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squeeneyart · 4 years ago

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 25

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger

Nothing to do but talk.

Martin and Jon settle in for a movie night.

The documentary, if it could be called that, was absolute bunk.

Littered throughout were vague interviews and wild assumptions on the part of the very on-screen director, all tied together with a final push for people to purchase a very specific brand of smoke detector. And the low quality of the video couldn’t be blamed solely on Martin’s internet.

They watched the thing from start to finish, though, and by the end of its 70-minute runtime (“I should’ve guessed by how short it was,” Jon had grumbled partway through) their viewing had turned primarily to Jon taking the piss out of it. Academically, of course.

On Martin’s end the film itself was bad in an enjoyable way, and while he didn’t have the context for all of Jon’s complaints it was easy for him to listen. He’d even made some jokes that got Jon to snort.

He did have to sit uncomfortably straight to keep from leaning against each other. Jon had turned it a bit so they could both see, but when viewed from too hard an angle the picture looked even worse. So, Martin did his best to give Jon space and not let the effort distract him from the screen.

All of this being true, Martin was grateful for the horrible film. Nothing filled silence better than movies and television, so the nights following they settled into a routine. Someone would make dinner (with no further… outbursts) and then they would find something to watch. Afterwards they would say goodnight and Martin would escape upstairs to decompress with his little notebook.

Jon’s original idea had been to find something related to their goals. However, after another let down on night two involving a very old retrospective on the mid-century fishing industry (“Wrong century,” Martin had said about five minutes in), Jon dropped the idea, thus opening up a whole new world of cable television and old vhs tapes on night three.

“You bought yourself a laptop but never had a dvd player?” Jon yawned, getting comfortable on his side of the couch.

“We sort of… skipped it?” Martin dug through a box of tapes for something worth watching, sifting through sappier options and 80s action flicks alike. “Dunno how, but we never got one. The laptop ended up being the first thing I ever had to play dvds, but the telly is too old to be hooked up to it. S’fine, though. I like tapes.”

“And you never get bored of it? Flipping between tapes and whatever’s on at a given time?”

Martin rolled his eyes. “I have a phone for other stuff, obviously. To be honest I don’t watch a lot to begin with, nothing new anyway.”

“Hmph. Same for me,” Jon conceded, sinking further into the couch. “Feels like there are other things I could be doing.”

“Except for now?”

A wry smile. “Special case.”

Martin’s stomach did a flip. He didn’t feel guilty, per se, but he wished he had something for Jon to work on to stave off the boredom. Everything had been so quiet with Peter gone and Simon’s waiting that no new leads had popped up. It wasn’t fair that Jon had to sit around doing nothing after wandering about in the sea for weeks. The least he could do was provide some entertainment.

“Hm. Right, how about this one?” Martin looked back and waved a vhs set. It was some old fantasy series with a group of children on the cover standing in a hallway. “Haven’t watched it since I was a kid, but I remember liking it.”

“Two tapes’ worth?” Jon glanced up at the ceiling. “It’s in episodes, right?”

“Yeah, though if you’d rather find something else…?”

Jon waved his hand. "No, I can’t spend the whole evening making up my mind. If we don’t like it, then we can find something else.”

With that settled Martin popped the tape in and took up his seat. On the other end, Jon sat with the blanket pulled to his chest. He wore a new set of pyjamas Martin had picked up at the shop along with a few other things to save Jon from having to wear the same clothes day and night.

The show was a simple series meant for children, easy enough to follow in plot that some side chatter didn’t interrupt things too much. Honestly, Martin was glad they weren’t paying a whole lot of attention. He hadn’t watched it in years and wasn’t looking to be embarrassed.

A few minutes in, the children from the cover were running up the stairs to explore a large house. “Safe to assume you don’t have siblings?” Jon asked.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s just me. You?”

He snorted. “Even if my grandmother wanted another child running around, I was enough to deal with.”

Martin raised an eyebrow. “What, were you a terror?”

“I’d use the word ‘adventurous’, but she would’ve agreed with that description. If we’d been in that house,” Jon gestured toward the screen, “she would’ve been in trouble. Until it ate me or something.”

“I don’t think that’s how it goes?”

Jon frowned. “That’s- No, I mean if it were real it would probably mean harm. Supernatural houses aren’t trustworthy entities outside of fiction. In fiction they’re mischievous at the least.”

“Can’t imagine that, a building that likes to mess with you,” Martin said, grimacing. He really didn’t remember much about this story. Maybe that was how it went? “I’m sure they’ll be fine. I wasn’t into spooky things back then.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m not letting my guard down,” Jon said. He watched as the children walked up a spiral staircase. “Would you have wanted siblings?”

Martin considered this. “I can’t imagine having them? But an older sibling would’ve been nice. Someone to know better and help me with things.”

“I think any other child would’ve found me irritating, older or younger. Best to keep to myself,” Jon said dryly. “Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yes, you can imagine the additional worry of raising a child who could explore the ocean like it was the woods. It’s not like she could follow me in.”

“I bet… She wasn’t like you, then?”

Turning back to the television, Jon said, “No. She was from my father’s side.”

“Oh.” He couldn’t tell if the question was wrong to ask, so looked back to the show. It was luck of the draw, then, whether someone was born with a selkie skin. Perhaps there was nothing to do with genetics in circumstances like this.

Back on the screen, one of the children had chosen to wander outside into the beginnings of a snowstorm with no thought to the cold. Outside the real world window it had begun to hail, and Martin realized how frigid it had become both outdoors and in.

“Well, at least this story is right for the season,” Martin said, standing up. “I’m gonna grab another blanket.”

With a start, Jon looked at him and held up the one he was under. “Do you want this one? I don’t-”

“N-no, that’s fine!” He walked briskly out of the room, feeling rude and stupid. All Jon had offered was for him to use the damned thing, not share it. And it wouldn’t have fit both of them even if he had meant it that way!

Opening the hall closet, he tried to calm down. He peered at the pile of folded sheets and blankets, lifting each layer to search for one he liked. There was a flannel one somewhere, deceptively warm for how thin it was-

Oh.

Tucked far down into the pile, far back enough so it was hidden if the one above wasn’t lifted, Martin saw something dappled and grey and out of place amongst the linen. Jon had left it to dry completely beforehand, so the surrounding fabric was unwrinkled. Considerate. And in a decent hiding place all things considered. It was a shame Martin had gone and ruined it.

He sighed, grabbing one of the blankets at the top that he’d initially passed on. Once he reached the doorway to the living room, he stopped and stared at Jon who was doing his best to seem unperturbed.

“So, I saw it,” he started, squeezing the blanket in his arms into his chest. “I use that closet a lot, if you want to put it somewhere else.”

Jon winced and stood. As Martin let him pass, he mumbled, “Right. I’ll just-”

And then Martin was left to sit back on the couch and wait, pausing the tape out of courtesy.

When the skin had disappeared from the shower that first morning he hadn’t considered anything but Jon hiding it, and there was an awful satisfaction in knowing he was right. He rubbed his arm and stared at the blanket in his lap, still neat and folded.

After a couple of minutes, Jon returned empty handed and resumed his seat. Pulling his blanket back up, he said, “It’s nothing… personal.”

“I know.” He took a deep breath and pressed play on the old remote, letting the child continue their new solo adventure. “I figured you hid it.”

“I appreciate that you told me.” His voice was stilted and unsure. “That you found it.”

“Sure, whatever helps.” Unfolding the blanket, he pulled it up to his shoulders and leaned on the arm rest. He could feel Jon fidgeting in place, turning the blanket so it faced the right way and making it tuck under him in the right places. Martin kept his eyes ahead.

Finally giving up on any further adjustments, Jon slouched into place. “It does help. I know my caution can come off as distrust, but genuinely I just… I need to keep it hidden. I need to know where it is and to be the only one who does. For now.”

“You… don’t need to justify anything.” Martin sighed and had to fight back a yawn. “It’s your coat.”

A grunt of frustration. “No, you don’t- It’s not a rational thing. I trusted you enough to tell you the truth, and yet I was barely into my first night here before I panicked and stowed it away.” He sat upright and let the blanket fall to his lap, quiet distress written across the lines of his forehead.

Grasping for words, Martin said, “You still haven’t known me that long. It’s not wrong to be careful.”

“That’s not the point,” Jon replied quietly, resting elbows on knees. “It hasn’t been all that long in the grand scheme of things, but a lot has happened. I consider you a friend. And yet I can’t stop feeling like everything is about to go wrong if I’m not careful.”

The hail continued to slam against the window, almost overpowering the sound of the television and the faun describing the witch’s plans. On the far side of the couch, Jon remained hunched over his own knees with his face bent in irritation.

A wave of shame broke against him, but there wasn’t time to dwell on it. Carefully, Martin scooted over just enough to reach out a hand. His trembling fingers hovered just an inch away, brushing against the fabric of Jon’s shirt before coming to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, massaging around his eyes with his fingers. He reached his free hand up to tentatively cover Martin’s, giving it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you for understanding.”

“Do you… want to keep watching?”

Jon nodded, shaking himself out a little. Martin released the gentle grip on his shoulder, though he didn’t move away. They both settled into the back of the couch and watched.

The child had gone back inside with the shivers, but no one was to be found. Around the halls she wandered, calling her siblings’ names with indignation that slowly turned to concern and then to fear. Eventually she was running, and it wasn’t until she was on the upper floor that one of her brothers popped out to scare the living daylights out of her.

Deep down he remembered this part making him cry. Perhaps siblings weren’t worth it with how cruel children could be.

Martin coughed. “You explored the sea as a kid, then?”

Jumping slightly, Jon said, “O-only a couple of times. And not far from the land. And it’s not as fun when you can only grab one thing at a time, with your mouth. I sorely missed my pockets and picking up sticks.” As he spoke, he resumed the more casual tone from before with modest success.

“You thought checking out the sea with no real limits was too much of a hassle?”

With a roll of his eyes, Jon said, “It wasn’t entirely that. Eventually my grandmother warned me away from it. Told me about dangerous animals that absolutely weren’t native to the coast where we lived.”

“Great white sharks?”

“Surrounding our seaside village on every watery side, ready to eat hapless little seal boys who didn’t listen to their nans.”

Martin chuckled, relaxing further into his seat and listening to Jon go on about all the ways his grandmother had tried and failed to reign him in. He could see it, a younger, scrappier version of the man next to him stomping around the woods and climbing fences.

The instinct wasn’t all that relatable to someone like Martin who’d kept to the front porch on nice days, but it sounded like an adventure. Maybe it meant he was less likely to get eaten by an evil wardrobe out of the two of them. In his position he could only hope that was the case.

They called it for the night when, out of nowhere, a man suddenly appeared at half opacity screen and let out a screeching noise to close out an episode, making Jon laugh in a way that only could’ve been from exhaustion.

Martin lingered downstairs for a while after they shut the television off. It was Friday, after all. For many reasons they couldn’t go out to a pub, but without the need to get up early he could afford to stay up a little longer and listen to a sleepy Jon talk over the tapping on the window panes.

Tim: not next weekend, but the one after i think. finally time to call it on preparation and get down to business, if this is something we can be prepared for

Martin: encouraging

Tim: look its been rough over here, alright?

Martin: i know, sorry. itll be easier to talk once we’re all in one place

Tim: yeah

Tim: things are ok over there, then? youre sounding better

Martin: ?

Tim: it was starting to get scary if im honest, how quiet you were

Martin: oh, sorry. things are fine, just didnt have a lot to say

Tim: yeah, i get it. its hard to fill the space. dont be a stranger though. in a few weeks we’ll be there to get you out of this mess

Martin: looking forward to it

Sighing, Martin looked from the private chat to Jon, who was ignoring his breakfast to type away at the laptop. “Sounds like the others are making plans to get here.”

Jon looked up briefly. “Good. It will be… nice to see them.”

“And show them you’re not dead?”

Ignoring this, Jon said, “How is Tim doing?”

He glanced back at his phone. “Worried. About a lot of things, I think.”

“Thinking of how he’s going to break my disappearance to you, no doubt,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. He avoided Martin’s eyes. “That’ll be resolved soon enough.”

Martin poked at the eggs on his plate. “He… lost someone, didn’t he?”

It was only for a moment, but Jon froze in the middle of setting his mug down. He seemed to struggle with an answer.

“It’s fine if you can’t say, but he implied as much,” Martin said gently.

With a frown, Jon shut the laptop. “Sasha knows more than I do, but yes. His brother, a few years ago.”

“Oh. That’s… really sad.” He leaned back in his chair. “He seems like he’d be a good brother.”

“I’m sure he was. He certainly looks out for us.” Jon took a bite of his toast.

“As best as he can,” Martin added sheepishly.

“Once this is all finished he’s earned a vacation.”

Yes, they’d all given poor Tim their share of heart attacks. Martin had managed to several times in the last month. But at least when the time came Tim would see that both of them were alive and themselves and able to apologize for making his and Sasha’s lives just a bit harder than they needed to be.

Once it was all finished.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin #selkie au

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jincherie · 5 years ago

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mystery gang; unsolved | PT. 1

☾ — pairing: taehyung x reader ☾ — genre: demon au, supernatural/paranormal au, buzzfeed unsolved au/inspired, smut (oncoming), f2l ☾ — words: 8.1k ☾ — rating: adult! this one is sfw, but future part/s will be nsfw ☾ — warnings: demons and haunted houses, supernatural & paranormal themes! some slight dark themes too. ☾ — notes: part one of 2! or maybe three. depends how the next parts go. I’m finishing this over the next few days-- it was meant to be done completely by now, but a combination of life and my usual “accidentally giving the story too much meat” antics have resulted in this! I wanted to stay at least a little true to my word, so here’s the first part!

ever since you met taehyung in one of your first year classes at university, you seemed to click and you hadn’t parted from each other’s side since. you’ve been his friend for a few years now, and your mutual interest in the supernatural and taehyung’s propensity for finding the spotlight wherever he goes led to the two of you starting up your very own supernatural investigation vlog series. friends isnt the only thing you want to be, and one night close to hallow’s eve when the two of you get a little in over your heads in a way you never have been before, you find out that maybe it’s not only you that feels that way.

— posted; 01.11.2019 // masterlist | next⇥

MYSTERY GANG; UNSOLVED — PART ONE

Every creature, past or present, had one true weakness. This weakness was cut from the same cloth of creation as them, complimentary in every sense of the word and a match so perfect and natural it shook even the most corrupt of creatures to their very core. The universe moved to reunite a creature with their weakness only every so often, and when it did there was no question, no refusing it.

Centuries he’d lived, walking the planes of the mortal realm, the underworld, and the space between. He was young, for a demon, and had spent most of his youth chasing pleasures of the flesh and wreaking havoc in the mortal world. He’d had a riot doing so, too, until the fateful day the universe shifted and he met you. A weakness, his weakness. He was thousands of years too young to ever have considered the possibility of such a rare occurrence happening for him, and as such wholly unprepared for what the future held for him. Try as he might he was unable to resist the strings puppeteering him so, and it was with great reluctance that he resigned himself to the remainder of his time spent guarding, protecting, shielding this weakness.

He never imagined he’d end up enjoying it so much.

– x – x – x –

“Can you pass me the lens, Tae? I need to clean it before we pack it all up ready to go.”

Instead of the heavy weight of the camera lens you were expecting, it is a ticklish sensation against the palm of your outstretched hand that greets you. Unimpressed, you look over to see Taehyung tickling your palm with his fingertips, a large grin tugging his lips. When you shift, preparing to smack him, he ceases his movements with a loud laugh. The requested camera lens is quickly placed into your palm to appease you before you get too violent.

“Thank you,” you emphasise, shooting him a sarcastic grin despite the fact you admittedly found his antics a little funny.

“You love it when I tease you,” he scoots closer, huffing and blowing silvery strands out of his eyes so he can nail you with a smouldering look without hindrance. His next words escape on a low breath that has shivers running down your spine that you do your best to hide and ignore. “Admit it.”

“Hmm, don’t think so,” you offer a rebuttal, shooting him a sly look before returning your attention to the lens and cloth in your hold. “But keep trying, maybe one day it will work.”

Taehyung snorts, leaning back on his hands with his legs crossed before him as he lets out another loud laugh at your response. You can feel his eyes on you still, and do your best to ignore it despite how it makes heat crawl and trickle like lava down the column of your spine, dripping slowly into your gut. Year three, month two of pretending the male you befriended so quickly and easily in your first year of university doesn’t have such a powerful, swaying effect on you, and it isn’t getting any easier. His stare alone has the little hairs along your skin raising to attention, body constantly on high alert. If only, if only you had the same effect on him—then perhaps there wouldn’t be such power imbalance in that regard.

As mentioned, you’d met Taehyung around halfway through your first year of university, when the first semester ticked over into the second and you were dealt a whole bunch of new classes, new people, and new seatmates. The second you saw him enter the large lecture theatre your next class was to be held in, you registered that he was far too attractive and therefore painfully out of your league, and made a note to avoid him at all costs to save yourself any future embarrassment. Like any respectable individual who was actively attempting to avoid someone, you shrunk into your seat and focused on scribbling nonsense onto the back cover of your notebook, allowing your hair to fall from its style and shield your face somewhat for maximum sleuth as the walking Adonis began to climb the steps of the aisle.

Your efforts were for null, however, as you’d caught his attention the second he stepped foot into the room. A scent so divine it bordered on sinful brushed his senses upon entry, and he was suddenly aware of one distinct heartbeat amongst the eighty-odd others in the room. His gaze was drawn to a seat in the far middle of the theatre, besides the windows and pushing the title of a back row. There, it was you. The source of the intoxicating scent, the owner of the heart beginning to race in what he pinned to be a mixture of excitement and anxiety, and the most captivating human he’d ever laid eyes on. He made a beeline straight for you.

Of course, you would never be privy to any of that. You just knew that one second you were scribbling aimlessly, waiting for him to pass, and the next you were jerking your head up at the sound of chairs nearby squeaking as people pulled out of the way and—oh god he didn’t go past he was walking straight for you. While you aren’t proud of the flustered, discombobulated manner in which you’d handled the situation and introduced yourself, you are proud to say that after that initial interaction you were quick to develop a resistance, a filter of sorts. You aren’t immune to his wiles and charms, his odd flirtatious remark and heavy-lidded gaze, oh no, no, no. You aren’t immune, but you’ve gotten better at handling it, hiding it. And for that, you’re pretty proud of yourself. Kim Taehyung is a hard man to resist.

You were pleased to find, upon engaging in that initial conversation, that Taehyung wasn’t just a pretty face—he had many interests and hobbies, most if not all of which aligned with your own. The most notable of these, was an interest in the paranormal. When you’d first mentioned it casually, feeling gingerly for how your keen interest would be received before opening yourself up about it, you’d been surprised at the more than eager response you’d received. His eyes had lit up, and something curled and gleamed behind them but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what—a sense like he was smiling to himself registered in your mind but you dismissed it quickly. The more extroverted of the two of you, he’d had no problem diving deep into the topic and dragging you with him.

You can’t really remember any of the finer details of how exactly you’d gotten from point A to point B, but by the end of the semester you were closer friends than you’d ever anticipated and recording the first episode of many to come of your very own paranormal investigation vlog series.

Admittedly, investigating paranormal hot spots and haunted places is something you’ve always thought about and an idea you’ve always toyed with, ever since you were younger, but you’ve always been too much of a… well, too much of a pussy. Something about Taehyung, though, had you changing your mind and agreeing to go through with it. You don’t want to be sappy and say that you feel safer around him, or any of that garbage… except you kind of do. Perhaps it’s less that you feel safer, because some of the locations you’ve been have definitely made you feel anything but—perhaps it’s more so that you feel even if things go haywire, Taehyung is capable of protecting you.

That sounds even sappier than what you were trying to avoid, damn it.

All of that aside, the two of you managed to establish yourselves pretty early on as a strong paranormal investigation team on a few different streaming sites—aptly and humourously called Mystery Gang; Unsolved, after a night spent drinking where you lost a bet to Taehyung and he got naming rights. Despite the odd name, over the years you’ve been doing this, you’ve managed to build up quite an impressive fanbase. A part of you likes to think it’s because you’re so damn funny, but really you know that it’s because Taehyung is drop-dead gorgeous and there’s a solid ratio of about eighty-twenty of females to males that watch your vlogs—and you know Taehyung has all the females and about half the males in the bag as well. Not good odds for you for finding a partner in either gender, really. It’s fine. You’re content with the odd comment directed to you among thousands. You’re fine. Really.

It’d be a bit hypocritical of you to be upset about the sheer amount of individuals attracted to Taehyung since you, too, happen to be sitting quite decisively in his bag as well. Sue you.

“Are you gonna clean the camera or sit there staring into space for a while longer? I know we’re kind of freelance, but we still have a window we gotta grab, you know. The witching hour isn’t at ten in the morning.”

Jerked from your reminiscing, you immediately slide Taehyung the stink-eye. He’s awfully rude for someone so attractive, you can’t help but note and grumble internally.

“How about you clean the cameras? Ever since we’ve arrived you’ve been sitting around doing nothing!”

There’s not an ounce of bite in your tone, and you feel like even if there was it would have rolled right off Taehyung’s shoulders as he shrugs, grinning lazily. His pose on the hotel bed has shifted, now his long form is draped indolently across the surface, elbow propped on the mattress and hand cupping his cheek. His long lashes brush his cheeks as he blinks slowly at you.

“I don’t need to stress-clean, I know we have this in the bag,” he says, lips curling as he speaks in his usual low drawl. “You were so nervous the second we got here that I thought if I tried touching anything you’d simply burst into smoke or something.”

The male’s reference to your odd cleaning habits irks you, but only slightly and only because it’s true. The rest of what he said is true, too. As much as you’d like to complain, cleaning your equipment meticulously and probably more than needed has been doing wonders for your nerves. You always tend to have a healthy, respectful dose of fear with every location you visit, but for some reason your nerves seem to be off the charts, tonight.

Perhaps it’s because you’re visiting a church. You always hate it when the haunted location is a church. Something about somewhere meant to be so holy becoming so desecrated that evil spirits haunt it… you don’t like it.

You sit for a moment, feeling your face contort as you assess the nauseous feeling beginning to churn in your stomach. Instead of answering his previous comment, you allow your thoughts to spill from your lips, somewhat distractedly. “I don’t… have a good feeling about tonight.”

Your words must be somewhat unexpected, as silence follows for a few moments after they enter the air. You regain control of your gaze where it had been centred on nothing, directing it towards the male on the bed. Taehyung’s eyes are on you, and you swear you catch something akin to a flicker of concern flitting across his features, before the tension leaves his face and he slaps on a silly grin.

"If ghosts and ghouls were real, y/n, you'd almost be begging them to haunt you," he quips, brows quirking in a sly manner. "Them's invitin' words, darlin'."

You're not sure what weird-ass accent he just pulled out of his rectum, but you're definitely sure your body shouldn't have reacted as shamefully into it as it just did. You throw a glare his way to mask the way you just shivered, at a damn pet name of all things, and turn back to cleaning your lens. He laughs, and you resign yourself for the millionth time to the fact that you'll probably never stop being so affected by him.

"Oh yeah? Well it really sounds like you're inviting a smack right now, mister. Don't make me break out the sandal."

At that, Taehyung bursts into loud laughter, flopping back onto the bed to let out his howling cackles unhindered. You can only sit and shake your head as you continue to rub your equipment clean, fighting a smile but allowing the fondness of the moment to sink in and cover the weight in your stomach.

Taehyung isn't worried, so you probably shouldn't be either.

X x x x

"You're a monster."

Your gaze is petulantly pointed out the window, but you can feel Taehyung fighting a smile from the driver's seat. It's almost silent in the cabin, aside from the low hum of the car beneath you and the smooth sound of slow r'n'b thrumming from the speakers. You do like that about Taehyung's choice in cars; he always managed to find some with excellent speakers for the bass-y songs the two of you enjoy listening to.

