#at the bottom of the sea. so when she finally ventures down there its like getting cell service after a trip and your inbox blowing up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

monsterywriting · 3 years

Text

Thenerius pt 5

part 1

masterlist

word count: 5.5k

Kissing Thenerius was by and large exactly as you imagined - every sensation you envisioned brought to life and expanded upon in reality. The tips of your fingers felt every dip and indentation of his features, the faintest hint of the growing bristles of a beard, pausing at the apex of Thenerius’ cheek, the raised skin of an old knick tangible. The scent of the oil still clung to his skin, softening his skin enough that his lips weren’t so rough against your own, normally chapped between the sea air and his more recent work in the cold.

To your surprise, however, Thenerius stiffened at first contact, almost flinching away at your already light touch in what you could only assume was surprise at your sudden forwardness. But, the tiefling was quick on the uptake, just as soon reciprocating and pushing up against you with enthusiasm.

Thenerius was much gentler than you imagined, not making any further move than what you initiated. To a point you appreciated his consideration, but you soon grew frustrated at the apparent wall you were up against. You hadn’t been looking for a battle, but you had been prepared for your competing wills to spur things forward - for Thenerius’ overwhelming hunger to threaten to engulf you, for your own discovered appetite to not allow yourself to be consumed.

You had seen the interaction as throwing away the voice of reason in your mind, any and all inhibitions gone, but it seemed that Thenerius was more mature than you had originally believed.

You were only vaguely aware of the mug slipping from your hand, already nearly crawling on top of Thenerius when it slid off the cot entirely and thudded loudly on the floor. Thenerius froze, pulling away slightly, leaving you to follow his line of sight over your shoulder and to the hallway.

“We shouldn’t,” he said in a hushed whisper, a desperate whine escaping you before you could stop yourself.

You craved more - momentarily considered suggesting you moved your tryst to the barn, or even the inn at this point, before realizing that was ridiculous. The thought was just juvenile enough to cut through your disappointment with a ray of amusement, you nervous demeanors more befitting a pair of teens bumbling through their first time rather than two experienced adults.

You leaned forward, panic flooding Thenerius’ eyes as he held up a palm to stop your approach even as his eyes flicked down to your lips in longing.

“Relax. I’m getting your cup,” you snorted, rolling the mug towards you and lifting it as proof before bending down to grab your own cup and rising to walk to the kitchen.

From the counter you could feel Thenerius’ gaze on your back even without turning, rinsing the cups in what little water was left in the large basin after the day. When you finally did chance a glance over your shoulder, the tiefling appeared deep in thoughts his gaze never wavering from you but not quite registering that you were watching him back.

Your lightheartedness, the tenderness of the moment shared slowly faded, replaced with uncertainty as you took in his unseeing expression. Uncertainty clouded your mind, unsure if it was the curvature of his mouth or the particular slope of his eyebrow that unsettled you, but you were still reminded of the fact that you were an outsider to his thoughts, privy only to whatever he decided to share with you.

You knew the reality of his profession, what he had to do, but you didn’t truly understand. You couldn’t imagine Thenerius as a ruthless pirate - what expression was on his face as stared down his enemies. You caught what was likely a fraction when

You also knew all the stories - the old burn on the bottom right corner of his mouth, the result of a pistol misfire during a duel, its companion a small circular scar on his left shoulder where the bullet went through. You didn’t know about the lashes on his back, your mind reminded you, and his answer as to their origin had been vague.

He presented himself as an open book, and he was good at it, too. He played the role of the earnest, lovestruck fool - an amiable, chatty, harmless man. You couldn’t reconcile the man that had been staying with you for the past week with the pirate captain who plunder or, Tova, kill.

But, tonight wasn’t for accusations, reality. You were content for now to let the moment be what it was, let everything else be set aside for the time being.

