fire and she’s struggling enough that it’s taking more than ten seconds to get the handcuffs on. 

It’s calculated as he presses his knee harder into her back. She yelps and stills long enough that Spencer closes the handcuffs on her tiny, sliced up wrists. The cutting explains some things…

“Hence the tackling distance,” You sum up, bending down just slightly to look the killer in the face. Your nose wrinkles. “You had very distinct ideas on the cultural value of suicide.”

Spencer shakes his head, hauls the girl to her feet, and beckons for Joesph to follow. The entire world falls out of view as he manhandles the girl into an easy walk. The students step to the side to gawk, and he’s thankful for the wide berth. If someone got hurt, the paperwork alone—

“It was nice meeting you, Dr. Reid!” you call and he glances back over his shoulder. You’re waving around the stack of papers in your arms, utterly ridiculous, terribly adorable. He hopes his smile is more suave than love sick, but the fleeting flirtation is especially over when Miss Unchecked Rage kicks out as Joesph comes into her line of sight. 

Spencer throws his whole weight into keeping her down. There’s no room to fall in love after a day. Especially with someone on a college campus halfway across the country from him. There’s even less room to manoeuvre Miss Eyeliner even without Joesph waddling into her eye line every few seconds. Seriously, he thinks, how hard is it to keep behind me?

[nomnomsik]

Departure | M

Synopsis: As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you. 

Pairing: Pilot!Jungkook x Flight Attendant!Reader, slight Idol!Jimin x Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: Happy birthday, @moonpeachhy​ ! To fulfill your cute bunny fantasies, you FURRY. Jkjk. Enjoy the fluff with the husband you’ll never have. I love you~ I hope my fic isn’t too boring 😉

Tags: Smut, flirting, slight dirty talk, hickies/markings, blowjobs, kissing, fluff, pwp tbh, lap grinding, and possessiveness/jealously. Jungkook being lowkey a yandere.

»»————-　♡　���———-««

“Ahh, Jungkook… N-not-”

“Shh, just a few more minutes, princess. Pleaseeee…?” 

Cramped in a single seat of the Korean Air Airbus A330-200, you were up against Jungkook’s muscular chest, hands tightly holding onto the shoulder of his crisp white uniform. The cockpit of the airplane was narrow, with dozens of intimidating switches and levers behind you as Jungkook’s head fixed itself on your neck. 

Warm air wafted around in the cockpit as your head tilted to the side, your hair slowly unwinding away from the ribbon that secured it together. The sky blue uniform that hugged your curves crinkled against his chest and lap, wrinkling as Jungkook nibbled and kissed the skin of your neck, sucking until it turned a shade of red. You winced in his lap, knuckles turning white as you shuffled uncomfortably in the tight space.

“I’ve told you my ascot t-tie doesn’t cover them well…! Jungkook-”  

“Don’t worry so much, princess.” He cooed, removing his mouth only to stare up at you with his clouded eyes. “You’re always careful around passengers. I’m not worried.”

"S-still…! It's ticklish." 

Jungkook broke out in a cute bunny smile, cheeks protruding out as he giggled, trying to keep you in place. Your face only flushed, eyes glaring daggers as you pushed yourself up and out of his hold.

“Wait, where are you going?” He pulled you back into his sturdy chest, his grip strong on your arm as you fumbled forward. “We still have thirty minutes, princess. Compared to the thirteen hours I won’t be able to have you… Please?”

“Jungkook, we have thirty minutes until departure! I have to go greet the passengers." You exasperatedly whined, trying to make your way out of his vice-like grip. Jungkook’s face broke into a pout as both of his hands held your wrists down, refusing to let you go. 

“B-b-but… I’ll miss you…” He sulked, staring up at you as your heart leaped and a second later, melted. You squished both of his cheeks with your hands as his eyes widened, his mouth forming fish-lips. The adorable sight was too much for your fragile heart and you leaned forward, placing a small kiss on his lips. He happily obliged, moving his hands up to behind your head, deepening it immediately.  

When you finally disconnected from each other, you stood up this time, finally getting your high heels onto the floor of the plane. You brought your arm to your mouth, shyly wiping the leaking saliva and fixing your hair. Jungkook watched as you smoothened your uniform, only to get up himself, his eyes catching one of the airplanes on the runway that ascended into the air, its wheels slowly winding back into the body.

He adjusted the cuffs and brushed his hands over his white dress pants, redoing a button on his uniform that had popped open. Before he could fix his fringe, you called. 

“Jungkook, do I look alright?” 

He turned around to your nervous fidgeting and steadied you by the shoulders. His eyes darted up and down, then side to side as he tugged on the ascot tie that gently hung around your neck. He slid it down, his expression hardening as his fingertips tried to pull the cloth to increase its width. The knot was tight and he scratched at it, hoping for it to unwind. 

“It really doesn’t cover well…” He muttered, only for your face to flush as you grew worried. 

“Jungkook…!”

“Ahh, this is annoying…” He glowered, finally getting the tie undone and rewrapping it softly around your neck, hiding more of your marked skin. With the tie secured on, your hand came up to feel it, giving it another tug. “Okay, it looks good now, princess. Try not to get caught.” 

This is your fault though…

»»————-　♡　————-««

With a wardrobe of his caliber, he was easily recognizable. From the Saint Laurent boots that clicked against the tile floor and the Chanel necklace that dangled around his neck, Park Jimin was immediately spotted. 

Jimin's leg bounced up and down in the LaGuardia airport as he leaned back in his stiff chair, waiting for his flight to be called. The gate was filling and bustling with people, most busying themselves on their electronics, chatting away, or eating some last-minute meal. There was always the crinkle of plastic and the squeals of children that slipped past and through his earbuds. People constantly walked by him in the enormous airport, some sharing glances with each other and muttering whispers as Jimin minded his own business, scrolling through his phone.

“Hello, this is Gate 330,” A female voice spoke into the intercom, echoing all around the section he sat in. “We will now be boarding first-class and unaccompanied minors. I repeat, we will be boarding first-class and unaccompanied minors.”

Jimin stood up from his seat, stretching his arms in front of him before throwing his bag over his shoulder as his heels clicked against the floor. He sauntered over to the small, yet growing first-class line, sunglasses covering his eyes as he patiently waited behind several people. As he got to the front, his ticket was scanned, micro-perforated and swiftly cut, and let in to pass. 

“Please enjoy your flight.” One of the female staff spoke, her cheeks slightly tinted red as Jimin gave her a small and perceptive smile.

He gave a polite nod to all the staff, walking down the jet bridge ramp as he looked through the clear windows. Outside displayed dozens of airplanes, all orderly and waiting at their respective gates. Jimin’s hands came up to his head, readjusting his beanie and pushing back up the bridge of his sunglasses. He stared at the ground below him as the soft, yet thin carpeting of the ramp concernedly shook with each slow step he took. 

As Jimin made a left-hand turn, he was greeted by the entrance to the plane as well as the staff who stood by. He ducked his head as he boarded, acknowledged with hellos and welcomes. With a smile on their lips, Jimin smiled back at them, his eyes glancing at each face of the plane staff. 

Jimin took in one of the particular woman’s appearance, his eyes swiftly sliding from top to bottom as he turned back to the vast expansion of rows in front of him. A smirk graced his lips while he searched for his seat. Even in the short instance he took in your appearance, he noticed your flushed cheeks and the slight pink marks that poked out from underneath your ascot tie. 

As Jimin plopped in his seat in first class, he laid his bag down, lying on his seat and reclining it back. When his eyes softly closed, his lips were still curled upright. Having dealt with his fair share of men and women, Jimin was way too familiar with those cute little marks that were littered all over your neck. 

Maybe he wouldn't mind this flight after all. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to scream. The thumping of your heart was rapid, your chest tight. Your eyes had deadlocked and met Park Jimin's crystal clear eyes. Park Jimin… Your body grew warm and you couldn’t help but shudder. Korea’s famous solo artist had noticed you. You could remember all his fans tweeting to stream his newest release, but right now, all you wanted to do was sink your head into the nearest stream and drown. 

Your fingers hovered over the mark on your neck, wondering if the silky ascot tie was actually covering it properly. His eyes had travelled down your figure, fixated on your neck. There’s no way he had seen it, right? 

There was a rush of humiliation and embarrassment that the person you looked up to possibly had seen it. The slight upward pull of his lips as his eyes lingered to the marks… Now that you thought about it, getting revenge on Jeon Jungkook sounded like a good idea if it was the last thing you did on this flight.

»»————-　♡　————-««

“So, you really took your time with y/n in here.” 

“Hyung… You aren’t mad, right?” Jungkook whispered, looking up at the captain of the aircraft with doe eyes.

“Jungkook, just because you’re in the cockpit, doesn’t mean…” Namjoon trailed off, coughing into his fist at his lame joke. “Just… Keep it in your pants.” 

“Hyung! I haven’t-” 

“Don’t ‘hyung’ me, mister.” Namjoon sighed, flipping several switches of the aircraft. “I have to sit in this seat for the next eight hours. Jungkook, how could you do this to hyung…” He dramatically sighed. 

“Hyung, I’m sorry! But, I really didn’t do anything!” Jungkook desperately persuaded. “It’s not what you think. I promise!” 

“Jungkookie, why couldn’t you have thought about hyung?” Namjoon, fake teary-eyed, cried out to the younger. 

Jungkook gave no comment as he stared straight ahead, hands on his lap. As Namjoon chuckled, the younger’s face seemed as if it was about to explode with embarrassment. Jungkook, being the younger of the two, had always been the timid one, preferring to learn from Namjoon with each flight they took around the world. The mere hundreds of hours Jungkook had accumulated didn’t even touch Namjoon’s tens of thousands of hours in the air. 

“You know I’m just teasing, right?” Namjoon asked, recomposing himself back to normal as he placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. 

“I know, hyung… You’re just so mean, you know that?” Jungkook pouted, sulking in his seat as he looked off to the side. 

Namjoon laughed, small dimples appearing on his cheeks as he turned back in the main seat of the cockpit. 

“I can’t help myself when you always give the best reactions, Jungkookie.”

“Yes, yes, captain.” 

“I’ll be counting on my best co-pilot for the next eight hours.” Namjoon winked at the younger, who only stared at him with awe. 

“Oh, c’mon hyung. I bet you’ve had better co-pilots than me. Don’t lie to me like that.” 

“Jungkook, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He smiled as Jungkook suddenly hesitated to believe him. “I know you usually take the takeoffs, but I think it’s time for you to step out of your comfort zone. Don’t worry, trust yourself. I know I do.” 

“Yes, captain,” Jungkook responded solemnly, clouded with worry as he assisted Namjoon for their takeoff. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Everyone’s boarded.” You clapped your hands together, watching as Taehyung slid the entrance to the plane shut. With permed black hair, a radiant smile, and a dark navy-colored suit, he met your gaze, a mischievous grin hiding beneath his lips. 

“Wow, are those marks even human?” 

You turned around, slapping your neck as you caught the devilish smile on his face. 

“Ugh, wipe that stupid grin off your face, Taehyung.” You rolled your eyes, walking over to the galleys, the sound of utensils clicking in the so-called “kitchen”. Taehyung joined you, fingers coming up to move the ascot tie further upward. 

“Some was poking through.” He smirked, lightly tapping your forehead as you bent back, only to watch him scurry off to the front of business class. You could see the other flight attendants at the beginning of economy class, helping passengers store their belongings up in the upper compartments.

Taehyung was far in the business class section, energetically greeting all the wealthy passengers. He would ask them to buckle their seatbelts, even though the intimidating businessmen clicked their tongues, turning in the other direction. Unfazed, Taehyung would simply smile back continuing down the rows. 

As your mentor, he often let you know not to take the passengers’ attitude as a personal attack. He saw your gentle and sensitive heart, your solemn attitude when meeting passenger’s needs. And although the initial judgemental glances from staff who had worked longer were rough, jealous of your role in serving first class, they eventually came around. 

Stepping out from the galley, most, if not all of the passengers were seated. Families chatting and others blurring out the world with their earbuds. You reached for the prompter, getting a nod from Taehyung as well as confirmation from the cockpit. 

“Testing… testing…” You started, watching as several heads looked up from their seats at you. You smiled at the ones you made eye contact with, chuckling when some looked downward or the other way. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us this afternoon over to Narita, Japan from Laguardia airport, New York.”

“The flight time is estimated to be about 13 hours and as we get closer to our destination, you’ll be able to see a more accurate reading from the screens in front of your seat.” 

“Flying our aircraft today is Captain Kim Namjoon, assisted by his co-pilot Officer Jeon Jungkook. Meanwhile, the cabin staff has Hoseok in the back, Taehyung in the center, and myself, Y/n, up at the front.”

“Please direct your attention to the flight attendants in your section as we go over the safety features of our Airbus A330-200 aircraft.”

“Seatbelts must be fastened at all times unless indicated, but then again, I know some of you enjoy not listening to us so feel free to take it as a suggestion. Do what you will.” 

“If you don’t like our pilots, staff, our food, rest assured. This airplane model has eight exits: Two at the front of first-class, two at the front of business, two at the beginning of economy, and another two at the end.” 

Taehyung and Hoseok directed their arms in their respective sections to all exits, unable to help the smile that appeared on their lips and the chuckles they let out. Smiles and laughs echoed from ahead of you as you continued, feeling the mood of the aircraft lighten up.

“Now with that out of the way, in the back seat pocket in front of you, there is a safety information card.” You lifted the card as an example, always amused how nobody reaches for it. “I know the majority of you are not going to read it, but in case you want to, please feel free to block your ears as I go over what it covers. The card outlines all the safety features that this airplane model provides and in case of an emergency, it would be extremely beneficial to have the knowledge beforehand.”

“In the rare event that our two wonderful pilots decide it would be more interesting to make a voyage in the ocean instead of a flight, life vests are underneath your seat and flight staff will assist you in case you need help.” 

You, yourself, laughed, imagining Jungkook’s face at the back of your mind. Was he adorably fuming in his seat? Perhaps sighing as Namjoon teased him for the nth time? Laughing at your joke with you? Your thoughts are quickly moved to the side as you continued, projecting your voice into the loudspeaker. 

“The black strap of the life vest will wrap around your waist and make sure you tighten it securely. Then, pull the red tab down and then blow into the red tube to inflate.” 

You demonstrated on the life vest given to you as an example, pretending to inflate it at the end for presentation purposes only. Putting the lifevest to the side, you grab ahold of the prompter again, looking over at Taehyung who gave you a thumbs-up and a wink.

“In case of a severe drop in cabin pressure, masks will fall from the overhead compartments to stop the decompression. Extend the plastic lining and make sure it's securely placed over both your nose and mouth to breathe normally. Please make sure your handbag is underneath your seat, table trays are upright, and thank you again for travelling with us. This is a non-smoking flight, and it is a pleasure to serve you today and I guess... tomorrow.”

As you were about to put the prompter back in its spot, you stopped. 

“Oh! I wanted to add: as a final message to our passengers, this is once again a thirteen-hour flight. If you find any of the cabin members appealing or attractive, rest assured, we come with many benefits if you ever decide to pursue a marriage with one of us here. You’ll have the luxury to be able to enjoy flying free. Thank you.”

You gave a cheeky smile to the passengers as Jimin met your gaze, laughing, his hand covering his mouth. When he noticed your eyes, he grinned, biting his lip and smirking. You quickly placed the prompter back in its spot, rushing as quickly as possible to the galleys and away from him, legs trembling and breaths quick as Taehyung and Hoseok joined beside you, waiting for takeoff. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“She kills it every time. I can’t believe it.” Namjoon laughed, his eyes squeezing shut as dimples etched into his cheeks. Jungkook hummed in agreement, only to be silent for a second, his eyes wandering as he adjusted his aviation headset against his ears. 

“Why did it sound like she was offering herself as a marriage candidate though?” Jungkook glowered, his face morphing in a distressed expression. 

“Oh, c’mon. I doubt anyone’s going to take it seriously, Jungkook.” Namjoon reassured, the younger hesitantly agreeing. 

“...Right.”  

“Can you make sure the wings and engine are ready for takeoff?” Namjoon said, buckling himself into the shoulder harness.

“Of course, captain.” 

As Jungkook busied himself on his side of the cockpit, Namjoon connected to the air traffic control tower. Jungkook fixed the mic of his headset near his mouth as he gave confirmation to Namjoon, the loud sounds of the airplane engine firing up. The plane had disconnected from the jet bridge, tires slowly rolling away from the gate.

“Korean 086, confirmation for takeoff, please,” Namjoon spoke, his English coming off swiftly, awaiting for the ATC’s response. He backed out the plane as he looked at the three ground crewmembers, the marshalers, directing him on the runway.

“Korean 086, are you ready to go? We have a clear lane.” An American male voice answered back, linking to his headset. 

“Yes sir, Korean 086, we ready for takeoff,” Namjoon replied, waiting for the takeoff lane number as he successfully pulled away from the other planes and gate. 

“Got it. Wind 260 at 5, Korean 086, cleared for takeoff, 25-right. Start rolling, please.” 

“Korean 086, cleared for takeoff, 25-right,” Namjoon repeated, following his lane number. As he turned to face Jungkook, he smiled brightly. “Ready for a long flight?”

“I was born ready, hyung.” 

With only being preoccupied for a couple of extra minutes, the plane’s engines fired up. The conditions were perfect, the plane ready to ascend into the sky. Namjoon pulled down on the accelerator, the plane beginning to speed down the runway, gaining acceleration as both pilots judged the metrics before having a clear window for liftoff. When the plane began to fly off the ground, the wheels retracted into the body as Namjoon kept direction and speed in control.  

The highway that was filled with cars shrunk smaller and smaller from the window of the passengers. The plane, high in the afternoon glow of New York, set its course to Japan. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Jungkook, we have to switch now.”

Namjoon leaned over to the sleeping boy who jumped awake, unbuckling his own harness as he stepped out of the co-pilot seat. The two swapped seats, Jungkook adjusting himself as he buckled himself in. 

“Did you get enough sleep?” Namjoon asked, looking over and yawning a second later. Jungkook chuckled, some of his teeth showing through.

“Yes, yes. Hyung, now go get some sleep. They’re going to accuse me of not switching again.” Namjoon sneered, reclining his chair back with his hands folded in his lap. Within minutes, Namjoon’s head drooped, his breathing even as he drifted off. 

It would only be six more hours until their arrival in the Narita airport, the flight lagging behind the estimated time. Jungkook sighed, scratching his scalp as he stared at the darkness of the clouds and sky. There was nothing worse than landing. He hated the way the airplane flaps flung up to go against the wind, the wheels harshly making contact with the runway causing the plane to shake and rumble, and the dice roll of nice air traffic control officers. 

He wasn’t the best-spoken person, stuttering his way his sentences and feeling confused by unclear directions. Not to mention the nightmare of English. Sometimes he wondered if he was just too sensitive to comments that Namjoon seemed to brush off easily. 

But before Jungkook could regress back into his negative thoughts, there was a knock on the cockpit door. Jungkook jumped, his body growing tense as he looked back for a second, only to look back to where he was flying. Due to instinct, his mind thought of the worst possibility on the flight, only to quickly ease out at the sound from the other side of the door. 

“Jung… me.” 

A whispered voice came from behind the door. Jungkook smiled, pulling the lever from lock to unlock as he listened to your heels click behind him. You closed the cockpit door as you came up behind his seat.

“How’s everything going?” You asked, handing him a glass of water. “Thought you might need a drink.” 

“Thanks, princess. You’re a lifesaver.” He gulped down the water in one shot as he handed it back to you. You blushed, shifting your weight as your eyes glanced at the other seat.

“The flight’s been quiet.” Jungkook softly spoke as to not wake up his hyung. “How about the passengers?” 

“I would say it’s fine if it wasn’t for Park Jimin calling for me every half hour. Drinks. Food. A casual conversation, or so he said.” You sighed dramatically as Jungkook rose an eyebrow. “Oh! And you, mister. Mr. Park Jimin gave me a look when he caught some of the hickies showing through! I can’t believe- Ugh, I’m so embarrassed.”

“Park Jimin? You mean the singer? He’s on this flight?” Jungkook asked incredulously.

“Yeah… Though, Taehyung’s covering for me, right now.” 

“What do you mean, ‘a look’? Is Jimin bothering you?” 

“I mean, I could sound like a narcissist right now, Jungkook.” You chuckled softly as Jungkook rolled his eyes. “‘Oh, look at me, I’m so pretty that even a singer was side-eyeing me.’ Yeah, I’m not that self-obsessed, baby.” 

Although Jungkook would have normally accepted the joke about a man finding his spouse attractive, his jaw clenched as he began to grow irritated. He sometimes wished that you didn’t have to serve first class. Those rich, entitled, assholes always pissed him off. It was always the ones with money, wasn’t it? This wasn’t the first time he heard of passengers trying to flirt with you. 

“Oh, would you look at that. Namjoon’s out like a rock.” You stated, breaking him away from his pessimistic thoughts as you looked over the eldest who was softly snoring. 

“He’s probably stressed. I mean, he’s flying with me and all... ” Jungkook spat irritably, his hands tightening around the W-shaped yoke. His voice trailed off as he shook his head, counting his inhales and exhales. He didn’t want you to see him like this. Why did he have to feel so jealous and inadequate when he knew both of you were tied around each other’s finger?

“Are you okay, baby?” You rubbed his shoulder, feeling his muscles relax. “I’m sorry if I worked you up about Jimin. I know how you feel about some of the passengers…” 

“Y-yeah, I-” He sighed, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him. “Sorry, I wasn’t mad at you or anything… As you can see, Namjoon gave me the landing for today’s flight…” 

“Aw, baby… Are you stressed out?” You cooed, side hugging him in his seat. 