"You said you didn't want them!" Taehyung protests, a slight whine to his voice. Oh, he thinks he can get out of trouble by acting cutesy? The absolute nerve.

“No! I didn’t!” You’re affronted, unable to help the way you turn in your seat to pin him with an incredulous glare. “I said I was going to give them a break while I had some of my thickshake! I didn’t say you could have them!”

“You left your fries alone for more than a minute, what was I supposed to do? Let them go cold?”

“It wasn’t an invitation! Honestly, how could you… after all we’ve been through?”

Taehyung makes a choking noise, and you presume it’s because he’s trying not to laugh. You haven’t broken character yet—despite the fact you’re genuinely a little miffed that he finished off your fries while your back was turned earlier—so if he does before you, then he loses. The two of you are far too competitive for this to be anything but normal in your friendship.

"I can't help it," Taehyung says at last, apparently having managed to squash his laughter for a while longer. "They looked so good sitting there, so tempting... I was only going to take one, but you know I can't help myself when I see something I want."

As your eyes train on the scenery beyond the window as it blurs past, you snort, unable to help but quip playfully, "Glutton."

Taehyung finally lets a laugh loose, the sound rich and low, an almost indecipherable smile curling his lips at the corners. "Not the only sin I'm guilty of, but definitely the big hitter."

You roll your eyes, deciding you don't need to add anything more to that since it's definitely true. Sometimes you find it a little odd, how the two of you managed to become friends when you're both so different in subtle but significant ways. It isn't unusual to be unable to reach Taehyung some weekends, which you'd found out through a mutual friend (Yoongi, his roommate and an absolute tattletale whose loyalty is easily bought with wine and lamb skewers) was due to the fact he either didn't come home or brought someone else home. That knife had hurt when it entered your back, but you weren't, and still aren't, in any position to actually be upset about it. Taehyung's often extracurricular activities are probably one of the biggest differences between the two of you; not because you've never gone out or done things, no, but you've never been one to be comfortable with a stranger in your bed every other night. You're not so much into flings and one night stands, as Taehyung seems to be.

Another difference is probably the fact that despite the fact you're a definite ambivert and not one to shy from social situations, you've never actually met anyone as blatantly extroverted as Taehyung. His aura and presence are truly something else; all he has to do is step into a room for all attention to be drawn immediately to him, and for it to stick for the entirety of the time he's there. His confidence is unshakeable, and you think that probably has a lot to do with it. It's as though he has this sense of assurance in himself that no matter what a situation could throw at him, no matter which way it could turn and end up, he can get through it and come out right on top. It's impressive, you admire him for it, but also in a way... it's a little bit unnerving. Slightly intimidating. You can't put your finger on it, but sometimes it feels like there's something more to that confidence, something you're not quite aware of but lingers just under the surface of what he shows you.

He's a bit of an enigma, your Taehyung. You've known him for what feels like so long, and you know enough about him to fill about three encyclopedias, but at the same time... it feels like there's so much you don't know, an ocean behind each page you file away in your mind. It's like the difference between possessing a painting or a photograph of the sea, and actually standing on the shore with your feet in the sand, basking in the beauty of it in person.

Now that you think about it, the ocean is probably the best metaphor you could've chosen for describing Taehyung.

"You still nervous?"

Taehyung's inquiry, somewhat softly spoken but unmissable with how primed you are to hear him, is what pulls you from your light reverie. Blinking and interrupting your gaze where it was staring into the darkness beyond the window, you turn to the male and allow yourself a moment to analyse his features.

Taehyung is one tough cookie to read, you have to admit. He's expressive, sure, but sometimes you feel he has a bit more to offer in terms of what he's thinking and feeling at the moment. You've yet to crack that code but you'll get it one day, you know it.

Currently, his eyes are directed forward (as they should be-- he's been threatened many times with a smack whenever he lets his eyes stray even an millimetre while driving), but what you can observe of his side profile is a somewhat neutral expression. You're used to looking a little closer though, and when you do you find the barest creases of concern at the corner of his eye, brows drawn together just slightly. Aw, he's actually a little concerned for you. How sweet.

"Well, yeah," you answer after a moment, forcing your eyes away from his face and averting them back out the window as you lift a hand to rub the back of your neck. "But I mean, when aren't I? I don't think we'd have a show if both of us were skeptics."

The male hums, shaking his head to dislodge a silvery lock of hair that has fallen across his forehead. "That's true. I guess then we'd really be relying on my face for viewers, huh?"

Somewhat outraged, you let out an angry noise and hit his arm— just the reaction he was looking for. He snickers, still distracted as he watches the road and takes in the signs as he passes them. Sooner than you expect, he's flicking on the indicator and taking a left, down a road that is more dirt than tarmac and feels like it's leading nowhere good. The nerves that had left you momentarily, courtesy of the good mood eating put you in, return now in full force— twisting and writhing and tightening in the pit of your stomach. You take in a deep breath, the exhale a little shaky. Taehyung's eyes flick to you for the barest moment before they return to the front.

Trees line each side of the road, the twenty-plus minute drive having taken you a slight ways out of town. Beyond the trees at the edge of the road, you know there are miles and miles of fields; the odd house is scattered around, of course, but you know that the locals are far too wary of this little area to want anything to do with it, despite the acreage on offer.

The road twists and winds just barely, before Taehyung pulls the car into a partially obscured driveway on the right and you gulp, feeling more nervous than ever. The headlights drill holes of illumination into the pitch black, casting across blurred greenery and bushes for a moment before finally falling upon something lighter and firmer. Stone basks in the ray of the headlights, and gleaming glass windows just barely beyond the light's edge.

"We're here," Taehyung announces in a singsong manner, seeming entirely too happy about your arrival at what you consider to be one of the most cursed destinations you've included in your travels. The car rolls to a stop, Taehyung's large hand pulling the handbrake up and deciding your fate. You feel the weight in your stomach sink further.

Well, no time like the present. If you're gonna die in here, you may as well go on and get it over with.

x x x

The first ever haunted house that you explored with Taehyung, was probably the scariest.

Before becoming friends with him, and subsequently being roped into forming a paranormal investigation duo, you’d never stepped foot in a haunted or otherwise allegedly supernaturally afflicted building. Of course, you’d read your fair share of online accounts and retellings, and watched more investigative programs than is probably healthy, but even you are capable of telling what has been dramatically exaggerated and digitally edited. Before that first house, you’d sort of teetered on the edge of scepticism and being a believer. You were open to the idea, but weren’t cemented in your beliefs. That first house pushed you decisively from the middle and into one of those sides.

Your biggest regret is that you didn’t have the proper equipment to record what you witnessed that night. Since you were just starting out, all you really had was a crummy recording device and a handheld camera, in addition to your phones. Kind of humiliating, in hindsight. How on Earth had people taken you seriously back then?

Everything had gone fine, up until the point where the two of you decided it would be a neat idea to spend a few minutes alone in the most ‘haunted’ room of the house. Before then you were having fun, but you weren’t exactly convinced anything paranormal inhabited the place. In the middle, you remained. Taehyung had been somewhat distracted as you went, but not so much that he didn’t manage to slip in the odd witty quip. Sometimes, you’d turned and caught him staring into space for a few moments longer than expected, before he was once more moving on. You’d figured he was just deep in his thoughts.

As you’d ventured through the house, there were a few little things you both observed, but they were also easily dismissible things; items falling as you moved past them, creaking sounds, windows and curtains moving, shadows out of the corner of your eye. Nothing solid and material, and some to be expected when you were moving about an old, creaky abandoned building with no light save for some battery-powered torches and the flashlights on your phones.

Nothing that would hold up as evidence—at least, nothing until you entered that room alone.

The basement, said to have been where the most activity was and where some not-so-nice things went down while the house was still occupied, was the final stop of your little investigative tour. You’d originally planned to go in there together, but a small argument about jelly beans led to the proposal of going in there one at a time, and spending a few minutes in there alone in an attempt to get some interaction from any spirits that might be there.

From the very second you set foot on the first step, you’d known intrinsically that the experience you were about to have wasn’t going to be a good one. Your skin had crawled even then; it was as though you’d stepped into a freezer instead of a basement, immediately chilled to the bone with the air weighing so heavy against your body that each step was an effortful struggle. You’d been nervous before going down, yes, but this… it was different. Before you could have even turned to act on your second thoughts, the basement door had closed behind you with a final, resounding thud.

“Go down to the bottom! Your five minutes starts now.”

You’d felt disproportionately scared as you reluctantly continued your trek to the bottom, as you’d originally intended. It was colder at the foot of the stairs, if possible, and the small torch in your hand had started to flicker. It smelt rotten, too, and the further into the room you went the stronger the smell. For the first time since entering the house, you felt unsettled, for reasons almost indiscernible.

Some of them became clear to you as soon as the beam of your torch illuminated over the walls.

Deep scratches in the cement and brick, sigils and symbols drawn across the expanse of the wall. Something akin to black sludge was smudged intermittently across places, dripping from cracks and oozing from gaps in the ceiling. There was a disrupted circle on the floor, dark maroon flakes and drops of wax scattered and highlighting more smudged symbols and lines. A copper bowl lay turned over and discarded, its apparent contents scattered across the floor; bones, dried leaves and flowers, rocks, a tooth. You hadn’t even realised how your breath had begun to speed up, chest tightening. Of course, you’d tried to calm yourself and rationalise— someone just did this for a prank, they planted these things to feed the stories.

But then you’d felt a gust of hot air against the back of your neck, so stark in contrast to the chill of the room. Alarmed, you’d jerked, and your torchlight had moved with the flinch of your arm. It whipped over shapes veiled objects in the room, angles creating deep shadows that seemed to have no end, and you’d managed to look up just in time to catch sight of something as it was illuminated in the corner; a long shape, a silhouette, present in the light just long enough for you to see the gleam of two eyes staring right at you—

The torchlight flickered off in tandem with the sensation of your heart dropping through your stomach; something hot and sharp dragged across your sternum, and driven by nothing but fear and instinct you threw yourself back—or had you been thrown? A voice, disembodied in the pitch black, had grated the outskirts of your ears, warped and distorted and registering in your senses in such a way that even now, you can’t be sure whether you’d really heard it or not.

“A human girl walking right into my den… And you smell so good too. Won’t you stay, girl? I hunger.”

You don’t recall screaming, but as you would be informed later, apparently you did. You’d stumbled backwards, crashing into a number of items and feeling something grip your arm. It burned, and of course you’d jerked away once more.

Whether it was the ruckus or your own sounds that concerned your companion, the basement door had quickly been thrown open and Taehyung had bolted down the stairs. Disoriented, you weren’t even aware of where you’d stumbled in the room once your torch had gone out, but when you’d looked up to see Taehyung darting over to you, the room now illuminated, you’d been several metres from where you’d first stopped.

As Taehyung would tell you later, you were shaking as you sat there, partially curled into a ball on the floor. Your torchlight had been all the way on the other side of the room, and your phone a few feet away. He says that when he asked you what had happened, you’d only babbled incoherently, somehow simultaneously telling him off and yet clinging to him in distress.

Your memory of events after that scare is a little hazy, but you do recall that he’d surveyed your form, freezing as his eyes fell upon your arm. When you’d looked down, you’d caught blood trickling down from three irregular lesions across your bicep, the entire flesh of your upper arm red and inflamed and sore, yet in the cold of the room somehow still numb. Despite the horrified look on Taehyung’s face, and the way he’d fussed over your wound from that point onward, he was quick to dismiss it.

“You must have cut it on something when you were tripping about,” he’d said later, once you were out of the house with all your things packed away, back in the safety of the hotel room. His touch had been nothing short of tender as he cleaned and dressed the cuts that just would not stop oozing blood. Perhaps that night, is when you’d really first begun developing feelings for Taehyung. That hadn’t stopped you being secretly frustrated at his words, though. “There were a lot of sharp things down there, I’m not surprised you managed to cut yourself on one of them.”

Even as, days later, the red welts on your arm developed into bruises—long and thin, like imprints of spindly fingers that had wrapped around your arm— and the cuts didn’t heal quite as they should, Taehyung stuck with that story. He insisted on being the one to take care of the wound and still insisted you’d just bumped into something lying about down there in the basement. Once, you’d gone to tell him exactly what you’d seen and heard, but thought better of it. You’d just be annoyed when his sceptical ass tried to dismiss and rationalise it. It didn’t help that the recording you had of the experience had somehow corrupted on your phone.

Oddly enough, ever since that first house you’ve never gotten as scared, or witnessed anything quite like it. It kind of makes you wonder—did you hallucinate it? Was your brain just overactive and scared, and making you see and hear things that weren’t there? You think about it a lot, an especially every time you venture into a new location. Like now, as you’re in the entry of the church and preparing to film the introduction segment of your little vlog.

“Lot on your mind, babygirl?”

Flinching and feeling your cheeks heat as they usually do whenever Taehyung hits you playfully with that particular pet name, you break from your thoughts to send him a glare.

“Only the usual amount,” you answer, a hand coming to unconsciously rub your arm where those cuts had first appeared. They’d never quite healed as expected, didn’t scar as things usually do on your skin. Normally you heal pretty seamlessly, but those scratches had healed in three pink lines, not raised but stark on your skin. Sometimes you think you feel them ache and sting, but it’s just a phantom pain. More often than not, they’re just a bit itchy.

“Camera is ready to go, are you?” Taehyung inquires, holding up the hand-held and leaning around it to flash you a cheeky smile. He has a torch attached to his headband, and combined with the light of the torch attached to the strap over your chest and the torches attached to each camera, the entrance of the building where you stand is somewhat illuminated. It is, admittedly, in a poor state. Cement and brick are in various states of disrepair, the odd piece crumbling whenever you move past. You’re actually more worried about a part of the ceiling falling on you tonight than anything paranormal. Although, you suppose you’d developed a bit of a stronger resistance over the years. These days, as Taehyung says, your bravado is through the roof.

You hold your thumb up for him, waiting for his subsequent nod and the blinking of the light above the camera lens that tells you it’s on and running. As soon as you get the signal, you slip a smile onto your face.

“Hello and welcome to another episode of Mystery Gang; Unsolved,” you launch right into the introduction, the name of your little duo coming easier every time you say it. At this point, there’s almost no resistance at all; you’re barely embarrassed by it these days. “Today we’re here in a small town on the East Coast, and we’re investigating the abandoned and allegedly ‘haunted’ grounds of FigTree Church.”

Taehyung has a small smile on his lips as he watches you talk, something you catch as you glance down at your phone for the notes you have prepared. Awfully cheeky he is, as always.

“Now, you might be thinking—that’s quite an odd name for a church, right? Doesn’t it have an official name, something a little bit more proper? Well, no, actually.” You shift, taking a few steps to your left and bringing your arm up to gesture to the rest of the church. It’s pitch black, and you ignore the way the hairs on your arm begin to stand. “This church, nestled in the corner of FigTree Pocket and hidden away from the rest of the world, was never given a name. And when we investigated further, we found that there was never actually any record of this church in any registry or archive for this region.”

“For our research, we had to turn to the townsfolk and some ledgers hidden deep in the town library to unearth just what this church is and what happened that earned it the reputation as one of the most haunted locations on the East Coast.” You pause briefly, glancing to your notes. “As it turns out, the reason there are no records of this church and no name ever given to it, is because this church… was technically never meant to exist.”

Taehyung makes a surprised face, and you sense a question oncoming. “Allegedly, this church, built in the late 1800s, was formed in secret by a small faction that split from the branch residing in the nearby capitol. There is no consensus as to whether the original branch is Catholic or Christian, or something else, and a lot of the lore surrounding it is more hearsay than actual recorded facts. What is known for sure, though, is that this church was formed and built in secret, operating under forged papers and fostering a religion that didn’t quite fit any preconceived ideologies that were around at the time.”

“So this was, like, an extremist sort of situation? They didn’t quite agree with the workings of their original church so they went and made their own?” Taehyung speaks as soon as you leave him a gap, looking at you with intrigued eyes and a shit-eating grin from behind the camera. “Exactly what kind of things did they get up to in here that they needed the place to stay a secret?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say, referring to your notes for a brief moment before continuing. “Apparently, according to stories passed down through generations in this town and some accounts in the town history books, some pretty dark shit went down in here.”

Taehyung tilted his head, sweeping the camera over the rest of the room before centring it back on you with a shrug. “I could see it. What kind of sins are we speaking here?”

“Well, some stories are more believable than others,” you offer. “The less popular ones say that this was less of a church and more of a cannibalistic cult. Others—”

“Cannibalistic cult?!” Taehyung sputters, lowering the camera slightly so he can meet your eyes over the top of it. “Are you for real—?!”

“Yup,” you affirm, fighting a smile. “The next best one after that says that this wasn’t a real church, but a cover for a satanic cult that operated in the night time hours. Apparently they performed their rituals either in the basement, the attic, or a secret room behind the altar.”

Taehyung chortles at that, the denim jacket he has on over a dark hoodie making a loud scuffle as he slaps a hand to his stomach in his laughter. You’re glad he’s amused by what you’re saying, as usual. “This is great. I wonder whether we’ll find skulls or pentagrams.”

“I don’t know which is worse,” you admit, rolling your eyes when he laughs again. “Anyway, those are just outliers. The consensus on the history of this place is a bit of a different tale, actually. Still kind of dramatic, though.”

Taehyung hums to urge you on, gaze flicking to the side for a moment at a particularly loud chirp of a cricket. You shift where you stand, retreating closer to the wall—you don’t like the feeling of having your back to the expanse of darkness.

“From what I was able to gather, most people say this operated as a normal church for a few years. They held mass, you know, did the usual church things. The common thread that everyone mentioned, though, is kind of in line with what you said earlier. In a sense, the principles of this church were kind of extremist, and very misogynistic, moreso than you usually see from the old days. The women that were part of this church were apparently treated no better than property, in-home slaves expected to sit and be pretty, cook, clean and bear children.”

Taehyung winces, apparently noticing the unimpressed tone to your voice. “So if the ghost of one of the pastors is here, you’re gonna beat him up?”

“Maybe so,” you utter, shooting him a sly smile. “But don’t you wanna know what the big happening was? What really gave this place a name—well, I guess it didn’t give it a name, but it did give it a reputation.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, silvery strands of hair flicking from the motion of his head. “Of course, why else do you think I do these little investigations.”

“For the ghouls?” you suggest, grinning in anticipation for the face you know he’s going to make in response. He doesn’t fail to deliver, and you let out a laugh before continuing your initial spiel.

“Like I was saying, for a while this operated like a normal church. There were pastors and priests, and proceedings as normal. But before long, their operations were brought to a screeching halt.” A glance to your notes, then a somewhat nervous glance over your shoulder. “In what would unknowingly be its final year, the church was to hold a wedding. Meena Law, the daughter of two dedicated churchgoers, was to be wed on November 1st, 1899— to a man her parents chose, who was twice her age and, according to accounts of the time, quite an unsavoury character, but someone of a high standing within the church.”

“Oh yuck,” Taehyung utters, almost making you break character and smile.

“Unlike her parents, Meena wasn’t content and complicit with the rules and principles of the church. She was against the wedding from the beginning and fought it with everything she could. It was no use, however, and by the time the eve of her wedding arrived, she was desperate.”

Your thumb scrolls across your notes, and you take a breath. You’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think the air feels a little colder suddenly; you have to fight a shiver from rolling down your spine. “Here is where the stories diverge a little. One account says that what happened in this chapel was nothing but a tragic accident. As she walked up the aisle in her wedding dress and arrived at the altar to stand beside her would-be husband, the heavily embellished wrought-iron chandelier came loose above them and fell, crushing the two of them and the minister officiating the marriage—who happened to be head of the church at the time, Lui Fonset.”

“The chandelier is actually still over there on the floor, glass shards and rusty metal and all,” you supply, pointing your flashlight in the direction of the altar. You don’t like the way it gleams beneath the torchlight.

“Wait, they never cleaned it up?” Taehyung joined you in shining his torch in that direction. He let out a soft noise of interest. “They just decided that’s it? They’re gonna leave it there?”

You snort. “Actually, this incident seemed to be the beginning of the end for them. Understandably, the tragedy of three deaths within their church, their head included, was quite a blow. It took a while before they gathered themselves and attempted to fix the place up.”

Taehyung shoots you a curious if somewhat confused look. “But they didn’t…?”

You shine your torch in his face to be annoying, and he levels you with a glare. The harshness of the light makes the dark brown of his irises gleam reddish-brown. You ignore the way your neck tenses as a result.

“They didn’t,” you confirmed, “But it wasn’t for lack of trying. This church sat in disrepair for a short while, vacated and momentarily abandoned, but the remaining churchgoers returned to fix it up. No one ever managed to, though, because ever since that fatal incident, it would seem that any activities within the church walls would be met with the most unfortunate, awful luck.”

“To paraphrase an account from one of the townspeople, it was like the building had obtained a life of its own and was hellbent on fighting back against anyone that stepped on the grounds. Windows shattered right as people walked beneath them, pews fell and chunks of statues weakened at just the right times. Some people also reported hearing things, seeing things, feeling things that made them feel so uncomfortable they left and refused to return to the site.”

“Is it the ghosts of Meena and the two that died with her?” Taehyung queries, going for a quick pan of the room beyond the little entrance nook. Rotting pews lined the large space, some reduced to splinters and others weak and sagging. None were in neat order and a few of them were sprinkled with glass and stone and dust—oh, the dust.

“That’s what some say.” You shrug. “But there is another version of the events that happened here. It’s a little more interesting but since we are here tonight, I think I like it a little less.”

Your companion was curious now. “What is it?”

“The night before her wedding, Meena was desperate. So desperate, in fact, that she would have done absolutely anything to stop the marriage—and some say that, in her darkest hours that night, she was driven to do the unspeakable.” You pause, because you know that Taehyung is about to take the piss out of what you’re about to say. “Some say, that on Hallows Eve, the night before she was to be wed, Meena performed a ritual to summon a demon, and then made a deal with him to ensure that the wedding wouldn’t go through.”

Your eyes flick to Taehyung’s face but surprisingly, he doesn’t seem like he’s about to make fun of you. Instead, he seems deep in thought, staring blankly for a moment as he’s consumed by whatever is on his mind. Odd. Usually he’s well on his way to making fun of you by now. He knows you’re especially scared of demons.

“Of course, as is usually the case in stories like these, it seems that Meena wasn’t aware of the little loophole she provided,” you say, preparing to continue before Taehyung speaks suddenly and cuts you off.

“She left it too open,” Taehyung says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue. “I mean, the wedding was stopped, but at what price? Amateur.”

“Don’t insult the ghosts,” you say, more of an automated, habitual utterance than anything at this point. “And yeah, that’s how the story goes. The unfortunate nature of her death and the despair of her last moments allegedly caused her to linger, whatever soul she had left attached to this place. It’s said that the spirits of the priest and the groom are here too—different sort of entities, apparently. People report a range of weird occurrences in this building, some antagonistic and some merely… supernatural. But they’re not the only presence rumoured to be here that gives this place such a foreboding reputation.”

Taehyung’s head tilts, before his eyes light up in realisation. “Oh, the demon? But how would he be here? Aren’t they meant to be unable to enter holy places such as this?”

For some reason, you swear you detect the slightest bit of humour in Taehyung’s tone. You raise your brows at him, but answer his question anyway. “Yeah, that’s usually the case, I guess. There are a few theories as to why a demon could enter here. First, some people propose that it’s because this was never a legitimate church. Which… I think makes a bit of sense. The second theory that floats around is that when she summoned the demon, she actually did it within the church walls. I mean, I’d think that wouldn’t work, but hey, maybe it did.”

Taehyung purses his lips in thought. “Hmm, I think it could work. Maybe it’s a big boss demon.”

You roll your eyes, locking your phone and sliding it into your pocket. “If that’s the case, I don’t wanna hear about it. I don’t need to be thinking about high level demons lingering in the halls as I walk through a haunted church, thank you very much.”