You pushed yourself off the counter, stopping in front of Thenerius, his full attention on you, some deeper emotion swimming underneath the softness with which he stared at you. Your hand found his, linking fingers and eyes sliding closed. You breathed in the scent of the oils once again, reveling in the moment for a few seconds longer…

When you reopened your eyes, Thenerius was fidgeting, his anticipation growing tenfold as you rose on your tiptoes, getting ever closer to his lips.

“I’m going to bed,” you whispered, pressing a chaste kiss against Thenerius’ lips and squeezing his hand one last time before brushing past him. Despite your conviction, a lingering doubt buzzed around your head like a pesky insect, always circling back after you’ve swatted it away.

Still, you bid Thenerius one last quiet good night, keeping your eyes strictly forward as you walked to the room, lest you never fall asleep.

You rose long before the sun, surprised when your eyes suddenly snapped open into the dark, not having expected to actually fall asleep with how abuzz with excitement your mind had been what felt like just moments before, the dreamless sleep doing little to abate the residual glee you felt.

After quietly changing into your day clothes, layered for the cold, you made for the door. Before you opened it, however, your hand brushed against the fur coat. You had forgotten to hide it away before your mother saw it, but if she had she made no comment about it, which surprised you.

Hesitating before grabbing it, you snaked your arms into the sleeves and went out into the main room.

The entire cottage was dead silent as you stepped out, still warm from the oven burning overnight - you realized Thenerius must have added more wood at some point during the night.

After closing the door as quietly as you could behind yourself, you began the long trek to the door, tiptoeing across the floorboards in the dark with the precision of someone who had spent years of practice figuring out which were the loud ones.

You moved slowly, not wanting to wake Thenerius, certain he wouldn’t be getting up at all today, feeling as though he’d been on the hood-end of a stampeding herd once he rose on the second straight day of being sore.

Still, as you approached the approximate location of the cot, you were tempted to peek over, curious as to what the pirate’s expression was like in the peaceful, suspended state of sleep.

You resisted, steeping forward in the dark and almost immediately colliding with the cot, unable to catch yourself before you fell forward.

After a moment of utter mortification at your clumsiness before your hands made contact with the cot and you realized it was empty, your hands only touching the fabric underneath, still warm. Squinting, you could make out the folded blanket at the foot of it.

Only now did you realize the silence you had been operating under should have been sign enough that Thenerius wasn’t even inside the cottage, your turtle’s pace all for nothing.

You rose back to your fee, striding to the door in record time. Thenerius rising must have been what woke you.

The moment you cracked the door open, the wind cut straight through you, a cold snap dropping the temperature several degrees and dissipating any heat that accumulated from the sun’s rays the day before in the pale light of the moon.

Gritting your teeth, you made a mad dash for the barn, grateful for the protection the coat provided, no matter how minor. You hated the cold, reminded every winter and it was infinitely worse in Alfore than the capital, where at least it never got cold enough to snow.

As soon as you made it, you flung the door open and closed behind you. The barn wasn’t significantly warmer than outside, but it was a marked improvement as its four walls at least provided some protection from the wind.

As you ventured further inside, the warm glow of an already-lit lamp confirmed your suspicions, finding Thenerius standing in Horse’s stall. The animal was surprisingly docile, allowing Thenerius to throw a blanket over his back without so much as a nip - jealousy flared within you for a moment before you realized his mouth was working on some treat. Of course he wouldn’t behave so early without some sort of bribe, usually annoyed if you roused him too earl.

Not wanting to interrupt, you stayed back, watching as Thenerius walked into the next stall brush in hand, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he set to work brushing down his own horse.

“You should rest today,” you said, leaning on the opposite wall. It felt strange, to be speaking so casually after… what happened. Just the memory of the night before had your face heating up.

“There’s a lot to get done today,” Thenerius replied, the declaration undercut by the visible wince he made when stooping down to reach his horse’s leg.

It was entirely possible the awkwardness you felt was just you, your own self-consciousness making every interaction out to be more than it was, but surely it wasn’t normal to say nothing after such a large development in your relationship. Something must have shifted, changed as a result of what happened to mark the before and after.

“And it will all still be here tomorrow,” you pointed out, looking away only to notice the stall with the goats was empty to your left.