“I guess you can say that… Namjoon always says how good of a pilot I am, but I never seem to be able to believe him. I sometimes wonder if I actually am.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jungkook. Of course, you’re a good pilot.” You persuaded, patting his shoulder. “Flying a plane takes a lot of courage and intelligence.” 

Your fingers brushed through his hair as he continued to stare straight forward at the empty sky. You had hoped he would turn to face you, but he stayed stoic and still.

“Courage?” Jungkook scoffed. “Courage if you’re afraid of heights or planes, maybe.” 

“Jungkook…” You sighed, your expression falling. “I wish you could give yourself more credit. It’s scary flying a plane… I don’t even want to imagine what it’s like if you make a mistake on a flight. You have nobody to blame but yourself. Whether it be a small plane and your life is taken away from you… or a big plane like this, where you’re in control of the hundreds of people’s lives here. And yet, despite all that, you still come to work every day, servicing millions of people.” 

Jungkook remained silent as he simply nodded, finally looking up at you as he beckoned you over. His arms wrapped around your stomach from where he sat. 

“I love you… You know that, right?” He whispered, releasing his arms as you squatted to match his height. 

“Of course. You tell me every day, how could I forget?” You grinned, leaning in as he met you for a kiss. It was soft and tender with Jungkook’s teeth nibbling your bottom lip, the soft turbulence cutting the kiss short. 

“Do you… want me to help ease away your stress…?” You teased, breath tickling Jungkook’s ear as his head snapped over to face you. Another kiss met his lips as Jungkook deepened it, slipping his tongue and tasting the mint-flavored candies that lingered. 

You panted harshly, your entire body growing warm as Jungkook’s eyes grew hazy, much like this morning. Bringing your fingers to your ascot tie, you pulled it, letting the fabric unwind and fall onto your lap. Jungkook’s breath hitched at the sight of his work, your neck decorated with pink marks. 

“I-I think you missed a few spots, Jungkook…” You gasped, running your fingertips over your skin. As your eyes wandered up and down Jungkook’s figure, he was tense, his legs shaking and hands clenched on the steering wheel. 

“You couldn’t have waited until we landed in Japan, princess?” Jungkook groaned in a low voice, patting his lap as you straddled him. “Do you think you can stay quiet? We can’t be waking up Namjoon now…” 

You seated yourself in his lap and before you could nod, Jungkook pulled away for a second.

“Wait-” Jungkook whispered, adjusting some of the switches in the plane. “I just need to make sure it’s on autopilot…” After a few seconds, Jungkook tilted your chin up to meet you in a sloppy kiss. Saliva pooled from the corner of your lips as your eyes fluttered closed, your hands clenched on his white uniform. You grinded your growing arousal against his dress pants, feeling lust take control. 

“Tilt your head back.” He moaned breathlessly, fixating his lips on unclaimed skin. You winced as his teeth pierced your neck, only to be soothed by his kisses. “Fuck… you looked so good on my lap. Do you think you can ride me, princess?” 

“H-here? It’s really tight and cramped-” You started, only to jump as Jungkook’s hands left the steering wheel and instead on your ass. “My uniform, Jungkook…!” You whispered harshly, swatting his hand away. 

“I don’t care about this damn uniform-” Jungkook seethed, slapping both hands on your ass. “It would be better if you had it off. You have no idea how badly I wish I could bend you back and-”

You clamped a hand over his mouth as heat surged to your face and ears, heart thumping loudly in your chest. 

“Do you know what you’re saying…?!” You hissed, only to hear the unbuckling of Jungkook’s belt. 

“Look what you did…” He muttered, releasing his erection as he gave it a few pumps with his free hand. “Actually don’t ride me. Want to take care of this for me with your mouth, princess?” 

You gulped but nodded fervently as you took him in your mouth. Jungkook bit back his lip, holding back his loud moans as his mind went blank. He was getting breathless under your gentle fingers stroking him back and forth and that damn mouth. Shit, he could feel his legs going numb. The sight from where he sat was so arousing as you bent down in front of him, sucking him off while everyone was sleeping. 

If only Namjoon was flying right now… He would drag you to the nearest staff bathroom and ravage you, pull your hair back and leave you a mess. Shit- He was getting closer and closer just thinking about it. 

So what if people heard? At least they’d never flirt with you again. At least they’ll finally leave what belonged to him alone.

“Make sure you swallow every single drop. You can’t make a mess here. You’re the one that said the lives of hundreds of people are in my hands.” He smirked, roughly pulling you up for a sloppy kiss. 

“You-!” Your voice muffled as he pulled away, only to feel your lips wrap around his cock again. He quickly hit the back of your throat as you gagged, lurching back. “J-Jungk...ook…” With your palms resting on his thighs, Jungkook bit his lip, suppressing his moans. Swirling your tongue around his slit, Jungkook flinched, roughly breathing out. 

“G-gonna…” His breath hitched as he lowered his head to his chest, hands resting on the back of your neck. Jungkook made sure to secure your mouth onto his cock, coming in warm spurts. His breaths were laborious as he groaned, his head falling back against his seat. You struggled to lap it all up as Jungkook held onto your jaw. 

“Open.” 

With your lips parted, Jungkook grew aroused at the sight. Your cheeks were flushed red with white residue stuck to your tongue, slowly dripping down and out of your mouth. 

“Messy girl.” He mused, wiping the cum off your lips with a quick swipe of the finger. Jungkook watched as you sucked his finger clean, looking up at him with lust-filled eyes. “I’ll spoil you when we land.” He promised, cupping your cheeks and kissing your temple. 

You pulled a handkerchief from your front pocket, cleaning both you and Jungkook. The light turbulence made you stumble in the cockpit as Jungkook buttoned his dress pants back up. 

“I have to clean my appearance up in the bathroom.” You murmured, getting off his lap as Jungkook gave you a soft and gentle smile, his eyes staring at his whole world. 

“Thank you for doing that for me, princess.” 

“Feel a bit better?” 

Jungkook nodded, grabbing a hold of your hand and intertwining fingers. You squeezed his hand, not wanting to let go. 

“I really have to go now, baby.” You whispered at him, reluctant to let go of him. He hummed, flipping switches on the plane as you look over at him from the entrance of the cockpit door and the sleeping Namjoon before softly making your exit. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

It would be half an hour before landing with the beautiful afternoon sky of Tokyo greeting them. He could see the massive airport that was Narita, keeping a reasonable distance and high altitude behind the plane in front of him, waiting for it to descend. 

It took a couple of minutes, watching as the plane below him finally descended onto the runway. Jungkook adjusted the aviation headset as he connected with the air traffic control tower.

“Korean 086, clearance for landing on four-right.” Jungkook voiced into his mic, his Korean accent lacing each English word as he waited for air traffic control admission. 

“Korean 086, could you please accept runway four-left?” A male answered, surprising him at the lack of accent. What was that word Namjoon taught him? 

“Umm,” Jungkook started, his hand scratching the scalp of his head. “I’m afraid to say I’m too- uh… committed…? to four-right at the moment.” 

“Do you have commitment issues, sir?” The man deadpanned as Jungkook felt his shoulders slump. What did that mean? Is that a no? 

Why was it always him?

“Oh… um-” He murmured, feeling his cheeks heat up as his eyes drifted nervously in the cockpit. 

He racked his brain for English vocabulary. Anything would be good enough. Shoot, shoot-

“It’s just a joke 086,” Air traffic control responded back at the lack of response. “Wind 260 at 2, runway four-right clear to land.” 

Jungkook sighed in relief, voicing back.

“Cleared to land, runway four-right, Korean 086. Thank you, sir.” 

Namjoon stirred awake, shuffling in his reclined seat as he rubbed his eyes. Jungkook kept his gaze on the long strip of the runway, flipping several switches as the plane’s flaps opened. The landing gears retracted out as Jungkook’s body tensed. 

Namjoon fixed himself up as he checked the meters, cautiously eyeing Jungkook who finally made contact with the ground. The tires screeched against the runway, creating dark skid marks as the plane reduced its speed. The vibration of the plane was limited compared to other landings, a smile appearing on Jungkook’s face. 

“Smooth point of contact,” Namjoon muttered under his breath as Jungkook connected once again with the air traffic control tower. 

“Korea 086, waiting for gate directions.” He called, listening to the rustling of papers and the murmurs of controllers. 

“Please wait, 086. Delta 049 is about to take off... Actually- please start rolling to gate 201.” A woman with a hint of a Japanese accent answered back.

「ありがとうございます, 奥様。Thank you, ma’am, 」Jungkook shyly responded back, earning a grin from Namjoon who looked at him like a proud father.

「あら、日本人ですか？Oh my, are you Japanese?」The woman asked cheerfully.

「あーごめんなさい。韓国人です。 Ah, I’m sorry. I’m Korean.」

「日本語上手ですね！You’re Japanese is really good!」

「ありがとうございます。Thank you~」

As Jungkook maneuvered the plane to gate 201, he watched as the marshalers directed him into the spot, connecting him to the jet bridge. When he was securely and safely parked, he connected to the main prompter system of the plane. 

“Hello, everyone. This is co-pilot Jeon Jungkook. We now have arrived at Narita Airport, Japan.” 

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, looking at the restless passengers who wanted to leave the plane. His English was accented with some slur of his words, which you found adorably cute. There was an evident lisp in his voice whenever he spoke any language. That was your Jungkookie. 

Your gaze seemed to fall on Jimin who lazily sat up in his seat, searching for his bag and brushing his hand through his hair. He stretched his hands over his head, shirt riding up as the skin of his stomach began to show.

“My wife and I… I mean, Y/n and I hope you have had a satisfactory flight. Have a wonderful day, and thank you once again for flying with Korean Air.” 

You felt your eyes widen as Jimin seemed to look up from his spot too, his expression stunned, his arms coming back down. Your face grew hot as Jungkook’s words registered in your ears, repeating over in an endless loop in your head. Balancing the weight of your feet, you scrambled back to the galleys, rushing past and into the already unlocked cockpit. Namjoon laughed as the two of them turned around, your cheeks tinted pink and lips quivering. 

“Jungkook!” You shouted, marching up to the man who stared up at you with warm and loving eyes. “Why- I- You never tell anyone-”

He simply stood up on his feet, wrapping his arms and giving you a comforting squeeze. You were rendered speechless as he spoiled you in affections. 

“I love you…” He murmured, pecking your lips as you snuggled yourself in his chest. 

“Can you at least let me out?” Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, the two of you flinching and growing embarrassed, making way for him to leave. “Also, don’t take too long! We have to see off the passengers.” 

“Hyung, what do you think I was going to do?!” Jungkook whined and huffed, following him out as you laughed at the pair. Soon enough, all the cabin members were standing in front of the entrance to the plane. 

As you waved and thanked each of the passengers, you spotted Jimin walking down the aisle, his sunglasses covering his eyes. He stopped in front of you, tilting his head to his side as his signature Chanel necklace dangled around his neck. 

“It’s a shame I can’t take you up on that marriage proposal offer. But my mileage sure does go over a few hundred thousands.” He smirked, lowering his shades as he gave you a wink. “It was a pleasure being served by you, y/n.” With that, he turned his heel, walking off the plane and through the jet bridge to the airport. 

Jungkook scowled at first, only to pout, pulling you close to his chest as you stood flustered, head dizzy. Should you be flattered at such a comment in front of your husband? 

“If only he saw the mess I made with you in the cockpit... ” He muttered under his breath, bitterness lacing his tone. 

Don’t you dare.

As time went on, slowly all the passengers gave their farewells and the plane was finally empty. With the final flight of the day done for your crew, everyone went to grab their belongings. Jungkook came up to your side, bag in hand as his other hand reached for yours. You looked over, instinctively wrapping your fingers around his. 

“What should we do? Do you want to check out the stores here?” He asked excitedly, pulling you along into the large airport. “I heard you can’t find the things here in any other country.” 

“Anywhere is fine if I’m with you, Jungkook.” You giggled, matching his strides. Jungkook looked over at you, stopping in the middle of the large airport, his face as if he was on the verge of crying. He suddenly hugged you tight, his bag falling beside him. 

“You okay?” You asked worriedly.

“I just… I love you…” 

“I love you too, Jungkook.” You giggled at the boy whose eyes were teary. 

“I don’t think I can ever stop falling in love with you, princess.” He whispered as you couldn’t help but grin, leaning in for a kiss. 

“Then don’t…” 

[valhallanrose]

She Keeps Me Warm

For @into-the-daniverse, who requested kiss prompt 42 - Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead. Find the rest of the prompt list here.

Love Tilly and Alec. Gayasses. Not outright lemon but definitely implied fruit happenings towards the end there lmao

942 words. Fic title from Mary Lambert’s She Keeps Me Warm.

Tilly’s shop was quiet that day - the potential patrons warded away by the rain pouring down outside, which gave her the peace she preferred when she wanted to sit at her loom. Weaving was something that took a fair amount of her concentration, particularly for her specialty fabrics, and she liked getting ahead of her projects whenever she could.

Intermixed with the sounds of her weaving was Alec’s voice, sprinkles of which filtering through the space while she worked on a new song, a smile pulling at Matilda’s lips when the singing turned to quiet muttering or when Alec sang the same line over and over again trying to make it just right. 

That was something she understood - wanting something to turn out as you imagined it to be was a desire that often led to a seam being redone several times so it would lay just so. 

Tilly didn’t realize Alec’s singing had stopped when she sat up, rolling her shoulders back to make them pop, only to jump when hands came to rest on her shoulders and Alec’s chin settled atop her head.

“You’ve gotten far. How long have you been sitting here?”

“Hm...I last saw it was three.” Matilda hummed, eyeing the good few inches that had been added to the fabric she’d been working with. “I sat down at two when my fitting appointment didn’t show up. What time is it now?”

“Almost five.” Alec gave her shoulders a squeeze. “I can go lock the shop door while you wrap up? It’s almost the end of your hours, anyway.”

“Please and thank you. You’re a peach.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Alec planted a kiss atop her head, and Tilly giggled softly, shaking her head as she heard Alec pick up the keys and twirl them loosely around her finger. 

She thought she might as well finish a few more rows - after all, the shuttle still had plenty of fibers left - and a few rows turned into another half inch by the time Alec returned, tutting softly under her breath in amusement as she set the shop keys back where they belonged. 

“What happened to wrapping up?”

“Got into it again.” Tilly shrugged, brushing a loose coil of hair out of her face as she felt Alec’s arms come to rest around her shoulders. “Let me just have twenty minutes, and then I’ll call it for the night, I promise.”

“Mhm.” Alec’s disbelief could be heard in her voice as Matilda began to work again, and the former sighed dramatically, kissing the back of her girlfriend’s head and sliding her hands down Matilda’s back to start undoing the buttons of her dress. 

“Alec?” 

“Oh, don’t mind me.” Alec pressed a kiss to the base of Tilly’s neck, pulling the back of her dress open a little wider as Matilda tried to focus on the row she was currently working on. Another kiss was placed a little lower, further down her spine, and suddenly weaving was not the only thing on Tilly’s mind as Alec’s lips met her skin again. 

“I take back what I said about you being a peach. You’re a nightmare.” Matilda said eventually, giggling softly as Alec nuzzled into the side of her neck, feeling Alec’s smile against her as she tugged the dress down a little further. 

“You said you’d like twenty minutes, not that I had to leave you alone. Keep working, I’m perfectly happy where I am.” 

Rolling her eyes lightly, Tilly turned back to her loom, eyes fixed firmly on the swath of color before her that she had been working so diligently on building up. It was a lovely shade of red, really, and she planned to use the fabric for a personal project, but she was truthfully struggling to remember what that project was as Alec’s lips wandered further down spine until the last button was undone at the small of her back. 

Alec gave the dress another pull, and Tilly had to pause to pull her arms free of the sleeves, the bodice pooling around her waist as Alec’s hands wandered further. She felt her hands ghost along the bottoms of her breasts before sliding down to squeeze at her waist, kisses trailing up Matilda’s back once again. Before she knew 

Matilda nearly threw down the shuttle and spun in her chair, meeting Alec’s smug expression with a playfully exasperated one of her own. 

“You are-” She started between kisses, feeling Alec’s laughter as her chest moved, “well and truly a nightmare. I do wonder why I keep you around when you hamper my productivity like this.”

“Because I’m pretty, and I make you smile.” Alec lowered herself to her knees, playfully tugging on the edge of Matilda’s skirt before she pushed it up over her knees. “And someone has to make sure you don’t burn yourself out.”

“Fair point.” Matilda mused, spreading her knees a little wider for Alec to settle between them and running her fingers through her girlfriend’s hair. “Now, are you all talk or do you plan to finish what you started? It’d be quite rude to leave me hanging now. You’d be such a cruel tease.”

“A tease? Me? Never.” Alec laughed, and Matilda’s retort died on the tip of her tongue as she felt Alec’s lips press to the inside of her thigh, her skirt pushed higher, and all Matilda could really think of was the wandering trail of Alec’s lips all over again before her mouth ended up on her. 

[alectoperdita]

Fictober - Day 9

prompt: “will you look at this?” fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters pairing: Jounouchi Katsuya/Kaiba Seto rating: t warnings: implied sexual content

"Wow, will you look at this, Jounouchi-kun?" Yuugi sounded almost breathless in his question. 

Glancing up from the Duel Monsters magazine he'd been perusing, Jounouchi nearly had a heart attack when he laid eyes on the centerfold Yuugi was thrusting in his face. 

"Goddamn, put that away! We're in public!" he exclaimed, drawing an annoyed look from the store clerk manning the cashier.

Yuugi gave him an odd look before casting a sidelong glance at the row of gravure and skin mags within arm's reach. "There's nothing indecent about it, not like..."

Despite his vehement protests, Jounouchi's eyes gravitated back to the photo in question. It was like a black hole, and he couldn't escape its gravity no matter how much he wanted to or how hard he tried. His gaze couldn't help but trace the long legs encased in snugly tailored trousers, limbs stretched languidly forward as the photo's subject reclined in a leather armchair. The matching suit jacket was draped over one of the chair's arms, directing the viewer's gaze to the pedestal table next to it. One of the subject's arms, open sleeves rolled up to his elbows, reached for the tumbler of amber liquor sitting on top of the table with long, tapered fingers. The top three buttons under the shirt collar were undone, flashing a swatch of pale skin for the whole world to see. Then, to top all that off, a familiar smirk and an unbelievably blue gaze stared out from the centerfold.

With great effort, Jounouchi tore his gaze away and fixed it on the magazine in his increasingly clammy hands. Sweat broke under his collar. He could feel those eyes boring into him as if the bastard was standing in the convenience store with them. "We've known the jerk for how long? When was the last time you saw his naked wrist? Much less his collar? He's practically stripping!"

Yuugi flipped the magazine around. The weight lifted from his shoulders, allowing Jounouchi to breathe again. 

"I think he looks relaxed," Yuugi declared after several moments of careful, silent scrutiny.

"More like he's going to chew you up and spit you out instead," muttered Jounouchi, fighting the strange sensation crawling across his skin.

"What was that, Jounouchi-kun?"

Jounouchi slapped his magazine shut and replaced it on the rack with enough force to rattle the frame. After fixing his best carefree smile on his face, he spun and did not peer at yet another photo of the bastard gracing the magazine cover. "I said I'm starving. What do you say we hit up Burger World for old time's sake?"

Yuugi perked up at the suggestion, his eagerness further enforced by his growling stomach. He quickly slipped his magazine back onto the rack. "That's a great idea! Should we call and see if Anzu, Honda-kun, and Bakura-kun also want to come along?" 

Jounouchi slung an arm across his friend's shoulder and steered them toward the exit. Even as they left the magazine aisle, it felt like a piercing gaze was still drilling into his back. "Sounds like a plan. Now let's get outta here before I lose my appetite."

Yet that didn't stop Jounouchi from stopping by his local Lawson to guiltily pick up a copy of this month's GQ Japan. Its cover article? Featured none other than Kaiba Seto. 

-x-x-x-

"What's this?" 

Jounouchi lifted his hazy head from the pillow just in time to watch Kaiba extract last month's issue of GQ Japan from under his bed. Fucking hell, that magazine was out to ruin his life! He threw off his comforter before diving across the mattress to tear it out of Kaiba's hand. Sadly, Kaiba was faster and slippery as an eel. He danced several steps back, clear out of Jounouchi's reach, and watched wordlessly as Jounouchi fell out of bed and hit the floor with a heavy thud. 

"Goddammit," Jounouchi swore and reached back to rub his already sore ass. 

Kaiba, still clad in nothing but a pair of tight boxer briefs, arched an eyebrow. "That was an overreaction. Do I want to know what sort of depraved acts you've committed?" 

He reddened. "Fuck you, you're not the only hot guy in that issue. Or on earth."

Humming, Kaiba licked his thumbpad, briefly causing Jounouchi's already sex-addled brain to short-circuit, and used the moist digit to flip through the pages. Not that the magazine needed the extra help. Its meager binding had long been worn down to fall open to the center article. Kaiba's blue eyes scanned across the glossy pages, giving little of his emotions away. With a sigh, Jounouchi picked himself off the floor, resettled on the edge of the mattress, and waited. 

An infuriating (and sexy, dammit) smirk wormed its way across Kaiba's lips. He flashed that same centerpiece photo, now crinkled at the edges and corners from constant handling, and chuckled. "You liked this one, did you? I admit I had my doubts when they sent me the proofs. But you're a little outside their core audience, so they must have done something right."

Jounouchi considered arguing the point, but he'd lose regardless. Instead, he sprang to his feet and approached Kaiba in the middle of the room. Those captivating blue eyes tracked him with a hawk's focus. This was so much better than any fancy airbrushed photos. Sure, the lighting in his apartment was shit, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of Kaiba's gaze or to dull his larger-than-life presence. Licking his lips, he pried the magazine out of Kaiba's grip and dropped it. Neither of them paid it any further attention once it was out of their immediate sight. 