Taehyung lets out a laugh, passing you your own camera. You turn to the one currently in his hold, offering a smile that you can feel has somewhat of a nervous tinge this time around.

“Alright, lets go catch some ghosts!” you cheer, feeling like you’re painting a target on your own back, as you usually do. Taehyung nods, smiling to himself as he cuts the camera for a break before you both begin recording and venturing through the church.

“I hate this,” you murmur into the sudden silence, rubbing your arms as a wash of cold air touches your skin. “Why do we always have to film at night? Late at night? In the dark and cold?”

Taehyung snorts, stepping over and slinging an arm over your shoulder somewhat distractedly as he fiddles with settings on his camera, hand rubbing your arm. The action brings out a wave of butterflies in your stomach that you don’t even bother to quell.

“Everyone knows ghouls only come out at night,” he chuckles, flicking wavy strands out of his face. “Demons too.”

You groaned, already feeling much worse than earlier about the night ahead of you. This wasn’t going to be fun in the least for you. Before you’d entered the church, the crickets in the forestry outside had been loud, almost as though they were screaming at you to leave, attempting to ward you away (maybe you’re reading a little too much into it). In here, though, you can barely hear them. Only softly, subtly; whispers of the living world outside slipping in through the broken glass and crumbling stone. In contrast, it’s very still in here—and very cold. Probably from the stone and brick. You slip your arm around Taehyung’s waist for warmth, grinning at the way he jumps and looks to you in surprise.

“Bold of you,” Taehyung wags his eyebrows. “How am I supposed to seduce the ghosts if they think I’m taken?”

“Dirty ghostfucker,” you utter, instantly annoyed enough that you don’t feel like using him for body heat anymore. You pinch his side and withdraw, turning your camera on and moving towards the large room beyond the entrance. Taehyung laughs when you stumble over a piece of rotten wood. Great.

If you don’t end up dying in here tonight, then you just might end up killing Taehyung instead.

Taehyung fires up his cameras once more, his torchlights aiding in illuminating your path as he follows behind you. Right, on with the tour you go.

a/n: pls let me know what u think and pls heart or rb if u read and liked it!!! it helps me know how many people have interacted and enjoyed it!!

masterlist | next⇥

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annhellsing · 5 years ago

Text

Beloved

notes: more fluffy sakyo content bc that comes so easily to me, wow. rating: still teen, it’s not super suggestive. pairing: sakyo furuichi / reader word count: 1,401

“It hurt,” you say.

“You have no idea,” he replies, though you didn’t insult him by phrasing it like a question.

His back is an intricate web of faded ink in beautiful colours. A pool swirls around the feet of a geisha with eyes downcast, looking at the koi fish nipping her ankles. In her open palm is a lotus flower.

For the moment, you only look. Touching seems more invasive than intimate, and this is the first time you’ve seen his tattoo.

It’s bigger than you thought it would be, following the entire length of his spine and stopping just below his neck. It’s hidden almost all the time, either by high-collared shirts or jackets. Sakyo hides it well, so well that you can’t help but wonder if he’s ashamed of it. It certainly wasn’t done recently.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know very much about the technique but it’s—” you cut yourself off, faltering while trying to imagine just how much pain it put him in.

“It takes forever and burns worse than anything, yeah,” he finishes for you, sounding nearer to amused than upset. He always seems to know when you’re walking on eggshells, and does his best to remind you that you’re safe around him.

“Yeah,” you parrot. “When did you get it?”

“I had to save up a little,” he hesitates, “but it was finished by the time I turned twenty-two.”

“Wow,” you reply. You don’t see him smirk. Sakyo’s got his face turned away from you, sitting comfortably on your unmade bed.

“It’s ancient is what you mean to say,” he teases. You shake your head.

“Shut up,” you mumble, lifting your hand just a fraction. You’ve traced the lines with your eyes, now you want a little more. “Can I touch it? Can I tough you?”

“Why not?” Sakyo replies. You smile a little, and reach out.

You’re careful. And even though the ink is nearly a decade old, he still flinches when your fingers brush his back. You start at his shoulder blade, over the swirling clouds near the corner of the design. When you feel him stiffen up, you pause.

“Sorry,” he says, “it’s just been awhile.”

“Mhm,” you say, “it’s okay, baby.”

“God,” he sighs, with as much fondness as annoyance. You shift a little closer, pressing your palm to his bare back.

He’s not as inclined to flinch this time, at least. And you carefully follow the lines of his tattoo until he’s as relaxed as before you touched him. You get a little bolder when you know that he’s ready.

“Hm,” you smile, leaning forward and putting your chest to his bare back. You’re so warm. You kiss his neck and he flinches for a different reason. “My baby, isn’t that right?”

“Uh-huh,” he says, sounding dazed. “M’yours, always.”

“I love you,” you say, your lips agonizingly close to his ear. Goosebumps bloom on the back of his neck.

“Shit, I love you so much,” he exhales. Sakyo earns your soft, beautiful laugh.

“I shouldn’t overwhelm you, I’m sorry,” you say, “I’ll be careful, I know this is new for you.”

“No, it’s okay,” he’s quick to tell you, “you don’t have to be sorry, you don’t mean any harm.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all,” you say, “whether or not I mean to.”

“You couldn’t,” he replies, “just-- do what you want, whatever you want. If you’re the one doing it, then I like it.”

“You’re sweet,” you say. You kiss where his neck meets his jaw, feeling him shiver under your lips.

You move your hands slowly over his shoulders, still keeping your mouth close enough to his neck to kiss. Gently, you let your fingers wander over his muscles.

“Stop me if it hurts,” you say, “or for any other reason.”

“Okay,” he replies. He sounds sure of himself, it gives you the confidence you need to continue your downward exploration.

Your hands wander over his shoulder blades and down his back. He’s distracted from it every so often by a soft, warm kiss pressed to the back of his neck. Sakyo waits for you to bite, or to sink your nails into his skin. It’s a reflex, but it never happens. Slowly, his shoulders relax again. He takes deeper breaths.

Far too soon, you pull away. But you’re just looking at the design again, tracing your finger over the ridge of his spine.

“You know, Sakyo—” you start.

“Huh? What?” he cuts you off, he’s not quite sure why. He misses your weight at his back, perhaps.

“She really is beautiful,” you say, your finger tracing the geisha’s left eye.

“I—” he can’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t know how. His tattoo cost more than it was worth, it serves as a permanent reminder that it’s too late to walk away from his past. Sakyo thought it was beautiful, once, but that was before he knew what it meant to have it be part of him.

“I mean it, she is,” you say. And he believes you. For whatever reason, you do think it’s pretty.

“I picked it ‘cause of my mother,” he admits with a heavy sigh. He glances over his shoulder. “It just— a samurai or an oni felt weird. I was working for her. It’s always been for her.”

“Does she know about this?” you ask.

“No, I haven’t shown it to anyone,” he replies.

“Nobody?” you continue, sidestepping his air of finality. You’ve found his stories very rarely end just because he wants them to.

“Not on purpose,” he says. You nod.

You slip your arms around him again, folding your hands over his chest and hugging him from behind. You know what you’ll find there, you’re more used to the thin-raised lines on his chest. Old wounds that have long-since healed, leaving old marks.

“And the scars?” you try. You press your cheek to his shoulder.

“She doesn’t nag me too much about them. Probably because they’re hard for her to look at,” he says. You click your tongue like you disapprove.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” you say. Sakyo shrugs, though he’s careful not to disturb your hold on him.

“Keeps me humble,” he replies, so nonchalant as to be worrying.

“They’re not hard for me to look at,” you say, but there’s no edge in your voice. Just sincerity, just the truth.

“Really, now?” he asks, caught off-guard by how easily you disagreed.

“Yes, really,” you sigh. “It’s your skin, baby. It’s skin that’s done it’s job and healed. That couldn’t be ugly.”

“You’re sappier than Arisugawa,” he teases, sounding long-suffering but still touched.

“That’s love,” you shrug this time.

“I guess so,” he says.

“Turn a little, let me kiss you,” you continue, your hand on his shoulder urging him to listen.

He shifts, with no urge to resist when you want to lead him. It feels right, moving to face you so that you can pull him against your chest. With his tattoo no longer the focus, Sakyo feels less exposed.

You kiss him as you promised, holding the back of his head and keeping him close. It’s deeper than before, your teeth touch his lower lip and Sakyo still gets goosebumps when you carefully bite down. It doesn’t hurt, not even a bit. You do it because you know he likes that.

When you break from him to breathe, you’re smiling. Your hand comes to rest on his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his mouth to wipe away your lipstick. He’s lost in the way you look at him, with so much love it could stop his heart. What else can he do but smile too?

You hug him when his lips are mostly clean. Your palm presses to his mid-back, rubbing slow circles. He feels a little less strange about baring this part of himself to you, at the very least.

“Mm, that feels nice,” he speaks up. You’re surprised he’d admit something like that.

“Yeah? Come here,” you tell him, deciding to push your luck and move him where you want him again. You lie back on your bed, pulling him with you until he’s cuddled on your chest. Your heartbeat is loud and comforting. “There we go.”

“Next time, I’ll be the one holding you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“Sure, if I let you,” you smile at him.

#sakyo furuichi #sakyo furuichi x reader #furuichi sakyo #a3!#a3! sakyo #sakyo x reader #sakyo x mc #anniewrites #have u heard that i love him #also his tat is 100000% my hc i did my best with what i think he would have but iiiiidk

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1988hc · 4 years ago

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bright-eyed | 1988 | explicit | 1,988 words

Jonny’s asleep and Pat’s giving him a special gift.

warning: this fic contains rimming, butt plug tails, some conflicted feelings about them, and consensual somnophilia. if that’s not your jam, please don’t read.

Jonny’s asleep. Completely conked out on the bed, dead to the world, face smushed into the mattress. It’s kind of cute. But also kind of hot, because Patrick’s never been able to look at Jonny’s naked body and not want all up in that. Nevermind that he was just that not a few hours ago.

He smirks at the thought, shifting the covers that have mostly slipped off aside a little more, until he can see the full, lush curve of Jonny’s butt. It always takes Jonny a bit, a certain amount of build-up until he’s comfortable letting Patrick close to his ass. Always a piece of work, Jonny. But fuck was it worth it when Pat finally got the go-ahead to bury his face in there, breathing in the musky scent, when he was finally allowed to run his tongue over the soft skin, usually hidden from the world and all the more sensitive for it.

Once Jonny was over that hump, once Patrick’s managed to push past his hang-ups and defenses, it was a sight to behold. Jonny always got vocal, pushing his ass against Patrick’s tongue, arching his back, fingers gripping at Patrick, pulling, moaning loudly, demanding to be dicked down. Pat happily complied.

He shifts, chubbing up a little just from the memories of Jonny clenching around him. Being inside Jonny, sliding his dick in that sweet, sweet ass was like the best feeling in the world. Even if it was a wild ride, Jonny bucking and snarling beneath him, like one of those fake rodeo things Pat had to fight to stay on top.

He grabs the plug, smooth black silicone. Jonny’s skin is warm to the touch, always running hot, and he barely shifts when Pat holds his cheeks open with one hand. Jonny’s still loose, all fucked-out and greedy for more, pushing back when Pat runs the lubed up plug over the tight dark furl of his hole.

For a second Pat thinks about tossing the plug aside and getting in there, finding out how far he could push his tongue into Jonny all loose and sloppy like this, make Jonny come a third time tonight on nothing but Pat’s tongue and fingers this time. It’s fucking tempting, but Pat’s not sure he’s got the stamina for it. They just finished a four day three game homestand, earning themselves two whole days off for their trouble, and Pat’s about ready to pull a Jonny and pass out. They can always pick up where they left off tomorrow.

The toy slips inside Jonny with a minimum of teasing. Jonny breathes out, almost like a sigh, like he’s happy it’s in, keeping him open, keeping Pat’s come securely inside. Pat gives in to one of his sappier urges and presses a kiss to Jonny’s ass cheek, before pulling the sheets up over them both.

***

Jonny wakes up slowly, like he’s underwater and has to fight to reach the surface, his brain still foggy and sluggish. He’s in bed, at home, Pat snoring softly beside him, but something… His whole body feels the kind of sore it does after an intense workout and he stretches, careful not to accidentally kick Patrick and wake him up. He still feels full, like he can still feel the ghost of Pat’s dick, snug against his prostate. Pat had nailed him pretty good last night. But something doesn’t quite track.

There’s something tucked against Jonny’s hip, the feeling different from the blanket, soft and slightly ticklish. He reaches down, even as his brain is frantically fitting the puzzle pieces together, all of it resolving into… His fingers confirm what his mind pieced together just a split-second before.

That’s his tail.

It’s… Jonny clenches his ass, the heavy feeling inside him suddenly making sense as the soft fur of the tail twitches against his thigh. Fuck. He’s wearing his tail.

He can feel the flush creeping up his neck, even though there’s nobody here to see, nobody but Patrick, who’s still sound asleep. Sometime last night Patrick must have gotten it out and slipped it inside Jonny. Just the thought of Patrick going to Jonny’s closet, knowing exactly where to look, slipping out Jonny’s tail from its box, it’s… So much. He can’t fathom Pat’s face as he was carrying it into the bedroom. Did he hold it by the plug, the tail swaying gently with every step? Or did he grip it tight, sinking his fingers between the soft strands? Did he think about what Jonny would look like wearing it?

Jonny squirms, something sharply tugging at his navel from the inside at those thoughts.

He knows Pat’s not… Pat doesn’t get weird over the tail like Jonny does, doesn’t feel the same hot stab of desire at the thought of Jonny wearing it. It’s not his kink. That’s fine.

Jonny’s always known he’s a freak.

Pat’s cool, had even asked him about it, if Jonny would mind Pat touching it, and Jonny had waved him off, giving Pat blanket permission to get it out whenever. He just figured Pat wouldn’t want to, much less combine it with Jonny’s standing invitation to fuck Jon in his sleep, because they both loved it when Jonny woke up to Pat’s dick so deeply in his ass he felt like he was choking on it, had woken up more than once to Pat gently suckling on his dick. Just never… it never crossed Jonny’s mind as something that he could have, that he might ask for.

His face feels like it’s on fire, the shame and guilt mixing heavy in his gut. He can’t even tell what he’s more embarrassed about, how much he likes wearing it (even if it makes him such a freak, god, he can’t even explain why he likes it so much), or the idea of Pat sliding it into Jonny while he was out cold. It shouldn’t turn him on. He shouldn’t get hard over this. He should just take it out, put it away again before Pat wakes up. The thought sends a wave of dread through him.

Jonny doesn’t want to take it out. He just got it. Pat gave it to him. That means he’s fine with Jonny wearing it, right? But he shouldn’t… Jonny shouldn’t, like, stretch it. Pat was good enough to put it in him, that doesn’t mean he wants to watch Jonny get off on it. Maybe he can lock himself in the bathroom, jerk one out quickly and then put it away again.

He runs his fingers over the soft material, the dark red fur still one of the softest things he owns. Shit, he loves it so much. He’d agonized over it for weeks, browsing the web late at night, pouring over artisan websites and Etsy shops. There’d been so many, so many different varieties to choose from. It’d been overwhelming, almost, clicking through picture after picture, of the most beautiful tails, handcrafted, in all colors of the rainbow. He’d immediately gravitated towards the more natural ones, even though the bright white one with the softest candy cotton rainbow stripes had made him stop and stare for a good while. It was too flashy, though. Not something Jonny could envision ever having the guts to wear, even if it was insanely pretty.

He’d clicked through image after image of cat tails, wolf tails, tiny stubby bunny tufts, extra long ones that would almost hit the ground if Jonny was standing, long enough to wrap around his middle. There’d been two-color ones, spotted ones, a beautiful dark grey one with a white tip that Jonny had dithered over for the longest time. In the end, though, he’d chosen the most beautiful fox tail, one that claimed to be extra fluffy. He’d liked the bushiness of it, the color a burnt orange speckled with darker hairs throughout, attached to a sleek black silicone plug.

Fuck, he loves his tail.

He realizes he’s been running his hand over it, stroking down the length of it, unable not to touch it. His beautiful tail. The day it’d arrived in the mail, Jonny’s heart had been beating in his throat, fingers shaking as he’d carefully opened first the package, and then the storage box it was wrapped in. It had lain like that, open and unwrapped on Jonny’s bedroom dresser for the better part of a week before Jonny had finally worked up the nerve to try it on. He’d allowed himself two glasses of red wine with dinner and then locked the door to his bedroom even though he was alone in his apartment, feeling equal parts ridiculous and excited.

It has lost nothing of its appeal.

***

Pat smiles, watching Jonny fawn over his tail, so absorbed by it he hasn’t yet looked up to catch Pat watching.

“Morning, babe.”

Jonny’s eyes snap up immediately, and Pat has to bite his lip not to laugh at the deer caught in headlights look on Jonny’s face. A second later that look’s gone, though, replaced by wariness, an unease that Pat never meant to put there. Maybe he should’ve feigned sleep, let Jonny have his moment in peace. Nothing for it now.

“Someone woke up bushy-tailed,” he quips, trying to lighten the mood.

“I--” Jonny’s mouth is working, lips shaping words that never come.

Pat’s heart sinks, watching Jonny struggle.

Truthfully, he doesn’t get it, the whole tail thing. Jonny doesn’t like talking about it, clamming up every time Pat’d tried, even though it’s painfully clear how much Jonny adores it. So Pat’s got no idea what it is about the tail that turns Jonny on so much. He doesn’t need to know. If that tail turns Jonny’s crank (and boy, does it ever), then Pat’s content to stay right here, fiddling with the dials.

He shifts closer, closing the gap between them, until he can pull Jonny in enough to press a kiss to his bottom lip, catching it between his teeth. Jonny whimpers, hand catching in the fabric of Pat’s shirt, pulling, stretching out the collar. Pat kisses him deeper.

“You gonna show me, baby?” he whispers, lips moving over Jonny’s, pressing the words right into his skin. “Show me how hot you are with that pretty tail between your legs?”

Jonny makes another noise, choked-off and desperate. Sounding way too wrecked already. “Pat.”

“Yeah, babe. I’m right here.” He pulls Jonny closer, rolls them over until Jonny’s on top of him, knees on either side of Patrick’s hips, weight settled on his thighs. “Touch yourself. Wanna see.”

Jonny’s breathing gone ragged, face bright red, but he does as Patrick’s requested, wrapping a tight fist around his dick. Pat feels like he could get drunk on this, on Jonny’s pleasure, the rhythmic clenching of his thighs as he works his hips, squirming, like he doesn’t quite want to but can’t help himself, falling prey to his own desire.

Fuck. Pat’s gonna buy him all the tails in the world.

“You gonna come for me?” Pat asks, feeling a bit mad himself, reaching around Jonny’s hip, behind his back where Pat can’t see, but he can feel it, right there between their legs. Giving Jonny’s tail a sharp little tug, enough to move the plug inside.

“Aaaah.” Jonny clenches up, whole body going taught, eyes screwed shut as his fist flies over his cock, and fuck, yeah, just like that.

“Fuck, yeah, babe, c’mon, c’mon,” Pat chants, pressing on the plug, pushing it deeper inside Jonny, where Pat’s come’s still in him from last night. God.

Jonny comes with a shout, hard enough that doesn’t manage to catch everything in his fist.

***

“You get any come on my tail and I’ll fucking kill you, Pat.”

***

“You ready to take it out yet, babe?”

“.... no.”

“Uh, you planning on putting on any pants?”

“... no?”

“Well then, I guess we can leave it in.”

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comicgeekscomicgeek · 4 years ago

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Their Hero Academia – Chapter 74: 10 Short Films about 1-A

Presenting the next installment of my on-going, nextgen, MHA fic! Earlier chapters can be found here

“What’re you watching, dork?”

Toshi looked up from his desk to see his sister, Hana, standing in the doorway. “Oh, just a video Shota sent over. He wanted to know what I thought. It’s Sequoia Rose and Kestrel fighting some of the Sons of Stain… Looks like they were planning some kind of raid on the local Agencies before they routed them out.”

It was a pretty impressive fight. But the Sons of Stain were no joke; they were followers of the late Hero Killer, who still believed Hero Society was corrupt and worked to bring it down. There was something very satisfying about seeing them get beaten.

Hana rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how you can just watch all that stuff in your free time. Dad’s a Hero. Mom’s a Hero. More than half the adults we know are Heroes. You’re studying to be a Hero and so are all your friends! Don’t you get tired of it?”

“No?” he tried. “It’s just all… so cool! Besides, Rose and Kestrel are still pretty young! There’s a good chance I might get to work with them someday, so it helps to know about…” She rolled her eyes again and Toshi trailed off.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“You know,” he said, “just because you pretend you’re too cool for this kind of stuff doesn’t make you cool. We used to watch videos together with Dad! You used to run around in a Froppy onesie!”

Hana looked him dead in the eyes. “Meh.” He actually felt a chill go down his spine, but pressed on.

“Oh, come on! You wanted to be a Hero when you were little! What changed, Hanners? Your Quirk’s way stronger than Grandma’s! It’d be perfect for Hero work!”

“Maybe I don’t want to spend my life beating people up, dork! You ever think of that?” Hana looked annoyed. He’d known for a while now her interest in Heroes or in being one had been waning, but her disinterest seemed to have picked up speed since she became a teenager. She did want to be a doctor, which was still helping people, but…

“But you could be a Rescue Hero, like Mom! Or a Medical Hero, like Aunt Eri! Your Quirk would be great for that! You could move rubble or people, maybe even help with injuries....”

Hana pointed at him and he felt a slight shove in his chest, nearly knocking him out of his chair. “Tosh,” she said. “Let it go. Not everybody wants that life.”

“Even with a punch like that…” Toshi began, but the fire in her eyes silenced him. “Okay, okay. I’ll let it go.” He smiled. “You know we’ll all be proud of you, no matter what you do, right?”

There was another eyeroll. “Could you be any sappier? I’m surprised you aren’t crying.”

“I don’t cry that much!”

“Suuuure….”

“But you know, though,” he said, “Aunt Eri and Katsuma got through med school way faster with way less debt…”

***

“You’re what?” Katsumi growled, staring at Dad.

Dad looked up from where he was packing his suitcase. “Going to the Training Camp,” he said. “The other teachers think it’ll be a good idea if I go and get an idea of what you kids can do.”

She threw up her hands in irritation. “And you were planning on telling me this when?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t find out until a couple days ago.” He’d been commuting back and forth to U.A. a lot lately, getting things set up so he could start teaching the next term. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that or how she felt about having him around and in her space that often. “And I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Scratch that. She was relieved to still have him around after his injuries. But she still wasn’t sure how she felt about him being their teacher. Aunt Itsuka was a homeroom teacher, not a subject teacher, so it probably wasn’t as bad for Kana as this would be, but maybe she’d talk to her and see how she dealt with it.

She crossed her arms. “So you’re leaving Tai alone with Papa to eat take out the whole time we’re gone?”

He gave her a look. “I’m not that dumb. Tsukushi’s given them a standing invitation to dinner while we’re gone. She’ll make sure they’re fed.”

Leaving Papa and her little brother to the Monomas? Dad was desperate. Well, Papa and Tsukushi got along. And Tai loved Takeru. It was really only Dad and the elder Monoma who fought, usually over stupid stuff like hedges and an ever escalating “niceness” war that probably wouldn’t end even when they moved.

“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “I’ll give you your space. I’m not going to be looking over your shoulder the whole time or anything.”

She held his gaze, then shrugged. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide anyway. It was just the principle of the thing. “Yeah, all right.”

He grinned after that. “Don’t think I’m going to go easy on any of you, though.”

“Wasn’t asking you to.”

“Not even Izumi.”

The words caught in her throat. She could handle All Might pushing them. His jocular demeanor meant that even when he was driving them the hardest, it was hard to get mad at him. Even Aizawa’s pushing was a serious, focused thing.