“It’s what we agreed to,” Thenerius retorted, “I work and get to stay.”

“And pay,” you correct absentmindedly, pushing off the wall to walk across the walkway to peer inside the pen, “Did you let all the goats out?”

“And pay,” Thenerius added dutifully, stopping to watch you walk away, “Yes, why?”

You let out a sigh, your annoyance not directed towards Thenerius, as he didn’t know any better, but resignation that what you were about to do was not going to be fun.

“The kids we castrated and their mothers needed to stay indoors until they’re healed,” you informed him, allowing a minute to let the mistake sink in as Thenerius stared wide-eyed at you, “We’ll have to go out there and bring them back inside.”

“I’ll go get them,” he said immediately, setting down the brush on the shelf in between the stalls and heading to the door.

“Trust me, it’s a two person job,” you said, scrambling to grab a hanging rope and catch up, “The kids should follow but the mothers will not want to go in now that they’re grazing.”

“What if we got them hay?” Thenerius asked.

“Then they’ll all be fighting for it,” you said grimly.

After an hour of fumbling around in the dark chasing goats that had the tactical and spatial advantage, you were close to giving up and going back into the warmth of the cottage. The only thing that drove you to make ‘one more try’ and then two and three was the cost of losing the two goats if they up and died on you - losing the money you already put in on them and what you would have made from selling them. They weren’t even big enough to make the processing worth the nearly nonexistent meat you’d get in return if they did.

You managed to grab one of the two fairly quickly, able to use the element of surprise to catch her unawares, looping the rope around her neck with a knot and pulling her back to the barn with her fighting you every step of the way. Her kid took a minute to realize she was not any of the goats surrounding him, bleating after you. When you returned outside from ushering the pair back into the stall, Thenerius was struggling to even get close to the herd, the rest figuring out they were being picked off and closing ranks from the danger you presented.

“Come on, she shouldn’t be able to get away from the middle,” you said, moving on side to steer the group backwards. Thenerius got on the other side, both of your arms outstretched to ensure no one tried to run in between the two of you.

With some luck and a lot of patience, you and Thenerius were able to finally back the herd against the fence and you were able to pounce, grabbing her horns before she could try to run with the rest, throwing the loop over her head.

The moment Thenerius ushered the last goat into the stall, you slammed the door shut behind it, the two of you collapsing against the wall, breathless and in desperate need of a break after the amount of running around you had to do so early in the morning.

Your fingers were still numb from the cold, slowly thawing as you breathed onto them and stuck them under the collar of your coat against your throat.

Noticing your shivering, Thenerius reached over, taking your hands in his and rubbing them for warmth.

“I apologize for causing more trouble,” Thenerius sighed, averting his eyes and appearing to be mentally berating himself.

You laughed, unable to help yourself despite Thenerius’ genuine shame over the situation. His hold on your hands loosened slightly, and you snaked one hand from his grasp to rest on his cheek, the other squeezing his fingers in reassurance until you could compose yourself enough to speak.

It took you a moment, but once you could, you immediately assured the tiefling, “I knew you weren’t an expert goat farmer when I asked for your help.”

You succeeded in getting a chuckle from Thenerius - even if it was more of a dry scoff than any humor from your jab, but you could see his shoulders relax. The corners of his lips curled upwards, and you wanted very badly to close the distance between Thenerius and you, the desire so strong and so sudden it hurt when you didn’t immediately move.

“Can I…” Thenerius trailed off, eyes boring into yours.

“At least get some rest until sunrise,” you said, bringing both hands to your sides to climb back to your feet, “I can do the morning chores for you.”

Perhaps you were right; things were definitely different from before, the tension nearly unbearable between you.

“I still have the rest of the list to get through,” Thenerius answered, clearing his throat as he also stood.

You frowned, but conceded, knowing you wouldn’t be able to convince the tiefling otherwise and didn’t trust yourself to not give in to baser desires. The day was for productivity, not distractions.