Carefully, he pressed his palm to Kaiba's sternum, savoring how the muscles tensed under his touch. "Call me a fan of fine menswear. Especially when it crumpled on my floor."

He cast a sideways glance at the puddle of Kaiba's suit discarded by the bedroom door. 

Kaiba reached up and reflexively flattened the flipped collar around Jounouchi's neck, while his other hand settled on Jounouchi's waist and gripped him through the fine cotton fabric. "Is that why you're always stealing my shirts?" 

"Didn't wanna get cold," he offered as a way of an explanation. 

Jounouchi shrugged, causing the borrowed shirt to slide off one shoulder. Kaiba's attention immediately honed in on the newly bared patch of skin. Jounouchi had only bothered doing up the bottom two buttons when he donned it after cleaning up first, so the entire garment hung loose on his frame. Its sleeves ran long enough to tuck his hands under the cuffs, while the hem hit the middle of his thighs. He should look ridiculous in the get-up, like a child playing dress-up with a parent's clothing. But Kaiba didn't see it that way.

"I see," muttered Kaiba as he lowered his mouth to Jounouchi's naked shoulder and explored the skin with his lips. 

Shivering, Jounouchi tightened his arms around Kaiba's neck, his breath hitching as Kaiba peeled the shirt off his other shoulder. Jounouchi dropped both arms to his side and allowed the garment to fall off his body, leaving him as naked as the day he was born. 

Kaiba lifted his head and smirked into Jounouchi's face. "I agree. It does look better on the floor." 

Growling, he yanked Kaiba in for a searing kiss and dragged him back into bed. Before long, the last remaining piece of clothing that stood between them, Kaiba's underwear, joined its brethren on the floor.

Check out other puppy/violetshipping ficlets I’m writing all #fictober20 long

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 5.5 - Stand By Me

5. SACRED COURT

Haijima talks about Yoyogi National Gymnasium similarly to how most kids talk about Disneyland lol

Translation Notes

1. A service ace is a point made on a serve that the opponent had failed to touch

2. A kei car is the smallest highway-legal car in Japan

3. Takeshita Street is a popular street in Harajuku known for its trendy fashion boutiques and for being very busy

4. I feel like this is a reference to something I don’t know, but the wooden fish is a fish gong that is struck while chanting sutras

5. Manuscript paper is the paper used in Japanese schools for compositions and stuff like that. It has boxes in columns to write characters in.

Previous || Index || Next

…Where am I again…?

When he woke up, he couldn’t immediately remember what had happened. The view around him was a hazy milky white, without a single distinct outline. It’s like I’m sinking into the bottom of a beaker filled with a mist of dry ice…it kind of smells like a science lab.

He felt something like a tugging in his left arm. There was a thin line connected to his body, pulling at him from above. The line was holding him back from sinking any further.

A blurry white ball with eyes and a nose was floating in the air.

“I got a text from Kou.”

The ball spoke with a familiar voice. The low-volume voice sounded pleasant to his ears as it seeped through the fog of dry ice.

“…Souta…?”

His consciousness was still fuzzy and his speech was slurred. The white shirt just blended into the background, and when he squinted, he found a proper body below the ball. A uniform…but not Meisei’s uniform. He had heard he went to a different high school.

“You really quit…? Why…?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He was a little surprised by his curt answer and closed his mouth. He heard a short exhale, and then his voice softened.

“…Ever since I entered middle school, I lost interest in volleyball. All I could think about was quitting, and it was getting harder and harder to go to club activities. Everyone entered Meisei, saying that we’ll do volleyball together, so it wasn’t an atmosphere where only I can say I wanted to quit…I was afraid that if I quit, I wouldn’t have any friends at school… I thought Minami-sensei would be disappointed, and besides, my mom’s the head of the parents’ association. I also felt like I had to be at the center of the team…I was tied down by so many things, and everyday was painful… So I came up with the idea that if I hated being in the club to the point of committing suicide, I could get sympathy and quit…That’s how I got involved in everyone’s plan. …I’m sorry.”

After everything that happened, he only has that simple “I’m sorry”?

However, when he learned the reason after two years, he felt like there were no words other than sorry… If you ask Haijima, it was such a trivial thing that he couldn’t even understand what was bothering him.

Was such a boring reason what was behind that incident?

Well…it’s not like I was the one who drove him into a corner…

“…You should have told me, normally.”

His mouth pouted a little despite himself.

“If it were you, you would’ve been able to say it. Well, I don’t think you’ll ever want to quit volleyball, even if it kills you. But I’m not you…I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to be hated by everyone.”

It’s not like I want to be hated…he wasn’t happy about that, but it was true that wanting to be liked by people wasn’t that high of a priority for him.

When he was in elementary school, the two of them would talk about high school and national team games after club ended. They could talk and talk and never get bored of it, and he wished the time when Yoshino’s mother came to pick him up would never come. Yoshino also had a lot of old video footage that only existed on videotape, and he was even more enthusiastic than Haijima about that kind of thing.

The shock slowly soaked into him at the idea that someone who was once obsessed with volleyball could stop liking it. Haijima couldn’t even imagine himself not being interested in volleyball anymore. It was the same as asking if he could imagine the afterlife. He couldn’t.

If there was just one starting point for his imagination—it was that on the third day of the Autumn Tournament, going to a game felt bothersome to him for the first time in his life. For him, it even had a feeling of dread. At that time, he had regained his willpower after sleeping a little, but if that kind of constantly continuing heavy mood was the “wanting to quit” that Yoshino experienced, then it might be quite painful to even live everyday.

“Souta, you…”

His brow wrinkled as he frowned, staring at Yoshino’s indistinct face in front of him.

“Nnn…?” There was nervousness in Yoshino’s voice.

“You got fat, didn’t you?”

The contours of his face were quite round. That was why it looked like there was a floating ball.

“…You’re as blunt as ever. Well yeah, I got fat after I quit the team.”

Yoshino’s voice lightened, like he was expecting something more. He didn’t seem to be offended. Probably.

“Are you in any clubs now?”

“Yeah. It’s not sports-related though. I’m in the science club.”

“Is that fun? More than volleyball?”

“It is fun, more than volleyball for me. There aren’t a lot of members, but they’re all good people. I have fun going to club activities every day. We go to the science lab every lunch break to collect data from our experiments.”

He didn’t like that he had affirmed it, but he could tell from the excited way he talked that he was doing what he really wanted to do now. Something fell into his chest with a thump, and he accepted that, Aah, the things that are “fun” for Yoshino and me aren’t the same anymore…

Even though their eyes sparkled at the same things, aimed for the same stage, and planned to do the same things, maybe that didn’t mean they were in the same story.

“Then, I’ll be leaving now.”

He could feel Yoshino standing up. Even though he had no intention of stopping him, Haijima immediately tried to reach out his hand. But his arm was pulled back as if it had been caught on a fish hook, and he was only able to move it a little.

Yoshino, who was about to leave, turned around. “…Take care of yourself. Don’t be too reckless.” Something soft gripped his hand along with a gentle voice. His fatty, plump hands were not bony and didn’t feel like they belonged to an active volleyball player anymore, but he could feel their warmth flowing into his wrapped-up fingers. It was as though the coldness of his fingers, which had been holding him captive ever since the day Yoshino didn’t come, was becoming undone.

Before he let go of his hand, Yoshino’s voice that had been mild and gentle took on a faint gloom.

“Chika, don’t be reckless, okay? You’re a true genius, not an ordinary person like me, and you probably can’t even imagine your limits right now…but I have a feeling that if you were to be betrayed by volleyball one day, you might be surprisingly fragile…I know it’s none of my business, but that’s what I’m worried about.”

***

“When did you get a fever?”

He seemed to have lost consciousness for a bit again until he heard the next voice.

The round outline of Yoshino, who had been by his side since a while ago, had changed into something more vertical and narrower. He looked up at the outline for a while, and then asked,

“…Are you angry?”

“Yeah. If you’re willing to work a little harder to read my mind off the court too, then that’s progress. Here.”

He held out to something to him. He tried to reach for it, but his arm cramped up and the thing was put in his hand instead. “I had them fixed at the optician across the hospital. They said that it would be safer to buy new ones, though.”

“Aah…thanks.”

“You really do have a strange way of getting into trouble during a game, don’t you?”

With his head resting on the pillow, he put on his glasses. For the first time in a long time, his vision was clear again. It was so clear that it actually made the world look distorted, which made him feel a bit dizzy. The lenses were in place on both sides, but there was still a sense of discomfort because the frame was still warped.

Kuroba was sitting on a chair beside the bed with a grumpy look on his face. Behind him, there was a partition with the curtains drawn. It looked like a break room-like space with a simple bed next to the examination room.

There was an IV tube connected to his left arm. Drops of water were dripping regularly from a clear pack that was hooked to a stand above his head. The liquid in the pack was down to about a quarter of its original volume. I was told to stay on the drip for about an hour…so I guess forty-five minutes have passed or something like that?

After resting, he was able to think more clearly and remembered how he had walked to the car by himself. By the time they had arrived at the hospital, it must have been 5:00 or 5:30, so outpatient consultation hours must have been over by now. He could hear the hurried conversations and footsteps of the staff, but they were far away, so it wasn’t noisy. In fact, it was rather isolated and quiet.

The final serve was done perfectly as he had imagined. Just as the gym was buzzing over the two service aces (1) in a row, the Meisei coach and captains returned after their meeting, as though they had timed it.

Although the second-year members were severely reprimanded for skipping practice to play an impromptu two-on-two game, the fact that a former Meisei Middle School student came to visit meant that Haijima and Kuroba didn’t get into much trouble. It was also thanks in part to Komukai and Ikawa coming forward and saying that they had an arrangement beforehand. Come to think of it, Komukai was the one who warned him just before the score board crashed into him…

The coach and captains asked him about this and that, but from that point on, Haijima was completely wobbling and couldn’t answer them properly. Right when he thought, Ah…I can’t stand anymore, he felt hands go around his sides and supporting him. “Sorry, he has a fever,” He heard Kuroba’s voice through the haze of his mind. So the advisor drove him to a nearby hospital.

“No wonder that you were sleeping like you were dead on the train. I should have noticed it earlier, but I thought it was strange how your face was kinda hot, but since it was right before the game began…Really, why did you decide to go to Tokyo in that condition?”

“I didn’t think I had a fever either. I’ve been feeling off since the end of camp, but…”

“What!? Camp was a month ago! Wait, was that why there was something off with you at the Fall Tournament? Why were you practicing every day under the blazing sun in that state, are you stupid!?”

“You’re too loud, shut up…”

He pulled the terry-cloth blanket up to his eyes and dejectedly slithered under it. If there wasn’t a drip connected to him, he would have covered his ears with both hands. He wasn’t happy with the feeling of being below someone and being ordered around by them, but he didn’t have the energy to fight back.

His mother, who passed away before he started elementary school, was a sickly person. Haijima inherited that, and although it wasn’t bad enough to interfere with his daily life, his body wasn’t strong either. When he was little, he would often have fevers of unknown origin that would last for about a month in summer and winter. However, ever since he started playing volleyball in the upper grades of elementary school, he had become physically stronger, and it had been quite a long time since he has had such a long period of discomfort.

It seemed that he didn’t like the words “feeling off.” He got angry.

“It’s not ‘feeling off,’ you’re in bad health. Don’t switch words and gloss over the issue.”

“…My play wasn’t off though.”

“That’s the problem in your case. It didn’t influence your play…in fact, you got even more agile for some reason. I really don’t get it. And when it’s over, look at you. You’re completely out of energy.”

You’re so noisy…If he said that, it seemed like he would continue to get lectured, so he endured it. He normally didn’t consciously hold back what he was about to say that much.

“…I hate it. I hate it when I can’t play volleyball even for a day. I feel sort of…impatient…”

He whispered on the other side of his blanket. Kuroba, who had been talking at great length, stopped for a moment, then sighed quizzically.

“I don’t know why, but it seems like you’re living too fast and recklessly…?”

He was relieved when he realized that his lack of concentration in the semifinals of the Fall Tournament was because he had a fever. The fed-up feeling on the morning of the semifinals as well…he wanted to get rid of that feeling as soon as possible before it took hold in him, and now that he thought about it, even though he felt off, he felt like he couldn’t take a break from practice.

But he was able to explain to himself that it was just the fever that made him sluggish, and he was relieved…but in the end, the desire to play volleyball again welled up within him. It was a waste of time to rest.

“Haijima-saaan?”

An elderly nurse knocked on the partition frame and poked her head in. Kuroba stood and opened up the place.

“You’ve just finished the drip. …Yes, if there is no blood coming out after about ten minutes, you may tear off this bandage. The doctor says that you should rest today and properly go have a checkup at the hospital after you go home. Did you contact your guardian?”

She quickly pulled out the drip and performed the procedure while speaking so rapidly and one-sidedly that he recoiled. “…Not yet,” he answered in a small voice and got up while staring fixedly at the small adhesive bandage that was pasted over the small needle hole. Kuroba, who had moved out of the way to the foot of the bed, looked between Haijima and the nurse like he wanted to say something.

“Then, you’ll have to call them.”

“Oh, thank you very much for helping us!” Kuroba hurriedly said to the nurse, who was pushing the IV stand away from the bed. He waited for the nurse’s figure to disappear on the other side of the partition before asking Haijima.

“Can’t you just call your home in Tokyo?”

“I got the keys. I’ll just go to pick up the train money. If we get on the eight o’clock train, we can return just in time, right? If I stop by home and head for Shinagawa right away, we can make it in time.”

“Why don’t we just stay the night instead of forcing ourselves to go home today? You have a house here.”

“If we don’t go home today, we’ll have to be absent tomorrow too. Get my bags.”

He did some quick stretches on the bed to loosen up his back. Although he still felt sluggish, he had recovered enough to be able to move on his own. He wanted to move his body because he felt like his body would get more and more sluggish if he stayed in bed. The arm that had been connected to the tube was now free, so he felt somewhat liberated.

The taping on both hands had been removed. He was pretty sure he did it himself, though he didn’t remember. He was soaked in sweat from the game and his T-shirt dried as he slept, but either way he had to change into his uniform if he was going back (Kuroba, who didn’t have a replacement T-shirt, seemed to be planning to go home with just his uniform shirt, but as usual he couldn’t tell if that was cool or tacky).

When he tried to take off his T-shirt, it got caught on his glasses and he couldn’t get it off his head, so he tried to take them off inside his T-shirt. As he was doing this, he heard Kuroba’s voice along with the sound of a bag being placed next to him.

“I’ve been wondering about this, but can I ask you something? You don’t get along with your dad, do you?”

“It’s not bad or anything…” He was answering from inside his T-shirt, so his voice was muffled and it sounded like he was hesitating to speak, but he wasn’t trying to hide anything. “…My dad’s like me. Do you think that if there’s two of me in the same house, and one of them isn’t interested in volleyball, there’d be anything to talk about?”

“Ah…haha. I think I can imagine that.”

He interjected like he accepted that easily. He felt somewhat annoyed by that.

His father still lived alone in the apartment in Tokyo where they lived together until the second semester of his second year of middle school. It wasn’t that he had a bad relationship with his father, but he just couldn’t carry on a conversation with him. It was especially difficult to understand each other when it came to phone conversations. He truly wondered how his father and him had become so similar. Since Haijima came to live with his grandparents, they had had very little contact, but his grandmother sometimes told him about what he was doing, so he thought that was enough.

“It’s not bad, and my dad agreed for me to go back to Monshiro, so…there’s nothing for you to worry about.” It seemed like he was worried, so he thought that it would be better to say that wasn’t the case.

“Haijima-san, there’s someone here to pick you up. You properly contacted your guardian, didn’t you?”

He heard the voice of the nurse from before on the other side of the partition again. He finally pulled his T-shirt off his head and put on his glasses, then said, “Pick me up?” and exchanged looks with Kuroba.

“Hello.”

A bright voice came from the other side of the partition.

A person who was tall for a woman, with her long hair tied back and dressed plainly in a simple blouse and slim jeans——.

“Minami, sensei…”

He stood up, the bed rattling. As expected, he got dizzy, as his body that had been receiving an IV drip until right this moment had suddenly stood up. He immediately grabbed the top frame of the partition and ended up looming over it. The other person’s eyes widened as she looked up at him.

“Oh? You got taller than me? You really have grown. Are you at least 180?”

“I…I am. I’m around 181, no, 2, no, 3, no, 4…”

Wait, why am I padding the numbers? Kuroba had a “Who’s that?” look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you were changing. Have you gotten dressed yet?”

After being told that, his eyes dropped to the T-shirt in his hands in surprise. He turned around and jumped at his bag. “I’ll get changed in ten seconds.”

“No need to rush. You just woke up, right? I parked my car in the parking lot.”

He shoved his T-shirt into his bag and grabbed a change of clothes. His shorts were halfway down his legs when he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Half-standing, he turned around awkwardly.

“Wait over there…Sensei.”

His mouth opened and closed, and then he heard his own tight voice.

***

“That’s right, when you were in elementary school, I used to tell you guys to change in ten seconds in front of me, but that’s no longer possible. Your body is completely a high schooler’s now. But you grew much taller than me. I’m a little shocked.”

Minami-sensei said with a happy smile as she turned the steering wheel. Haijima was seated diagonally behind the driver’s seat, hugging his enamel bag tightly and looking down. In the seat next to him, Kuroba was still looking between Haijima’s profile and the back of Minami-sensei’s head in astonishment.

The car was a small kei car (2), with the head of Minami-sensei crammed into the driver’s seat almost touching the ceiling in a few centimeters. When the three of them with their tall frames got into the car, it looked like a deformed car in a cartoon. The hair on the top of Haijima’s head just brushed against the ceiling, and in Kuroba’s case, he was completely stuck, so he sat so shallowly that his back sank into the seat, but then his knees ended up bumping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry it’s so cramped. I never had two kids who were so big ride in my car before. You’re big, too. Are you a first-year? Center or wing?”

“I’m Kuroba Yuni. I’m a first-year. I play the wing position.”

He leaned forward and answered before she finished her sentence, then scrapped his head against the roof and lowered his head with an “ow.” Calm down, Haijima’s temple twitched, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re tall too, Sensei.”

“177 centimeters. That’s pretty tall for a woman, isn’t it? But today I’m the smallest, so my vision feels quite fresh.”

“Were you a volleyball player too, Sensei?”

“Yes. I used to play for a corporate team for a little while, but now I quit and teach at an elementary school.”

“You were the teacher at the club Haijima used to go to, right?”

“I was only a coach who assisted the head coach. The same year that Chika and the others started middle school, the school transferred me to a new position, and I lost touch with them.”

“Sensei, may I ask your age?”

Haijima silently pulled Kuroba’s back, who was clinging to the back of the driver’s seat and talking, back down onto his seat and made him sit. Watching them in the rear-view mirror, Minami-sensei grinned and said,

“Ahaha. I was twenty-eight when Chika was in the sixth grade. Are you fine with that answer? Chika, are you still not feeling well? You can go back to sleep. Or are you feeling carsick?”

“Ah…no.”

He hung his head and shook it while pinching Kuroba’s side. Kuroba tilted his head towards him and whispered into his ear.

“What’s with you? You’re suddenly so meek and quiet. Sensei’s worried about you.”

“Don’t call her Sensei. Why are you asking so many questions so over-familiarly?”

Haijima also kept his voice quiet as he and Kuroba pressed their temples together.

“Then what should I call her? Is Minami-san fine?”

“Stop…joking around. Minami is her first name. Her full name is Kashiwagi Minami.”

Minami-sensei said it was fresh, but it was fresh for Haijima that she was smaller than him. In elementary school, Sensei was like a tower, and her nickname was “Tower” (she seemed to have hated that nickname, and when some of the boys teased her with it, she would chase them around angrily). I had the impression that she had an overbearing physique…no, she has broad shoulders and is probably overbearing by average standards, but…she kinda looks more delicate than I thought she would be…

He was glad he was taller. That was a natural thing to think when you’re playing volleyball, and he knew that he still wasn’t tall enough, but he was confused at himself for being happy about it for reasons other than that.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think ‘Minami-sensei’ would be a female teacher.”

“I never said it was a man.”

The two continued to whisper to each other.

“Well, it kinda makes sense. I knew it wouldn’t be Vabo-chan, but I wasn’t entirely wrong either, was I? It’s not like a girl in your class or anything is going to catch your eye. A former athlete, a coach, and much older than you…Yeah, that’s just like you.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“The thing you said before about having a girl you liked, you were talking about Kashiwagi-sensei, right? Even you have normal emotions more or less. No, not even normal. I’m little surprised and shaken right now too.”

He walloped Kuroba on the side of the head with the bag he was holding, messing up his hair and causing him to scrape his elbow against the roof. He then pinned Kuroba down on his seat and pressed down on his face with the bottom of his bag. While they were silently fighting, Kuroba suddenly let out a big “Ah!” As he lied on his back, he looked up at the window and said, “I saw the word Harajuku just now!”

“Yes, we’ll be passing through Harajuku soon. Do you want to get out if I can park?”

Kuroba’s face lit up at the voice from the driver’s seat and he said, “Yeah, but it’ll be a lot of trouble for you if you do that.” “She can’t.” Haijima pressed the bag against Kuroba’s stupid face, which looked like he was quite seriously anticipating the possibility, one more time and got up, then pressed his face against the passenger window on his side and looked out. “It’s okay to sightsee around Tokyo just a little. We came all this way.” Kuroba also got up while muttering that, unwilling to give up, and hugged Haijima’s bag to his knees.