Dad would push as hard of any of them, probably harder. It was, she admitted, what they all needed, how nuts things were right now. He’d force them to go beyond their limits, because he knew no other way.

Could she handle seeing her best friend pushed like that? She’d been trying hard to let Izzy face her own challenges and not step in immediately to protect her. Even since the Sports Festival, she’d been more acutely aware of how Izzy could take care of herself. Dad knew that about her.

“She’ll appreciate that.” She’d have to try and do the same.

***

KA-BOOM!

The device exploded, leaving a large scorch mark on the opposite wall of the testing range. Automated systems activated, with arms extending from the wall and spaying fire-suppressant foam over the flames. Later, a cleaning robot would emerge and take care of the mess.

Flipping up her protective mask, Mother let out a laugh. “Aw, I thought for sure that baby was going to work! But didja see the size of that explosion! Wowee!”

Sora joined her in the laugh. “Most spectacular!” she agreed. “Perhaps we should adjust the fuel to power ratio by twenty-percent for the next version?”

Her brother shook his head. “If we are intended to make a rocket-propelled gauntlet for our costumes, then we will require sufficient force to do any damage. Better to reinforce the material to survive the forces involved.”

He was incorrect about that. “Material strength will only go so far,” she told him. “And reinforcing the material will add additional weight, which will diminish speed.”

The incorrectness persisted. “Incorrect,” he said. “The advancements being made with lightweight alloys should prove sufficient to…”

Both of them frowned, then turned to face Mother. At the same time, they began, “Mother tell him/her that I am correct!”

Mother let out another laugh. “Babies, babies, babies,” she said. “I think it’s adorable when you have a science fight. And as much I’d love to weigh in on this one…” The clock on her design desk chirped with an alarm. It was loud, shrill, and impossible to ignore. Father had insisted on her having one like that. It would even trigger back-up alarms if not silenced with the correct passcode. It was ultimately necessary to allow Mother proper time-keeping.

She silenced the alarm. “I promised your father I would have you both in one place so he could talk to you.”

At that, the door to the lab snapped open and Father walked in. He had his projector laptop under one arm. Sora looked at Tensei nervously. It was rarely a good sign when he brought that out. It would mean he had a topic for discussion that he considered important enough to require slides.

Father regarded them seriously and set his laptop up. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “As you know, you will be leaving on Monday for the two week Training Camp. While I trust Aizawa and your other chaperones to maintain order, I also still remember the third year camp my own class undertook. Denki and Kyoka were somehow able to sneak away to go skinny-dipping. The resultant pregnancy scare that resulted a few weeks later is not something I wish to see repeated with either of you or your class.”

Tensei brought a hand up. “Father, seeing as how Takuma and I are both male, that would be a highly unlikely outcome, should we choose to engage in such behavior.” He went a bit red. “Even though we will not. May I be excused from this discussion? It seems as though it would be better focused on Sora.”

The traitor! She made a mental note to hide his soldering kit later.

Mother, however, just shook her head. “Let him have this. He spent all of his last day off making these slides. I tried to distract him, but he resisted my feminine wiles.”

“Mei!” Father erupted. “That is not an appropriate thing to say!”

“I thought it tied right in, Tenny.”

Father went a bit red, as he often did when Mother teased him. “Regardless,” he said, “as you are both now in relationships, I feel this next stage of talks to be highly necessary.”

The presentation projected from the laptop’s holograph lens began with Relationships: How to Make Smart Decisions That Will Ensure a Successful Future for You and Your Partner. Looking carefully, she could see the slide was numbered as one of one hundred fifty.

It was going to be one of those presentations then. Father certainly did love to lecture. Takuma, she understood, but how could he not trust Toshi?

“Perhaps we should be taking notes?” Sora ventured. “But I believe I left pen and paper in my room. I should go and get them!”

“As should I!” Tensei agreed quickly.

Father seemed to be searching their faces for signs of deception, but nodded. “Very well,” he said. “Ten minutes, then we will begin!”

More than enough time. She ran out of the lab as fast as her legs would carry her, Tensei hot on her heels.

***

Carefully, Kimiko closed her suitcase. She had enough clothes to get her through the Training Camp and a few of the medical textbooks Doctor Izumi had provided her with. According to Doctor Izumi, since she was progressing well with her studies, she’d be able to receive additional medical training at the camp. The studying was often long and arduous and cut into her gossip-wrangling time, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t also rewarding. It was an application of her Quirk that didn’t involve sneaking around, didn’t make being invisible the be-all and end all of what she was.

There was a knock on her door. “Come in, Daddy,” she said.

Her door slid open as Daddy padded inside. He smiled. “How’d you know it was me, ‘miko?” As always, he was able to look her right in the eyes, something almost no one else could. Even Kenta had trouble with it sometimes.

“Pretty distinctive knock,” she told him.

Daddy smiled again. “You’re getting good at observing,” he said. He nodded towards the shelf where some of her medical books still were. “You’re getting good at lots of things.”

“Oh, Daddy,” she said. “You’re going to make me blush!”

He chuckled at that. “You’ve got everything you need? Sunscreen? Extra changes of clothes? Reflectors?”

“Yes, yes, yes, …wait, no!” Kimiko ran to her dresser and pulled out her reflective headband, armbands, and gloves. They were useful when she was going places in the dark, otherwise it was very hard to see just her clothing. They stood out when she couldn’t.

She stashed them in her suitcase. “Whew! You’re a lifesaver, Daddy!” She threw her arms around him in a hug.

“Offf!” Daddy grunted, returning the hug. “I still need to breathe, ‘miko!”

She let go, but gave him an affectionate punch on the arm. “Oh, Daddy!”

“Smart, pretty as your mother, and a heck of a right hook,” Daddy said, beaming. “No wonder you’re going to make a great Hero.”

“Daaaaaddy!” she wailed, arms flailing. “You’re too much!”

“I’m just telling the truth.”

He always did believe in her. When she’d told her parents she wanted to be a Medical Hero, get her paramedic’s license, they’d both been supportive, but Mom had been more cautious, telling her about all the hard work that would be involved. But Daddy, Daddy had immediately thrown his full support behind her.

She gave him another hug. “Thank you.”

After the hug, he crossed his arms. “Now, you’re going to behave yourself on this trip?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“You’re going to pay attention to Aizawa and the other teachers?”

“Of course, Daddy!”

“Not going to hit your friends too much?”

“…I’ll try, Daddy!”

“Not going to spend the whole time shipping your classmates and friends? Or trying to arrange a ‘summer romance?’”

“…I’m only human, Daddy.”

“’miko…” he began, a chastising tone in his voice.

“Fine,” she said, stomping her foot. “I’ll try and keep it to a minimum.”

“That’s all I ask.”

***

Shopping in the upscale boutique, Takiyo reached for the designer shirt. Another hand did so at the same time. Wrapping his glowing fingers around one side of the hanger, he tried to take it. But the other hand, ending in sharp looking claws, wrapped around the other side and tugged too.

He looked to his right and shot them a glare, finding a boy his age, with a mane of purple hair and a feline-ish cast to his face. He was very pretty, with a style that suggested the kind of trying too hard to look like he wasn’t trying hard to look that good. “Pardon,” Takiyo said, “I had it first.”

“Oh, please,” the boy said. “I saw it first. It’ll look better on me anyway.”

Takiyo wondered if he could distract the boy by using his Quirk like a laser-pointer, but he doubted he was cat-like enough for that. “There must be something wrong with your eyes if you think that’s true.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, his yellow, vertically-pupiled eyes moving quickly. He tapped a finger against his chin. “U.A. student, right? First year? I do remember seeing a glowing boy during the Sports Festival.”

Takiyo’s thoughts darkened at that. He hadn’t stood out nearly as much as he would have liked and he was certain he’d only ended up on an Internship with Cellophane because the class’s parents had arranged for no one to be left out. Still, if he had made enough of an impression for someone else to remember, even someone infuriating…

He put his free hand on his hip. “If you remember me, then you should remember how stunning I am.” He almost regretted his words. He had told Koda he was trying to be nicer to people. She would be disappointed in him and he hated to think of that. He could already see her disappointed face in his mind…

The boy shook his head, sending his mane waving in what had to be a practiced motion. “You keep telling yourself that.” He snapped his fingers, then licked his lips. “Now the boy who took first… that’s a different story. Though my friend was rather partial to the girl who took second. But nobody was talking about you, honey.”

Neither of them had let go of the shirt in the meantime. It was the last one left in that color and style and he was not backing down. “Regardless,” Takiyo said, “none of it changes the fact that I had my hand on this first. It’s mine.”

The cat-boy laughed, but did release his grip on the shirt. “I suppose it’s the duty of the pretty to do everything they can to help the less fortunate. And you, my friend, need a lot of help.”

Takiyo gritted his teeth, feeling his glow intensify for a moment. “Must you be so infuriating?” he demanded.

The boy laughed as he walked away. “Oh, you’ll see just how infuriating I can be, honey.”

What did that mean?

***

“Up! Up!”

Takuma looked down to see his little sister, Moji, tugging at his pant leg. She looked a lot like a miniature version of Mom, with pinkish skin and horns, topped by dark, fluffy hair. At only two, she didn’t have a Quirk yet, but he was sure it would be trouble, whatever it was.

With a grunt, he bent down and picked her up. She wrapped her arms around him and he planted a kiss on top of her head, causing her to giggle. “Did you come to see your favorite big brother? Or did you just want a snack?”

She gave this serious consideration. “Snack!”

Takuma laughed and shifted her so he was only holding her with one arm. “Okay, hang on, I think we’ve got goldfish crackers around here somewhere… Assuming Mom hasn’t eaten them all.” At four months pregnant with twins (Or as Dad like to refer to them, “Players to be named later.”), Mom had developed a lot of cravings.

“Snack?” Moji repeated, more insistently. She had a bit of a one track mind sometimes.

“I’m getting it,” Takuma told her, finding the small serving pouches. He set her down, ripped the top off, and handed it to her.

“Snack!” Moji said again. “Thank you!” Her cravings satisfied, she walked off, leaving him alone in the kitchen. She dodged around Mom as they passed each other in the doorway.

“Hard to believe you used to try and sell your brothers,” she said.

“In my defense, Kenta really wanted a brother. He would have liked Yamato.”

“You’re not going to try and sell the twins, are you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’ll be out of the house by the time they’re old enough to be trouble.”

“You will, won’t you?” Mom asked. “Hard to believe you’re almost sixteen. I must have done something right. Tsu and Momo were so worried when I had you! They were afraid I’d leave you at the park or something! As if! That only happened two times.”

“Three,” he corrected. “It was raining.”

“Meh, who’s counting.” She crossed the room and pulled a container of ice cream from the freezer. Mom grabbed a spoon and proceeded to eat directly from it. She gestured with her spoon. “So how’s things going with you and Tensei? Good? Tell me it’s good. In-Laws with the Iidas? Mama’s gonna have a nice retirement! You know, Training Camps are great for cementing relationships…”

Takuma felt himself flushing a deep purple. “Nope, nope, nope, not having this conversation!”

Mom cackled at his discomfort. “Oh, come on. You can’t possibly be traumatized by this. Your dad and I have always been very frank about sex.”

Too frank, really. And with four siblings and two on the way, too often too. “Nope, nope, can’t talk, gotta go upload my last video!”

Not entirely a lie; he wouldn’t be able to upload anything while at the camp. Two weeks without external validation from strangers? He was gonna die!

***

The Anivoice Agency was not a large organization, but the building was significant. This was because the ground floor contained an animal rehabilitation center. Most of the animals had been seized from trafficking operations. Father was frequently called upon to rehabilitate the animals before they were returned to the wild.

While there were employees charged with caring for the animals, Father also liked to spend time with them. Akaya had many memories of helping and was accompanying him today.

They paused before a large enclosure holding a gigantic beast, combining the features of many animals. “How are you, Manny?” Father asked. “Feel like talking? No? Okay, let me know if you do…”

Manticore made a soft rumble. He had been in Father’s care for ten years and was barely closer to regaining his humanity than he’d been the day he arrived. Yet Father tried.

Father turned to her. “Looking forward to the Camp?” With other people, Father often had trouble finding his words, but never with her or her mother and brother.

What could she tell him? That the words that had shattered her during her Internship still haunted her? That her classmates were all finding themselves in relationships, while no one had expressed any interest in her? That she was certain that no one would look upon her with romantic eyes?

“I am,” she said. Not entirely a lie. She could throw herself into being a Hero. And there would be plenty of time to spend with her friends. It did not do to devote oneself entirely to romantic pursuits. Father and Mother had not even begun dating until they had graduated.

She had time. She could tell herself that.

“I’m glad.” Father was also not one to push, preferring instead to simply listen.

Her faith taught her honesty…

“I’m not,” she said. “I haven’t felt truly glad for a long time.”

“I know,” he said. “We were worried you would never tell us.”

“You knew?” she asked.

“You’re like me, easy to read,” he said. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It began during my Internship.” She told him all that had happened.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” he said. She could tell he was pushing down anger on her behalf. “The world’s filled with too many people filled with hate. But love wins.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It did for me. For Grandma. For her father. Our skin is stone, but our heart still feels. We’ve all felt it. You’ve already braver than I was at your age. Stronger too. I know someone will see you for the amazing person you are.”

“Would that I could be so certain.”

“It will get easier. Someone will see you and just go ‘wow.’”

“Do you truly think so?”

“I know it.”

She wished she could believe it so easily. Something about the way Father said it made it sound possible. “Okay.”

For a moment, the world was all right. Manticore cooed encouragingly. “Thank you, Manny,” she said.

***

“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Daisuke said, sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea. Mom sat across from him, likewise drinking tea, a nervous look upon her face. Dad was at work.

Mom was a tiny woman, dark-haired and serious. She had an arm-stretching Quirk and had been a graduate of U.A.’s General Education program. She worked in finance, well away from the world of Heroes. And she was worried. It didn’t show on her face, but he could tell by the subtle way her teacup shook in her hands, the way her arms kept ever so slightly lengthening and then retracting to their normal length, the way she was blinking too much, her breaths quick and shallow.

“The first time your dad went away to a training camp,” Mom said, setting her cup down, he lost a hand, most of his classmates were injured, Bakugo was kidnapped, and Fumikage almost was too.”

“The hand…”

“And don’t say the hand grew back!”

“…Yes, Mom.”

Mom frowned. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m not like Tsu or all the other spouses. I’m not a Hero. I worry enough about your dad when he’s out there. Haru gets it, Mei a little, but… I remember how worried I was when the news broke about what happened at the Training Camp… I don’t think I slept a wink until he called.”

“It’s not going to be like that,” he told her. “One, there’s no Villains after us. Two, even if there were, Tokoyami’s Quirk isn’t like her dad’s and wouldn’t go berserk no matter what else happened. And three, anyone who kidnapped Kirishima-Bakugo would return her within the hour.” No offense meant to his explosive classmate, but she would be far more trouble to kidnap than anyone would want to deal with.

Mom frowned at that. “I know. Just promise me you’ll be careful, all right? Even with your teachers watching out for you, you’re going to be out in the middle of nowhere. If somebody gets hurt…”

Mom worried a lot. It was easy to forget sometimes, how many people didn’t have powerful Quirks, how many people weren’t Heroes. At U.A., it was a bit of an insular bubble for his class, the children of so many Heroes who’d not only grown up as friends, but were all concentrated in one place. People like his mom had to worry more about Villain attacks, about who would help if something went wrong, about who would get hurt.

His Quirk and his strength made him a frontline fighter and a brawler. She would worry about him getting hurt no matter what. But how could he not put his skills to use? His Extendo-Arms might not have been as flashy as the majority of his classmates’ Quirks, but he had the right skills and the right Quirk to be the right person for someone who needed a Hero. He didn’t seek fame or glory. He just wanted to help. It was enough.

“I promise, Mom,” he said.

***

“Can we have Mighty Burger for dinner?” Taki asked. Asuka’s dark-haired younger brother was the only one in the family to look entirely human. Though the eleven year old’s shadow never quite seemed to match his movements.

“Yeah!” Nanami added. Her nine year old sister’s wings flapped furiously, though not quite enough to get her off the ground.

“That would be good,” Asahi said. Her frog-faced brother, all of thirteen, had not picked up the moodiness that some teens seemed to. If anything, he was too well-behaved.

With Mom at sea and Dad at work, it was left to her to manage her younger siblings. Normally, Asahi would be in charge since she’d started UA, but as long as she was there, she was drafted into the role of caretaker. Not that she minded. She had already done so before attending U.A and had been doing so for much of the Summer break. They’d spent much of the afternoon at the library, so that Nanami could check out books and so that Asahi could begin to do research for a project he would have in his next school term, and were now walking home.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Mighty Burger!” Taki insisted.

“Mighty Burger!” Nanami said.

“Mighty Burger!” Even Asahi was joining in now.

Asuka felt the familiar sensation of Frog-Shadow leaving her body. “Mighty Burger!” Frog-Shadow insisted, joining in the now repetitious chorus of wanting to get take out.

“We have food at home,” she said firmly, using the same tone of voice her mom used to manage them. “I’m making pasta for dinner.”

Frog-Shadow zipped and around and hovered right in front of her beak, eyes wide and pleading. “Pleeeeeease,” her familiar begged. “They’ve got Hero Babies toys in the kids’ meals! I wanna get Baby Ground Zero before they discontinue it!”

“…Why do you know any of that?” Asuka demanded.

“Because Toshi told you about it and I know everything you know.”

Asuka squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Ever since she had almost lost her, she had made a greater effort to include Frog-Shadow, allowing her to roam freely and speak to her more often. It had, by and large, been going quite well. Being included more often had tamed some of her childish impulses, though it seemed that it was still an uphill battle.

“I’m pretty sure you’re outvoted, Asuka.” Taki said. The shadows around him rippled a bit.

Asahi just laughed, a low, croaking sound that flared his throat pouch. “Hey now, Mom and Dad left her in charge. If she says we’re having pasta, then we’re having pasta.”

There were now four pairs of eyes staring at her. She should be strong. She should be tough. She was the responsible adult here. If she could wrangle her classmates as Vice-Representative, then she should certainly be able to handle her family as eldest child.

And perhaps if she flapped her arms hard enough, she could learn to fly without Frog-Shadow.

“Fine. Mighty Burger!”

***

“Hi! Welcome to the Nice Guy Convenience Store! Let me know if you need help with anything!” Isamu said to the customer who had just entered. Ever since he’d returned from I-Island—and he still couldn’t believe everything he’d become privy to during that time—he’d been working in his dad’s store, pitching in where he could. It was nice and normal and grounding. The woman grunted and nodded in acknowledgement.

Weird. The dark-haired woman looked familiar. Where had he seen her before? That was going to bug him until he figured it out. She headed to the back to pick up a handful of ready-made frozen meals and a six pack of energy drinks.

The woman seemed to be eyeing him as well when she returned to the front. As he was ringing her up, she asked, “U.A. kid, right? One of Eraserhead’s brats?”

“Ah, yes, ma’am,” he said. Was she a Pro-Hero? He didn’t think so, though she could have been an Underground Hero. But not that many people would know who Aizawa was, even if his own face had been on practically every television in Japan during the Sports Festival.

That, mercifully, had started dying down. The U.A. Sports Festival was a major event, but compared to daily Hero fights and premieres, it was easy to get forgotten by anyone who wasn’t a diehard fan.

Was he in danger? He let one of his hands behind the counter. Slowly, he began charging up an energy pulse, just in case he needed it. He just needed to keep his face neutral…

“Thought I recognized you,” she said. “You’re the zippy kid who tackled me at the last second.”

Isamua’s eyes went wide. Shadow-Thief? She was on parole, right? Aizawa said they earned their paroles…

“Yeah,” he said. Should he apologize?

She shrugged. “Just didn’t expect to see any Hero kids working a regular job. I thought all you Hero types had rich families.”

“Not a Hero family,” he said. “Just me.”

“They stuck you with all those Hero kids?” Shadow-Thief asked. “What the hell? That ain’t exactly fair to you, is it?”

“I’ve already learned a lot from them.” Isamu shrugged. A sudden and rare burst of confidence filled him. “And besides… I think I’m doing all right for myself.” Sports Festival winner, Intern with Deku, “Hero” of I-Island, even if he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that last one, especially the paycheck that had shown up from the Mighty Agency for “services while deputized” with way too many zeroes in it. At least that adventure had been kept out of the news.

Shadow-Thief laughed at that. “You, you’re all right, kid.” She took the bag with her purchases in it and headed for the door. “Stay in school kid. I wanna get to say I was your first take down someday.”

What did it say about his life that getting encouragement from a former Villain was not the strangest thing to have happened to him?

#my hero academia #their hero academia #toshi midoriya #katsumi kirishima-bakugo #sora iida #tensei iida (tha)#takuma sero #kimiko ojiro #daisuke shoji #isamu haimawari #asuka tokoyami #takiyo aoyama #fan fiction #fan fic #my writing

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Best Part of Me - Chapter 49

Warning: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

She sits on the edge of the front porch as she watches him work. The sun harsh and punishing as it beats down on broad shoulders and back, wide chest and powerful arms; rivers of sweat glistening under the brilliant light. The perspiration that dampens his hair makes it look several shades darker; sides and back freshly shaved, the top growing in quickly and beginning to fall across his forehead. Sunglasses on and barefoot, clad in only a pair of cargo shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips. Every muscle in his upper body bulging and twisting with each swing of the axe; movement easy and effortless as he chops and splinters logs from a haphazardly stacked pile Koen had left near the fire pit. It’s a thing of beauty to observe. How that body moves and the power that inhabits it. The veins that protrude in those thick, strong forearms, the multitude of scars and tattoos that use his skin as a canvas.

Even after nearly seven years together and five children, it’s hard NOT to lust after someone that looks like THAT. He’s the embodiment of masculinity; brawn and immense strength, bravado and confidence without the air of cockiness. Rough skin and large callused hands and an intensity and edge that are always lingering just under the surface. But there’s other things that make him the man he is. The compassion and the gentleness that he possesses; extraordinary patience and an ability to keep calm, cool, and collected even when the rage is beginning to build. It’s the way he’s so secure in that masculinity; never shying away from things like braiding his little girl’s hair and daring anyone to tell him it’s not the most manly EVER. It's the ferocity behind his desire to protect what -and who he considers ‘his’; a steadfast loyalty and faithfulness that never breaks. When he loves, he loves big. He’s ‘all in; dedicating his entire heart and soul and giving nothing but fierce and unwavering devotion.

She’s the lucky one. The beneficiary of it all. Never remembering a time that someone had given that much of themselves to her; never questioning their feelings or second guessing her own. No one else had ever made her feel the things he does. Not just a mix of overwhelming and all consuming love and unbridled carnal want and need, but the feeling of being safe and secure. That knowledge that someone will do anything...stop at nothing...to protect her. Mark had only ever been interested in hurting others; dedicating himself to inflicting as much emotional and physical pain and turmoil as he could. Tyler commits himself to fixing those things; quietly -and without needing acknowledgement or praise- attempting to right another man’s wrongs.

He’s grinning as he approaches. Wiping dirty palms against the thighs of his shorts, swiping a forearm across his sweaty brow. “What are you smiling about?”

“Just admiring the scenery,” Esme says, and takes a sip from the bottle of beer in her hand. “And it’s very nice scenery.”

That grin widens, and he places a hand on either side of her, palms flat against the wood of the porch; bending down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “And you call me biased.”

“All the women thirsting after you are proof I’m NOT biased. Cashiers at the grocery store, moms on the playground, at the school. Millie’s teacher. I hear she’s very determined when it comes to you. That she tried picking you up at the bar the other night.”

“Who told you that?”

“Ovi. Don’t underestimate his loyalty to me. He told me she was trying to jump on your dick. And that she didn’t seem to be taking no for an answer.”

“I might have been a little harsh.”

“You? Harsh? Never.”

He smirks.