“I’ll put some coffee on,” you said, leaving before Thenerius could say anything to convince you to stay.

When you returned to the house, the inside was freezing. You raced to the kitchen, grabbing wood and throwing four into the stove before you realized the fire had gone out completely.

Once you relit the stove, you had no idea what to do with yourself. It was still too early to wake the chickens, and there was nothing for you to do in the barn. Still, as you looked around, you realized you could at least tidy up the house. It was long overdue, often the last thing you thought about after work and the animals. Even the barn was in better shape at this point.

It took you until mid-morning to finish - taking breaks in between to do the morning chores - but you finally dusted every exposed surface with a rag, organized the kitchen and swept the entire main room.

Your mother had risen at some point and was nearly finished breakfast, also making the coffee. You weren’t particularly hungry, deciding to go out and finish the rabbit fence instead. When you went out to call Thenerius, however, you found him doing the fence already, the posts already in place in the ground.

“Breakfast is ready,” you said, eying the sheets of chickenwire already propped up against the wall.

“I’m almost done here,” he said once he noticed you standing there in awe of how much was already done, having planned to take at least a couple days to get the project finished.

After Thenerius left to eat, you wandered around the barn looking for something - anything - to do. When you entered the barn, the stalls were already cleaned, rabbits and goats quietly eating hay, even the wood scraps and pasteurizer had been put away.

The rest of the morning passed much the same, punctuated with frustration every time you searched for something to do only to find Thenerius already on it, or doing something in your way.

Taking care of everything had always seemed an uphill battle for you, an impossible task to be placed on a single person’s shoulders… and here Thenerius was, annoyingly efficient at it where you could only get the bare minimum done after two years. His focus was solely on his work, only sparing you the occasional glance when he passed by while you felt you couldn’t keep your eyes off him, handsome to you even if he was bundled up underneath multiple layers, including his wolfskin.

Rather than enjoy the fact that the greatest source of your anxiety was being resolved after a few short days of dedication, you instead felt a bit lost having genuinely nothing to do.

Without anything to preoccupy your mind, you could only think about the night before - and why Thenerius had yet to bring it up. You had been planning out the morning conversation you thought to be inevitable all night, dreaded it, even. You had expected Thenerius to seek you out, make assumptions as to the nature of your relationship or at least demand an explanation. Yet Thenerius went along his way as though nothing had happened just a few hours prior. Worst of all, you could feel yourself going crazy at the memory, your emotions running rampant rather than going silently in the night as you believed they would, worsened by the fact that Thenerius was by all accounts unfazed.

“I’m going to the inn in the afternoon,” you found yourself telling Thenerius, his smile falling as you spoke but he didn’t argue.

You hadn’t exactly thought the idea through; if you had, you would have reconsidered doing nothing, or going hunting - even if there was nothing to catch - or literally anything else besides try and convince Thistle to let you back early. Still, now that you had opened your mouth you were too embarrassed to back out and could only hope you would succeed in convincing Thistle to let you stay.

At noon, you took off the fur coat before going out to the pasture to get Horse and get him saddled up, raising your hand at Thenerius on the cottage roof as you rode past.

“No.”

You had yet to even finish stepping over the threshold of the tavern entrance when the familiar flat intonation of your boss’ annoyed voice rang out from the bar, the preemptive answer to a question not yet posed. He hadn’t even bothered looking up at you when he said it, a testament to how well he knew you - or perhaps the reason the tavern was currently empty.

After a brief pause at the blunt refusal, you recovered and continued the trek inside to meet your godfather.

“You don’t even know why I’m here,” you retorted as nonchalantly as you could manage, sliding into one of the stools at the bar across from your godfather, “I could just be here to visit.”

Mr. Thistle clicked his tongue, shooting you an unimpressed glare but did turn to look at you straight in the eye. It was a good sign, his final verdict undecided in your mind so long as he was willing to listen.

“I do know you still have five more days before you’re due to come back,” Thistle shot back, “and I’ve known you since you were in diapers, child. Now go back home.”