The roads in Tokyo were beginning to get congested as the working adults were heading home, but the cars were still going at a gentle speed. Under the gassy indigo-blue sky, streetlamps appeared at intervals and disappeared behind them. In front of Nanafu Station, where the school was located, there was not a single light on at night, but there were none even in front of Monshiro Station. All light and sound ceased to exist, and it felt like you had drifted ashore a small and isolated island. But no matter how far you went on the streets of Tokyo, the lights and sounds never disappeared.

As they turned onto a certain road from an intersection with a large overpass, he realized where they were driving to. What was up ahead was—.

He attached his hands and glasses to the window glass and fixed his eyes on their direction of travel. Finally, a large grey building appeared, on the other side of round street lights floating in the night sky like a formation of UFOs.

A large round building with a single dorsal fin-like projection on the roof. Although it was made of unrefined concrete, the gently curving form of the structure, like water eddying around, was so beautiful that it captivated his eyes—.

“Sensei, stop here!” While clinging to the window, he forgot himself and reached out to the seat next to him. “Kuroba, Kuroba!”

“Hmm? Is this Takeshita Street?” (3)

Kuroba eagerly said that and leaned forward. Haijima groped around to find his chest and grabbed it close to him.

“Let’s go see the best thing in Tokyo—Yoyogi’s first gymnasium.”

***

Thinking about it now, Minami-sensei must have planned to stop by from the very beginning. She wouldn’t have normally taken this route to get from the hospital near Meisei to Haijima’s home in Tokyo.

A little further down the road, she found an empty spot in the parking lot on the shoulder of the road, parked, and then Haijima dragged Kuroba out of the car and ran back to the admission gate of the gym.

“You’re too excited. I told you to calm down. The building’s not going to run away even if you don’t run.”

The entrance was closed, and the lights in the plaza from the gates to the gym’s entrance were off, leaving the asphalt to sink into the darkness. As it was located on a busy roadway, the noise of cars intermittently behind them.

The first gymnasium of Yoyogi National Gymnasium, the holy ground of the Spring Tournament. Most of the history of the Spring Tournament, which had been held more than forty times, had taken place at this Yoyogi venue.

“There isn’t anything going on today? They have concerts and stuff almost every day, not just sports tournaments.”

Minami-sensei, who came later, said as she peeked through the gaps in the gates.

The gates consisted of an iron fence about 190 centimeters tall. When Haijima gripped the rails and tested their strength, then lifted himself up vigorously with his arm strength. He leaned over the top of the gates and strained his eyes, but was disappointed to see that the building at the end of the dark plaza now only looked like a ruin. “That’s dangerous!” Kuroba grabbed the back of his belt.

“On the tournament day, there was this huge Vabo-chan balloon, and it was a landmark, and even though there was nothing cute about it, watching it bob around was kinda addictive…”

He desperately wanted Kuroba to also imagine that scenery, so he tried his best to explain it to him.

As soon as he enshrined that huge Vabo-chan balloon in his mind, bright line shone on that lonely indigo plaza as though blackout curtains were lifted at once. In the same way he could create a volleyball court around him without relying on his eyesight, the scenery of the day of the tournament was drawn with him as the starting point. Under the early spring morning sky, large crowds of people passed by them, who stood there blocked by the gates, and walked through the gates and into the admission gates.

The cheering squads of parents wearing matching windbreakers and carrying banners and drums. The concert band members in their school uniforms with mufflers around their necks and the cheerleaders in ponytails. The sports reporters holding equipment. And then there were the athletes of the competing schools, wearing their various team jerseys, each of them with feelings of tension, excitement, and fighting spirit in their hearts. Some of them were today’s high school students from vivid high-definition footage, and others were high school students he had seen in footage from a long time ago, with much frailer physiques looking at them now. High schoolers from various eras were mixed together, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were all volleyball players who had marched in carrying their prefectures on their backs.

Once he passed through the dark admission gates, his vision opened up again. In the vast circular space, illuminated by bright lights, was a spectator seating area with a capacity of over ten-thousand people, and in the center of that, there was a glossy sky blue and citrus orange volleyball court.

“The quarter-finals are on a multi-court, but the semi-finals and beyond are on the center court. There’s only court in the center of the arena, and it’s super fancy, and only the best players from the best teams who are capable of winning the title of the best high school in Japan can stand on it…”

“I get it, it’s an amazing stage. I know how much you want to be there, and I know very well that you’re a setter who can stand in the middle of that amazing stage.”

With a pacifying voice, he embraced his trunk and brought him down from the gates.

“That’s not what I meant, what are you talking about? I wasn’t talking about me?”

Haijima brushed off Kuroba’s arm in frustration and grabbed his collar just as he was turning around. Kuroba’s eyes widened as he clutched Haijima’s wrist and drew his chin in.

“Imagine yourself standing there. Try wishing for it seriously. More, more…You’ve got what it takes to be up there. And if you’re competing on that stage with a lot of people like that, you’re going to crave it more and more. You’re going to want strength and time so much that you can’t stand it. You’re going to be unbearably frustrated that there’s only three years of high school. That’s why I want you to be the ace…”

It was frustrating that what was inside of him wasn’t inside Kuroba. He wanted him to understand that somehow, and this might be the first time he had ever squeezed out words like that to try to convey something. He had often let things go, thinking that it was fine if he wasn’t understood. He had never been driven by the desire to actively share his values with someone before.

He let go of Kuroba’s chest, half pushing him away. He turned his back to him, who staggered slightly, and looked back at Minami-sensei.

“Sensei. I promised to go to the Spring Tournament with Meisei, but I’m sorry, I’m correcting that. I want to go there with Seiin…with those guys. That’s what I want now.”

Minami-sensei leaned her shoulder against the iron fence and folded her arms with a slightly scary look on her face. Thinking that she might be angry, Haijima waited a little nervously.

The ends of Sensei’s eyebrows lowered, and she let out a short sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize…am I that scary of a coach? Souta also came all the way to me to ask for permission with a teary face. He asked me if he could quit volleyball. You know, elementary schoolers become high school students, right? It’s not the same as me going from twenty-eight to thirty-one. It’s normal for friends and things you like to change rapidly. Because that’s how compressed the time all of you spent was.”

“Sensei, you spoke with Souta…?”

He hadn’t really thought about the extent to which Minami-sensei had heard about the suicide attempt, but then it occurred to him for the first time that she knew about the incident and the reason why Haijima transferred schools.

If Sensei knew that her students, who left her elementary school club happily and saying that they’ll all play volleyball together, became bullied or bullies in middle school and drifted apart, then she must be sad… 

“I’m sorry…Sensei…”

He lowered his head and muttered an apology again.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were the one who was in a lot of pain. We should be the ones apologizing…the adults shouldn’t have been so unperceptive…”

Minami-sensei’s hand touched his arm. It was a gentle touch. On the day when their club had lost a match, he had been comforted by the same gesture, and he couldn’t help but hug her around the middle and cry. He had never lost or cried like that. Suddenly, he felt as though the time had gone back many years, and he had returned to the time when his teacher still looked as tall as a “tower.”

But he was already taller than the Sensei before him. He couldn’t hug her or anything like that. And he wasn’t as hurt as he had thought he would be when he found out what had happened two years ago that he didn’t know about.

In the end, Komukai and the others probably didn’t think it was such a big deal. They didn’t imagine that they would ruin their teammate’s life, and he thought that Komukai was saying what he really thought when he disappointedly said, “With just that.” They had done it with only the intention of making Haijima pay a little, and he repented, then they would be satisfied. They probably wondered what was going on with him when he stopped going to school and then transferred schools from the incident that had occurred from that simple intention.

But if Komukai and the others really didn’t have a goal to eliminate Haijima, then that was actually…a relief.

He wasn’t eliminated from that team.

Once he understood that, the fear of starting over somewhere else diminished considerably.

“I’m fine now.”

He thought it was good he knew about it now. He thought that was probably because he could accept it now.

“I didn’t come here alone…so I’m fine.”

He could hear Kuroba gasp from behind him.

“I see…” Minami-sensei looked at Kuroba and smiled, as though satisfied. “It was a good thing you went to Seiin High School, after all.”

“Huh…” “Kashiwagi-sensei, you know about Seiin?”

Kuroba’s voice overlapped with Haijima’s surprised voice. Seiin was just a local high school, not a nationally know school. It also bothered him that she spoke like she had known where he transferred to since before.

“Who do you think sent me to pick you up at the hospital? Meisei Middle School’s coach asked me to do it.”

“The coach…?”

Haijima learned that the coach of the Meisei Middle volleyball team had felt responsible for the series of events that had occurred in the second year of middle school and that he had been concerned about Haijima’s condition for a long time. He thought that by the time he entered high school, things would have died down and he could talk to the coach of the high school team and call him back to Meisei. However, when he had heard that Haijima went to Seiin High School, he decided to withdraw and leave him alone——.

“Seiin High School in Fukui has a famous coach, yes?”

Famous coach? He looked back at Kuroba, puzzled, but Kuroba also stared back at him with a puzzled look on his face. They recalled the dried up old advisor who looked like a scarecrow with a wooden fish placed on top of the head. (4)

“…Haa?”

The two exclaimed in unison.

He had heard from Oda that he had been a volleyball player a long time ago. However, the old man usually fell asleep when he came to watch club activities, and he had never done much as an advisor, let alone a coach. Their advisor at Monshiro Middle School, who was an amateur but showed a lot of motivation, was a much better advisor.

“Adults are connected in ways that children don’t know about.”

A corner of Minami-sensei’s mouth raised in a mischievous smile.

“That’s why, the teachers at Seiin High School are already informed that you two are here. I’m sure that your families have been contacted as well. I heard that your senpais on the team were also worried about you. The two of you did skip class and disappeared together after all.”

They both groaned and their faces stiffened. There was no way the school wouldn’t find out that they skipped, so they were prepared to be penalized for it, but if they knew that they were in Tokyo, then…

“I hope they’ll just make us write an apology.”

Kuroba sighed, but for Haijima, who found writing any essay more than two columns on manuscript paper (5) torturous, a written apology was more hellish than any penalty. “Don’t look so miserable. I’ll help you. It’s collective responsibility,” Kuroba said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Minami-sensei looked down at her watch and murmured, “We have to go soon.” When she looked up, she had a big smile on her face, as though she was taking out a special present she was hiding.

“There’s one last message for you. It’s from the captain of your volleyball team. He says, ‘You have club activities tomorrow, so go home.’”

Previous || Index || Next

[wdwmarveldisney]

Stars and Superman-Racetrack Higgins

(GIFs isn’t mine)

Modern era

Masterlist

Summary: Reader is dealing with the lost of someone close to them when a boy in a Superman costume comforts them.

A/N: Got this random idea when sitting outside watching the stars and I couldn’t help but write it so yeah.

The blanket didn’t make the ground much comfier but it did stop the grass from tickling the side of your face and the mud getting in your hair. It also stopped the ground from ruining your jacket, that was a navy blue shade. The blanket itself was black and was smooth on one side and fluffy on the other. Right now you ran your fingers across the fluffy side, staring at the stars.

You have this habit of going outside and watching the stars every night. Sometimes you sat on a chair, sometimes you would sit on the fire escape, sometimes you lay on the grass or sometimes you’d bring the blanket out but no matter what, without fail, you’d be out their. It was normally for an hour or two before going to bed. Sometimes in the summer you’d go out just before the sunset so you could read a book for a bit. It didn’t matter where you were, home, your grandparents’ house, a friend’s, you’d always watch the stars.

It started when you were five, you’d sit out there for ten minutes before going to bed because you wanted to remember ‘the pretty lights in the sky tomorrow’, as you used to say. Your mum had always sat out with you, occasionally reading a bedtime story. By the time you were nine, you had several books about space, taking up two whole bookshelves in your room, while also having watched almost every space related documentary possible.

Something about the stars seemed to call to you. Your mum was the only one to not call it a crazy obsession, the only one who would sit outside with you a couple of times and let you point out different constellations and explain them whilst also making space related puns. She’d let you point out the planets that were sometimes visible and let you inform her of the conditions of said planets, even if she’d heard it a dozen times before and knew the words you’d say off by heart.

Right up till last year, she’d be there with you, sometimes making her own jokes and adding stories from when she was little and thought that the stars were little fairies who had flown too far away to be seen clearly. Sadly she didn’t make it to the usual Halloween stargazing, where the two of would meet at the park round the corner. At first you thought she ditched you or forgot but then you’d remembered this was your mum, the woman who never saw you as crazy or obsessive but merely enthusiastic and passionate. She was the women who told you that if the person you end up with hated your love for stars, they wasn’t the right one. She was the woman who listened to you lecture her on the newest fact that NASA had posted or listened to you talk about your dream to see space. She was like an other half.

It wasn’t until a hour or two of you sitting alone when you’re dad had called you, asking why your mother wasn’t picking up her phone. At first, you were confused, telling him she wasn’t there, but he insisted that she had left the house and was on her way to see you. The police were called and she was filed as a missing persons case until she was found in a river, a day later. The police assumed she had accidentally fell in and drowned, they’d found a few belongings quite a while down the river.

You had cried for month after month, an empty feeling you knew would never go away. The night it happened you swore you saw one star shine brighter and had always said that it was her, seeing space like how she said she would. But now it had been a year. A long year of silent and lonely stargazing sessions from the fire escape of your apartment. You had spent the last few months debating about going to the park on Halloween, finally deciding that you would.

You had your jacket under your head as a pillow while you traced shapes into the blanket. It just didn’t feel right. You could hear kids laughing and joking and eating their endless amounts of sweets as usual but she wasn’t there complaining about how loud the neighbours were or how Helen down the street wouldn’t stop gossiping about one thing for two weeks in a row.

Your breathing became just a bit uneven as tears began to well up in your eyes. You’d came to honour her in a sense, to remember her, but as you stared at the lit up sky, that one star shining just as bright as last year, you couldn’t help the feeling that it was the wrong decision.

“Are you’se okay?” The voice was calm and collected (quite the opposite to you at this moment in time) but also sounding concerned. You turned your head to see a boy round your age, looking awkward yet confident. He had blonde curls that were extremely messy and the brightest blue eyes you had seen. You assumed he was on his way to a costume party as he wore a casual sort of suit but the buttons of the shirt were mostly undone so a Superman logo could be seen.

“No,” you’re voice was the complete opposite from his. It was the sound of a broken person who just didn’t know what to do anymore, you could both tell. He hesitantly stepped forward, careful about not getting too close in case you weren’t too fond of strangers comforting you. He was pretty sure most people (practically all) weren’t.

“Can I’se, er, sit?” He pointed to the space next to you and with an overwhelming need for comfort, you nodded. He was a stranger in a Superman costume and yet you didn’t care because you needed somebody with you, anybody. They could never replace her but they could at least give you the confirmation that you’re not alone.

“I’m Race,” he looked slightly uncomfortable before holding out his hand. He was sat next to you, knees pulled up to his chest, arms resting on his knees. You allowed yourself to smile and laugh slightly for a second. “Race?”

“Yeah, Race,”

You reached across, slipping your hand into his and shaking it. “Interesting name you got there,” you compliment with a small smile on your face from the sudden bright one in his. “Yeah, you got one?” Debating for a second or two, fiddling with your hands that now rested in your lap, you nodded. “Yeah I do,”

Race smiled still, though he was obviously slightly confused and curious. “What is it?” He asked and watched as you stared at the sky, changing to now lean back on your hands. With your eyes still fixed on the sky above, darting around to look at almost every spot, you mumble, “Y/N,”

“Well, Y/N, don’t wanna upset ya or anythink but you’se said ya weren’t okay,” he pointed out and you nodded at that, fighting back a sudden rush of tears. “I’m not,” you whisper and he gives you second, his eyes scanning over your features that held obvious sadness and heartbreak.

“Why?” The question slipped from his lips without any thought to it. You tensed at that word, your whole body becoming seemingly numb but also overflowing with emotions at the same time. “It’s, um, this day last year, er, I lost someone,” tears were freely falling down your face, your heart shattering again. You felt a hand rest on top of your one and looked down to see him lacing his fingers with your’s.

How was it possible that he, a stranger, had comforted you more in one move than anybody else had in one year?

“We, my mum, who...” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the word ‘died’. Race seemed to understand this as he sent a small reassuring nod in your direction as his eyes scanned your face in worry. “We would, um, come here every, er, every Halloween to stargaze but last,” you cut yourself off with the sob that left your lips.

Two arms wrapped round your shoulders, one rubbing your back in a sign of comfort. He was silent as you cried your heart out onto his old blazer. You couldn’t help that you were begging yourself to stop crying on a stranger’s blazer but it seemed to make you only sob more.

Race didn’t mind that much. You were in a bad place where you had obviously lost someone important to you and you were clearly suffering alone, at least he thought so because you were seeking the comfort of someone you didn’t know. He wasn’t going to leave you sobbing by yourself, he knew what that felt like. No, he was going to sit here next to you and comfort you and show you that someone’s there for you, just like he wanted when he felt like this.

He whispered small, sweet words in your ear as he held you. He listened to the heartbreaking sound of you calm down and say that you were fine only for another wave of tears to hit you and you trying to hold them back. He hated that you kept muttering to yourself saying that you were being pathetic for crying in public and repeating “Shut up,” multiple times.

It took a while of him telling stupid stories and asking random philosophical questions, that were extremely strange, for you to calm down to a point where you could talk properly. Immediately you had started to apologise but he wouldnt have it. Instead Race decisided to ask you a question about yourself after spilling most of his life to you. “You like to stargaze?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes with such force that they only got redder. “I just, they’re beautiful. I know it’s weird but they’re just good at distracting me and they’re so amazing,” you add hesitantly. Many people didn’t unders the feeling you got, that far off world feeling, that you would escape to.

“It’s not weird, I’se get it. What’s your favourite, um,” he trailed off, snapping his finger as he pointed to the sky. He had forgotten the word and slightly gestured to the many bright balls of gas that lit up the sky.

“Constellation?” He nodded in answer, his cheeks going a light pink as you laughed lightly. It only took you two seconds before you pointed to the constellation that was luckily clearly visible from your spot. Race’s gaze followed to where you pointed, letting you explain what the constellation was and why it was your favourite.

He felt a smile stretch across his lips as he watched your once tear filled eyes light up with the kind of joy you got when you’re passionate about something. A small grin was visible on your face as spoke and wildly gestured with your hands as you talked. You didn’t seem so broken anymore but the evident pain was still barely noticeable in your eyes.

You finished talking about the constellation, having gone into several different topics as you did so but always getting back to the original explanation. It was then you remembered what he was wearing and you panicked slightly. “I’m so sorry, you must’ve been going to a party or something and you probably just wanted to go as soon as possible and here I am going on about stars when you don’t even care,” you said in one breath, refusing to meet his eyes.

Race looked down at his costume, finally remembering that he was heading to Jack’s Halloween party. He checked his phone to see numerous miss calls and texts from some of the boys and decided to quickly text to Albert that he probably wasn’t going to show up.

After sending the text, he turned back to you. As crazy as it sounded, he would rather spend the night listening to you talk about space and rambling about these random facts you knew and laughing at your terrible jokes then going and getting drunk at a party.

“I’se just not gonna go,” he told you before a worried expression crossed his face, “Are you’se okay now?” You looked to the sky as he continued to stare at you. Race being there gave you same that same strange escape feeling as the stars and you’d known him for less than two hours.

“Stars and Superman? I’m fine,” you joked, looking back to him and he immediately grinned. It made your heart flutter and skip a beat. You’d always wanted to believe in love at first sight but knew that you’d only find it in fairytales or fanfics and yet, sitting there with him at that moment, you thought, no you knew, you were wrong. If only you knew Race felt the same.

You spent the rest of the night talking, laughing and joking like you’d known each other for years. It was three in the morning before you had both realised how tired you were and had decided to go home. He walked with you back to your apartment and you both exchanged numbers. As soon as he had made your contact name, he showed it to you with a proud sort of smile.

Twinkle

You laughed before showing him the name you had given him.

Superman

[thesentientelf]

Understudy

Charlie Barber x Reader. NSFW. 3k Oneshot.

@emily-strange​ requested:  Hi! I adored Flat White. Such amazing writing 🙂❤️ I keep thinking of Charlie and Kylo as majorly touch starved. Intensely so. I was wondering if you liked the idea, please could I get something nsfw with either man where its been such a long time since they've had any physical contact and reader just takes her time worshiping him. Afterwards they get quite emotional 😭 If it's Charlie could it be quite a while after the divorce please where he's dating the reader? If you like the idea that is🙂

Nasty nasty things under the cut. 

He’d known her for, what, maybe a year? She was a singer. Pretty. Beautiful voice that made his heart sing. She always made his heart flutter when she was on stage, speaking her lines like she was born to do it. 

He chewed at the tip of his pen, staring down at his notebook as he wanted to write something, anything to give her later. Everyone else had a note, she had to have one too. He could never find something to complain about with her, she always listened to every word in rehearsals, and now, opening night, she was...flawless. 

He ran his thumb over his bottom lip, eyes darting up to the stage as he tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as he studied his crew from out in the audience. He always loved doing this, always loved watching her take to the stage like she owned it, like it was her birthright. 

Oh. He was staring again. He chewed at the cap of his pen again, lips silently speaking the words to the script as she spoke them on stage. 

Theater went black, the crowd erupted in applause as his crew all darted on stage, taking their bows as the house lights went up. 

She caught him staring, flashing him a smile as he clapped along as the only one sitting in the theater. She led the bow again, and by the time she stood straight, Charlie was already heading towards the door that led backstage. 

His heart fluttered in his chest, and he never really understood why. After being with Nicole, after the divorce, he’d distanced himself from feelings like this. He feared it too much, and he’d rather take the four plus years of feeling alone rather than being heart broken again. 