“He also told me that you were a good boy. That you behaved yourself.”

“You were worried I wouldn’t?”

“I wasn’t worried about what you’d do. Some of those women are very persuasive.”

“They can try all they want. My dick’s taken. That’s what I told her. It belongs to someone else. Yours is the only pussy it wants to be in.”

Esme’s eyes widen. “You said that? Those exact words?”

“That was loosely translated. But I did say my dick was taken and that no one other pussy can hold a candle to yours.”

“Oh God…” she lays a hand against her forehead. “...Tyler…”

“In my defence, I was pretty drunk.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you would have still said it if you’d been sober. That’s such a Tyler thing to say.”

He shrugs. “I have absolutely zero filter left.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. You’re usually a man of few words, but when you DO talk…”

“I say what I mean, and I meant what I say.”

“Exactly. This should make trips to school very interesting, to say the least.”

“Is it wrong I’m looking forward to parent/teacher interview night? Seeing her squirm? Wanna make out in front of her?”

“She’d probably enjoy that.”

“You like girls too. Is she your type?”

“I am going to pretend you didn’t say that. Because even if she was, I don’t cheat and I don’t share my toys. Especially my favorite one. My ALL TIME favorite. So if you’re into that kind of thing, you need a different wife.”

“Only thing...person...I’m into, is you.” He leans in and kisses her; soft and languid.

She isn’t bothered when sweat drips onto her from his forehead and hair, nor does she mind the salty taste of it on his lips. And the tip of his tongue briefly brushes against her before he pulls away, chuckling when she digs her nails into the back of his neck; pressing her lips to the underside of his chin and nuzzling her nose against his throat.

“I probably stink,” he warns.

“You smell good. You smell like Tyler. And that’s the best smell in the world.”

He smiles at that, then runs a hand over her hair before pecking her cheek. “Longer we’re married, the sappier you get,” he teases, and then takes a seat beside her, grimacing at the discomfort in his back.

“I thought you said earlier I was getting cuddlier?” She reaches behind her for a second bottle of beer, twisting off the cap before offering it to him.

“You’re getting both,” he says, accepting the beer and pressing a kiss of appreciation to her temple. It’s his first drink since they’d arrived. After getting his first taste of it after six months of sobriety, he’d thought he’d want more. That he’d NEED it. But the longing and feelings of desperation and the ghosts of dependency have settled down. It would have been easy to fall back into his old ways; faced with the multitude of booze Koen keeps scattered around the kitchen. But it hasn’t ‘called’ to him; the burdens and baggage of addiction surprisingly silent.

“Do you not know what sunscreen is?” Esme inquires, and he hisses when she presses her ice cold bottle against the back of his neck. “You’re going to be hurting tomorrow.”

“Can’t get much worse than I’m already hurting.”

She frowns. “That bad?”

He nods and takes a large swallow of beer.

“Knee? Shoulder? Back?”

“Back mostly. The other two feel pretty good for a change.”

“You need to be more careful. Once your back goes, you’re fucked. Maybe that’s what did it,” she presses the fingertips of one hand into the most troublesome spot; left side, middle of the spine, but close to the shoulder blade. Where the sniper’s bullet in Dhaka had torn into him. “The fucking. Maybe you can’t partake in such strenuous activity anymore.”

He scowls. "You be quiet.”

“I’m just saying. You’re getting older and it would make sense if you start to slow down and your stamina starts to falter.”

“Just put a bullet in my brain. Do it. End it. Because the day I can’t do THAT…”

“What are you going to do if you ever need Viagra?” she teases, and digs her knuckles into his back.

“You know what…?”

She grins and presses a kiss to his shoulder. “What?”

“You’re not making me feel any better. I WILL shoot myself if that ever happens. The day I can’t get it up is the day I lose all will to live.”

“Don’t be such a baby. It's not the end of the world if that happens.”

“Fuck yeah it is. “

“And you question where Millie gets her dramatics from?”

“I am serious. That ever happens, I give you permission to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger. Put me out of my misery.”

“Not going to happen. You’re stuck with me. Even if you do get limp dick. I’m not letting you leave me with God knows how many grandchildren. We’re supposed to spoil them together, remember? You’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.”

“I’m too fucking stubborn to die anyway.”

“I’m starting to think that’s true.”

She traces a fingertip over the scar left behind from the sniper’s bullet; the size of a dime and no longer raised or puckered. It’s the accompanying scar that’s worse; long and thin and jagged in some areas. Where the surgeon had to open him up and go in to locate the source of internal bleeding and repair a section of his left lung. It would be easy to hate all those marks; all those parts of his body that have been damaged and torn apart. But they’re part of who he is. Testaments to just how strong and tenacious he is. Proof of his survival and how far he’s come.

“That one’s getting a lot better,” she remarks, as her fingers find the scar left behind from when Farhad had shot him, along with the one beside it; another surgical incision that had been needed to keep him alive. “It’s taken a long time.”

“Doesn’t bother you as much anymore.” It’s an observation. Not a question.

“Not really. I try not to think about the back story. And speaking of back…” her fingers glide over the multitude of deep, red gouges that travel both horizontally and vertically, some even overlapping. “...I wonder what happened here?”

Tyler smirks. “Gee. I wonder.”

“Sorry. I got a little carried away.”

“Just a little,” he grins, as he leans in to kiss her. Laying a hand on her thigh, he gently spreads her legs and nods down at his own handiwork. “Sorry I bit you so hard.”

Esme grins. “You’re not sorry at all.”

“Actually, I’m not.”

She gives a derisive snort, then kisses his shoulder and leans into him; beer in one hand, the other resting on his lower back. “For the record, you need to unleash your inner lumberjack more. That was sexy to watch.”

“And you say I never do anything nice for you,” he chides.

“You’ve got the whole vibe going on. You’ve got the body, you’ve got the beard. Just need to get you a plaid shirt.”

“Fuck that. Look, I don’t mind fulfilling your little fantasies, but I have to draw the line somewhere. No plaid.”

“Fine,” she huffs dramatically. “At the very least a tight white t-shirt.”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re weird?”

“Only you. Every day. For almost seven years. You put up with it though. I notice you stick around despite it.”

“I’d miss it too much. Your weirdness. You in general.”

She grins. “And you call me sappy?”

They lapse into a companionable silence. Nursing their beers as they enjoy the peace and quiet; no sound save for the faint rustling of the trees and bushes as the breeze passes through them. It’s unusual; not being surrounded by noise and activity. Their lives normally filled with chaos, even on the best days. And while they miss the normality of it -the kids voices, their bickering, the baby crying- it’s a relief to get away from it for a little while. A chance to be alone together instead of having to battle for even a sliver of attention. Days often going by before they even have a normal conversation. So caught up in being parents that they’d forgotten what it was like to need each other. And Tyler drapes an arm across her shoulders and pulls her tightly against him; lips finding her temple, her hand moving to his side.

“Allison called,” Esme says, and places her now empty beer bottle beside her. “She said she couldn’t get through to your cell.”

“Battery’s dead. I haven’t bothered to charge it.”

“Disconnecting from the world. Your dream come true,” she teases.

“What did she want?”

“I had no clue what she was talking about. She said to tell you that she’ll send someone to do a thorough search and get back to you with any news.”

He nods.

“Tyler…”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to stress more.”

“Oh fuck me. What now?”

“It’s probably nothing. Which is another reason why I didn’t say anything. Why freak you out and then it turns out to be nothing?”

“Whatever it is, are the kids going to be okay? Should we have stayed home?”

“We made the right decision coming here,” he assures her. “We NEEDED to come here. And if it were something to worry about..if my instincts told me something was wrong...I would have been the first to cancel everything and insist we stay home.”

“So what is it? What do you have Allison looking into?”

“Millie saw something. SOMEONE. Or she thinks she did.”

“She told you that? That she saw someone? Where? Doing what?”

“She said she saw some lady going into the woods. That she yelled at this person to stop and she didn’t listen to her and kept going. I guess she told Ovi and he went and checked and didn’t find anything. Thinks it was probably just someone trying to get to the beach without going right on our property.”

“What do YOU think?”

Tyler shrugs. “I don’t know what to think. It’s easy to think the worst. Especially right now. But Ovi’s probably right. Probably nothing.”

“But you believe her? Millie? You believe she saw someone?”

“She wouldn’t lie about something like that. She even gave me a good description; pretty detailed. She’s crazy smart. Too smart for her own good. And insanely observant. It’s almost scary HOW observant she is. How keen her senses are.”

“Does that sound familiar? I told you; she’s just like you. She even has your instincts. She saw the Jeep driver; same time you did. And she’s not even six yet and she’s like that?”

“I’d be impressed...and proud...if it didn’t freak me out so much.”

“She’s YOUR daughter. She has so much of you in her. I see more and more every day; you coming out in her. And that’s not a bad thing, Tyler. Think of all the amazing things she’ll be able to do when she’s older with skills like that.”

“That’s what scares me. What if she’s the one that follows in my footsteps?”

“I highly doubt Millie will grow up and want to be a mercenary. That girl loves her glitter way too much.”

He gives a small laugh.

“Can you imagine her with a pink Glock with a bejewelled grip? That would be Millie as a merc. Or she’d have a pink holster with Hello Kitty embroidered on it. THAT'S your daughter. She is not the one you have to worry about. My money is on Tanner. He’s flying under the radar; no one suspects him. I think he’s conning us all.”

“I never did get my fifteen bucks that he scammed me out of. Or should I say my seven fifty. Because I know full well you took the other half. You’re the one who put him up to it; don’t even try denying it. That had you written all over it. I’ve seen how you work. I saw you scam people in Dhaka. I heard you scam them in Ireland. You’re good.”

“It’s always the ones you least expect,” Esme reasons. “Us little ones are always the last ones anyone is ever suspicious about. But I’m not admitting to anything when it comes to Tanner.”

“He’s a momma’s boy. You could talk him into anything.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“That doesn’t work here. This is Australia. Not the States.”

“I’m not copping to anything. No matter how much you badger me about it.”

He grins. “I have ways you know. Ways of getting it out of you.”

“What are you going to do? Waterboard me? Go all Guantanamo Bay on my ass?”

“A lie detector test. A very accurate one.”

“Oh really…” her eyes playfully sparkle. “...what lie detector test?”

“It’s my own. I made it up. I developed it.”

“Sure you did…”

“All I have to do…” he leans into her, pressing a series of kisses along the left side of her neck and across her shoulder. “...is this…” he slides a hand up the leg of her shorts, then splays his finger; one coming in contact with the crotch of her panties, the other with the back. “...one finger here...one finger there…and…” he bites down on the sensitive spot between her neck and her shoulder.

She’s laughing as she pushes him away. “You dick! That hurt!”

“I WAS going to do this…” he removes his hand from her shorts and grabs at her inner thing.

“Ow!” She yells, then dissolves into giggles and collapses onto her back as his fingers dig and pinch and aggressively tickle. “Tyler! You shit head! Stop! You’re going to make me pee my pants! Don’t be such an asshole!”

“You gonna admit to it?” His hand hand slides down to her knee, then back up again; passing over the crotch of her pants before settling on her stomach. “That you had something to do with it?”

“Never,” she declares. “You can’t get it out of me. You’ll never make me crack.”

“Oh, I can. And I will. You’re not the only one with special skills.” He pulls up the bottom of her tank top, mouth warm and moist against as he licks a path just above the waistband of her shorts.

“Fuck you and your special skills,” she playfully retorts, and then squeals when he sinks his teeth into the flesh at the bottom of her right ribs. “What is wrong with you?! I’m going to have marks everywhere!”

“You mean like my back?”

“I have to mark what’s mine. My territory. And your ribs are pretty torn up, too. Sorry.”

“It’s a small price to pay,” he says, and then leans to kiss her. “Hungry?”

“Mmm...hmmm…” she arches her back and presses her hips against him.

“I meant for food. And you have the nerve to call me ‘extra’ when it comes to sex lately.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t help that my husband is insanely sexy and turns me on when he so as much looks at me. I should have married someone uglier.”

“Maybe you should have worked with Gaspar,” he teases. “Doesn’t get much uglier than that.”

“I would have throat punched him for sure. Or killed him. He was too fucking creepy and way too fucking psychotic. That story you told me? About shooting the doves? That was fucked. Doves. Of all birds. Like the hell? I can’t believe you were ever friends with that guy. You’re nothing alike. What did you ever bond over?”

“Killing people.”

“Well THAT’S healthy.”

“Drinking. I was drunk most of the time I was around him. So I wasn’t the best judge of character. Are you hungry or not?”

She nods. “I could eat.”

“We’ll cook something out here. On the fire. Sound good?”

She nods. “I’ll whip up some sides. I have to make sure you keep the tank full. I don’t want to wear you out.”

“You can try, but you never will.”

“You’ve got five years on me,” she reminds him. “I’m still a youngin' compared to you. Pretty soon people are going to start thinking you’re my father.”

“Fuck you. I don’t look THAT old.”

“Older brother, then.”

He frowns. “That’s some Jerry Springer shit.”

“An American reference! After six and a half years of being married to me, you finally used an American reference. ‘I’m so proud of you, Tyler James.”

“You know…” his fingers pull down the bottom of her tank. “You’re lucky I love you.”

She smiles and lifts her head to kiss him. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m going to go and take a shower. Wanna come with?”

“What? You need me to scrub your back?”

A sly grin spreads across his face. “Among other things.”

****

With the sun down, the temperature has dropped considerably; breeze stronger, the cooler air trapped by the mountains surrounding them. After a dinner prepared over open flame, they lounge by the fire; nothing more than a blanket spread on the ground, his legs outstretched as she sits between them with her back pressed against his chest. One of her hands in possession of a glass of wine -the now half empty bottle sitting beside her- and the other resting on the forearm he has laying across her collarbone. He’s only on his second beer of the day; still three quarters full and in no rush to finish it. It’s a good sign. He won’t be tempted to get heavily back into it in Mumbai; able to be fully engrossed and focused on the job at hand. There’s too much to lose; his entire existence, his whole world. There will be no second chances if he fucks up; he can’t afford to make any mistakes when it's his own family involved.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t think about it. Mumbai. Mahajan and all his threats. He’d told himself he’d push them all onto the back burner; he’d think of nothing but their time away together. That he’d concentrate on nothing...no one...other than her and the reconnecting that they’re so badly in need of. But when nighttime settles, the dark thoughts always return. It’s when he’s most anxious. When things are quiet and still and he suddenly has time to think; both mind and hands idle. And now he can’t stop dwelling on it. On how he leaves for India in nine days time and whether or not he’s making the right decision when it comes to the people he’s taking along. Questioning whether it’s better to have a solid and structured game plan ahead of time, or if he should just let things fall into place once he gets there; go in with nothing but that list of names and decide there and then how to dispose of them. Does he have all his ‘ducks in row’ at home; up to date life insurance policy, recent version of a will, an intricately carved out -and written out- plan on what Esme’s to do if he DOESN’T make it back? So engrossed with all the thoughts of doom and gloom, that he hadn’t even realized she was speaking to him until he feels her hand on the side of his face; that simple contact snapping him out of it, eyes not focusing on that concerned face looking at him.

“Are you alright?” she asks, and even in the glow of the campfire he can see the glassiness of her eyes and the flush to her cheeks; side effects of all the wine she’s consumed. It’s been months since she’d indulged in even a drop; cutting it out entirely once she found out she was pregnant with Addie. And the return to it is hitting her hard and fast.

“Yeah,” Tyler gives a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

He shakes his head.

“What were you thinking about? You looked really intense there for a minute. Like you were going to rip someone’s head off.”

“I must have zoned out. Wasn’t really thinking about anything. What did you say?”

“I asked if you heard back from Allison. About that woman Millie saw.”

“My phone’s inside. Charging. She’ll leave a message. Or call yours.”

“I haven't had a signal for hours.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek before she turns back around. “No one can bother us. Isn’t that what we want? Just get away from everything? Everyone?”

“We do have five kids at home,” she reminds him. “Someone should be able to get a hold of us if there’s an emergency.”

“Everything will be fine. No emergencies.”

“And this thing with the woman? The one Millie thinks she saw?”

“She definitely saw her. Just like she saw that guy in the Jeep. She didn’t imagine it and she’s definitely not making it up. Her description was too good and she’s adamant that she saw this person. Even got pissed when the boys suggested she was imagining things. There’s no doubt in my mind that she saw someone.”

“Do you think it’s something to worry about?”

“If I did, we wouldn’t be here right now and you know that.”

“I DO know that. I know you’d stop at nothing to keep them safe...to keep us ALL safe...if you thought there was a legitimate threat. It just sucks that we even think about things like this.”

“Yeah, it does. But that’s what you get for getting mixed up with me.”

“Don’t start. I knew what I was getting into it. I knew what kind of life you were living and all the toes you’d stepped on along the way. It didn’t matter to me. I just wanted to be with you. I can handle whatever comes with it. With you.”

“YOU can. But what about our kids? We probably should have thought about that beforehand.”

“It was too late to think about anything. Millie was on her way; whether we were prepared or not. And regardless of what you did...what you DO...for a living, you deserve to have a life. You deserve to be happy and be surrounded by people who love you and need you and want you around. I know you don’t think you deserve all of that, but you do. More than anyone else deserves it.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her temples and then takes a swallow of beer.

“And I know you sometimes think it's selfish; for getting married and having kids and bringing all of us into a life like this. But it’s not. You’re not a selfish person, Tyler. You’re selfless, if anything. You always have been.”

“You think pretty highly of me,” he teases.

“I do. I’m pretty fond of you, actually. I’m going to keep you. My life would suck if you weren’t in it. Do you remember our old apartment?”

“Just outside of Sydney. Yep. How could I forget that place? First time I’d lived with someone in five years. If you can call it living with someone; I was only there on weekends when I was allowed home from the rehab place.”

“I kind of miss that apartment,” she muses. “It wasn’t much, but it was ours. Even if we had to sleep on a mattress on the floor for six months. We didn’t have a lot, but we were happy there. YOU were happy. Even when you were in all that pain and you were exhausted and frustrated with all the therapies and the progress you didn’t think you were making. You never once bitched or moaned or felt sorry for yourself. You were never miserable. You were just happy.”

“You’re saying I’m not happy now?”

“No. I know you are. I see it every time you’re with your kids. It’s just that you were going through so much...you’d just BEEN through so much...and you never let it break you.”

“I couldn’t let it break me. I had you. We had a baby on the way. You both needed me. I HAD to keep going. For the two of you.”

“Remember the first night we brought Millie home? And she cried. A lot.”

“She cried all night,” Tyler recalls. “So did you. I think you cried more than she did. I had two crying women to deal with.”

“I was so frustrated and exhausted and depressed and scared. I was terrified of being a shitty mom. And you were so good with her. With both of us. I remember how you walked the apartment with her for hours. Just holding er and rubbing her back and talking to her; your voice was so soft and so calm and you were so patient. I watched you with her and I swear I’d never seen anything more beautiful. You with a baby. OUR baby. I didn’t think I could love any more than I already did, and then I watched you being a dad.”

He brushes the tip of his nose against her ear, then kisses it. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk. I’m sentimental. I can’t help it. Being here with you...ALONE with you...it has me all up in my feels. We’ve never gotten this; this time together. Even when we were in Ireland, it was never about us. It was about the job. This is the first time in nearly seven years where it’s just me and you. And I like it. Being this way with you.”

“So do I. We needed this.”

“We did,” she agrees. “Sometimes it feels as if we don’t exist outside of being parents and raising kids together. Like we’ve completely forgotten about each other and what’s like to be an actual couple. Not just a mom and dad. And I’ve missed seeing you like that. As more than that.”

“I missed that too. I’ve missed you.” He presses a kiss to her temple and tightens his hold on her, forearm sliding further up onto her neck. “I’ve missed US.”

“Things are so much better now. Since we moved here. Being in Colorado was nice, but being here is better. You’re different when you’re here. You’re not as stressed; not on edge so much. You’re more relaxed. Grounded, I guess. You’re in your happy place.”

“Well it’s home,” Tyler reasons. “I just needed someone to MAKE it a home with.”

She smiles and turns her face into his, placing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “You can be really sweet and cute, you know that?”

“Don’t you start.”

“It’s true,” she laughs, and then pecks his cheek before turning to face the fire once more. “I don’t care how much you hate hearing it. It doesn’t make you soft or weak or less of a man for being like that. Far from it. It actually makes you even more attractive. And sexy. That you can be like this with me. That you’re not afraid to be emotional or sentimental. Or vulnerable.”

“You’re the only person I CAN be that way with.”

“I’m lucky. I get all these different sides of you that no one else gets to see. It’s like hiding this huge secret from the rest of the world. One that they’ll never, ever, figure out. You’re a mystery to everyone else. I’m the only one who really knows you.”

“Yeah,” Tyler agrees. “You are.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you cry during Fox and the Hound and Inside Out. I know you have a reputation to uphold.”

He grins. “What reputation is that?”

“The guy that took out a whole apartment of hostiles in Dhaka. Who humiliated Amir Asif. Who took a bullet to the neck AND lived. You really ARE too stubborn to die.”

“Or I’m just lucky.”

“Maybe some of both?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with someone putting their fingers in my neck to keep me alive AFTER I got shot.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Esme says. “I did what I had to do. You would have done the same thing. You wouldn't have left me on that bridge.”

“Not in a million years.”

“I almost thought you were going to leave me the first day, though. When I pissed you off in the market. You were so mad. I thought for sure you were going to dump my ass in the street somewhere. I don’t think I’ve seen you that angry since. Except for that time that weird guy followed me home from the post office because he wanted to ask me out and didn’t believe me when I told him I was married.”

“I could have killed that fucking guy.”

“You were so pissed! ” she recalls. “I thought he was going to shit his pants when you walked out of the house. He wasn’t expecting there to even be a husband, never mind one that looks like you. And then he tried to get all macho and mouthy and actually thought he could take you. You only had like six inches and fifty pounds on him.”

Tyler smirks. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”

“It was two hits. You hitting him, and him hitting the ground. My hero,” she presses a kiss to his forearm. “My knight in slightly tarnished armour.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You know that.”

“Yeah, I do,” she smiles. “And just so you know, I’d fight a bear for you.”

“You would, would you?”

“Maybe not a black bear or a polar bear or a grizzly. And maybe not a koala because they’re sketchy as fuck. But a Care Bear. I’d fight a Care Bear for you.”

He laughs at that, and she’s giggling when she turns her face into his and kisses him. Nails digging into his forearm through the fabric of his hoodie, her tongue gentle yet insistent as it pushes its way past his lips and teeth; his hand moving up to cup her cheek. “I’ve got something for you.” he says.

“My other surprise?”

He nods.

“And this one is definitely from you? Not the kids?”

“Just from me.”

“It’s not even my birthday. Or our anniversary. And Christmas was only two months ago and we’re past Valentine’s Day. So what’s it for?”

“It’s not for anything. It's a ‘just because’ kind of surprise.”

“Just because what?”

“Just because I felt like it. And because I love you.”

She grins. “And you say you’re not sappy.”

“Here,” he digs into one of the pockets on his hoodie and pulls out a small black velvet box, offering it to her.

Her eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean what did I do? I didn’t do anything. I wanted to buy you something so I bought you something.”

“Just because?”

“Yep. Just because.”

“Tyler…”

“Esme…”

“What is this?”

“Just take it. It’s yours. Just open it.”

“I’m kind of scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve done something you didn’t have to do and I’m going to get all emotional and up in my feels and you hate when I get all up in my feels and ugly cry.”

He smirks. “If it happens, I’ll deal with it. Just open it.”

“Okay…” she takes the box from him, turning her body sideways and draping both legs over his thigh. “AM I going to cry?”

“Knowing you? Probably.”

“You’re trouble. Making me cry.”

“It’ll be a good cry. I promise.”

“Alright…” she says, and then pops open the lid of the box, tears immediately glistening in her eyes; lower lip trembling as she looks from the ring nestled inside, to him, then back down again.