You let out a long breath from your nose, loud and annoyed but ultimately you pressed on with the flippant attitude, “Then you know I wouldn’t come to you if I wasn’t desperate. I’ll go crazy if I’m stuck on the farm another day. I’ll even do inn duty at this point.”

Thistle stared you down, but you knew there was no true venom in his harsh words or glare. Still, it was true that he knew you well; well enough to know when you had anything to hide - and you definitely had something significant to hide. Thistle could not under any circumstance find out about the pirate living in your home - and was currently alone with your sickly mother. Tova, there was no explanation in the world that could make the situation sound reasonable. You had to remain strong, an impenetrable fortress that couldn’t be read.

The longer the silence stretched, the more nervous you grew. When your godfather finally spoke, however, you were at a complete loss.

“How much money do you need now?” He asked, throwing down his rag and crossing his arms.

You blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion for a moment before realizing what conclusion Thistle came to. It took your mind a moment to catch up with his, and you realized the conclusion he had drawn was that your problems were purely financial. It was a reasonable conclusion to come to; you were in fact always short on money, and had been in dire straits just a few short days ago. It was infinitely more realistic than leaping to the conclusion that you had a pirate back home paying you twenty gold a month to work on your farm at least until the warmer months. You realized Thistle likely didn’t even know Thenerius had stayed behind, probably assuming he left with the rest of his crew.

When you remained silent, Thistle sighed, repeating his question and pointing his finger at you, “you inherited your stubbornness from your parents.”

“I’m not taking your money, old man,” you snapped immediately, already knowing where the conversation would inevitably go if you allowed it, “and I’m not taking the inn over for you so don’t even bring that up.”

“Then what does it matter if you take the money?” Thistle snapped.

“It’s your retirement money,” you shot back, “and don’t give away money you don’t have.”

The topic of money had come up when you first returned home to stay with your mother. Her treatment and the farm had burned through your paltry savings within a few months, to the point you debated returning to your old job and simply sending the money to Thistle. It was then he approached you with the offer of paying for everything. You had been certain at the time your circumstances were temporary, sure a cure would be found for your mother sooner rather than later and the loan - even if he tried to convince you there was no need to pay him back - would be unnecessary.

That was when Thistle first told you the history of The Deep. You parents had been the founders, Thistle working as a bartender at the time. After your father had gone he had taken over temporarily, but without her partner and having a child to raise, your mother’s leave became permanent. Since then, Thistle kept the business alive for you to eventually take over - having no desire to run an inn.

Eventually, your desperation grew and you made Thistle a counteroffer - working for him to earn money. You initially started as an accountant of sorts, organizing the records before eventually moving to customer service for the extra money.

“Fine,” Thistle finally conceded after giving up on the stare down, “but you’re on office duty.”

You withheld the grimace that threatened to reveal itself, half tempted to return home at just the thought of the amount of work office duty entailed. The dreaded task was monumental, the deadly combination of housework, paperwork and math.

The Deep’s records were a mess - less so than when you first arrived and put things in order, but it had gone now for several months. You thought back to the last time you saw Thistle’s office, shuddering.

“Deal,” you sighed, certain the assignment was punishment but still stopping before you trudged to the back office, “thank you.”

You sat in Thistle’s chair, cramped in the limited space behind the desk and feeling all the more claustrophobic with the walls of books on your every side. The ledgers were an idea you implemented, creating something of an archive in a small corner of the storage room for the paperwork you transcribed in the leather-bound books. The only clerical nightmare greater than this you could think of was Dr. Inderpahl’s entire clinic.

Still, as you started sorting through the paperwork to find where to start - assuming every looseleaf had yet to be added to the appropriate book - you felt a bit of nostalgia.

It reminded you of your work in the archives, though things tended to be busier back then. Even though no one was allowed to talk, there was plenty of background noise from the hundreds of people walking, writing and handling books. The great library had been more like a bustling mini metropolis in the lower levels.