He’d fight it til the day he died. 

He opened the door to a corridor, and followed it until another set of double doors opened into the common room, where a round of applause from his crew made him smile sheepishly and shove his hands into his pockets. “Congrats on an amazing opening night,” he said, quieting the room with a wave of his hand. “Please, please. I couldn’t have done it without you all.” Eyes darted over the faces, seeking her out like a schoolboy. 

Oh. He was doing it again. 

“Take the rest of the night off, relax. Be ready, we have two shows tomorrow, so I expect the understudies to be ready to go. Layla?” He pointed to a young girl, her understudy that stood in the middle of the group. “That means you. Where’s your overstudy?” 

“In her dressing room. She’s fixing the hem of her dress, it snagged on her shoe,” she said, taking a glass of champagne poured from a bottle that Frank was passing around. 

“Oh….she is aware we have Donna for those things, right?” he said with his brow furrowed and chin tilted to the side. 

“She said she could fix it, I didn’t question it,” she said with hands thrown up. She downed the glass without another word. 

He nodded and nervous fingers picked at the seams of his pockets. “I’ll go get her,” he said quietly, forced to take a glass from Frank’s hands as he shoved it into his fingers. His crew were already talking amongst themselves, ignoring him completely as he headed towards a door on the far side of the room that led to the dressing rooms. He took a sip of the bubbly liquid, nervous pit forming in his stomach. 

He didn’t know why. He’d gone out for coffee with her numerous times, took her out to dinner several times. Their tentative relationship was kept quiet for the most part, at least he believed it to be. He was still unsure, still wary after Nicole. Still wary to bring anyone into Henry’s life unless he was sure. 

Still wary to even kiss her. He didn’t know if he wanted to. Well, he did, but it had been four years since the divorce, and six since he’d even laid with a woman, let alone kissed one. 

He shook his head. He was thinking too hard. He tossed the rest of his drink back and headed towards the door that had her name printed on a piece of paper that blocked the window of the door. 

He knocked. “Y/N?” Hands gripped the glass so tightly he thought it would break. He heard quiet barefeet pad towards the door, and he still jumped when it swung open. 

He swallowed hard, eyes trying hard not to fall on the fact that she was only wearing the chemise of the costume dress she had, which was hardly modest and was one step away from see-through. 

He was one spotlight away from seeing absolutely everything.

“Hey Charlie!” she said, smiling wide and stepping aside to let him into the dimly lit room. “Sorry, I know you wanted to celebrate, it’s just this damn hemline always likes to come undone,” she said, closing the door behind him and heading over to the chair where her little white dress hung over the back. 

“You’re fine,” he said. Why did he drink all that champagne so quickly? His mouth was dry, his hands a shaking mess. “You did phenomenal up there,” he said, leaning against the make up ledge and setting his glass down as he watched her pick the dress up and continue to mend the hem. 

“Yes, but?” Her head perked up, bright eyes watched him as if she waited for something. “Oh come on, you give everyone notes, what’s mine?” 

He blinked. He couldn’t even come up with something on the spot. He shrugged. “Nothing. You were perfect,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Come on, Charlie, I know you better than that,” she said with a smirk, nimble fingers threading the needle through fabric with care, to the point it was almost mesmerizing. “Fine, I’ll do it for you. I was flat in the second act, my emotion was pushed, mostly because I was trying not to trip on my dress, and third, there seemed to be a dashing man in the tenth row I just couldn’t stop looking at.” 

There were those eyes again, the eyes that made him take her out to coffee the first three times. He chuckled and looked away, instead staring at his feet. She always made him smile, made him laugh. 

“You know we can’t,” he said quietly, finally glancing up to see her tying a knot in the thread and using her teeth to separate the excess thread. 

“Can’t? Or you’re scared to,” she said, gently grabbing the dress by the shoulders and holding it up as she walked it over to the hanger hung on her closet door. He watched her closely, teeth chewing at his lip as she hung the dress up, and then turned to glance at him. She crossed her arms over her chest, tilted her chin up as she waited for an answer that he would never give her. 

“Charlie.” 

“What?” He chuckled as she walked over to him, quiet feet not making a sound as a hand reached out to touch his arm. 

He almost physically jolted when she touched him through his shirt, like his heart was restarting, like a flame had been lit inside him. Her fingers wrapped around his bicep, stopped him cold, made the smile fall from his face as her thumb brushed across his arm. 

“I’m not Nicole, Charlie,” she said quietly, dropping his arms as she stood in front of him. 

“I know. She’s not even half the actress you are,” he said, a fake smile crossing his lips as he stared into her eyes. Fingers toyed with where she touched him, wondering if the spark on his skin would ever go away. 

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want her. 

But oh he fucking did. 

“Charlie.” A firm look made his smile drop, made his heart pound in his chest. “You’ve taken me on six dates, and you still haven’t even kissed me once,” she said, which made him stand straight and head for the door. 

“Y/N, I’m not doing this,” he said with a wave of his hand, his heart begging him to give in, to let her touch him again. She did, and he felt it again, this time like fire as it spread through his whole body. Her arm pulled him back as he reached for the door, and instead he spun around, sad brown eyes saying words he could never say. 

He wasn’t happy with the loneliness. He wasn’t happy, as much as he tried to be. 

“Let me show you?” Her words were soft, gentle as her grip around his arm loosened. He chased her grasp, not meaning to snatch as her arm pulled away. He grabbed her wrist, it was all he could reach, and instead held it with desperate fingers. She took small steps, stopped directly in front of him as she looked up at him. 

He never realized how much he dwarfed her, but bright eyes kept him from thinking about that at the moment. Instead, he waited, breath hitched, fingers rearing to grasp at her, touch her, roam her for the first time in years. Eyes flicked to her lips, back to her eyes. 

Oh. OH. She was waiting on him. He swallowed hard. A hand touched his chest, and he wondered if she could feel his heart pounding away under her palm. 

He dipped his head down, capturing her lips in a tentative kiss as his hand went out to cup her cheek. The second he felt her lips move with his, it was like he was alive, breathing for the first time in six years. To feel her move under his palm, to feel her slide her tongue against his lower lip, to feel her hands grasp at the collar of his shirt, it…

He had no words for how suddenly human he felt. 

She pulled herself flush to him, body pressed to his torso as hands wandered to the small of her back, tracing her curves, the lines of her collar bone, down the silk of the chemise she wore. He could feel himself growing hard in his dress pants, and he groaned when she stepped into him, hips grinding against him. 

“We….we shouldn-” He couldn’t form a sentence, not with the way she started kissing him. Open mouthed kisses drowned him, he stole the breath from her lips as wandering hands traveled her body, keeping her locked to him. 

“Shhh,” she panted against his lips. Fingers reached behind him and turned the deadbolt to lock, and then she stood on her tiptoes to catch his lips again as her hands worked the button of his pants.”Like I said. Let me show you,” she mumbled against his lips, fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt before she dipped down to suck at his neck. She dropped to her knees, kissing a line down his chest and stomach as she took her time. 

He leaned against the door, head tilting back as she traveled lower and lower to where he was aching for her touch, aching for her. He groaned as she released him from his trousers that were far too tight now. He flinched as her fingers wrapped around his swollen cock, and hissed a string of curses as she licked his shaft in tantalizingly slow strokes. 

Oh how he missed this. Her soft lips pulled a moan from his mouth as she slowly slid him between her lips, hollowing out her cheeks as she sucked the swollen head hard before leaning back, dick slipping from her lips with a soft pop. She did it again, this time taking him deeper, hands helping her work him up. He was too big for her, surely, yet the feeling of sliding down her throat made his breath hitch, his hips rocked, begging to thrust as she worked magic around his cock. His hips bucked, hands raked through her hair as she sent his head spinning. 

He’d palmed himself to climax for months, especially with her name on his lips, but this was different. He could feel it building in his stomach, his toes curled in his shoes, his thighs tightened as he slid him all the way down her throat, taking in every inch like it was made for her. 

A beg, a plea left his lips, a soft “please” fell from his tongue as she started to speed her pace, not even using her hands as she slipped her tongue against him. He could feel her chuckle deep in her throat, it vibrated him to his core as he shuddered. Hands grabbed her hair, held it off her neck as she moaned against his dick. She grabbed his hips, fucked him slow, and he couldn’t help but thrust his hips into her as she milked him for all he was worth. 

He went higher and higher, hips bucking in time as he spilled over, string of curses leaving his lips as he shot his seed deep in her throat with a loud groan, not giving a shit if anyone could hear them. Soft lips slid up and down, tongue coaxing the swollen, pulsing head as he came in her mouth. 

He saw stars. He swore he blacked out for a second, feet losing their balance as he slid against the door, only barely holding his weight up as she swallowed. He shuddered, and next thing he knew he was on the ground, leaning against the door with her hand on his cock as she firsted him slow. 

He still leaked. Heavy breaths wracked his chest, and a thin layer of sweat now coated his forehead. Lidded eyes looked up, seeing her with a smirk on her face as she licked the come off her hand. 

“I’m not done yet, Charlie,” she whispered, throwing her leg over him to straddle his hips. Hands gently unbuttoned the chemise, and she slowly stripped the thin fabric from her body as she pulled if over her head. 

If he was going soft, he wasn’t now. Nipples were hard peaks, her whole body was flush, and as she watched him eye her up, she pulled the shirt from her shoulders. He couldn’t move. He was so in awe of this woman who couldn’t keep her hands off him, whose eyes could leave marks in their wake. 

And it was all she could do to contain herself.

She reached for his hand and guided her fingers to her cunt, daring him to dip his fingers into her. She was dripping, soaking wet as he took over, rubbing her clit just like she showed him. Her jaw dropped, her eyes flew closed and she reached between her legs to grab him. Hand worked him stiff as he fingered her slow, and it was seconds before she lifted up and slid him into her cunt. 

He groaned, tight little pussy taking him just fine as he bottomed out. He started to grind, but a hand on his chest stopped him, and he looked up at her with dark eyes. 

“Let me do the work,” she said, smirk on her face as she copped his jaw in her hands. 

She kissed him, but this was different. She worked him slow, kissed him slow, raised her hips and grinned on him so tantalizingly slow. Her kisses meant something, every move was deliberate, planned. Every circle of her hips, every move or her hands was worship. She’d draw him out, only to slowly let him back in, their soft moans in tandem as she fucked him slow against the door. 

She put her forehead on his, eyes locked as she rocked against him. Her hair fell over her shoulder, his hands locked her thighs to his body, and he tilted his head back as he let her grind. She took his hand, brought it between her legs, and let him graze her clit with his thumb. She clawed at his shoulders as she bounced on him harder, and it was all he could to to stave off another one. He’d been so absent from this for so long, so cut off that he almost couldn’t take her. 

A hand went to her lower back as he pushed off from the door, burying his face into her neck as he came so quickly, teeth biting at her neck to stifle the moan that fell from his lips. Her hands carded through her hair, he felt her pulse around him as he filled her to the brim, and with a stifled gasp, she muffled her cries with a knuckle in her mouth and a shudder. 

He wrapped both arms around her, nose still buried in her neck as he came down, breath heavy and skin slick with sweat. 

Oh god, was he crying? He felt something hot drip down his face, Her hands carded through his hair, her fingers went to his jaw and brought him up to kiss her, deep and slow/ 

This. This was different. This wasn’t a casual fling, this wasn’t just sex. As she cupped his face and kissed his cheeks and lips, he held onto her oh so tight. He buried his face in her neck again, deep sigh releasing the world that sat on his shoulders. Her thumbs wiped his cheeks clean, and then ran through his hair to keep him locked to her. 

Maybe this was enough. 

Maybe he could heal. 

He withdrew, lips chasing hers as he caught her in another kiss, fingers digging into her thighs. 

“I told you, I’m not her,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. 

He believed her this time.

[punkandsnacks]

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Five; Moonlight

Author: @punk-in-docs​ & @adamsnackdriver​

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Violence and gore in this chapter !!! As-well as graphic mentions of death - yeah Kylo’s a hungry boi. Gets a bit deathy when he’s around.

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

Not two days later and the Ashton’s are bid to the Phillips to dine.

 They are all in Westwell’s meagre foyer. Mother is fussing with Fathers cravat knot. Posy and Flora are fighting over who gets sole use of the looking glass. They tease at the spilling curls of their hair, they pinch at their cheeks to make them pinker.

 They’d already been scrapping all afternoon over who got to wear Iris’s sapphire earrings. Their screeches rang like sharp little butterflies all throughout the house. Posy won the battle for the gems in the end of all things. Iris stayed well out of it. She bid good fortune to the winner.

 She’s dressed tonight in another one of her ‘’matrimony inducing’ gowns. According to her mother. But she won’t deny it is a very pretty piece. It sits daintily rasped just off her shoulders, with three-quarter length sleeves. Indian silk fabric, the colour of dusky robin egg blue. It makes her hair look more brilliant, according to their local dressmaker, as she flapped swatches around Iris’s ears to help her mother make a choice.

 The neckline at the back drapes low to a row of matching blue buttons marching down her spine. Julia helped tease the teal silk ribbon Posy secured her, into her low done coiffure. Which sat braided and low at the back of her neck. Silver pins shining among the tumble of her dark hair.

 This wasn’t a ball and she could gladly forgo gloves. She’s wearing pearl drops from her earlobes. And mother insisted on a draping necklace around her throat. Simple silver necklace. With an oval aquamarine beryl, and a freshwater pearl dropping off it. It sits low in her clavicle and mother ensured the cut of her dress was low. Drawing attention to Iris’s shoulders and her comely bosom.

 She does as she’s bade - as ever. She steals a second in the mirror to check her coiffure. Now Posy and Flora are by the door, arguing over slippers and slipping the dainty things on their feet. Spitting fury at each other.

 Iris toys with her hair just for a second in the glass. At the wispy muddy bits that curl in front of her ears. She plucks them out of the hair arrangement. Aswell as one gentle curl down the nape of her neck. She lets it rest there. Clasping delicately at her skin.

 The care-worn face of her beleaguered father appears behind her in the looking glass reflection. With his greying rust hued hair, his squared fashionable sideburns and his tired, deep eyes the colour of jade marble.

 He loosens the linen knot his wife had just pinched tighter around his neck. His eyes warm like a sun baked green meadow when he peers at his eldest. Wrinkles bunch and crease at his eyes and at his mouth when he smiles. He had such a ruddy, open face.

 “You look very well tonight my dear.” He comments softly. Tugging at his tight collar. Fixing his green velvet lapels. Iris smiles at her father.

 He always was the gentle backbone of encouragement to her. Never once raised his voice to her. He never seemed to grow angry or vexed. Or have a swing of a temper. Those nasty sharp attitudes belonged solely and respectively to her mother. She’s the one who shouts and snipes. Father remains taciturn.

 “Thankyou, papa.” Iris beams at him. Turning around as he handed her, her indigo blue cloak. Iris seemed to be the one he favoured. Posy and Flora have slithers of acerbity in their temperaments, like mama. Iris seemed to flourish after his more witty and lenient nature.

 She brushes the lapels of his bottle green jacket down. Eyed the fraying seam that’s been stitched up in his shoulder. The faded linen of his shirt. It almost makes her want to go through with this marital farce that’s being forced so thoroughly upon her.

 “You look very handsome tonight too, might I add.” She smiles. Adjusting his cravat for him. Loosening it from the choking noose mother had tied. “I know how little you care for the Phillips.” Iris smiles thankfully. Not letting mama hear.

 “Mrs Phillips is most agreeable. Her husband however? Most odious man alive. It seems all he can converse about is how cumbersome the grouse is this season.” He relents quietly.

 “I deem it unwise to try and escape the acquaintance now. Mama would quite have a fit.” Iris supposed. Hushing quietly as she soothes down the points of his collar.

 He gives her a sober smile of agreement. His conduct and his temper always so agreeably timid. Humble. Like waves breaking on the dashed sharp rocks. Always yielding.

 She finishes with his coat and he goes to pick up his hat from the stand in the foyer, nestled by the front door. Julia is just helping Mama shrug on her coat. And pin her purple and black trimmed shako hat on securely.

 She harshly jerks her calfskin black gloves up her wrists with tugging severely sharp motions. Her coat is trimmed with the same onyx and lilac as that of her hat. And her dress beneath is a punchy lavender mauve. And she’s wearing her black lace fichu around her neck in a matronly manner.

 Posy and Flora have gone for their best washed silk dresses. Trussed up like twins. Posy is in a muted sage-emerald. And Flora has gone for a waxy and humble tulip-orange. Both have a white lace trim at the waist from the new Belgian lace they bought. Dainty white slippers and stockings on their feet.

 “We must go now. The dratted carriage better be here soon, or else we’ll be late.” Mama snaps. Fussing with her coiffure. Issuing orders to the maid after their departure.

 If Iris was lucky enough to be spared this outing? And be in their positions. She knows where she’d be. Curled up in the oak farmhouse chair in the kitchen, book in hand, with a cup of chocolate nearby as she warms her toes near the stove.

 As it is; she’s off for an evening of white soup by candlelight, strict conversation and a dazzling staggering show of the Phillips wealth. One that will grind mama’s teeth that they can’t compete with such affluence. And one that will have Flora, Posy, and father bored to tears within minutes. Wanting to gouge their eyes out with the ivory soup spoons for something to do.

 Iris will not have the time to be bored; she will have to comport herself and display her loveliness to every eligible man in attendance.

 She is at the door pulling on her warm gloves when Posy and Flora skip happily up to their elder sister. Posy sing-songs something about Lord Ren. “Maybe your suitor is invited tonight, Iris?” She teases.

 Iris levels her a look. Father turns around with his solid brow shooting up to his hairline. “I didn’t know you had a suitor, my dear?” He supposed kindly.

 Iris jams an elbow into Posy’s ribs. “That’s because I do not have one-” She insists blithely. Growling intemperately at her pest of a sister.

 “She does! She does Papa! And she’s smitten.” Flora speaks up. The little tick. Iris tries to swat at her with her gloves.

 “You say this about any man who so much as glances in her direction. Posy.” Mother says. Stepping past them all.

 “We should be so lucky that one of them might form an attachment.” Mother mutters under her breath. Fixing her cuffs and stepping out the front door to see the carriage drawing up ready to escort them all to the Phillips’.

 Iris shares a look of teeth gritting annoyance and forbearance with her father. Who pats her shoulder and gives her one of his crinkly smiles of comfort.  She steps up into the cold box of the carriage via the step. Shoving herself far across on the bench.

 Posy and Flora ram themselves onto the same bench with Iris. Sharp little elbows and knees digging into their sister; complaining of the lack of room they had. Mother and Father sat opposite. Not speaking. Which was their normality. Her sisters squawks and fusses more than aptly filled the silence.

 It’s not long before her mother starts speaking at her father about the household gossip of the day. She seldom expected him to respond.

 “Simpson told me today we must hire a new pair of hands for seasonal work up at the farm soon. We can not afford such an expense and reliable staff is so hard to come by in winter. I heard the Norris’s lost one of their farm hands just last night...”

 Iris tries to pay attention over Posy and Flora’s inane squabbles about their washed silk embroidered shawls. Posy has lost hers yet again- Flora was the suspected thief.

 “Apparently they found the man not five paces from the local tavern in the ditch. He’d drunk a skinful and then got run down by a coach. The fool...” She comments. Iris turns to look at her parents.

 “That is unfortunate. Poor fellow.” Father remarks in a detached manner.

 “Mrs Bishop wrote to me today too. And according to her, a manservant in her employ has gone missing. Her hall boy. And another labourer from Milton Farm was found just this morning in the woods outside Pembleton. Frozen stiff with cold, reeking of Gin, and he’d been attacked for the coins in his pocket. I honestly don’t know what this world is coming too. Really I don’t.” She remarks.

 Iris doesn’t know why. But a coiling slither of a snake wraps around her spine and squeezes.

 She shivers. And more worryingly, she can’t go about placing exactly why...

 “Perhaps a wild animal is loose hereabout these parts?” Father speculated. Uninterested.

 Mother harrumphed a snort of displeasure. “I say men who fall afoul of too much drink deserve everything they get. It’s simply not decent.” She says snappily. Sniffing loftily. Hands crossed in her lap. Brushing imaginary sullying specs off her skirts.

 Because of course she’s the type of woman who thinks insobriety and being lost to drink rightfully deserves being torn to pieces.

 “I do hope they don’t invite Mrs Norris tonight. She’s such a trying woman. And her daughter is such a useless untalented chit.” Mother says to herself. Posy and Flora hop on into the gossip.

 Iris watches out the window. She admires up on the smudged glow of the full moon. Sat pearly and proud in a sky netted full of of bursting white stars. So cold. So beautiful. Untouchable. Shrouding the dark world in silver from miles and leagues and scores away. She can’t understand how people don’t see beauty in this.

 It may be a cold, pallid light. But she doesn’t think so. It’s the misty magical cyclops of the night sky. The governing beauty. The crowning keystone of it, in her view. Chariot of pearl.

 She lapses into simply watching the night woodland pass by. The shadowed gnarled trees curling up to the heavens. Snow and frost still biting the air. It was thawing somewhat. But it’s not vanished just yet. It still crawls up the trees and lurks at the hard ground.

 They arrive at the Phillips modest Manor House. Not two miles outside Pembleton. A most pretty house. Abutting the lane leading directly up next to the small local chapel.

 There’s pink rosevines dead in winter, but still smothering most of the front of the white stone house. A modest Georgian manor of thirty rooms. Windows big and square and shining gold onto the gravelled drive that their coach crackles and shifts over as they arrive. Chimneys proudly blaze smoke. And the place looks merry and set on welcoming guests to a delightful dinner.