It isn’t over the top of outlandish; something simple and classic for a woman that’s never cared about the materialistic things in life. Who was happy in that small apartment outside of Sydney and who would have been just as happy in a shack in the outback. But the solitaire diamond sparkles brilliantly in the glow cast by the fire, as does the rose gold band it’s set in.

“You like it?” he asks.

She nods, and he presses a kiss to her forehead and uses a thumb to clear the tears off her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “YOU’RE beautiful. Why…?”

“Millie asked why you didn’t have one. She said you guys watched some wedding show on tv and that all the ladies have engagement rings and why didn’t you have one?”

“She’s pretty observant that daughter of yours. Did you tell her that I never expected one or asked for one or really wanted one?”

“I told her that when we got married, we didn’t have a lot of money and you said you didn’t care about things like diamonds and fancy shit. That you were happy with just a wedding band.”

“Which is true. I’ve always been happy with just that.”

“I know. But she asked why we’d been married forever and you still didn’t have one. So I figured I better get my shit together and show my daughter that I’m not some douche that doesn’t love her mother.”

“I don’t need a ring to know you love me. You find ways to let me know you do. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to. It shouldn’t have taken me six and a half years.”

“I wouldn’t have cared if it took you sixty,” Esme says. “And it’s beautiful and it’s perfect and you’re beautiful and perfect and I don’t deserve it. Or you.”

“Now you’re just talking shit. You deserve more than that. More than me.”

“Now YOU’RE talking shit,” she counters.

“How about we don’t talk shit about ourselves,” Tyler suggests. “Here..” he takes the box from her, setting it on his thigh and then plucking the ring from its confines. “...hand.”

She grins. “You’re so romantic. There’s the Tyler I know and love. Did you tell your daughter you asked me to marry you in the bathroom?”

“I did actually.” He slips the ring onto her finger and then presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I told her you were pregnant with her and that you were worried you were getting fat and ugly. That I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world and I said ‘marry me’ and that was it. There was never really a question.”

“It was a very Tyler like way of asking though. And I said ‘okay’, so technically, it WAS a proposal. In our own weird way.”

“Weird seems to be our thing.”

“I prefer unconventional,” she says, then kneels between his legs. “We’re unconventional. Not weird. We’ve never been normal, per say. We started out in a very unconventional way and we’ve kept it going ever since. Maybe that’s what makes us so good together. We don’t expect normal from each other.”

His hands settle on her hips. “Maybe.”

“I mean, I married a mercenary. That’s about as far from normal as you can get.”

“You had your chance, you know. To get away. You could have said no.”

“Your eyes and your ass were way too nice to say no to.”

He grins.

“And I don’t care what you did...or do...for a living,” she declares, his face cradled in her hands as she kisses him softly. “I would have said yes a million times over.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fiction #tyler rake fan fic #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years ago

Text

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 6

[Erik Killmonger x Black!OC]

Word Count: 6.7K

A/N: I am now inspired to write again because a tweet said that Disney+ had hella issues on the date it dropped and 10 million people still stuck around to watch it. I’m taking that same energy with me.

“Mara, I won’t ask you again.” Erik says sternly. Kimara looks around casually, glad that they are at least located in a public place...though he still doesn’t seem to care.

“MARA!” Erik barks.

“Don’t cause a scene! Damn, you have absolutely no common sense!” She hisses as an elderly white couple looks away and walks faster down the path. A breeze starts to pick up in the air, causing the treetops to dance in the distance.

“Really? All I got is common sense when I hear you tryna pull a fast one on me. And to bring someone I respect in on this, that’s fuckin low!”

Kimara adjusts her seating on the bench as the metal digs into you thigh meat. “Respect?? Oh please, you were just knocking him on some petty shit last week! And I didn’t mean to! Ok? I’m sorry!”

“For what? I need specifics, lay out the entire situation for all the other nosy white folks walkin round the park today. They wanna see someone act a fool, I’ll give it to them if you keep pussy footin around.” Erik leans back on the bench, spreading his chest wide with pride as he stares her down. She can’t stand him.

Kimara lets out a sigh, laying one hand on his inner thigh for extra focus. “I am sorry...for putting you through so much pain and agony. I know how much the relationship means to and I shouldn’t have put it in danger by getting myself involved without talking to you first. And even then, I should’ve known better. I couldn’t even enjoy it without thinking about you and what you would think. So...never again. I promise.”

Erik scratches his chin, bouncing his leg before dipping his head down to look at Kimara over his fake gold rimmed eyeglasses with matronly contempt. “Long as you learnt never to watch Euphoria without me, we good.”

Kimara squeezes his leg, letting out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. You really bout to cut me over Fez and Rue huh?”

Erik sits up, clapping his hands together. “They are the true OTP if I ever seen one. They ain’t even gotta be intimate or whatever, just the fact that someone been through her journey and is now doing everything to help clean her up while the forces of small white town bullshit enable her is...poetry dawg.” Erik leans back shaking his head in awe.

“Babe, you are sappier than a maple tree in the summertime.” Kimara shakes her head, the loveliness of their conversation filling her head like a delicious fog she didn’t want to ever see the end of, but Erik’s lunch break was almost up.

Erik kisses her softly, making Kimara wipe the transfer of her gloss off his lips.

“Uh uh! Don’t worry bout all that baby. If that shit makes your lips as good as I like, I could use some too.”

“You so stupid!” Kimara cackles as they both get off their bench and walk side by side: his hand on her hip, her arms locked around his waist with one ear to his chest.

“This was nice.” Erik says distantly, more to himself than to her.

Kimara cranes her face toward his. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah, just to not think about any of the bullshit we’ve had to deal with, enjoy God’s creations out here in the gentrified park. I feel like a damn retiree with stock and bonds and 401K real fat.”

Kimara settles in step with him again. “But you have all those things…”

“But I ain’t retired! White America don’t want a nigga to retire. Swear everything would go belly up if Black folks could live off of the fruits meant for them. They’d burn the whole damn thing down before that would happen.”

Kimara rubs his back to settle him. “Peaceful thoughts, remember?”

Erik’s chest expands and caves. “Aight. But real life is literally around the corner, so as much as I would like to have you in my office, I got shit to take care of.” Erik takes her chin and lifts her face up to his. “My Mara, My Mara…”

“...I’ll never be farther.” Kimara says with only slight embarrassment beause their little saying is so damn cute. Erik used to do cute rhymes with her name around the quad whenever she got down on herself or he thought he had her on the ropes to giving in to him. Rarely worked, but constantly appreciated. “I gotta go get some extra stuff for our dinner party later this week, so hopefully I won’t be too long at the studio. We got a new artist laying down a demo that should be pretty fire.”

Erik puts a fist to his mouth excitedly. “Oh worm? Finally my lady finna be the new M-M-M-Maybach Music!”

Kimara rolls her eyes. “I’ll be more than that! I got about two songs on there I’m getting writing credit for. I may wind up on the radio and you don’t even know it. But you’ll know them checks!”

Erik couldn’t smile harder if he had hooks in his mouth. “Your passion got you going off! Nothing wrong with it either, you deserve it. It’s been a long time coming.”

“It has. So, go on so I can make this deal happen.”

They locked fingers until distance forced them to break their grip. Erik waves off Kimara as she saunters up the path to the main road. His chest swelled with pride over his lady, she’s always been one of a kind. Her happiness is his happiness, without question. As he walked away, across the exquisitely decorated post modern/art deco lobby, to the elevator to the 33rd floor to his office, a cloud of dread weighed back on him that only got better with the help of Alaina. If she wasn’t his partner on this revamp project with Boeing, he’d be shitting himself on a regular.

Erik walks by a conference room, stopping short of turning the corner of the glass walls. He opens the door and peeks inside to see his friend hunched over a laptop, jumping slightly in her seat as he came across the room towards her.

“Damn, Erik! Why do your big ass feet step so lightly? Almost gave me a heart attack!” She breathed out a ragged sigh of relief.

Erik pulls out a chair to sit down, chuckling at her expense. “My bad, I just had to come in when I seen you slaving away in here. Figured you could use a distraction.”

Alaina smooths her hair back in her bun, her nude colored mouth in a tight, closed smile.

“I WISH you were a distraction for me, but unfortunately this involves the both of us. While you were on break, Asshole and Son recommend we draft a final proposal for the FAA to approve.”

Erik sat shocked. “What? Fuck, I mean that’s fucking crazy but kind of exciting too, right?”

She wags her finger. “Don’t forget we are only the field niggas round here. It sounds like an honor but in the end I am sure little Leave it to Beaver will be taking all the credit his daddy can send his way in order to keep the big wigs in good graces within the family.”

Erik taps his fingers on the deep wooden table, thinking. Would they really double cross him that far? Bringing him in on a project to mentor the bosses son only to pull the rug up under him and make him look like player two?

“That’s so damn white, sounds right.” Erik sighs in somewhat disbelief.

Alaina shrugs. “Told you. And until I hear it from him otherwise, that’s what I’m going to assume.” Alaina sighs and stretches her shoulders before going back in on the keyboard.

Erik furrows his brow. “If that’s it, then why are you still working on it? Don’t you wanna pack up and move on? You were brought here special for this, your time is wasted the most.”

Alaina’s eyes cast a ‘nigga please’ gaze on Erik. “Mr. Future Baby Fava, I think our time has been equally wasted. But guess what isn’t cut for my time here? My pay: which is double what I make at my primary while I’m here so…” She slowly leans over to grab Erik’s wrist. “...until I hear the fat white man sing, we’re gonna work on this project for as long as we can to milk that cow til it lays a golden goose egg and rolls the tortoise to the finish line!”

Erik scoffs. Alaina’s antics are half the reason Erik can’t quite distance himself from her. She has a liveliness that he’s kind of missed lately. “Man, you a trip and a fifth. But I like your style. Might as well get it done then.”

“Oh fuck that, I’m done for the day.” Alaina crisply closes her laptop, packin it under her arm and grabbing her case with the other.

“Whatchu mean? I thought you said-”

“I worked through my lunch, like a boss ass bitch does. You gotta work yours off, so Imma leave you to it. Call me if you bleeding out your ears from stress: no less than that.”

Erik rolls his eyes as he gets up and watches her walk away. The woman is working his last good nerve on purpose, but he likes it. The job isn’t as boring or predictable with her around. Now he just has to show her who the superstar has been all this time. If he works hard at this, it won’t be for these fat cats, it’s gonna be a bonafide competition and he ain’t scared to fight a girl.

—

At the studio, Kimara finishes up a session with a local up and coming artist named Delilah. Sweet girl, comes across very introverted until a mic is in front of her. Kimara appreciated her vibes and talent, baby girl is on trend so long as she stays cute she is bound to be noticed. Kimara ends their session a little early, wishing her well when it was time to wrap.

Kimara felt like the studio was her second home most of the time but today she had to get to her real home REAL quick to get dinner prepared. Tonight is the double dinner date with T’Challa and his boo of the moment. She kept trying to get ahold of Erik for help with ingredients but he kept leaving her on read.

Rick, the studio owner caught Kimara before she was able to get out the door.

“Hey Rick I know I cut things early, but I don’t have a lot of time unfortunately. I have dinner to take care of tonight with some friends that is so damn important, you wouldn’t believe.”

Rick smiles a large proud papa smile. “Oh I won’t keep you, but this news might. Remember Peter Gafflin? Legendary alternative rock/country artist extraordinaire who really love you last time y’all were in the booth together.”

Kimara couldn’t forget that man from their last session. She hadn’t been exalted for her talent that highly since Petey Pablo came in that one time and promised her name would be on a Freek A Leek remix.

“Yeah, what about him?” She asks.

Rick could not help his smile to save his life. “He called me up earlier today, saying he is planning to go on the road soon.”

“Yeah, yeah. That happens often when you drop a new album.” Kimara says impatiently.

“Right. So he was thinking that you would hopefully be available to join him for some shows on his North American leg of the tour.”

Kimara stood there like the Men In Black just wiped her memory. “Are-are you serious? When? How? What would I do??”

“He wants you to SING for him like you did that day, background vocals and he thought a duet portion would be nice too. You know the song ‘Boys Aren’t Born on Tuesdays?’”

Kimara clutches her chest. “Oh my God, that song is so rich. And he wants ME to sing it with him?”

“Uh huh!’ Rick slaps her arm in congratulations, but Kimara could barely feel anymore.

“In front of thousands. Across America...oh my God!”

Rick and Kimara hug excitedly, so much so that Rick has to wipe his eyes a little. “So is that a yes?”

Kimara stopped cheering to finally think a little. “I mean, I don’t know. If this was any other time I would say yes, but...I have some obligation here. I’m deep into trying to start a family and settle a little.”

Rick makes a face of pity. “I understand, I know. And I hope you do get that. Just…”

“Just…” Kimara parrots.

“...it’s Peter Gafflin.”

“It is Peter Gafflin.” Kimara says disheartened. She had been waiting for years to get something off the ground with a top tier artist, but the universe had a funny way of timing.

“Did I mention how much pay is?” Rick muses.

Kimara fans herself with a newspaper as she watches the rolls baking in the oven. She is so thankful to have gotten dessert from the bakery, because she was over it with cooking. She checks her phone for the time: ten minutes til 7. Her notifications show nothing from Erik yet, though she texted him twice today reminding his to not forget them hosting T’Challa and his girl. Twice, Erik texted that he’s got her, but that was five hours ago, now who knows what the hell he is up to. It would be perfect to bring up her good news with him in front of T’Challa and his date, while he smiles up at her with a hand inconspicuous and possessively on her behind...

But the light and fluffy feelings for the evening were quickly dwindling. Before she could send a last threatening text to convince him to bring his ass, the doorbell sounds at the last sentence. Kimara curses out loud, grabbing her oven mitt to take out the rolls that are a perfect golden brown. She dabs her brow with a spare dinner napkin before clopping her way to the door.

Opening it with a flourish, Kimara opens her arms in excitement.

“You made it!” She says with a cheery song.

T’Challa looks at her fondly, his mouth slowly curling into a smile. Kimara warms up to seeing her friend at her doorway.

“I was going to say it has been too long, but time moves backward for you. You look beautiful.”

Kimara places a hand on her hip for emphasis, trying to withhold her joy in his compliment in the worst way. “Oh please, it hasn’t been that long. You cleaned up good too.”

Kimara always enjoyed the way T’Challa dresses like royalty without even meaning too, choosing pieces that elongate his lean body, squaring his wide shoulders to create a proud presence.

T’Challa places a hand to his date’s lower back. “Iman has been looking forward to this night all week.”

A smiling Iman holds out a bottle of Proseco. “T has told me so much about you and your husband. You all seem to be a pretty tight family.”

Kimara takes the chilled bottle and leads them inside. “Oh yes. We have all known each other for so long, I can’t imagine not having known them.”

Placing the bottle on the table, Kimara claps her hands anxiously. “So I have prepared us a nice little salad and a pork...uh...pasta ” Kimara’s mind goes blank trying to remember what it’s called, she had only Googled the recipe that day. Tapping her foot, fidgeting, Kimara gives up. “Hell, some type of pork and spaghetti with peppers and shit. It’s got cheese too, it’s good. LEGGO!”

T’Challa and Iman chuckle as they head to the dining room. “Well whatever it is it smells great! I know your man must be fat and happy living with you.” Iman gushes, pulling out her chair to sit at the table.

Kimara shakes her head humbly as the unwraps the foil on the proseco. “Lucky for me, he is pretty active at the same time so it sticks in the right places. If only he could actually BE in the right places when we schedule things that way. Oh shit, lemme find a cork opener.”

Kimara rushes into the kitchen slamming drawer after drawer looking for the elusive corkscrew. She slams the bottle down a little too hard in frustration and hears the vibration of her phone on the counter next to her.

“Do you need assistance, Kimara?” T’Challa’s steady, gentle voice says behind her. She turns to see his concerned face looking down at her, hands firmly planted behind him respectfully.

Kimara waves her hand in frustration. “Aht aht! It’s fine, don’t leave Iman alone in there!”

“She is fine. Are you?” He asks quietly while opening a cabinet above the sink.

Kimara opens her phone to look at her notification. “Been better. Rather not talk while I’m supposed to be entertaining you guys.”

“But-”

Kimara puts her phone down hard. “RAGU! It was a pork ragu! With basil fettuccine, ugh! DUH!” Kimara turns to see T’Challa holding the corkscrew in his hand.

T’Challa continues, ignoring her topic change. “You should let me know if he isn’t being good to you.”

Kimara takes the corkscrew in one hand, bottle in the other trying to maintain her blood from boiling. “No I don’t. I would discuss that with my husband.”

“And he is where?” T’Challa asks calmly as Kimara walks past him and back to the table.

“God, what a help your beau is, we can finally have a much needed sip sip, eh?” Kimara exclaims a little too happily, sitting at the table as she drills the corkscrew in.

T’Challa opens the glass serving dish to examine dinner. “This smells very good, I will fix a plate for you, Iman.”

“No! I should serve you, Mr. King! Move your hand from that spoon.” Iman gets up, swinging her hips happily from side to side, digging the serving spoon into the delicious mix of sauce, noodles, and meat.

T’Challa gives a shy smile. “I appreciate it greatly, thank you.”

Kimara jerks the corkscrew out of the bottle too hard, knocking the handle against the table, causing T’Challa and Iman to look at her with shock.

“Pop goes the weasel, right?” Kimara giggles as she pours a third of the bottle into her glass, half an inch from the brim. She takes ahold of her glass, taking a few hearty gulps.

“So! Tell me how are things with you all, still in the honeymoon phase?”

Iman finishes off her plate, settling in to eat. “Well, I wouldn’t say that. Me and T are still kinda getting to know each other still, so I think honeymoon phase is a little too soon to call,” she says as she nervously scratches the back of her head as T’Challa just keeps on eating.

Kimara starts to feel warm, keeping mental note that the fucking must’ve halted between them. “Well there’s no need to rush at all. Relationships are so much damn work, it must be nice to cuddle up to a stranger every so often.”

Iman offers some wine to T’Challa who declines. “Have things been going well at the studio? Recording?”

“Oh yeah, more than recording actually. Sure, I just wish that I had the gumption to pull the trigger on doing some of my own shit. I got a lot of praise from artist and even the owner of the studio; I’ve known him a long time. But when it all comes down to it I just wonder what’s the point. That’s all gonna change soon though, no worries about me!”

Iman pouts with sympathy. “What do you mean?! You are a damn good looking lady and to have talent enough that people brag about, you gotta do something with it while you’re young and able!”

“I know I’m young and able. Well, I’m trying to start a family while I’m still young and able too.” Kimara mumbles, slumping in her chair.

“Oh! You are? Congratulations! From what little I remember from the night I met T, he seemed like a handsome guy with a good head on him. If he hadn’t brought us home, we may not be seeing each other now.” Iman’s hand disappear under the table to presumably T’Challa’s thigh, who looks over at her with kind eyes. “And that reminds me of your story. So T here got you and your husband together. What are the details on that?”

Kimara is two sips from the bottom of her glass. “Ohhh, that’s not dinner conversation unfortunately.”

Iman makes eyes at her. “Oooh, that scandalous huh? We all adults here, but I understand. Me and T weren’t very biblical our first night meeting so, hey.”

T’Challa wags a finger. “It’s not that, don’t be crass.”

Iman tuts at him. “I’m just being friendly, what’s the issue.”

“It’s a personal story. It should wait until Erik is here at least.” T’Challa offers.

Kimara puts her glass down, plate still empty or any dinner. “I don’t wanna bring that nigga up here anymore tonight, aight?”

Iman freezes mid bite as T’Challa sits up in his chair. “Kimara, please-”

“Uh uh! I’m in my house, I say what I want, I won’t be talked down to. Iman?”

Iman is still frozen.

T’Challa speaks up. “I’m just saying-”

“I’m talking! Iman? My husband and I have been trying to have a baby for months now, fucking like rabbits and I have yet to get pregnant. It’s gotten so I think he;s getting tired of fucking with me and now he is out ‘working late’. Now, he loves me because we have been through a lot to get to the point of being a married couple and he has had to prove himself loyal to me after...a lot of bullshit. But I ain’t got it in me to discuss play the Newlywed Game with you cuz hell if I know what my husband is up to anymore.”

T’Challa gets up from his chair abruptly, scraping the chair across the floor, stomping towards the kitchen.

Kimara starts to laugh out loud. “Oh shit, I think he’s pissed! Ohh, let me see what this is about…”

Iman sits up anxiously. “Do you need help?”

“No, no! I got him, he’s very reserved with his frustrations, so I can deal.” Kimara stomps into the kitchen. “Now what is up with you??”

T’Challa takes a towel off of a rack, folding it twice. “Did you need to unload on her like that?”

Kimara leans on the counter. “Sure, woman to woman. She seems to appreciate it.”

T’Challa opens the oven door, a plume of smoke billows out.

“Fuck! Oh noooo, my rolls!” Kimara exclaims, running to a window to open and fan out the smoke.

T’Challa puts the baking sheet to the sink. “I was trying to tell you I smell smoke.” He tossed the towel down making the sheet clang.

Kimara fans her face, coughing. “Oh, shit. I just forgot.”

“Mhm. You forgot your head this evening that’s certain.”

“What do you mean by that, T??” Kimara asks mockingly.

T’Challa glares at her. “If things weren’t going good, we could’ve rescheduled.”

“It’s funny you think I plan for my life to fall apart, cuz that is how it works right?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no one means to hurt my feelings or make me feel like shit until it happens. You want me to be the perfect host. Erik wants me to be a good wife and mother when I can’t even get a bun in the ov-” Kimara stops short of the sentence. T’Challa hangs onto silence waiting for her to finish.

“T’Challa, what if this is all a sign? I burnt the rolls in the oven...because I can’t keep a bun in the oven? Like pregnancy? I can’t bake anything!!” Kimara wails as she covers her mouth crying. T’Challa goes over to her but stops short as Iman enters the kitchen.

“Hey, if everything is under control, I might head out.”

T’Challa looks back at Kimara then Iman. “Well, let me call you a ride.”

“Already did. Kimara, dinner really was good, I’m sorry to leave so soon.”

Kimara has her back turned, wiping her face before facing her. “Thank you for coming. You’re as nice as I heard.”

“I will walk you out then.” T’Challa offers as they leave Kimara in the kitchen. Her phone begins to ring, as she picks it up to find Erik’s name glowing on the screen. All she can do is silence it, she was in no mood to talk, otherwise she might have to make a Lemonade album about it.

Kimara goes back to her dining room table, sitting down to the bottle of wine. T’Challa comes back in, closing the front door behind him.

“Eh, eh. Put that down. Eat something instead.”

Kimara groans as she swallows one more gulp from the bottle before getting it snatched from her hand.

“I’m not feeling your vibes T’Challa, honest.”

“Vibes? Do you hear yourself talking?”

“Yeah I do. That’s all I ever hear is my damn self.”

“You are not supposed to be drinking while planning a family, aren’t you?” T’Challa asks softly, sitting next to her.

Kimara sighs deeply. “I’ve done everything right. All I’m supposed to do is carry, I can’t even get there. God, I would kill for even a miscarriage, just to know that I didn’t completely fuck up my reproductive system!”

“STOP IT!” T’Challa’s voice booms between them, reverberating off the walls. Kimara sits upright, looking away from T’Challa’s face. His energy calms as he leans a little further towards her.

“You do not deserve to beat yourself up like this. Do you realize how far you’ve come in life from when I first met you to now? There is no one as smart or witty or brilliant as you that I can also put faith in as a friend.”

Kimara fidgets with her fingers. “Good thing Iman isn’t here to hear that.”

T’Challa sits back, taking a swallow of wine from the bottle himself. “I won’t edit my statement, but she is a nice girl.”

“I still like Nakia better.” Kimara says matter of factly.