Once you began filling out the new ledgers, you truly felt yourself fall back on the feeling of being a transcriber again. Getting up to set all the completed ledgers out of your workspace reminded you of re-shelving transcribed books, the sound of your pen scratching against the paper reminded you of the hundreds of others that once joined it in a symphony.

It was tedious work, ensuring every number and date you copied down matched the original record exactly, but you found it infinitely preferable to dealing with customers - especially as they were usually drunk. You found it easy to fall into the rhythm of the work, engrossed with what was on the paper and whichever ledger happened to be in front of you - payments, inventory, payroll.

You had no idea how much time passed within the windowless closet, but you were forced to finally take a break when the pain in your back from being hunched over without moving grew unbearable. You leaned back in your chair, back popping as you finally shifted from the same position you’d been in after what felt like hours, but your range of motion was severely limited by the wall your chair was pressed back against.

The office was too small for you to try and stretch your legs, but you also didn’t want to disrupt your workflow by going outside, so you opted to simply stand for a few minutes before getting back to work.

The moment your mind was idle, your thoughts wandered to Thenerius, and with it, your own self-consciousness reared its head with a vengeance. He had made no attempt to go any further with you last night. Perhaps the lengthy conversation of Paloma stirred up some latent emotion within him. Or his feelings for you had been resolved with the kiss, maybe it had been a disappointment for him.

It was a ridiculous train of thought. If anything, you should have been rejoicing over the fact that that Thenerius seemed disinterested now. Nothing about your respective circumstances had fundamentally changed; it was entirely possible that Thenerius had accepted that fact, and yet you were now struggling to do the same. You knew it was unfair of you to resent him for that. You turned him down, you chastised yourself, though the rational though only furthered your annoyance.

Unable to bear the suddenly shrinking closet any longer, you grabbed the stack of filled ledgers and attempted to maneuver yourself out from behind the desk. You were slowed down by your knee knocking into the desk top at full force, however, very nearly dropping everything.

You swung the office door open and emerged from the dark lair in a souring mood, your knee throbbing and a headache forming from the sudden difference in light.

Making your way to the storage room, you filed away the books. The shelves were exactly as you had left them, a layer of dust covering everything as though to drive home the point that Thistle had yet to actually file anything after you told him your system. Once you were done, rather than return to the office, however, you walked straight past the door and into the tavern area.

Lenora now stood behind the bar when you entered, saying nothing when you walked up to the bar, simply pushing her cup of ale to you over the counter.

As though the universe itself was working specifically against you, just as you were lifting the cup to your mouth the tavern entrance was opened, forcing you to lower it back onto the counter. The warmth built up by the fire was ushered out by the frigid air, the flames wavering under the strong gust of wind that accompanied the open door. You walked towards the door, ready to greet the new arrivals when you finally caught sight of them, your smile dying as soon as you saw the group of soldiers walking in.

It was a bad idea to make enemies with the army, but you could feel your annoyance shifting rapidly to anger at their intrusion, knowing they weren’t there to patronize the tavern at all.

“You two,” the officer in front approached the bar, clearly referring to you and Lenora, the only two people in the entire room, “Have there been any pirates through here?”

It was a brazen question, the kind made only by someone either too green to understand how money worked around here or who didn’t really care about the answer.

‘It’s winter,“ you deadpanned, an effective enough non-answer that the officer merely rolled his eyes rather than get offended before motioning for another soldier to hand you a stack of posters.

You took them, not needing to look down to know they were wanted signs, or that you would likely recognize more than a few faces on it.

“There’s been a recent sighting in Alfore of a particular individual. Hard to miss. A purple tiefling,” he continued, sounding bored as he tapped the top page, “Fugitive from the south. King handed down the sentence himself; highest reward’s for the captain.”

“Haven’t seen anyone,” you said, dropping the posters on the counter behind you after a cursory flip through before turning back to face the officer.

He turned around, taking in the empty tavern before turning back to look down his nose to the counter and finally back to you, “I can see that… you still have hang the posters up.”