 The Ashton’s are seen inside by the astute white wig clad butler. He takes their coats to the cloakroom, gives them to the footmen. And then shows them to the drawing room, the main parlour, where everyone is gathering. Fireplace making the room stuffy.

 Candlelight drips apricot blaze of every wall. The parlour is furnished in trims of green and cream. Trimmed with luxurious velvet. Large gilded gold terrace doors overlook the frosty manicured gardens. Mrs Phillips does so love her tea roses. The air in the garden chokes with them even in this deadening winter.

 They all graciously curtsey and bow to their hosts. Mama sits with Mrs Phillips and the other elder matrons. Mrs Phillips sits with her little toy poodle in her lap.

 The fluffy little thing drowning under the weight of a ridiculous big pink silk bow tied at its neck. Papa begrudgingly folds his hands behind his back and gets beckoned over for a glass of port with Mr Phillips. He sends a look of dismay at his eldest.

 Posy and Flora sit and gossip with their friend. Primrose Phillips. Their daughter. Iris stands alone. She wanders to admire the painting hung up by the terrace doors.

 She leans closer, admiring the dark tones of the painting. The brushwork and the detail of the of the still life captured. A case of flowers. It’s very remarkable. She wished her parents appreciated such art over austere sketches of county churches.

 Her spine suddenly alights with thrashing hot nerves. Like she’s been scorched by a candle flame and had the burn soothed straightaway with ice. It’s sharply powerful.

 She turns where she had her back to the fireplace and all the gossiping Mama’s. Her breath catches just a little at the sight of Lord Ren filling the white parlour doorway.

 Coming to bid his hosts a good evening. And his thanks at the invite. Mrs Phillips genially flatters the big man. He towers over all the elegant ladies sat down on their settees like some huge tall dark tree she imagines standing in some foreign forest. Massive and wide. Struck by lightning. Charred to dark cinders.

 His eyes gaze downwards, and his jaw grits as Mrs Phillips ineffectual little lap dog starts emitting a low yappy growl. Snarling at the sable haired Lord.

 It’s pathetic little maw pulling back over it’s tiny blunt slobbering teeth that gnash at him. Kylo raises a brow and looks down at the fetid creature.

 He spears a slicing glance right at it for barely a second and then it’s cowering away.

 Whimpering into its mistresses lap. Burying its head into her armpit and cowering. She’s cooing and fussing the awful snappy little thing. Promising it a plate of sweet meats, and a saucer of warm milk.

 “I do so apologise, Lord Ren. Such a contrary creature. For my Puffin is never usually so shy of strangers.” She offers in her pitchy high voice. Almost as squeaky as that of her dog.

 Hugging the intemperate thing and bouncing it in her lap, coddling it like a firstborn baby. Big silk rosebud bow fluttering in the air. Ugly scrunched up little face and nose of it hiding from him. The dog recognised now who the alpha in this room was.

 Kylo tilts up a fleeting corner of his mouth in an attempt at a courteous smile.

 “It’s nothing to apologise for, Ma’am. I am often cursed myself, with the same affliction of being wary of strangers.” He says in good humour. Making the ladies all titter laughter.

 Iris blushes when he looks away from them and nods his bowed parting. Turns to look across to her. Focuses. Vision concentrated solely on her.

 Those onyx gems of eyes settle on the back of that neck of hers. Slice into her. Lingering along the dip of the material that skimmed her fine shoulders and spilled down her shoulder blades.

 His gigantic frame is not subtle in striding a swathe across the candle lit parlour. Coming straight to her. Making no secret about who he favours. Opening them both up to the speculation of the whole room-

 He doesn’t care not even one bit.

 The cool shade of him passes over her shoulder. Her cheeks flushed and she turns and politely curtseys to him. A politely soft “Lord Ren.” Leaves her lips. She feels the hair on the back of her neck raise a little in excitement. Bristling to stand like needles.

 He smirks. His kind were the reasons humans had that tingling gut sense. That primal indicator of visceral fear. The hairs on the back of the neck existed solely for the simple reason that blood lusting creatures, demons, such as him walked this earth. She should learn to trust in those instincts more.

 Danger present more than ever. For now, there’s a devil at her shoulder.

 “Miss Ashton.” He greets simply. Hands composed behind his back. Big chest swells again. No part of this man is small. Every muscle is a huge slab, big and brutally built. Long strong plains of him at every turn.

 He takes her hand and kisses it. He’s not wearing gloves. Neither is she. His hands are ice- must be the cold out of doors, she thinks.

 Their bare hands touch for the first time. Skin on skin.

 It’s electrifying. Sparks skip and shimmer through them.

 He bites back a growl as he finally finally finally gets a nose full of her bare skin. Touches her hand. His nose nuzzles her flesh for a second.

 Just one scant second. And then he has to enforce every shred of willpower he owns and knows, in order to pull away.

 She’s as exquisite as he dreamt. As he lusted about. Her skin is the most dangerous thing about her. Because it’s the hardest thing he’s had to do to resist tasting more of it. The gorgeous scent and the salt of the bare skin. Hint of spicy lavender. Chalky bergamot soap she used. The fragrance of silk on her skin.

 Bewitching. Her scent sends a tremor through his usually dead spine.

 Tonight his garb as is midnight ink dark as it usually is. Velvet black waistcoat. Obsidian breeches and shining proud boots and brushed overcoat. With a cream cravat and a white shirt. Like the full moon out in that black sky tonight. Pearl trim backed with sable. His cravat diamond pin glitters - oddly enough - like a far off star.

 If he looks like a winters sky shrouded by a pearly moon. She looks the opposite. Her blue dress is the colour of the brightest searing shade of a summers sky. Her eyes made brilliant by it. And he likes the silk blue ribbon tumbled prettily into her hair. Like some stream trickling through a golden meadow on a midsummers eve.

 “If I may say, how beautiful you look tonight. Miss Ashton.” He smiles. Hands folded back once more. His wide chest puffing out freely. His intimidating size at its usual ferocity.

 She feels her cheeks heat a little more. “Thankyou your, Lordship.” She flusters. “I’m sure I deserve no such meaningful praise. It is only a plain silk dress.” She dismisses.

 “Made striking by she who wears it.” He insists. She smiles at her feet. Diverting the attention.

 “How is that big beautiful horse of yours?” She asks nicely. He smirks a little. His eyes are charcoal-honey from the the nearby candlelight. He likes her enquiry.

 “He is very well. Misbehaving himself plenty. And nearly threw me yesterday on account of mutiny and protest for want of more carrots.” He jokes.

 “Oh dear.” She laughs. “I seem to have caused dissension in your own stables.” She apologised. Sorry he almost got hurt.

 “He shouldn’t be too perturbed at me. I’m the only one who rides him out.” He offers.

 “I should like to ride more. We only have the two horses on the farm and they are often reserved for use in labour out in the fields. And there always seems far too many errands stacked against me to indulge in the pastime.” She tells.

 “Then I must beg you come over and use Erland as much as you should wish to. He is rather fond of you. And Hellford is a vast estate of which ride on. I should be delighted it gets use beyond someone other than myself.” He offers.

 “I thank you for the invitation. I’ve never fully seen all of Hellford.” She explains. “Only the front parlour and that was very long ago. I was only a little girl then.”

 “You must come again and honour it with another visit.” He concludes.

 “Hellford’s grounds are very handsomely kept. The rose gardens are exquisite. And there’s 4 acres of woodland with plenty of good riding routes. I’d be vastly happy to show you them, any time you should like.” His smile tipped a little at the corners. Breaking up the stoicism of his usually stern scowl.

 “That’s very kind. As long as you are sure it won’t interrupt any of your business endeavours.” She offers politely.

 “My business was concluded days ago. I’m most happily and currently at my own leisure.”

 She smiles in agreement. “That must be so relaxing.”

 Iris wished she had one day whereby she could be at her own peace. Do as she liked. Go wherever she wanted and not have anyone else’s expectations hanging over her like heavy nimbuses.

 “It has its merits.” He smiles lightly down at her. Before his eyes flicker to the painting over her shoulder that she was admiring.

 “There’s even a Velasquez in the foyer at Hellford. Just begging to admired by appreciative eyes.” He adds. Her face lights up.

 “I’ve never seen a real Diego Velasquez in person. Only pictures from books in my fathers study.” She says in amazement.

 “His ‘Los Barrochos’ hangs in my hallway.” Kylo says with a hint of pride. “Now you simply have to visit, to come see it. Purely on unselfish grounds, Miss Ashton. Just for the arts sake.” He smarts.

 She smiles back. Apples of her cheeks pinking up again. “I would be delighted. No art should go unappreciated after all. You’re quite correct.” She smiles with good natured levity.

 His eyes gleam almost warmly, with wickedly pleased satisfaction. Crushed charcoal and honey of his eyes are captivating to look into. To drown in. That’s exactly what she does.

 Across the parlour, where a whole gaggle of mama’s and daughters are watching the room, speculating about it. They weren’t aware, but many eyes were glued to Iris and Lord Ren.

 Posy and Flora shared a pleased giddy look that the first time they’ve actually seen the severe man almost lets a smile crack his marble statue façade, and it’s because of their sister.

 “I think your dear Iris may have caught the biggest, richest prize in the pond. Mrs Ashton.” Mrs Phillips says with a smug proud expression, leans towards Iris’s mother and gently taps her hand. They were fond companions after all. Mrs Phillips other podgy hand, laden with pearl brackets and fat gemstone rings, was fondly stroking at Puffin’s ears now he’s calmed down.

 Caroline looks across at her eldest as she converses with Lord Ren. A slight frown crinkles her brow.

 “She would do vastly well to land a Lord.” Miss Smith Interjects. Sat on Caroline’s immediate right.

 She was a willowy woman. Figure like many twigs glued together. Gawky face. Beak of a long nose that she took great delight in shoving into business that was not her own. She was a harmless woman really. The general village busy body, and a spinster at three and fifty. Another close confidant and friend in the gossip vine for Caroline Ashton.

 “For Hellford is such a handsome house. Biggest land holding in all the county... Think what a lucky girl she would be to be mistress of it!” Miss Smith adds. Giggling in excitement like a young girl.

 Mrs Phillips steals another glance at the handsome couple. “They do make a fine pair. For she’s fairly handsome and he’s rich. Their children would be such darling things. Very dark colouring. But I fear he’s not to everyone’s taste...Something very, prohibitive, about his manner that I cannot place.” She decides.

 “I heard he takes little joy in anything. It is most odd.” Miss Smith agrees with their host most eagerly.

 “He does not dance. He barely drinks. His conversation is little and dry. And beyond the sport of his estate he rarely circulates in society. That must the foreign way of things in Bavaria.” Miss Smith sniffs with disdain. Turning her nose up at the merest intimation of something foreign.

 “Foreign and continental European manners are certainly nothing to admire.” Mrs Phillips declares. The ladies three then look at the young couple again.

 “Mmmm. I would suspect that an attachment is starting to bloom thereabouts...” She adds cunningly. As casually as if she was looking out her window and deciding the weather.

 “If they do marry. One can’t doubt the match would indisputably fine. But we would rarely see her if she marries a man so limited from the ton... what a cruelty that would be on her! Not to mention his estate is in Bavaria. What a grave loss she would be to us all.” Mrs Phillips croons sadly.

 Caroline looks over to her daughter. Where the shadow of the inexcusably large man and his dark shade looms over her. They are conversing quietly and genially with each other. If she’s not mistaken, she spots a brush of pink to Iris’s cheeks.

 “Indeed. I cannot doubt as fine a proposition as he would be... I would be more greatly comforted by her being settled here. At home. Nearer to us all.” Caroline insists to both her companions.

 “What about Brendol Hux’s son? Armitage. Wasn’t there a téndre between them some while ago? Now there. Perhaps that may be rekindled to better everyone’s satisfactions?” Miss Smith nods gladly cupping Caroline’s hand. As if Iris’s affairs were her very own to meddle with.

 “Indeed. I should not wish for poor Iris to marry so high above her dignity. She shouldn’t quit her sphere. Lord Ren should go and find himself an Heiress or a nice Duchess, if he must marry. That would do him well.” Mrs Phillips ultimately decides.

 Stouton, the excellently precise butler, enters the room and gives a dignified sharp nod to Mrs Phillips. Who announces to the room that dinner is ready. As the highest ranking gentleman in the room, Lord Ren escorts the lady of the house in to dine. Everyone follows in their lead.

 The dining room is very prettily done in shades of red and gold. The table groans with the amount of polished silverware. Glassware twinkles in the light off the fire and the numerous candles. Air spiced by the silver tiered platters of exotic fruit sitting in the table centre at measures intervals. Deep scent of plums and fleshy red apples gently radiate their sweet scent up the air. Red grapes drip from these rich arrangements.

 Everyone is seated according to rank and hierarchy. Mrs Phillips crowns the head of the table in her gown of demure blush muslin. Train drifted behind her like a galleon setting sail when the stout portly woman moved.

 Kylo is placed to Mrs Phillips’ right. Iris is lower down in rank. But she is placed two places opposite him across the finely laid table. Smooth as a square of white marble is the laid linen tablecloth.

 Mrs Phillips oversees the serving of the white soup. A frothy pallid broth made of veal stock, egg yolks, ground almonds and cream. To be eaten demurely along with the light conversation. Of which is quick to flourish along the table in this bored-rigid country society.

 Kylo sups down his soup, and he is caught by the change in topics as it shifts. Mr Phillips is speaking up to Mr Ashton about it.

 “Did you hear that the Norris’s lost one of their farm hands last eve. Just dreadful news...” Mr Phillips croaks up. Shaking his head into his wine glass.

 Kylo watches Iris innocently turn her head in the conversations intended direction. Two seats down from her. His eyes follow the pretty turn of her head. He tried not to look too closely at the elegant line of her pale throat. Nor at the little drop of red wine that lingered in the corner of her lips.

 He imagined it dripping its smooth rolling path down her neck. Over that pearl necklace. Only he didn’t exactly imagine it was wine...

 More people engage in the horrid nature of the conversation. Society being shocked by it. “Where was the Norris’s farm hand found?” Miss Smith piped up. Eager for details. Aghast. Clutching her chest in overdone fright.

 “Middle of the woods apparantly. He’d run for some time away from whatever terror hunted him. Looked like an animal had set to him something vicious, according to the local magistrate. Poor fool.” Mr Phillips announces morbidly.

 Ah yes. Kylo remembers the one. The second farm hand he’d feasted on.

 He’d watched from the shadows as the letch tried to snatch a young maids purse outside the chapel. She’d been coming back from a dance on her own late at night. He’d watched the man grope her with fat wandering meaty hands. Squeezed her bottom and her bosom and terrified her. Told her gruffly he could either take her money or her virginity. Left her sobbing in the dirt and ran off cackling with her purse.

 Kylo followed his foul stench. Gin and rot of sweat and various vile body odours souring his nose. He wasn’t hard to find.

 Followed the disgrace of a man deep into the heart of the woods. The idiot soon caught wind of his feral aggressor and ran fleeing. He caught him. And he ripped him to pieces and drank him all down. Was still picking bits of him out his teeth, come to mention it.

 His tongue idly strokes the front of one of his canines at the memory of it.

 “Is it man or beast that killed him?” Mrs Phillips asks.

 “Someone up near Lord Hearst’s estate say that a wolf had been spotted thereabouts lately.”

 “A wolf!” Miss Smith shrilled. “Oh, good heavens.” She frets. Dramatically dripping her soup spoon.

 “Do not be uneasy. Miss Smith.” Mr Ashton declares. Patting her hand nicely where he’s sat next to her.

 “It is folly. Surely. There haven’t been wolves in this country since the Hundred Years’ War.” Mr Ashton declares. “Fret not.”

 “Of course those are the rumours circulating on the estates. Especially surrounding Hellford.” Mrs Phillips pipes up. Turning her attention to Lord Ren. Many pairs of curious scared eyes swivelled to the man near the head of table, as he took a sip of his red wine.

 “I’m afraid I cannot offer any consolation nor relay any satisfaction upon the matter. I have seen no such beast on my land, Mrs Phillips. Maybe it is a stray dog... after all...” He trails away. Eating another mouthful of the white soup.

 “There is always such gossip prone to over exaggerate these things, is there not?” He drawls lowly. His dark eyes flicker up and land in Iris‘s own. His smile smoothly twitches. He couldn’t help it.

 His meaning scared her. For she did not know it’s intention. His eyes looked different when he remarked upon that. They looked... odd. Like cloud passing over a sunny day. Something then swarmed his eyes. And it looked feral.

 A shiver rockets down her spine. Makes her breath spurt out ragged and catch in her throat.

 Posy is sat on Iris’s left and she’s determined not to be left out the conversation. She must have her share in it. “My friend remarked that he heard it was a huge black Wolf with bright yellow eyes the colour of sunflowers.” She remarks.

 “Posy. I think that may be idle speculation.” Iris insists lightheartedly.

 Posy frowns stroppily. “I heard it directly from Mary Sampson’s mouth. And she never tells tall tales.” She insists firmly. Iris nods and goes back to eating her soup.

 “Maybe it’s the work of a mad man?” Miss Smith pipes up worriedly. Iris swore she hears the room collectively heave a sigh of annoyance into their soup spoons.

 “Some nasty beastly mad man roaming the countryside and cutting people up who come across his path. He might be vicious. What’s next? He could decide to come and murder us in our beds.” She panics pithily. “Cut our throats in the night!!” She says frenziedly.

 “Oh I shall have to get Barlow to put another bolt lock on my bedroom door or I shall never sleep again!” She declares.

 She did so fuss over the most inconsequential of things. Like the time she swore that the black plague was making a comeback - for she heard her maid sneeze three times in a row one day whilst bringing her tea. She was so prone to hysterics and exaggeration.

 Kylo wants to roll his eyes at her stupidity. Maybe his next victim should be her- maybe he should slaughter her in her bed. Rid the world of her vapid panicking.

 Iris smiles gently across at the flustered spinster. “Don’t overexert yourself, Miss Smith. I’m sure it’s just town gossip conjured up with the intention of frightening us.” She soothes.

 “I’m sure it’s not as evil as it first seems... There may be more reasons as to why they lost their lives.”

 Kylo does look at her right then. His little dove. Sat there with her brow all creased up with worry for this vapid inconsequential woman.

 She truly does have a heart of gold.

 Mrs Phillips speaks up again. “You know I did hear that two of the men were known drunkards. And one of them was found next to a lane. It seemed he wandered into the road after drinking a skinful and was struck by a speeding carriage. Poor soul.” She declares.

 “And the other man was robbed. Though he was rumoured to be the horrid purse snatcher who lurked around the chapel last week. Some other desperate thief must’ve caused his unfortunate death out of want of his loot. There, there, my dear. All is well.” Mrs Phillips ladled comfort into her friend. Smiling heartily at her.

 Miss Smith seems to settle down. She nods. Hand clasped dramatically to her chest. Mr Ashton pours her more wine and she takes back great thudding gulps of it.

 Iris shares another fleeting look with Lord Ren. He smiles delicately at her. Mr Phillips resumes his usual spouting on and on about the grouse season. He ropes Kylo into an invite to come shoot his grouse whenever he pleases. Miss Smith keenly traps the ladies into a conversation about printed cotton.

 They talk all through the next course about more savoury things. They are served broiled partridges with gravy for the next, and an entire haunch of roasted venison. Cooked to retain just a tinge of pink. And just a slight dribble of ichor when the meat was sliced into. Served with stewed sopping celery drowned in cream. And buttered carrots and boiled potatoes. The food swamped the table in great big heaped portions on silver platters.

 Kylo was glad they didn’t cook such a rich meat until it was a slab of boiled grey toughness. He tears his sharp teeth into the slices of roast deer and eats his big fill. Licks the iron-copper tinge of blood off his lips. It lightly sates the animal gnawing at his belly. But he needs proper blood.

 Needs the liquid metal rush of it pouring down his throat and staining his white teeth crimson.

 The full moon was bringing out his more feral senses. It always does. Gets him restless and baying for blood with a hell of a thirst. The need to feed more intense than ever.

 As the pudding arrives, Kylo is sipping more claret and letting his suave black gaze wander over to Miss Ashton again. She’s talking to one of her innumerable silly pests of a sister.

 He lets his eyes stroke along her, and admire her for a second. Such a gaze doesn’t go unnoticed by Caroline Ashton. Down the table she sees Lord Rens gaze linger on Iris- and she wonders...

 Her reverie is broken by the arrival of pudding. As it was still colder, a steaming great whitepot pudding is served. Bread and butter and cream with currants dotted into the sponge. Flavoured with mace and nutmeg. Alongside this is served a tower of marzipan fruit and cold fruit tartlets. Lots of sugar and whipped cream and strawberries steeped in sugar syrup.

 Lord Ren does not oblige himself in sweets. He’ll have his fill later. Find some wandering idiot drunk to indulge his true appetites.

 Evebtually, the ladies separate from the gentlemen. They are left around the table to smoke cheroots, or sip port, as the ladies retire to the parlour for embroidery or gossip.

 Kylo watches his little dove stand and head away. Smiling demurely at him before she goes. He snatched up every second of it.

 She turns and walks away, led by her sister. He longs after the nape of her neck as she departs. The pale arch of it kissed by dark twirls of hair.

 She feels like she can’t breathe until she gets out of the room. She takes a deep breath and wets her lips as they come to the second parlour.

 Mrs Phillips particular favourite room. For her particular use. Iris can see why; it’s gaudy and decorated to drowning point with rosebud fabrics. Its nature was definitely intended to be ladies room. Draped and stuffed with pink velvety drapes, cream carpets and gold gilded French furniture. Pillows and cushions stuffed onto the settee in blush rose print. Ruffles and flounces and so many more eye-watering trims.