T’Challa bristles at the name, looking into the distance. “Yes, I guess she is my kryptonite, however too flighty.”

They sit in silence for a beat.

“What about that night? What did it mean?” Kimara asks.

T’Challa’s brow furrows. “Which do you…”

“A few weeks ago? My car?” Kimara rubs her face roughly. “Ughh, I hope it’s not the wine talking but I swear there was a moment that felt like...a thing. Am I wrong?”

T’Challa does something he does not always do: he begins to stutter. It’s slow, without the skip, but a stutter nonetheless.

“I...Well...hmm,” He says before his mouth motions wordlessly.

“...T?” Kimara asks teasingly. “It’s ok!”

He looks her in her eyes intensely, like she just cursed him out. “Huh?”

Kimara shrugs. “We didn’t do anything so it’s ok. Don’t sweat. That’s why I’m glad we are friends cuz I know nothing bad happens when you’re around. No craziness, drama, you just bring me back down to earth with a good talk. It was just a moment. Gotta remember that.” Kimara pats his knee and gets up.

“Wait, so were you thinking of me in a way that night?”

Kimara sees a light flash across the curtains of her window. “Well, look at this. Daddy’s home.” Kimara comes back to the table to pick up plates. “T’Challa go ahead and have a good night. You don’t wanna be here when I’m throwing dishes into the sink until Erik comes in and has the nerve to ask what the fuck is wrong with me. When the whole nigga nerve of it all is that he would have the gall to think I’m wrong to begin with!”

T’Challa waves his hands heading for the door. “I am already gone.”

The early morning sun is extra bright as erik drives himself and Kimara to see their regular fertility specialist Dr. Tracy.

“I’m glad she was able to see us today.” Erik says.

“Are you?” Kimara asks while scrolling through her phone.

Erik scratches himself. “Ion know, I just…”

“What?”

“I mean...if we do this it’s like cool, we finna get a baby off top-”

Kimara tuts at him. “No! She said that it still isn’t guaranteed. We are good candidates but not to expect success right away.”

Erik lets out a groan. “Right, right. Can’t no shit come easy for me.”

Kimara looks at his profile as he drives, catching Erik looking out the corner of his eye. “What you lookin at me like that for?”

Kimara crosses her arms. “I’m just trying to figure out what to title your sob story in all of this. ‘I do what I want and when it don’t go like I plan I pout?’ Or ‘Fuck everything and everyone, I’m going through it but don’t ask me what’s wrong?’”

“Damn Mara! The fuck you gotta go there for? The minute I try and share something with you, you bite my fucking head off!”

“Watch yourself cursing at me! I ain’t in the mood for it, and I ain’t letting it fly like that today, ok? I don’t need this much excitement before an appointment.”

“Then don’t go nuts on me like you some damn comedian, roasting my ass. I’m here ain’t I?”

“Do you not wanna be?!” Kimara shrieks.

Erik goes silent, turning on the click of his turn signal. The tension in the car is sky high and although Erik doesn’t mind a fight, he knew not to act a fool in front of these doctors in this side of town.

Kimara leads inside to check in with the receptionist. As they sit in the lobby, Erik is glued to his phone the entire waiting period, fingers texting furiously.

“Why ain’t you holding my hand?” Kimara asks. “You always hold it while we wait.”

Erik looks over quickly and leans back offering out his hand. “My bad.” While the other continues to work double time on his screen.

“Who is...Alan?”

Erik jerks his phone back. “It’s not Alan.”

Kimara drops his hand. “Than who is it?”

“Work.” He says curtly, flipping to his Instagram instead.

“Is something wrong with the project you’re working on? Is Alan the one helping you?”

“Yes and no.” Erik says.

“Wait. It is wrong and Alan isn’t helping?”

“It’s not Alan!” Erik bellows before coughing to cover his outburst.

“Kimara?” Dr. Tracy says brightly with a smile, waving them back. Kimara smiles tightly back.

In her office, Dr. Tracy goes over the procedures and preparations for IVF, with all of the medical jargon, followed by some generous simplified explanation. It all sounded complicated and expensive but Kimara was grateful to hear about everything that could make her miracle possible.

“And Erik, you can be an awesome support by making sure to watch your alcohol intake, exercise, eat healthy, and avoid any environmental pollutants.”

“I was bout to watch that Chernobyl show; is that off the table now?” Erik asks.

“Erik, you ain’t got time for shit else, quit playing.” Kimara says with a little bark in her voice.

Erik laughs in a menacing tone. “Ok.”

Dr. Tracy looks between them nervously. “...we also provide counseling to couples during the process, as it can be difficult.”

“I wouldn’t mind it, but he wouldn’t be able to make it.” Kimara says.

“Oh you speak for me now?”

Kimara shrugs. “If you ain’t there, how else can things go forward?”

Erik sputters in disbelief. “I won’t be getting like this in front of the damn doctor. Thanks, doc. I got the prescription and shit, let’s go.” Erik keeps talking under his breath as he leaves the office. Kimara gets up to leave

“Is everything ok between you two?” Dr. Tracy asks.

Kimara hesitates before saying it’s fine, nothing more than a couples spat. Erik may have been right about needing to change doctors. At least a new one wouldn’t know when things were wrong. This would just look like a normal interaction to fresh eyes.

Back at their house, Erik is reading the instructions for her shots.

“Says this supposed to help in producing eggs for you. Still gonna take a while though.”

Kimara sits silent watching her shows.

“Remember to mark down when you got your period last. Supposed to start doing these on your next cycle.”

Silence.

Erik folds the instructions up, standing from the dining room table. He comes up behind the couch, leaning next to Kimara’s ear.

“Nassau is this weekend, you know?” SIlence. “You picked us a real good spot to make our own magic down there. I think we need it.”

“WE need a lot more than a trip to an island. Erik, you still ain’t said sorry for a damn thing you said to me today.”

Erik scooches to one side of Kimara to face her. “What should I apologize for?”

“Embarrassing me? Not telling me about what’s going on with you and also not asking how things are with me? Being secretive and mean to me?” Kimara’s eyes begin to well up. “You ain’t talked to me without walking off mad in so long, I don’t wanna get used to it Erik! You didn’t used to do that!” Erik hooks one leg followed by the other over the back of the couch to sit next to Kimara, holding her hands tight.

“It makes me think about before you left for that damn military out the blue. You snapped on me back then too. You tryna go somewhere else again?”

“Hell no! That life is behind me, I got nothing but you and work to get through now.”

“So I’m a damn task?” Kimara mopes.

“No! Look: I don’t mean to say anything to make you think you boring because you’re not. You’re the most exciting thing in my life, and I love having you with me. Every time I’m reminded you’re my wife, I’m thinking how we should be on our damn tenth wedding anniversary instead of third. But I’m done and thankfully you’re not.”

“Then why are you doing me like this?”

“I-I don’t wanna force shit on you more than you can handle. I got things happening at my job right now that could make you think the worst, but I promise it’s not. And you don’t need that pressure right now.”

“Neither do you!”

“I can handle it. You focus on your dreams at the studio, and getting ready to host the biggest headed baby your womb will ever know.”

Kimara snorts thinking about this, looking down instinctively. Erik takes one side of her face in his hand.

“I wanna be more open but I don’t wanna cost you anything too. So until shit blows over, just know I got this. Be patient with me, and I promise to be more patient too.”

Kimara pulls Erik to her for a longing kiss, rubbing his face for comfort. She could feel he cares, but there was still so much gnawing in her mind, she just wasn’t ready to discuss. But there was one thing.

“One more thing though, before I call it forgiven and get to packing for the trip.”

“You still ain’t packed?”

“I’m asking the questions! Who is Alan?”

Erk sighs, dipping his head down before looking her in the face to answer. “Alaina.

“He’s a what?”

“Huh? No, Alaina. The name was Alaina not Alan.”

Kimara’s face draws up inquisitively. “And...she is?”

“My partner for the project I’m working on. They recruited her from another region and-”

“That’s who you spent the night with instead of dinner with T’Challa and me and his girl?” Kimara asks.

“I came home! Don’t make it sound like that, it was a late night. Ole dude I work for keeps piling shit on me and deadlines-”

Kimara waves her hands in front of him. “It’s fine.”

“Huh?”

“It’s ok!” Kimara smiles. “Seriously, I trust you. You said works been beating your ass, and I know you wouldn’t be looking all sour if you were getting some ass on the side, so I think I can trust you aren’t cheating.”

Erik stared at her speechless before nodding and agreeing.

“Plus, we tryna have a baby and I know you wouldn’t mix shit up with her when all that seed is mine, like that would be wasteful.”

Erik growls in his chest, leaning over her, nose to nose. “Say that again.”

Kimara holds back her smile, rubbing his chest. “Your seeeed is miiiine. Don’t waste it.” Kimara bites his lip at the end of ‘it’, catching him of guard, but not enough to lay her out legs spread quicker than she could blink.

“Wait wait, Erik. I can’t!” Kimara says, half giggling.

“Whatchu mean?? You playing with a dog and get afraid when you get the bark? Quit playing and get them draws off.” Erik pulls at her bottoms.

“No! Wait! I mean it, I’m cramping and shit. I don’t want nothing near my pussy right now.”

Erik moans out loud in frustration, plopping backwards on the couch, erection pushing at his sweatpants.

Kimara lowkey loved making him wait, period or not. It’s nice to see he still wants her, and no one else has his attention to fix his rather big problem throbbing in his pants.

“Erik? You never told me what you think about the tour.”

Erik exhales loudly. “Good idea, that’s finna kill my hard on real quick.”

“Erik!”

He sits up, pushing down on himself. “Mara, I want you to get your hustle goin, I know you been singin since way way way back.”

“Hold up, it ain’t been that long, makin me feel old.”

Erik bops her with his shoulder. “You know you been my Suga Mama.”

“Two months older Erik. Dassit!”

Erik looks at the floor, rubbing her knee. “I just don’t understand why you think it’s best to leave now. What Imma do without you for two months?”

“Whatever you been doin get home late at night.” Kimara says flatly.

“The project is almost finished, do I don’t know where that attitude came from.”

Kimara sits silent, not up for a fight, especially in her hormonal state.

Erik stares at her, testing her. He knows she wants to say more, she always does. “I got two more weeks on this, and it’s done. My workload is gonna be lighter, more boring, and I promise my time will be yours, but now you wanna leave, so.”

“But you understand why right? It doesn’t sound like you do. I don’t wanna leave you alone or stop trying, but...this is my dream!”

“Having a family is too right? That’s why all our time and money been revolving around everything related to that for almost a whole damn year. It’s fucking flaky.” Erik shoots back.

“Erik, you got to do what you wanted, right? This ain’t new with you! When you want something, you go for it, fuck anybody that gives a shit, it’s yours. I’m tired of being in the shadow of your shit, cleaning things up so you can have your peace. This is mine.”

“The fuck is you talkin about?? Is your PMS going retrograde or some shit?” Erik speaks over her in an agitated tone. Nothing Kimara said made sense anymore to him.

Kimara gets up, waving him off. “Eat my ass Erik, I said what I fucking had to say and I mean that shit.”

Masterlist

Ragtag

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku@dameshaemonique @fonville-designs@destinio1@bakarisange l@wakanda-inspired @klaine15689 @savageiz @nickidub718 @yoyolovesbucky @alexundefined @forbeautyandlife @bakarisangel

#shakafic #black panther fic

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sengenweek · 5 years ago

Text

SenGen Week: Day 07

Day 07: January 04

Senkuu's birthday / free choice (Nightshade)

-'-

Title: Murky Bedsheets.

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A/N: Chronologically speaking you can place this before 'In Sickness And Health'.

-'-

The second time Gen celebrated Senkuu's birthday, his gift wasn't so flamboyant. This time around, the magician had surprised the scientist caught up in his little lab doing whatever science related stuff he was busy with this time around. Gen surrounded the scientist's neck and shoulders with his arms and blew into his ear. Earning him a jump from Senkuu.

"Dammit mentalist, you startled me" he complained.

"Hehe. Sorry. But it is pretty late, Senkuu-chan you should go to bed"

"Can't. I wanna finish this before tomorrow" Senkuu argues.

"It will still be here tomorrow, I assure you no one will touch it"

"Yes. And it will still be incomplete tomorrow"

Gen sighed, the scientist could be so stubborn some times. Yet he smiled to himself, he was good at getting Senkuu to do what he wanted.

"Fine. If you wanna have it that way. And here I wanted to relieve you from your stress~" he says, putting a hand to his chest, as if he'd been wounded.

The scientist turns to look at him –hand still on chest, and pouting lips– with escepticism, he knew the mentalist wanted to get something from him, he just didn't know what. But then again, Gen did help him relax in past occasions, so he supposed that adding one more wouldn't hurt much.

"Okay. I'll stop for tonight" he sighs.

"Good~!" the other beamed.

Gen pulled him up and took him to their shared hut –the observatory–. The first thing the scientist noticed were the many flowers laying around in the floor, in their bed. He turns to look at Gen, the smile on his face is mischievous and he can already imagine what will come next –what the blue eyed man wanted–. Gen's fingers trace the scars on his face –slow, gentle–, he pulls him for a kiss, one and then many, many kisses that steal his breath away –gloss his eyes–, and then Gen pulls him down into their bed. The mentalist's back hits the mattress first, then the scientist's palms feel the rough fabric beneath them, crushing some of the scattered nightshades –their murky perfume staining the sheets–.

"You need to relax more, Senkuu-chan"

"And would you help me out with that?" he teases.

"Happily~!"

The white-green haired man smiles, his nimble fingers working to get Gen's clothes off of him, taking his time undoing every layer, nibbling on the now exposed skin, marking with purple-red drawings the ivory canvas presented to him. The monocromatic bangs stick to Gen's forehead. The mentalist flips them over, so he contemplates Senkuu from above. With a swift motion of his hand, the belt on Senkuu's robe comes undone, the teen exposed.

"Soo~ convenient"

"More than the nine infernal layers you wear" he recriminates.

Gen laughs, a clear cristaline sound echoing on his ears. They kiss, they touch, Gen's fingers go south, where Senkuu's blood is pilling up, and he strokes, gentle, slow. Senkuu moans to the ministrations given to him, and decides not to get behind, his own fingers grapping around Gen's length teasing and pumping until the grasp the mentalist has on him falters. He pulls him for another kiss, sloppier than before –hungrier–. They're nearing their end, quick shallow breaths escape their mouths, their tongues mumble each other's names. And it hits them, Senkuu first, followed by Gen who trembles as if an earthquake took place inside of him, a silent gasp trying to form on his throat.

When Senkuu stops seeing white spots of light in his retine he flips them over once more, spreading open Gen's legs, he positions himself, and thrusts in. Gen moans pained and aroused, he's used to the scientist's antics, one orgasm before trying to ride him into a second. Which he promptly does, going in, and out at a steady pace, hitting his prostate on occasion, making his already weak legs tremble. It feels like paradise. And then they come undone in gasping breaths and skin pearled with beads of sweat, one more time. They relieve on their post-orgasm high before accommodating properly in bed. Gen's head resting over Senkuu's beating heart.

"Happy birthday, Senkuu-chan~!" the mentalist sings.

"You know mentalist, I owe you two birthday gifts already. You're gonna leave me indebted for life if you keep this up" he jokes.

"Sounds nice, don't you think?"

"It does. Thank you, for your help relaxing me. I appreciate it"

Gen hums in response, sleep tugging at his eyelids. Senkuu fixes the stray bicolored bangs, putting the larger portion –the white one– behind Gen's ear.

"Hey, mentalist" he calls. "Marry me".

"Yes~!" he purrs content.

The perfumed air is stagnant in Senkuu's lungs, the many black nightshades surrounding them only bring back to his brain the image of the man in his arms. He loves it.

-'-

A/N: Finishing notes for this small series of works. They aren't that important, you can skip this ridiculous long foot note if you want –boy, I could just turn it into an epilogue chapter–.

01. Festivals and Foxes: If we talk cotton candy, man, ya gotta think in a festival, a carnival, whatever, but you think of orange and red, the noise, the people, and the greasy food being sold out. Even the manga made that connection, so I used that idea and added some supernatural stuff because of the kemonomimi bit. Gen being a fox deity is inspired from 'ZenTan Week' by hana-kitzu, which is a 'Kimetsu no Yaiba' fic. I took notice, especifically of chapter six, where the author depicts Aganuma Zen'itsu as a nine tailed fox. It seemed funny to me how something written for the week dedicated to another ship made it's way into this one.

02. Unfulfilled Reality: Since I already made notes on that chapter, I will only say the following: This was actually, the chapter I dreaded most to write, since the beginning I had no idea where to go from the prompt given, but once I remembered Farscape, everything started to fall into place, and I think this became my favorite contribution for the SenGen Week.

03. Aftertaste: When I read the word 'Cola', all that came to my head was my dad's voice saying: "It's not the original flavor". For you to understand this, I will elaborate, you see my father is a Coca-Cola fan, and I once bought a bottle that didn't taste the same as usual –it was likely a very old batch–, and he nags me to this day about it, so every time I give him a bottle of Cola he sighes after tasting it and says: "THIS, is the original flavor". So I thought, 'Senkuu Cola' is a very rough version of nowadays 'Cola', there is bound to be a difference in the flavor, so I came up with the idea of the 'aftertaste' that might be left in the mouth, and then I used the same idea for the lasting flavor of Gen and Senkuu's first kiss. Oh, and let us not forget the fight between Pepsi and Coca-Cola back in the 80's.

04. Colorfools: This title, and the overall idea, is really inspired by a fanfic called 'Colorfool' by PoetDameron. It's a 'That 70's Show' fic, that pairs up Eric Forman and Buddy Morgan as soulmates.

05. Grin and Kiss and Fangs and Blood: This was meant to be a separated multi-chapter fic all on it's own, but in the end I realized I could just fit the general idea in the prompt given, so I made it work, somehow. The idea itself came from a set of images, which depicted Senkuu as a vampire who had bitten Gen. Now, I didn't make Senkuu the vampire because the magician aesthetic seemed to work better for that trope, rather than the mad scientist one I associate with Senkuu.

06. In Sickness And Health: I wanted to make a sappier version of a chapter I wrote for my series of 'Gintama' drabbles –While We Are Together–, the chapter in question is called 'Rainy Days Are Meant To Be Spent Outside Getting Soaked To The Bone', and it ends with comedy, for this SenGen work in particular I wanted the ending to be more tender, but I couldn't grasp the ability to make it happen, so I left a sloppy end.

07. Murky Bedsheets: I have never, not once in my whole life, come across a Black Nightshade (Solanum nigrum), much less smelt one. I had to investigate about it's scent, a difficult feat since many confuse it with Deadly Nightshade (Atropa belladonna) known also as just Belladonna, and this plant seems to have a bitter smell. It was finally on a botanical book –Natural Arrangemeng Of British Plants– I found that the smell of Solanum Nigrum was mentioned, and I quote textually, what it said especifically about this kind of Solaneae:

'Solanum nigrum. Black nightshade. Stem angular; leaves ovate, toothed, angular, bald; berries black.

Solanum vulgare, Raii Syn. 265,4; Park. 346.

Solanum hortense, Ger. em. 339, l.

Solanum nigrum, Lin. S. P. 266.

Solanum humile, Salisb. Prod. 134.

Garden nightshade. Morell. Petty morell.

Dunghills and gardens; annual; June to September. Root much branched; stem spreading; leaves petioled; flowers smell like musk.—Leaves applied externally abate inflammation; internally, 1 or 2 grs. infused in boiling water, and taken at bedtime, occasions a copious per spiration, are diuretic, and generally purge the next day'.

Flowers smell like musk. There you have it. I just went with this bit of information and took it from there.

Thanks for reading this small series. And the foot note, if you got this far, writing is tough folks, it requires lots of investigation for just one tiny little detail that gets forgotten in the midst of the story. Oh, and inspiration likes to leave you stranded on the middle of the road and you have to walk all the way to the end. It's a miracle I finished something with such a defined time frame.

Anyways, thank you, good bye, and farewell.

-'-

A/N: Also on:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13464121/7/SenGen-Week-2019-2020

#day seven #bday #free #sengenweek #sengen week #sengen #submission

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jadekitty777 · 5 years ago

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Who Needs Tradition When We Have Each Other?

Hi, hello! It’s been a bit – but yes, I do still write. Amazing, isn’t it?

So this is going to be a short, four part mini-series of Summer/Tai/Qrow stories. Why? Because apparently, I have a thing about writing fluffy snippets for underappreciated poly-ships that I secretly adore. Three of four of the stories are complete – with, naturally, the second chapter being the incomplete one. Hopefully… the probably extremely small pool of people who will read these will enjoy them!

Rating: K

Word Count: 2,600

Pairing: Summer/Tai/Qrow

Ao3 Link: Who Needs Tradition When We Have Each Other?

Summary: Qrow wore three rings on his right hand. Only one was actually his.

Originally, Qrow was only supposed to have one ring.

“Pick one out, pick one out!” Summer was leeched onto his arm, hopping on her heels. She’d been practically flying on cloud nine ever since the engagement, going full bridal mode with planning it all - decorations, catering, guest lists, clothing. He wasn’t exactly sure all the activity was good for her, especially considering her condition (“It’s a baby Qrow, not a hernia.”), yet her enthusiasm was too infectious not to get swept into.

That’s why he allowed himself to be dragged out of bed at eight on a Saturday morning to decide on wedding rings.

“Aren’t they supposed to match?” Taiyang called from where he was peering into another set of cases. Qrow suspected from his distant expression that he was only pretending to look. Probably for the better, considering his sense of fashion equated to ‘if it’s clean, it can be worn’.

Summer wiggled, bumping her hip into his own. “Only if we want to be traditional. But if we’re going to wear something for the rest of our lives I’d rather it be something we like for ourselves.”

The sentiment brought a smile to Qrow’s face. The rest of their lives, huh? After so many years of never having anything permanent or feeling like he was unwanted, he couldn’t begin to describe just how the promise of such a complete commitment made him feel.

“Oh well, then I’m good.” Tai said as he walked over, wheeling Yang’s stroller between the displays. The infant had her chubby little hands clutched around her favorite teddy bear plush, occupying herself by gnawing at one of its rounded ears and growling like she was the bear.

“Really? Which one did you pick?” Summer asked, practically vibrating with excitement.

“None of them.” He replied.

“Wait, what?! You can’t pick none.”

He arched one brow. “Sums, I punch Grimm in the face for a living. Pretty sure wearing jewelry isn’t good for my hand. Or the jewelry for that matter.”

“Oh.” She deflated as she considered that. Then her eyes lit up again. “What if we turn it into a weapon?”

Qrow barked out a laugh. Typical.

“I’m serious! I bet they make those; Huntsman-specific rings that have poison barbs in them or, or – oh!! Mini guns!!”

Tai snorted, shaking his head. “Think I’ll pass.”

“Ah, come on it would be rad!” When he continued to shake his head, her pout only grew more pronounced, “But Taai-”

Qrow curled his arm over her waist, dropping a kiss against her temple. “Babe, it’s fine. But maybe we’ll get that for your ring.”

“Yes!”

They continued to explore the store while Summer tried to talk the shop keep into customizing her ring with spikes (Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t going well). Qrow ghosted a hand over the top of a case full of silver bands, wondering if that was possibly too tacky. Just as he was about to turn away, he spotted one that had potential – a ring of both silver and gold, the two metals weaving around each other like vines. He lent closer to get a better look, only for his view to get obstructed as the glass started to break, cracks spiderwebbing across the top.

He straightened up, hurrying away from the scene of the crime.

As he joined Tai’s side, the blond pointed out the white rings he was admiring. “These ones are nice. Really Team STRQ-ish.”

Qrow bent over as if he was trying to see better, but he was peeking at the other from the corner of his eyes. Despite his previous deflections, Tai seemed rather despondent. It was hard to gather why; his logic was reasonable and he knew, culturally, rings weren’t really part of the wedding tradition in Vacuo. For that matter, they weren’t part of Mistral’s traditions either – probably for the same reason: only richer kingdoms like Vale and Atlas could afford such luxuries.