 Iris feels a little nauseous walking into the sickly sweet room. But she sits dutifully on the settee by the window and sips whatever snifter Mrs Phillips put into her hand. Negus, Iris thinks it might be. A favourite punch at balls. Port mixed with boiled water, nutmeg and sugar syrup. 

 Mrs Phillips insists something warming helps aid with the digestion. Flora and Posy are feeding little nuggets of sweet meats to Puffin the toy dog as he yips for more. Mother is talking with her matrons again.

 And Iris is sat looking out at the moon. Candlelight casts up one side of her face. She lets it’s watery gently light wash over her. Listen to the matrons giggling in their corner. And Posy and Flora gossiping with Primrose.

 She thinks how nice it must be to be entirely thousands of miles away. Alone in the sky. Free of burden. Just being known for casting beautiful light onto the earth.

 “Pleasant, isn’t she?” Comes a deep voice at her side. Deeper and thicker than oozing warm honey.

 She smiles. The gentlemen have come in. Fresh from their all male talk and their port and their smoking. Brandy and cheroot smoke sticks to his coat. Though he didn’t imbibe in either. Just more port.

 Lord Ren is stood by her side again. Arms behind his back in their usual place. Looking up at the very orb of a thing that’s firing his blood. Then he glances downwards and sees the earth-bound mortal form of the woman who does the very same. Only she’s touched on more softer, hidden parts of him.

 “Such beauty.” She remarks. She tilts her head up at it. “Some remark it is a cold light. But-“

 “I disagree.” Lord Ren adds. Interjecting. Smiles down at her. When she looks up. The flash of her pale skinned neck and the side of her jaw cast in the moon and the candlelight makes his mouth water. Her eyes are divinely silver. Just like another soul he knows and loves...

 “There is mystery. For even the moon has her burdens and her secrets. The brightest thing in the sky has the darkest side that’s never revealed to a soul.” He supposed. His eyes catching in hers.

 She can see by the weighting of his granite eyes. That he means that phrase very deeply.

 “Much the same as people. I grant. Enigmatic, if they so choose to be.” She says.

 “Some darker sides of people, Miss Ashton, should never see the light.” He tells her.

 She feels like he’s speaking from experience. She opens her mouth to ask. But her mother hissing her name and gesturing her over with a spurring-curling motion of her hand, breaks the hypnotic spell his eyes gripped on her.

 She looks back up at him. He extends a hand to help her up. There’s that thrill of electricity again. Needles up her arm and wracks at her spine.

 “I think it likely my mother will encourage us home soon. I’ll take my leave of you now.” She says sadly. Though she doesn’t wish too- he feels her sadness and her dread.

 She curtseys. Bows her neck to him. Dips at her knees. He doesn’t relinquish his gentle clasp of her hand.

 “Until next time, Miss Ashton.” He drawls low.

 She dies on the spot when her turns her palm over and presses a kiss to her sensitive weak hand. Holding her fingers with one hand and rubbing his thumb over the spot he just kissed.

 His lips are devilishly soft and when he looks up at her her spine crumbles. She shivers and he hears it. Her chest flutters a breath with it.

 “I bid you good evening, Lord Ren. It was a pleasure.”

 “The pleasure was entirely mine.” He hushes so low. He manages to make his words sound sordid. Rascally and humming deep. So deep her bones rang with it and all her the soft tissue meat of her, quivers.

 This feels like seduction.

 Knee weakening seduction. She feels her cheeks beating out unattractive pink heat. Flushed from head to toe. Breath stutters into her pathetic shrivelling lungs. She doesn’t know what this is- what this man is wielding onto her. She’s never felt the likes of it before.

 She takes her hand from him, drags her eyes from the addictive granite pools of his, and steps aside to go to her mother. As she bade. She feels his eyes on her back as she walks away across the room.

 She curls her hand into a fist. So she might better preserve the searing memory of his kiss.

 It’s ridiculous and silly. But she keeps her hand fisted shut the whole way home. Thinks back to the hunger in his eyes and feels flushed whenever she remarks how it sat there- all for her and her alone.

  ~

  The whole world seems asleep. When the vampires roam to feed. Kylo swore this whole sleepy county is deaf and dull now. Even the very last scullery maid of every grand house, and kitchen skivvy had extinguished the very last candle hours ago. Night looms thick and bitter.

 The moon in all her pallid smudgy eminence, still owns the whole sky and blots out the glory of the stars. Gently kissing onto the navy heavens. Kylo has hunted under that very same silver moon.

 It recharged the restless rough animal in his bloodstream.

 Tonight, after dining, He took his leave. Took to the woods. Waited. Chased down his prey and drank his fill. Toasting his success under that watery bright light. Left the mangled and twisted body like a mortal offering of a sacrifice to the old gods. Basted the landscape in the blood he didn’t want, watering the icy crusted dirt of the earth. Staining the snow.

 Humans all went back into the earth at the end. Returned to the mud and soil and rot of where they came from. Decayed to frail dirty bones and that’s all that remains. He was just helping them get there a tad quicker.

 Crimson blooms down his white shirt and white cravat. It trails down the corner of his mouth and chin until he licks it clean. Sucks up the remains with his fingers til his face is clean. Garnet however is still marring his white square teeth.

 His eyes are still golder than coin. Fresh off the hunt. Dappled in blood. And he finds himself stepping through the dark-dead, grey wood. To a place that now seemed familiar to him.

 The house is dark. Every window dull. Even the dormers in the attic where their maids slept, even there all is deathly dark like the eye of a skull. He sets his sights on one bedroom window in particular.

 Her window was cracked open- and when he gets up to it, silent as a shadow, he sees why. The fire makes her room too muggy. This way the stifling sticky heat had somewhere to escape too.

 Her curtains are drawn, twitching on the breeze. And the fireplace lit at the end of her bed, across the room in the Morris wallpapered alcove of the hearth, casts the room in amber. As if she’s encased in it. Trapped. Preserved like an item of jewellery in this flamed room.

 That wasn’t too far away from an accurate description. She is trapped. One day she’ll be sold into marriage by her mother. Then she’ll be trapped by the fetid husband she’s supposed to serve obediently; to wait on hand and foot, and dole out his heir and a spare, like she’s shelling peas.

 He sneaks his big hand under the crack in the sash window, silently lifts it up and slips inside. Curtains rustle and he leaves them pushed apart to fit through. Steps down onto her windowsill, then onto the floor. His clothes barely make a rasp. His shoes don’t even scrape the whining buckled floorboards.

 He’s inside, and his golden eyes catch onto the sleeping little dove, huddled up as a lump into the quilts of her bed.

 Her hair is loose and crumpled around her head. Face turned away from him. Night down slipping off a shoulder. Wispy thin. Like gauzy moth wings. Exposing her chest, the shadowed mounding globes of her breasts. Swelling and falling.

 He can see the thud of her mortal heart wrack her skin. Pulsing her throat. Thudding out her wrists. Beating that lavender and bergamot soap scent out to his senses. Calling to him. Enslaving him. The creature she could never have a hope to tame.

 He gazes at her as he rounds the end of the bed. Softly paces around it. She won’t wake. His nature makes highly sure of that. Vampires are after all, darkly magic animals. Predatory too. He can stun his prey the way he wants. The way he needs too. He’ll lull her body into deep sleep like a newborn. Seduce her weak mortal self to bend to his will.

 He sits on the mattress near her hip. Watching her face sloped peaceful in gentle rest. His blood crusted hands reach out, drying rust caked at his nails, big fingertips slipping over her knuckles where her hand lay down by her side. The other folded across her waist.

 He strokes along her arm. Watches her rest. Soothes his animosity with the tactile soft of her innocent skin.

 His fingers travel upwards to her hair. He lifts it off her neck and rakes his fingers through the golden-brown wave of it. It drifts through his fingers like spun bronzed-gold that smells of French lavender.

 A big wave of heat and perfume of bare skin hits him when he peels her hair away. Warm from where she’s cosily snuggled into her pillow.

 He moans desperately. Like a wounded animal. The most gut-wrenching sob falls out his mouth.

 He can’t help it. Moth to a flame. He’s drawn across the bed until his lips hit at her skin. Tracing the jugular in her throat. He tremors with need. From being within the barest millimetre of being able to taste her warm skin. That manna sent from heaven, put on this earth for him alone to savour.

 “What in gods name are you doing to me, little dove?” He gasps. His speech muffled into her skin. He kisses at her hot throat and growls low in his when he feels her blood beat under his tongue.

 This close to her- and he didn’t want to tear open her throat with the white knives of his sharp teeth. She’s worth more than that.

 Oh, he knew she’d taste so sweet to feast on. He just knows it. She will. She’ll taste like thick honey and coins and sugared copper.

 “You take me so beyond any lust or any need I’ve ever felt in my entire life.” He promises to her.

 He’s still close. Kissing hot embraces of butterfly kisses at her neck. Gold eyes glittering so stark in the blue and amber half light of her bedchamber. Like yellowed cats eyes.

 “What is this?” He asks her. “What I feel for you- how does it never stop?...” He begs to know. Begs to be shown clarity over this force.

 His chest brushes into hers where she lays on the bed. He kisses up to her jaw. His adoring fingers skim over her cheek. Finding her cheekbone and trailing along its shape under her tender skin.

 He kisses her jawbone and moans again. Hum of his deep voice soaking trembling into her skin from his hot blooded mouth. Copper souring in his tongue and teeth.

 “I so long to kiss you.” He aches for it. Aches so deep it’s a physical pain in his gut. He groans, hard already at the merest thought of it. And that was just at tasting her mouth-

 “But I want you awake and willing in my arms when I kiss you for the first time. I’ll have you trembling and weak for me. Now I just have to wait to be able to taste those pretty lips.” He whispers onto her chin.

 Adores her face like this whilst he can. Top of his nose presses under her jaw and he takes a deep breath of her neck, whimpering with need.

 He pants into her neck once more. “Sleep well. Little dove.”

 He strokes her cheek kisses it one last time before he tears himself off the bed and slips away. Leaving her room as smoothly as a silent shadow.

  ~ ~ 🥀  ~ ~

[maxparkhurst]

Crimson

“In the quiet I sit and wonder,

If the image I had were real

Or just that…

An image crafted by my own desire.”

Two years ago

Max stood hidden in the shadowy depths of a Mariner’s Row alley. She watched as tentative raindrops crescendoed from a light drizzle to a full downpour. Rats scurried and took shelter from the storm in open rubbish bins. She only turned her collar to the cold and damp; this cold couldn’t penetrate the frigid numbness she already felt under the black tide’s pull. Her fingers stroked the vials tucked in the folds of her coat, the smooth glass grounding her in the moment.

Are you always going to be a victim?

A man separated from the throng of by-passers and descended into the alley. He walked with a hunch, shivering uncontrollably as he clawed at his neck. Max met him half-way, her myopic gaze drifting up to meet his shifting eyes. They only focused long enough for her to see the bright, desperate light glimmering in his dilated pupils. A cordial smile touched her lips.

“Fifty gold.”

The man bristled as his wild gaze narrowed in on Max. “You’re fucking with me…” he breathed in disbelief. “It was thirty last week!”

“Supply and demand.” Max shrugged. “Fifty. Unless you don’t want it.”

“How ‘bout I take that supply and demand bullshit and shove it up ya’ass!” His hands fell to his sides- revealing the angry, red blisters from where he’d been scratching- and flexed his fingers.

“You’re welcomed to.” Max kept her voice leveled as she procured a vial from her pocket. Its crimson contents stuck out against the gray-scale backdrop, drawing the man’s attention. “But,” she said with an enticing wave, “You’d get none of this.”

He stared long and hard at the vial. His expression darkened as he dropped his head, a hand untying the coin pouch from his belt. “Damn you,” he spat, tossing her the pouch, “And your price gouging.”

Max palmed the pouch and offered the vial out to the vagrant. He snatched it up and yanked the cork with his teeth, shooting down the crimson concoction. A sense of composure seemed to wash over him as his shoulders slackened and his breath evened. She held out the other three vials for him, watching with a measured smile as he pocketed them. “Same time next week?” she inquired.

“Fuck you.”

The vagrant turned briskly on a heel and charged out the alley. Max didn’t need an answer. She already knew he’d be back next week- they always came back for more.

*** Max laid sprawled out on her couch. It’d been here when she moved into the single room apartment, a relic from the previous owners. She made no plans to replace it, despite the pungent scent of tobacco and brine wafting from the futons. This wasn't a permanent domicile. She was only going to stay here long enough to settle Augustine’s custody papers. At least, that’d been her initial intent. Months since her release had passed in a blur. Finding an executor to authenticate their father’s will and write up Max’s legal guardianship over Auggie  proved far more difficult than she could’ve imagined- and far more expensive.

She picked her head up and looked over to her poor excuse for an alchemist’s lab. Vials and alembics crowded a “refurbished” table she found in a back alley, a fresh batch of Crimson simmering over an old burner. The sight of its volatile contents made Max’s stomach turn sour. She collapsed back onto the couch and draped an arm over her eyes.

Crimson had been Vallory’s best kept secret; a secret not even her late husband knew existed. It was a secret she whispered in Max’s ear over a cigarette they shared. The memory still laid fresh in her mind. She could almost feel the cool night air; the heat radiating off of Vallory’s skin; the tenderness of her lips. She shared with Max a secret she’d given no one else and sealed it with a kiss. Her heart ached as she remembered how easily she caved under the woman’s will, allowing all of her vile secrets in.

“You love her...Don’t you?”

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as the memory shifted. His voice, hoarse and cracked, echoed in the chambers of her mind. She could still see him on the backs of her eyelids, his bulging eyes staring up as he labored for breath. He smiled up at her through a froth of bile.

“She doesn’t love you… She loves no one but herself.”

She knew that now.

Vallory akinned Crimson to prison shackles. Users who typically sought it were looking for a bolster in strength. The poppy extract in it suppressed the flow of glutamate in the brain, blocking the sensation of pain. It was popular amongst brawler rings. But its suppressant properties wasn’t what kept people buying. It was the withdrawal symptoms which followed. Hives, chills, nausea, and fevers were only some of the physical components. Users would experience spells of paranoia, rage, and sometimes suicidal tendencies.

Max witnessed it all through her clients. She found most of them through the underground brawlers ring. While vaguely aware of Crimson’s backlash, Max hadn’t a clue of how potent it really was. She watched over the next several months as these hardy men dissolved into decrepit husks. They quaked and begged at her feet for their fixes, tethered to her bloated prices like rabid dogs. But just as they were shackled to Crimson, so was she.

The executor explained to Max that she’d need to prove her capability as a guardian. She needed to be able to provide a safe home, warm food, and clean clothes for Augustine before they’d let her touch custody papers. Without those said papers, she wasn’t allowed any near her brother. Their Aunt had made sure of it. When news of Max’s release arrived, she’d placed a restraining order which prevented Max from coming within sixty yards of Augustine. She hadn’t even gotten to see him when she found the notice nailed to her apartment door.

They stayed in touch through letters exchanged by way of bottles tucked in the bushes outside the library. Augustine said he found the idea appealing in one of his letters, drawing references to pirates. She had smiled at that one. His letters were what kept Max going most days. She’d read and reread them long into the nights, committing them to memory in case they should ever stop. Some made her laugh and others made her cry. He wrote about his studies; about him and Joseph at the shipyards; about the children from school; about Auntie’s unreasonable requests; about the heaviness in his heart. He wrote that he felt cold and empty; that people were cruel and this world was unfair; that sometimes he wished to go to sleep and never wake up. But mostly, he wrote about how he wanted her to come get him; how he wanted them to sail far away and start a new life; how he really just needed to see her again. In all of her letters, she promised him they would and that it was only a matter of time. She asked him to be patient.

Max’s savings had grown exponentially since she started dealing. A few more transactions and she’d be able to afford the executor and the process of their father’s will could begin. Ruining a few lives along the way seemed like an affordable price. While it’d be one she’d keep paying to ensure her brother’s happiness, it wasn’t one she took exceptional pleasure in. Self loathing sprouted in her chest.  It took root not from guilt but from the fear. At first she thought this fear was of Augustine. What would he think about his murderous sister? She not only took the life of one man, but robbed many of theirs. They’d never know reprieve from their hunger for crimson, suffering long after she and her supply left the Kul’tiran Kingdom. He’d have nothing to think, though, because he’d never find out. Max hid her foot prints well and took every precaution to keep off suspicion. Her secret could die here in Boralus and no one would be the wiser. No, the only thing she feared was herself.

She’d broken a seal- made a decision which could never be undone. If she could kill once then she could again. If she could distribute Crimson in Boralus, what was to stop her from distributing in Stormwind? Temptation would always lurk in the back of her mind.  She realized at that moment what a horrible thing Vallory had done. She hadn’t shared her secret out of love. No, it was out of malice towards her husband. All of it revenge for his treachery. She hadn’t cared about Max as a person. She’d only used her as a means to an end.  Now, just as Max’s clients would never be free of Crimson, she’d never be free of Vallory. Every day she’d have to fight off these temptations; she’d have to fight to be better.

“I have to be better,” Max whispered into the dark room. The alembic simmered. Crimson replied with a bubbling boil. She bit down on her lip and ignored its tempting call. This would be the final batch, she vowed, and no more. No more back alley deals, no more drugs, no more drinking benders, no more shifty people, nothing. She needed to be better.

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” she promised to herself, “I have to be better. I have to be better for him. Better for Auggie.”

Better for Auggie.

Her new mantra. She recited it to herself, whispering it over and over again until she couldn’t recognise her own voice. To obtain anything something of equal value must be lost. She knew this to be her one and only truth.

She forfeited her ties with Vallory

And in return…

She’d be better for Auggie. 

[a-septic-mind]

NSIDE CHAPTER TWO

Neglect

To leave undone or unattended to, especially through carelessness

April 2017- LATER THAT SAME DAY

“Three...two...one…* clap *

“ TOP OF THE MORNING TO YA LADDIES MY NAME IS JACKSEPTICEYE and welcome to a little game called Infinity Inc!”

Chase looked up from his phone as Jack’s intro rang through the Hub like it had been played on a loudspeaker. Marvin was at the “controls”, watching through Jack’s eyes as he usually did when they recorded. The doctor had moved away to a desk that he had manifested on the other side of the room, and was typing away on a computer, muttering to himself. Chase noted that he seemed to do that a lot.

Stretching, Chase got up off the couch and walked up behind Marvin. Jack was playing one of those pixelated side-scroller games- this one involving cloning or something like that.

“HEADS UP!”

Chase and Marvin whirled around just in time to see Jackieboy come barreling into the Hub from his room. His hood was down and it was one of those rare occurrences where Chase realized he wasn’t wearing his mask. Probably because it was currently being held in the tail of a small green eyeball that made a circle around the room and stopped in the middle, wiggling it’s tiny body playfully.

“Sam, give it back !” Jackie tried to say sternly, but it was ruined by a laugh. Sam scrunched up, not unlike a cat about to pounce and waved the mask in Jackie’s direction. Chase snorted.

“You little-! Comere!” Jackie lunged at Sam.

His hand barely missed the little septiceye, but his momentum carried him a little too far and he tripped over himself and landed facedown on the floor with a comical splat! Chase doubled over laughing as Sam landed contentedly on top of Jackie’s hair, pleased that he had won.

Jackie propped himself up on one arm, shooting a good-natured glare at Chase. “Haha very funny.” He commented dryly. He held out his hand and looked up at Sam. “Can I have that back please?”

Sam made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle and dropped the stolen mask into the superego’s waiting hand. Jackie stood and pulled the mask back down over his eyes as Sam flew over to Chase. Chase held up a fist and Sam bumped into it in greeting.

“Nice one, little dude.” Chase laughed. Sam squeaked in response before making himself comfortable on the brim of Chase’s hat. Marvin glanced back and smirked as Jackie came up next to him.

“Bested by the evil septiceye once again.” He teased. Jackie shoved him playfully.

The three of them settled into a row and continued to watch Jack play. For a few seconds, everything was quiet except for the sound of Jack’s commentary- which of course wasn’t quiet at all- until Scheeplestein straightened up at the desk.

“Chase.” He said urgently. “Come here for a moment.”

Marvin raised an eyebrow and leaned over. “What did you do this time?” he whispered.

Chase sighed. “Who the fuck knows.” He muttered back before turning and walking towards the desk. “Sup Doc?”

Schneeplestein studied him for a moment, which as usual made Chase fidget a bit. Sam slid down off his hat and perched on his shoulder, returning the doctor's stare.

Schneeplestein finally relented. “I realized something today when I vas going over ze brain activity records for zis past week.” He waved his hand absently at the computer screen, which showed graphs and charts that Chase couldn’t begin to comprehend. “You haven’t manifested yet have you?”

“Oh…” Chase shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh no, I guess I haven’t.”

Schneeplestein muttered something in German that sounded an awful lot like a curse. “I thought so.” He said, rubbing his temples. “Zis is not good.”

“We drank the last pot of coffee not good or last Halloween not good?” Chase joked. His smirk died however when Schneeplestein shot him a withering glare.

“Young man zis is serious. Manifestation is one of the key abilities you must learn if you’re going to be part of this subconscious. If you can’t make a physical form in the real world then you give up all possibilities of being able to take control should Sean need you to.”

“Right,” Chase muttered. “That’s important.”

“Incredibly important, I can’t believe we let you go this long without-” The doctor exhaled deeply before managing a tight-lipped smile. “It’s mostly my fault, so I will be teaching you.”

Chase felt his stomach sink. Schneeplestein had always been impatient with most everyone- he had recognized that the moment they’d met. He especially didn’t seem to appreciate Chase’s sense of humor. He couldn’t imagine any sort of scenario where this ended well, but he grinned anyway.

“Sounds great Doc. When do we start?”

—————

Jack, a moment, please.

Jack leaned back in his chair to stretch, mentally acknowledging the voice in the back of his mind. Adjusting his headphones, he continued to fiddle with the thumbnail he was making.

Yeah, Doc?

I wanted to let you know that I will be teaching Chase to manifest. I needed to confirm that you are alone this evening?

Jack snorted. Not the best way you could’ve put that Schneep.

You know vat I meant.

Yeah Doc, it’s just me tonight. And my lovely date Photoshop.

Excellent. Let me know if it starts becoming too much of a strain.

Will do. Good luck Chase.

There was a slight pressure in the back of his head as Chase acknowledged him- the mental equivalent of someone giving a thumbs up.

“Now Chase, ve will go step by step.” Schneeplestein began, turning to the younger ego. “Manifestation is relatively simple once you have mastered the steps, but you must be careful not to drain too much energy from Jack. Do you understand?”

Chase fixed his cap lower on his head. “Got it Doc. What’s first?”

“First you must tap into the core,” Schneep explained. “Your shard has an aura of sorts. You must connect zat aura with the aura of the core. Like plugging in a computer, zis will give you the strength needed to make a physical form.”

Chase frowned in thought as he tried to imagine what the doctor was saying.  “So what I just….feel around?” He chuckled at his own joke. “Heh, get it? Feel-”

“Yes, yes I get it.” Schneeplestein cut him off. “While that’s not ze most elegant vay you could’ve put it, that’s mostly correct. Imagine your shard is like a magnet, let it point you towards the core.”

“Magnet...got it.” Chase closed his eyes. Concentrating hard, he focused in on the grey sliver that was his shard.

For a moment, it sat still, but Chase gave it a mental push and it suddenly spun on its axis. He felt a fluttering sensation in his chest as it searched- which was quickly replaced with a tugging feeling that nearly jerked him off his feet.

“Shit-!” Chase opened his eyes and stumbled. Schneeplestein caught his arm and straightened him again.

“What is that?” Chase gasped.

That’s me, Chase. Jack reassured him. Nice work. Chase grinned as Schneeplestein nodded.

“Vell done.” the doctor said. “Now, zat you have ze connection, you must use it to pull yourself into the physical world.”

Chase’s smile fell a little. “You make it sound so easy Doc.”

Schneep narrowed his eyes. “It vill be easy, once you’ve practiced enough. Now, maintaining a physical form is easy, creating one is ze hard part. Everyone has their own ways of helping themselves form but my first suggestion would perhaps be a running start.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. The barrier between ze mind and ze real world is simply a doorway that you must pass through.” Schneep moved aside and put his hands behind his back. “You may start ven you’re ready.”

Chase tilted his head. “I don’t even get a demonstration?” He chided.

“I believe in hands-on learning.”

Chase rolled his eyes but didn’t argue any further. Taking a deep breath, he backed up a few steps and then sprinted towards the other end of the Hub. His shard spun like a top in his chest as he felt the air shift around him.

Suddenly, the shard stopped spinning and the tugging force pulled away from him like a rubber band snapping back on itself.  Chase yelped as he felt an invisible force hit him in the gut. Doubling over, he dropped to his knees in pain and the connection was severed.

Schneeplestein shook his head. “No no no.” he chided striding up to Chase. “You need to maintain the bond with the core.”

Chase huffed. “I thought I did .”

“Vell obviously not.” Schneeplestein grabbed his arm and pulled him back up. “Again. And this time don’t let go.”

Chase sighed. It was going to be a long night.

—————

Chase was frustrated. He and Schneeplestein had been at the manifestation lesson for hours. Days? He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that he was tired and Schneeplestein was starting to get on his last nerve .

“Again.” The doctor said after what seemed like his millionth failed attempt. “You need to concentrate Chase.”

Chase huffed. “I’m trying .” He snapped.

“Vell try harder .”

Chase gritted his teeth and bit back a retort. Not worth it. He told himself.

Still, he really wanted to wipe that condescending glare of Schneep’s face.

He could easily connect with Jack’s shard now. It was the actual manifestation part that just wasn’t happening. Jack, for all it was worth, had been extremely patient throughout.

Chase connected again and this time backed up completely so that he was pressed against the farthest wall. Schneeplestein simply stared at him as he pulled his hat down.

Concentrate Chase. He told himself.

Three...

Two...

One...

Go!

And he took off.

He nearly made it all the way to the far end of the Hub before the connection snapped again. This time, it was like he had smacked into a concrete wall. A strong force hit him hard, making him stumble backward and land hard on his back.

“Fuck it!” Chase groaned as Schneep came up behind him. The doctor was frowning, but his face revealed nothing.

“Again.” He said, grabbing Chase’s arm to pull him up. Chase shoved him away.

“Forget it Doc, I’m done.”

Schneep pressed his lips together. “Chase zis is not one of your silly trick shots, zis is a skill that you-”

“I don’t fucking care Schneep! I said I’m done!”

A silence stretched between them as Chase glared at the ground. When he finally looked up, the doctor was staring hard enough that Chase was sure he was going to burn a hole in the floor.

“Fine,” Schneeplestein said, rubbing his temples and turning away. “Just go.”

Gritting his teeth, Chase got to his feet as the doctor stalked off. Digging into his pocket, he fumbled angrily for his phone and earbuds as he headed for his room. He didn’t even look up until he ran headfirst into someone else.

“Hey now!” Jackie laughed and steadied the younger Ego as he stumbled. “Where’s the fire Loser?”

Chase shrugged, not acknowledging the nickname. “Doc said we were done for the day,” he muttered.

Jackie raised an eyebrow. Chase shook his head and pushed past him. “It’s nothing man,” he insisted, putting in his earbuds, “just Henrik being Henrik.”

He opened the door to his room and flicked on the light. He would be the first to admit that he might have gone overboard when Jackie and Marvin showed him how to create his own headspace, but he was proud of the results. Everything from the skateboards mounted on the far wall to the unmade queen-sized bed was his and his alone. He couldn’t say that about many things.

Pulling off his cap, he ruffled his hair and threw himself on the double bed, rousing a sleeping Sam who had been curled up on one of the pillows. Chase stared at the ceiling, letting his legs hang off the side. He was so fucking tired- he wanted to blink out of existence for a few days.

“Chase.”

He looked up. Jackie was standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, staring at him. Chase groaned and flopped back down.

“Am I gonna get a lecture from you too?” he snapped. “I get it, I need to learn. He doesn’t have to be a dick about it.”

Jackie snorted and put down his hood before walking over to sit down on the edge of the bed. “Schneep isn’t the best teacher,” he began, “but he’s had more practice, so he knows what he’s doing.”

Chase gave a sarcastic thumbs-up while staring at the ceiling. “Awesome. Ten out of ten. That makes everything better.”

“Look, as bad as it sounds, I’m actually glad he's teaching you.”

Chase lifted his head to stare at him. “ Why? ”

“Because that means things are getting back to normal.”

Chase pressed his lips together in frustration. Of course, no matter what was going on it all came back to that. Back to Halloween. He rolled over and pressed his face into the pillows with a huff. He could feel Sam nudging his cheek gently.

“Give it a few weeks,” Jackie promised. “I think moving will be good for all of us. Especially  the doc.”

He stood up as Chase rolled back around. “I’ll leave you alone now.” He smiled before shifting his attention and adding, “don’t let him mope around for too long Sammy.”

Sam gave a mock salute with his tail. Chase snorted. “Thanks, Jackie.”

“Just doing my job.” Jackie winked and struck a heroic pose. “Jackieboy-Man away!”

The superego ran off, making whoosh noises with his mouth. Chase laughed as Sam jumped onto his chest and turned in a circle, bunching up the fabric of his shirt into a bed that he curled up into. Chase absent-mindedly stroked the little mascot as he thought.

He understood why Schneeplestin was worried, everything he remembered about last Halloween was not pleasant in the slightest. Feelings of fear and pain that had lasted for hours.

Still, he couldn’t help but think that everything felt fine now. He didn’t notice any difference in Sean. Schneeplestein was just probably just paranoid even though he admitted that there hadn’t been any problems since March. And even then that had been more of a video hijack done by whatever that thing was.

Jack was healing up just fine.

So really, how bad could it be?

Tag List: @isa-ghost  @mini-hero-rena @immabethehero

[meowgetsproductive]

Getting back on your feet. Resetting. Day 1

Technically it’s day 15 of my 365 challenge/new year resolutions. However, like most of you, I ran out of steam and flopped my resolutions.

Today marks a reset to day 1. I don’t see flopping as an excuse to give up the challenge. Maybe I can’t do it for the full 365 days in a row. But maybe I can do it for two days in a row, or ten, or a month. In any case, I hope to have figured it out by December.

The 365 challenge is:

Projects 1) Edit or write 1000 words a day (currently: M39 Novel) 2) Go to gym every 2nd day (current: pass fitness test) 3) Do one course exercise a day (current: Artist’s Way) 4) Progress 1 chore a day (current: renew passport)

Habits 5) write morning diary daily (emotions) 6) stretch daily (body) 7) Meditate daily (spirit)

I’m restarting this blog to share the journey with you. Why not restart your resolutions now? Or set some if you haven’t yet, for an exciting year of growth.

So, where I’m at right now, is I’ve just awoken from burnout.

I couldn’t string two words together, much less write heartfelt 1000 words of my novel. Yesterday, I had a trip to meet my boyfriend’s parents. Sitting in front of two well-meaning strangers, being asked simple questions like "what do you do?” had me in stumps.

The parents meant my profession but I was thinking about something much more mundane.

What was I doing day to day?

Burnout is a horrible thing. It robs you of inspiration, creativity, and creates an unfillable void in your chest. Nothing feels good enough, good enough to try. Nothing is exciting. I’ve been reading day after day, all day, trying to fill that emptiness in my soul.

That trip to see “the parents” made me look at myself as an outsider. I didn’t like what I saw.

What the hell was I doing with my life? It’s only been two weeks of the resolutions and I all but forgotten them! I have lost myself, letting entropy and the lack of energy dictate my life.

So today, the start of Day 1, I am restarting this blog and getting myself into gear. Gently.

I urge anyone starting out to treat yourself gently, like a new student. To get back on your feet you need encouragement, not harsh blows of criticism.

Today’s all about getting back to our feet. Gently.

I’m typing this blog as I go, because I need gentle encouragement. Baby steps.

First thing I’m gonna do is have breakfast. Luckily I have eggs in the fridge. I did say today marks the start of Day 1. Forget the resolutions for now. Even doing breakfast feels hard.

For breakfast, I made 2 eggs with leftover tofu and spinach from who knows how long ago, and packaged miso soup. I have miso soup every day, so it’s a typical breakfast for me. You shouldn’t try to make anything fancy. A jam on toast is fine. the point is to eat something that gives you energy to start the day. It’s hard to function when you’re low AND have no physical energy either. So we start with breakfast. I also made a banana smoothie in a blender to snack on as I go.

Next, I’m gonna tidy up my room. I live in a share house and my bedroom doubles up as my study and entertainment and library. I have piles of washing on my bed, plates on my table, pillows on the floor, random plastic bags of stuff that I barely remember dumping by the bed to be dealt with later. I have so much stuff that I can barely breathe. I need orderliness to think, and right now, my surroundings make me feel anxious and suffocated.

I’m not gonna clean up the whole place, that is too much effort. But I took the dishes and cups to the kitchen. I have put scattered books into stacks so they’re out of the way. I put all used tissues in the bin.The biggest eyesore are clothes. Seeing clothes on the floor makes me feel out of control. I have two baskets where I sort used clothes instead of just throwing them on the floor. I put exercise clothes in one basket under the bed, while lounge clothes went in the other. It didn’t take long. The one thing that did take time was folding the laundry. It took time but it was worth it for the sense of freedom of my room clothes-free. Just remember, we want to create a sense of peace and serenity, so that you can get on with your day. Maybe you don’t mind your clothes on the floor, maybe for you it’s cleaning up that really ugly stain that bugs you. Or that shutter making an infernal rattling noise that you couldn’t been bothered to fix. Get your peace of mind. Fix it.

I put on some nice music while I tidied. When I was done, I lighted a scented candle to cheer up the place with a nice scent. Maybe play a victory tune to celebrate if that’s your thing.

The tidying took up more energy than I was prepared, and I feel wiped out. I haven’t even started on my daily seven yet. I just feel like collapsing with a book and not getting up again.

Luckily for me, there is one item on my daily seven that invigorates me when I remember to do it. It’s number five, the diary.

Now my diary isn’t like a normal record of the day diary that most people use. My diary are the morning pages from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. All I do is write out my worries. That’s when it works best. Sometimes I don’t know what’s bugging me and writing it long hand helps me figure it out. Sometimes I can’t think of a worry, then I write whatever is on my mind, stream-of-consciousness style. The point isn’t to list all your worries, but to let out of your chest whatever is gripping you. Sometimes it’s the excitement of a new idea, and I have written little scene sketches in the diary too. Dreams. To-dos. Battle plans before meeting The Parents. There is no wrong way to do the diary as long as you write whatever comes to mind, not stopping. “I don’t know what to write now...” is something I see too.

I did this diary for 2 pages of my large notebook, which is roughly 22 minutes. And that takes of item number five on my daily seven.

5) write morning diary daily (emotions)

I give myself a sticker for each of the seven that I complete. It cheers me up and brings a little bit of joy into my day.

In my morning pages diary, I realised that each of the items isn’t hard. The illusion of it is. It seems hard, but once you start doing, it’s actually not that hard to do the task in the moment. Stretching isn’t hard. Thinking about doing stretching, about how much time and energy it takes and that I’d have to get up and start moving and that I’ll never be flexible so what’s the use, is what keeps me stuck dead. The key is not succumbing to the illusion of difficulty, and just starting. Once I start, the task will take care of itself. 10 minutes meditation is nothing. But thinking about sitting there trying not to think and how my back always aches, is the enemy.

My advice is, start the thing. Don’t think about starting the thing. Start doing the thing. If it’s gym, get dressed and out the door. Start doing it. No debating allowed!

I’ll meditate next. Another thing that often remains undone, because it’s boring.

I find meditating boring.

Sitting without thoughts, experiencing time without beginning or end is very hard for me. I’m very good at imagining stuff, such as cleansing the chakras or directing energy in my mind. Sitting quietly with a silent mind, 10 minutes seem to go on on FOREVER.

All right, fine. Start. Not deliberate. I’m going.

I sat on a cushion and set alarm for ten minutes.

Ohh, it started off well enough. Then I got really restless. I started counting my breaths to 10, which really helped. Then after some time, my thoughts went wild. I was deciding which movie to watch tonight as my reward for doing so well, Dr Strange or Iron Man. Those are my favourite movies. Also I was thinking that I was gonna finish early today, and how early was early? At which point I realised I’ve had a pop song playing in my mind’s background for some time. Ugh.

Ten minutes felt long, but I lasted the whole time and now I feel so happy and proud of myself! I have done the meditation for today, item seven. Another sticker. Yay!

The benefits of meditation are numerous, but the benefits don’t kick in until several months in, same as gym. It took my brother 3 months of gym before he began to look great. I’ve just started gym and meditation myself on New Years Day, so it’ll take some time for my mind to center and my body to look great. Today’s a great day to start!

7) Meditate daily (spirit)

Well, I feel like I’m on a roll with my daily habits, so I’m feeling inspired to do the 10 min stretching. I’ve already done morning diary and meditation, stretching feels like a piece of cake! (See how small steps inspire more small steps? I’m all fired up!)

I put up some music, set the timer, and bam! Done. Three stickers today. The amount of bones I cracked was embarrassing.

Why do I resist stretching so much? Again, it takes time, even if it’s just 10 minutes. It’s boring, even if I put on music. Plus it hurts when I’m sore or I try the splits. Then why do it? Because doing something like a ten minute stretch helps keep flexibility and freedom of movement for life. Like all good things, the tangible benefits don’t kick in until later in life. (I’m beginning to see a pattern here).

6) stretch daily (body) Done!

That’s the Habits triad done. Yay for emotions/body/spirit!

Where’s the mind, you may ask? Well, the rest of the daily tasks are mind-heavy. Writing, gym, course exercise and chores tend to draw heavily on intellect. They make my brain flex.

Writing draws heavily on all areas.

Going to gym is as much a mental battle as physical exertion is.

By now, I’ve done the easy items on the list, the ones that take 10 minutes max. Doing it this way was semi-deliberate. I need easy wins right now to feel empowered. Attempting something like number one: writing, would be too overwhelming for me. Thanks to starting with the small items, I feel accomplished, I feel confident about getting more items done, I feel cheerful and I have what I feel like lots of energy (stretching could be at play for the energy boost).

Next, I feel like tackling the easiest item on the Projects list. Which is number four, the chore of passport renewal.

All I have to do for passport renewal is to load the official form onto USB and print it, get two passport photos, and go to post office to pay a fee and lodge the form and the photos.

The due date is tomorrow. I’ve been putting it off for a month.

The reason is, I am hesitant about taking that photo. I currently have long-ish hair at my boyfriend’s request, but I normally keep it short. I don’t want long hair in my passport photo. I have been procrastinating getting a haircut (and hurting my boyfriend’s feelings), yet I wasn’t comfortable taking a long-haired photo. That would be ten years staring at a photo that screams “not me”.

Some of you might be thinking “Gal, it’s your hair, you don’t have to do what your boyfriend says!”. I agree. This time, however, it’s not a bother to keep my hair long. I don’t care that it’s long right now (and I like that my boyfriend appreciates it), I just don’t want my hair long in my passport photo.

Alas, I’ve decided as I’m typing this this that I’ve left the decision for too long, and I’m worried about the paperwork expiring tomorrow if I don’t do something now. So, I’m gonna find that passport form and put it on USB, then fix myself for going out (long hair and all), and see if I can take the photo at the post office directly rather than getting someone to do it for me and then rushing to a printing shop last minute (for all of you who can print at home, I am jealous and I salute you!).

Finding an empty USB and loading the doc there took less than thirty seconds.

The getting ready didn’t take too long because I had met The Parents yesterday and so I was all clean. I wore the same clothes cuz I just needed to do the photo, not please people.

Doing well so far.

At the post office, the lady told me they don’t do printing. While they could do the photo, they can’t print my form to finalise the process.

I envy you, printer-owners.

I contacted a relative to see if I can use their printer, and also if they can do my photo. It would same me money if my relative could print the photo for free. They said okay.

Turns out the passport photo couldn’t be printed via inkjet printer. I only printed the form at the relative’s.

Then I drove back to post office, did the photo, and submitted the whole thing.

I’m so tired now. This recovery thing is hard.

Or maybe that’s cuz it’s early dinnertime and I haven’t had lunch yet.

4) Progress 1 chore a day (current: renew passport)

I’m gonna make some food next. It’s not dinner, not lunch, but something in-between.

I made a sandwich for that meal. Again, I wasn’t going for fancy, since I’m so low on energy.

While having lunch and talking to my brother, I have randomly uncovered an answer for a touch writing problem I’ve been having about some critique I’ve gotten. I was so inspired by this insight that I worked on the solution for about two hours, which resulted in about 2,500 words. That covers number one on the resolutions list, quite by accident.

I love when success begets more success.

1) Edit or write 1000 words a day (currently: M39 Novel)

Now it is late, and I’ve been sitting down for most of the day. Plus the gym rush has ended. A great time to head out to gym.

I didn’t stay long in the gym, only 40 minutes, 20 of which was walking on treadmill. Baby steps, remember?

2) Go to gym every 2nd day (current: pass fitness test)

By the time I got back and took a shower, it was 10pm. I still have one item not done.

This leaves only one item not yet attempted, and that is item two, the course exercise (for the Artist’s way). It takes only 5 min. I remember that all exercises for week 11 in the book are lengthy. I don’t think I can easily do any of them. So, I’m gonna do the trick I do for really difficult tasks, or tasks I’m really scared of.

I set a timer for 10 minutes.

In that time, I’m gonna read the exercises and see if I can do any today. If not, I’m going to pick one and write up a list of materials I’ll need, or do a search if the exercise asks me to contact people etc. Basically, I’m gonna spend the 10 minutes trying to progress something somewhere.

10 min. Go!

I could do one exercise. It was massive. I had to list 10 wishes in 7 areas of health, possessions, relationships etc... I only got through the heath, possessions and leisure in 10 minutes, and I thought I was coming up with wishes pretty fast. Those course exercises aren’t quick!

However it does accomplish my daily resolution of progressing a course exercise by a minimum of 10 minutes. Yay!

3) Do one course exercise a day (current: Artist’s Way)

This means I did all 7 resolutions! Hooray!

I gave myself a special sticker to celebrate!

But it did take me a full day, from breakfast to 10:30pm to do all seven, and I didn’t have any obligations today. If you have work or are looking after kids, then maybe try for one resolution a day. I definitely don’t want to be spending an entire day tomorrow doing just the resolutions. I’d like to do other things too. But today I wanted to start it easy and so I didn’t plan any other things so that I had plenty of time to do the resolutions.

I hope that once I’m more at the rolling stage, I can achieve all the resolutions in a single 3-4h evening. If you have a lot of resolutions and you’re struggling, do the math to figure out what is realistic. My resolutions take a total of 3 hours 20 minutes as a minimum (items 3 to 7 are ten 10minutes each, to a total of 50 min. Gym takes about an hour. Writing is variable, but 1 hour for 1,000 words sounds reasonable. Plus add a minimum of 5 minutes between each activity. Seven activities require six breaks, a total of 30 min). So, a theoretical 3 hour 20 minutes worth of tasks took me 12+ hours to do today. Again, be gentle with yourself.

What are your resolutions for today? I wish you success, good luck and good cheer!

Meowgetsproductive