Still, when Summer had declared she wanted rings for the ceremony, Qrow hadn’t argued the matter because he had no argument to give. He knew part of it was because he was selfish. He’d grown up with so little that the idea he could purchase something so frivolously expensive and be allowed to keep it forever was oddly thrilling. More so, that he would be able to display it, with no one around to tell him he was foolish or threaten to take it and trade it in for lien. The other part of it was he’d grown soft over the years away from the tribe and liked the idea of having something physical affixed to himself that symbolized his marriage.

Knowing Tai was even squishier and sappier than he was, he had to wonder if it wasn’t the same for him?

“You know,” He started off casually, “For someone who doesn’t want one, you sure are looking hard.”

“I mean, I wasn’t lying. It probably isn’t a good idea for me to wear it. But well-” Tai looked over his shoulder, making sure their other partner was still distracted, before looking back down but he seemed to be staring far beyond the jewelry. “Look, it’s, stupid? I think? When Rae and I talked about rings, she just said we weren’t getting any. At the time, we’d just put the down payment on the cabin so I just brushed it off; but it always kind of bothered me she never asked my opinion.” He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed like he usually was whenever he shared his feelings. “I guess I’m just trying to say it’s nice that you guys are giving me a choice.”

“It’s not stupid.” Qrow told him, taking his hand within his own. “Raven’s always been like that. It was either her way or no way. She’s never been the type to do anything that doesn’t specifically benefit her.”

Tai’s expression was as hesitant as his voice. “I guess you’re right?”

“Believe me, I am.” He assured, thinking of all the times his sister had tried to pull similar stunts on him. It hadn’t really ever been a problem, because he tended to stand his ground or even played her own game against her. It was only after he’d started to date Summer that he understood just how vital compromise was to any kind of relationship – and it was only after Raven left that he was able to see just how damaging what refusing to compromise could do to your partner.

Tai didn’t talk about it much, probably because it injured his pride too much, but it wasn’t hard to see just how much Raven’s actions had cut through his confidence. He wasn’t a pushover by any means but he was bright, like the sun itself, determined to speckle through even the darkest of places and bring light and warmth to whatever he could touch. It was a quality that terrible people couldn’t help but take advantage of.

Qrow would be the first to admit his record was anything but stellar in that regard – but exploiting his teammates’ who had welcomed him so readily, even after learning about his shit semblance, felt almost taboo. It infuriated him to think his twin not only didn’t agree with this thought process but deliberately was abusing it. Yet he’d been so caught up with his own life, he never even noticed what was going on right in front of him until Raven was already running out the door.

It felt like it was just another tally to add onto his growing record of things he’d done wrong and had to try and fix. Summer told him that was probably normal, since she shared the sentiment and even admitted she sometimes felt responsible, as if being their leader meant she had to be in charge of everything in their lives. When he asked her how she dealt with it, she’d said, “It’s not our job to fix Raven’s mistakes. Our job is to make this new experience for him with us a good one.”

That’s what he was thinking of when he commanded, “Tai get a ring.”

“What? But-”

“If you want one, then get one.” He urged. “And don’t pull the ‘it’s too much money’ card on me. This whole ceremony is an overpriced theater show – a few extra hundred ain’t gonna be missed.”

Again, Tai was quick to disagree, “Qrow, that’s dumb. Why would I get something I’m almost never going to wear?”

“Then I’ll wear it.” He declared. When Tai only shot him a bewildered look, he explained, “Our ring sizes aren’t too different; I bet it’ll fit on my index finger. That way you have one, but I’ll be holding onto it.” He reached out, tenderly running the back of his hand along his cheek. “Kind of like how I’ll always hold onto you, no matter where I am.”

“Wow…” Tai breathed, eyes wide, “That was oddly romantic. Sure you thought of it?”

Qrow dropped a kiss on his nose, murmuring, “Shut up and pick one already.”

His laughter was soft and warm. “Alright.”

By the time Summer rejoined them, he’d made his choice.

“This one.” Tai said, pointing at an ivory ring that had a groove in the middle of it filled with obsidian rock that shined nicely in the light.

He smiled. White and black, huh? “Yeah that’s a good one.”

“What are you guys doing?” Summer had the dejected look of a girl who had been told that she was not allowed to have a gun installed into her wedding ring. It was gone the moment they told her what they had negotiated over. “Oh Qrow!” She gushed. “That’s so sweet! I’m surprised you thought of it.”

“It’s nice to know neither of you have any faith in me.” He grumbled, ignoring the teasing grin on Tai’s face.

She pat him placatingly on the back. “It’s just not your style hon.” She bounced over to the blond’s side next, pushing him towards the counter. Though, it was hard to say if her urgency was from excitement or because she was worried he’d change his mind. “Go tell the jeweler which one you want so they can get it fitted!”

“You guys can handle Yang?” Tai asked, sparing the stroller a look equal to one a person might give when staring at a minefield.

She saluted him. “You can count on us. Well, mostly me.”

“Hey!” Qrow protested.

“Oh sorry. Only me.”

“That’s better.”

Tai laughed. “You two are too much.”

Still, it was enough to convince him, and Summer happily took up baby duty, rolling her along with them as they continued to scope out the shop. From gold to platinum, from gem-encrusted all the way around to fat diamonds squarely in the center, there were hundreds of styles, all for a particular taste. Even after he eliminated anything with a gemstone on it, it still left him with what metal he’d prefer, the thickness and design of the band, whether it would or wouldn’t have imprinted words or patterns.

“You see any you like?” Qrow asked, rocking on his heels, mesmerized by the way a set of anodized rings changed in hue. They were neat, but they probably stood out too much. Not exactly suited for a spy.

“Not quite.” She was by the titanium case. He wondered if she was trying to find something to match her brooch. She moved away, not seeming to find anything of interest and headed back his way. “You know, I was thinking…”

“About?” He asked, still swaying, watching the greens and blues shift to yellows and purples.

“We have the same ring size.”

He fell flat on his feet. Looked at her. Her lips were set in a firm, pensive line. “You want me to wear yours too?”

“Oh, no-no! I definitely want to wear mine!” She pushed some of her hair behind her ear, looking everywhere but at him. “But, when you go on missions, maybe I can wear your ring until you get back? Keep it safe. And when…” She bit her lip. “When I go back on mine, you can do the same for me.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. Oh. “So, you decided then?”

“Yes. No? I don’t, I’m not.” She placed a hand over her stomach. It was barely more than a little bump. “I don’t know what I want.”

By now, it was an exhausted topic. One they’d stayed up late multiple nights just looking at every angle of. And every time, Summer felt even less sure than the day before. She was crucial to the war Oz was trying to wage, she felt obligated to jump back in as soon as she was able; but wasn’t their child crucial as well? Perhaps not to the world, but to her. To their family. It was with the announcement of Summer’s pregnancy the three of them decided to officially tie the knot. Their entire dynamic was changing for good because of this one little life. But did that mean Summer’s life should change for good as well?

Qrow didn’t have the answer; after all, it wasn’t his decision to make.

But, as he placed his hand over hers, he told her what he did know. “That’s okay. There’s plenty of time to think about it. Just know, whatever you do decide Tai and I will support you, no matter what.” He rubbed her thumb across her knuckles. “But I’ll promise you now, if you do go back to being a Huntress, I’ll wear your ring while you’re gone.”

“Thank you.” She looked up at him, and he was overtaken by her beauty in her soft gaze and sweet smile.

He couldn’t help but kiss her.

It went without saying that when Tai heard about their silly ring trade-off idea, he was practically moonstruck over it. Corny, fairytale-esque stuff like that was always the easiest way to his heart.

They ended up choosing a pair of thin, silver rings with an opalescent finish to give it a pure white look from afar, but when held up close and in the light, had an array of colors shining across the gemstones. Elegant, but simple, matching well with Tai’s and easy for them both to wear on their ring fingers at the same time. The final touch, after getting all three fitted, was to have each one engraved with their own names on the inside of their respective rings.

When they got home, Tai worked on an early lunch while Summer put Yang down for her late morning nap. With them distracted, Qrow snuck away to the bedroom and pulled out the three velvet cases from the bag, opening them one by one.

He put on his first, where it fit snug and secure on his ring finger.

Then Summer’s, right above his. It held on just a bit tighter than his own and assured it wouldn’t fall off.

Lastly was Tai’s, slipping nice and easy onto his index finger.

Suddenly, everything felt more real than ever before. Qrow turned his hand to and fro, getting used to their presence and their weight. Held them to the light and was blinded in their luster. Settled with the idea that this was soon going to be a more consistent addition to his wardrobe.

It was a change he was looking forward too.

#qrow branwen #Summer Rose #taiyang xiao long #rwby #Golden Hummingbird #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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veky1993 · 6 years ago

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Sunshine - a major crimes fic

Description: A little ray of sunshine for Sharon and Andy after a long, exhausting night.

Read it on ffnet, or since I’ve finally made an account there, on Ao3! Otherwise, read it below. I’d love to hear your thoughts on it, too. :)

It was on a groan that Andy woke up that morning. Without bothering to open his eyes, he rolled over onto his side intent on snuggling up to Sharon and getting in a few more winks, but when he only found empty, cold bed sheets, his eyes flew open and he groaned again.

Crawling out of bed, he muttered, “That kid,” then grabbed his robe on his way to go look for his wife and the child in question.

He was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when his trek down the hall to their spare room was brought to an unexpected halt by a soft humming sound. It was coming from the living room, and it wasn’t hard to guess who its source was, so on tiptoes, he redirected his feet in that direction, a small, knowing smirk already appearing on his face. His hunch was right, but as he stopped just inside the doorway of their living room, the sight that greeted him rendered him speechless. The scene in front of him was so heartwarming that all he managed was a quiet, content, touched sigh.

Slowly rocking back and forth in the chair they’d impulsively bought when they’d moved into this house, Sharon failed to notice him. Her attention lay solely with the little creature cradled in her arms, and if ever Andy wondered whether the rocking chair was a sound investment, his doubts were all but extinguished now. Not wanting to alert them to his presence, he leaned a shoulder against the doorway and simply marveled at the rare moment that was unraveling.

The song Sharon was humming seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Not that it mattered when there were plenty of other details to take in. Like the gentle sway of the rocking chair to the rhythm of Sharon’s soft humming. Or the light smile on her face as she let the baby girl curl her tiny hand around her index finger. Or the low garbling or whiney noises the baby made whenever Sharon happened to tug her finger far away enough for the little one to have to strengthen her hold, lest the finger slipped completely away. Or the way Sharon’s smile would widen, but the melody of her hum would not even hitch, when the baby did so.

It was a sight to behold, and a pleasant, absolutely delightful wave of emotion washed over him until it wrapped itself comfortably around his heart and settled there.

There were worse ways to start an early day, he decided.

That little baby girl was their youngest granddaughter. She was Emily’s first child, Mia, and she had captured the hearts of the entire family. Even Rusty was besotted, although he futilely tried to hide it.

A couple of years ago, Sharon’s daughter had finally settled down and gotten married. Not soon after, she had gotten pregnant, and much to Sharon’s merriment, felt the desire to move back closer to her mother. The move had worked out perfectly with Andy and Sharon having retired around the same time, allowing them to lend the expecting parents a hand where needed to make the move as stress-free for Emily as possible. Since then, Andy had never seen a happier Sharon, and he was certain the only thing that could possibly add to her happiness was if Ricky, too, moved back closer to home.

Four months of constant parenting had taken its toll on Sharon’s eldest, however. As absolutely taken with their daughter the new parents were, the sleepless nights they endured had started to show. More often than not, their conversations or visits started on heavy, exhausted sighs, and more than once Emily had crashed along with her daughter during her nap time despite having company over. As recent retirees, Sharon and Andy had plenty of free time on their hands now, so it was Andy’s idea to use some of it and offer them a break. Sharon had been delighted at the prospect of having her granddaughter all to herself for a night, but convincing Emily that they were perfectly capable of taking care of an infant for a single night had been slightly more challenging. She didn’t want to impose, they could handle this, they weren’t nearly as exhausted as they looked. Those were just a few of Emily’s excuses, but ultimately the mere notion of getting a full night’s sleep and some time to themselves without a baby interrupting all the time did tip the scales in Sharon and Andy’s favor, and finally both parents gave in.

The afternoon with their granddaughter was nothing short of joyous, and for every time that Andy had teased Sharon about being a typical, sappy grandmother, he had proven, to Sharon’s endless amusement, that he was an even sappier grandfather. Simply put, the baby had them both wrapped around her little finger.

Their perfect bonding time, however, had quickly deteriorated during bed time, and only gotten worse over the course of the night. They had perhaps, ever so slightly (or perhaps very much, it depended on whom you asked), underestimated how attached the child was to her mother, and the beginnings of teething probably didn’t help either. What they hoped would be a night of just a few short trips to the baby’s makeshift crib, had turned into several at least one hour long bouts of walking and rocking and snuggling and feeding and generally just trying anything short of calling Emily that would settle the baby down.

It had been an exhausting night, and they had all properly fallen asleep only a couple of hours ago, which was nowhere near enough rest for any of them, but now, as Andy watched the two, their night’s struggle seemed all but forgotten. There was only one fact that mattered. He adored those two gorgeous human beings in that rocking chair more than words could describe. If he happened to lose a little sleep because of one of them, it was definitely worth it if it also meant being graced with as blissful moments such as this one.

His ears pricked suddenly when Sharon’s melodious hum turned into softly sung words, and if it was possible, he fell in love with her all over again.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

Goosebumps erupted all over his skin and a pleasant shiver ran up and down his spine, but his heart nearly jumped out of his chest at the squeaky little maybe-giggle the baby let out.

It interrupted Sharon, and she laughed. “Oh, yes,” Andy grinned at her low besotted baby voice, “you are.” She extricated her finger from Mia’s grasp and tapped the baby’s nose, making her scrunch it up a little, then even though she was barely past three lines of the song earlier, started it from the beginning. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” another quiet laugh interrupted her when her granddaughter latched onto her finger again, trying to stuff it into her mouth, but she went on, “you make me happy when skies are grey…”

Andy couldn’t keep away anymore. He quietly walked over to them. The few nanoseconds it took for Sharon’s voice to carry over to him was a completely made up kind of torture for him, but he told himself that was why he absolutely had to get closer to her. If possible he would bottle the sound, and open it only when he couldn’t hear the soothing notes straight from its source, and, oh, he dreaded ever not being able to hear it straight from the source.

That little miracle in Sharon’s arms called out to him as well. He wondered how it was possible for someone so little, to have such a gigantic hold over him. She had stolen his heart in a way entirely too different from the way her grandmother had. It filled him with warmth all the same though, and caused his chest to tighten in the most sweetest of ways. Although not entirely the same, he thought it felt rather a lot like his love for his children, all consuming to the point where he would do absolutely anything for them. The feeling manifested itself in a restless sensation in his hands, he was almost literally itching to reach out to that little girl, pick her up, snuggle her impossibly close to him, and hope that her innocent mind, and even more innocent heart, would somehow gather how very deeply he had grown to love her in just the four short months of her existence, and that he found it hard to name even a single thing he thought was more precious than her. And that was saying something, considering the love of his life was the one holding her.

When he reached the chair, Sharon again didn’t notice him. She was far too preoccupied with the baby to take note of much of anything, but then the baby made out Andy hovering behind them above Sharon’s head. She started kicking her legs up, her eyes went wide and she let go of Sharon’s finger so she could wave her little, chubby hands around.

Even as he grinned at the baby’s excited reaction, Andy wanted to curse himself for causing Sharon’s song to end.

Surprised and still oblivious to Andy’s presence, Sharon bent her head down to the baby and gently ran her fingers over her tummy. “What has you so excited all of a sudden?” She pecked the tip of her nose. “My singing can’t be that good.” She chuckled, but her tone was slightly self-deprecating.

Finally, Andy braced his hands against the back of the chair, careful not to move it, and leaned down. “I think it’s perfect,” he mumbled into Sharon’s ear.

“Oh, my God!” Sharon startled, a hand instinctively going to clutch her chest before she remembered she had a baby in her lap and she quickly dropped it back to the girl’s diapered bottom. When she finally turned her head, she let out, scoldingly, “Andy!”

He laughed, and repeated mockingly, “Sharon!” When she glared at him, he quickly added, genuinely, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” In apology, he dropped a kiss to her hair, then looked up at Mia. “I see someone’s up again.”

Sharon shook her head, begrudgingly accepting the apology, then turned back to her granddaughter on a sigh. “Yes, she is.” She stilled the baby’s still excitedly kicking feet. “I didn’t want to wake you, but,” her tone deteriorated into the one reserved just for babies, “she is in a much better mood than she’s been all night,” she kissed the little feet, “isn’t that right?”

“Yeah,” he rounded the chair and crouched down to kiss the baby good morning, too, “well, I’d be in a great mood, too, if you sang to me like that.” He addressed the baby now, who was even more excited now that he was so much closer, and started reaching her hands out to his face. “You know,” it was Sharon’s turn to smile at his baby tone, “she never sings to me. She just yells, and glares,” his tone took a baby grumbling dip, and Sharon took a playful slap at his shoulder, causing him to add, “and smacks at me all the time.”

He grinned when Sharon rolled her eyes, and couldn’t resist picking up the little one when she made a giggling noise as if she actually understood what her grandparents were bickering about.

“Be careful,” Sharon warned, only reluctantly letting Mia out of her hold, “she just ate.”

He put her down onto his shoulder, and giving into at least one of his earlier desires, snuggled her close to him. When he took a breath, he wanted to groan in delight. God, he loved how babies smelled. It had been too long since last his own kids smelled so heavenly. “You’re my sunshine, too, you know,” he told her softly, and when Sharon’s lips instantly curved into an affectionate smile, he eyed her with a lopsided smile of his own, adding, “and your grandma.”

Sharon got to her feet and joined Andy at his side. In a silent thank you, she kissed his cheek he acknowledged with a quick grin, then peeked around his back to get a look at the baby. She had gone completely limp, closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his shoulder. She could have melted at the sight, but instead asked, only half-jokingly, “Should I be jealous?” She couldn’t resist tracing her fingertips gingerly over the light, thin hair on the baby’s head. “She never gets this excited to see me.”

Andy was far too proud over the very true fact to try to ease her worries. “Yes, yes, you should,” he nodded vigorously, swaying back and forth and rubbing the baby’s back, “I’m her favorite, and you’re just gonna have to learn to live with it.” To prove his point, he turned his back to Sharon, as if to keep the baby all to himself, but all that did was give Sharon an unobscured view of her, and an opportunity to place a kiss on her forehead.

She then returned to his side, and wrapped an arm around him. Her tone was deceptively sweet, almost saccharine. “Enjoy it while it lasts, honey,” she squeezed his hip playfully, “she’ll be all mine the moment she starts understanding all the nonsense coming out of your mouth.”

“Hey,” Andy said a tad loudly, moving out of Sharon’s hold, then quickly added, “sorry,” when the baby wiggled and made a disagreeing grunt. “I thought you liked my nonsense,” he told Sharon in exaggerated hurt.

Sharon pursed her lips, debating whether to give in or tease him a little more. She was, unfortunately, ever so slightly, truly jealous over the special bond her granddaughter and husband so quickly developed, and the latter idea won out. She found herself shrugging, as she said, her nose forcedly high and mighty, “I merely tolerate it.”

Andy narrowed his eyes at her, then tilted his head to the baby’s ear. “Your grandma’s mean!” he mumbled to her in a hurt, whiny, but conspiratorial tone, and his heart soared yet again, when the baby wiggled and snuggled even more into him, her tiny hands fisting his T-Shirt. “See, she agrees,” he told the grandmother in question.

Sharon very nearly burst out laughing. He had no clue just how utterly adorable he looked like that, with his hands wrapped protectively around the baby and his faux offended expression, and to top it all of, his still sleep tousled hair. She had seen him in grandfather mode with Nicole’s children, and once handling a baby, too, so this side of him wasn’t entirely new to her, but the gentleness and near infatuation with which he so completely loved Mia took her breath away, and if possible, she loved him all the more for it.

Before that love could overwhelm her and cause her to blurt out something that would make him even smugger than he already was, in half-hearted exasperation, she finally said, “You are such a grandpa.”

“Oh, yeah?” He took a couple of steps towards her, his lip curled into a smug grin. “Like you’re any better.” He looked pointedly at the hand she’d reached out to brush lovingly against the baby girl’s back.

She finally laughed, a light, bubbly, airy kind of laugh that was a sound Andy loved maybe even more than her earlier discovered singing voice. Yes, she was such a grandma, too. “Can you blame me?” she asked, dropping her hand only to gently squeeze their granddaughter’s foot instead.

He smiled. “No, I really can’t. She’s too precious.” He kissed the side of the baby’s head, and took a deep breath, for a moment savoring the distinct baby scent with closed eyes. “I can’t wait for the kids to pop out more of these.”

“Pop out,” Sharon repeated, promptly snort-laughing. “Oh, God,” she added in a thin, amused voice, her head flopping down to stifle her giggles behind the palm of her hand.

The baby wiggled against Andy again, trying to lift her head, eyes wide and curious about the unexpected and strange noise. He turned her around so she could see her giggling grandmother, then on a smirk intended for Sharon, told her, “Look, look,” he shrugged his shoulder as if to point at Sharon with her, “she’s laughing at you, kiddo, can you believe it?”

Even as she continued to laugh, Sharon swatted at him. “Oh, no,” she walked toward the baby, then gently clasped her cheeks when she was graced with a gummy smile, “I just adore you, little one.” She poked Andy in the ribs for good measure, and added with an exaggeration that was rather true, “More than anything in the whole wide world.”

Andy let out a sarcastic, and very confident, “Aha…”

His mere voice had the baby drop her head back onto his shoulder, and he laughed, turning back around to face Sharon. “See, still her favorite.” Shit-eating fell short in describing the grin on his face.

“Oh,” Sharon didn’t know what she wanted to say, and before she could even try to decide, she found herself taking the one step between them, clasping his face, and kissing him soundly on the mouth, then finally, and quite lamely, said, “you.”

Andy laughed, and kissed her once quickly, too. “What can I say,” he shrugged, and quirked his eyebrow innocently as he tilted his head, “I’m a charming guy.”

The baby was now completely alert, and she started making disagreeing noises before Sharon could respond, or most likely smack him again. When Andy turned her around and settled her into the crook of his elbow though, she quickly settled again, and he ran his fingers gently over the top of her onesie, just under her chin. “What do you say grandma continues that song of hers, huh?”

The baby just made some indiscernible garbling noises, but Andy took it for a yes, and added, flashing Sharon a quick grin, “I know, it’s like an angel singing.” When Sharon rolled her eyes at him, he added, already prepared to run away from her, “Who’d have thunk it, huh, a big bad meanie like that singing so,” he feigned a groan, “gooood?”

Yup, he had to duck quickly before Sharon could smack him again, and it made the baby clutch at his T-shirt again for his abrupt movement, but he quickly rocked her a few times and mumbled reassuringly, “No worries, I got you,” until she relaxed.

Sharon glared at him playfully. “You know what?” Her tone indicated Andy was about to get the short stick of whatever decision she just made. “How about I go get dressed for the day, and you,” she reached the baby and tickled her belly, making her squirm, “get grandpa to change your diaper in the meantime?”

Andy shot her a wide-eyed look of not horror, but betrayal. They both knew it was Sharon’s turn for diaper-duty, but Sharon barked out a laugh, studiously ignoring the fact, and said, “See, grandpa can’t wait for it!”

Before Andy could so much as think of a retort, Sharon had plopped a gentle parting kiss to Mia’s head, and was walking away, happily singing again.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

#took me forever to post it #but if you're in the mood for something ridiculously fluffy take a peek #major crimes #sharon raydor #andy flynn #shandy

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