You nodded, motioning for Lenora to add them to the wall with the other posters, some old enough to be so faded it was impossible to tell whose face was displayed nor how much their life was worth. The new posters were just a few of the many also required to be put up, hardly noticeable once Lenora moved on to hanging the next one; not that any of the usual customers paid attention to the wall by the door - other than admiring their own features.

“Anything else?” You asked.

The soldiers didn’t stick around long after that - their kind stuck to the cities and you had no doubt the Deep’s remote location left them desperate to return to civilization.

As soon as the thunder of hooves faded, you immediately made for the wall, scanning the faces until you found one with a familiar tiefling printed on it. Your eyes quickly scanned the page, finding the charges listed. Piracy, treason, murder - all stock accusations - but your stomach sank as you found a particular note at the bottom. Wanted for the sinking of the Dumirian royal vessel Calusia and the murders of her one hundred passengers and crew off the coast of Urait.

The date wasn’t recent, but… you quickly did the math, the time of the sinking approximately seven months before Thenerius arrived in Alfore, with at least six months for the voyage…

“It’s probably a coincidence,” Lenora said nervously from over your shoulder, apparently arriving at the same conclusion as you, “They’re always looking for pirates…”

You said nothing, stalking off to the other side of the bar counter before announcing, “I’m going back to work.”

#exophilia #reader insert #monster boyfriend #tiefling

73 notes · View notes

exosmutfactory · 3 years

Text

Six Phases FINALE Pt 2

Originally posted by tipannies

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

A/N: Let’s give Riley the ending she deserves 💗

[ contains: smut & fluff~]

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Tonight is a special occasion, one that requires the most lethal of dresses that I own. A dress I always had my eye on yet never dared to take out from the back of my closet. I could never find the right time to wear it—until now. Because tonight, oh tonight… I have a date with Baekhyun.

I pull up the spaghetti straps of my wine colored dress, making sure that the criss-cross stripes of fabric in the front are straight. This dress is definitely too cold for the first week of December, but that's what winter coats are for. For now, I will turn side to side to admire how the bodycon shape fits well with the cutout section exposing my stomach. Party in the front and business in the back.

Straightening the last strand of my hair, I smile when my phone lights up with a notification, knowing full well who it is. His cute usage of emojis visible on the screen tells me all that I need to know. Chuckling to myself, I set down my flatiron and reply to him.

Baekhyun planned a date at his apartment tonight, subtly dropping a hint about what I should wear. Mmhm, this isn't a t-shirt and sweatpants event. Based on the new black blazer in the back of his adorable selfie that he sent me the other day when he asked me out, I got a good idea of what I'm getting myself into.

Humming to myself, I check my reflection one last time and grab my keys before heading out. Let's see which shade of Baekhyun is awaiting me today.

Strutting my way to the elevator in my rose gold heels, I smile at my neighbor when she steps out onto our floor, whistling at my choice of attire. She winks at me as the doors close. Chuckling, I check my phone one last time, typing a quick reply to Sehun with my French tip nails letting him know that I'm okay. We've made a point to catch up with each other at the end of every week, whether face to face or over the phone. Unfortunately, I have plans tonight… and maybe tomorrow too. And the day after that.

Smirking, I repocket my phone and wrap my fluffy coat tighter around me, waving to the security guard while making my way out of the building. The bite of the December air is refreshing for my skin, the heat packed into my coat leaves me slightly too warm otherwise. I look both ways before crossing the parking lot, staying aware of my surroundings. The last thing I need is any drama from a careless driver or lurking thief in the streets. These heels are too expensive to break off into someone's ass for making me late.

My car unlocks with a familiar chirp, its headlights coming on while I walk around to the driver's side. Taking one last glance at the world around me and my back seat, I climb inside and set my purse down on the passenger's side. My phone vibrates just as I start the engine, buzzing faintly against the soft R&B CD playing on my radio. With a small smile, I check my rearview mirror and pull out onto the road.

I hum along to the first track, wondering if a UN Village actually exists while navigating to Baekhyun's apartment. The Christmas lights set up on the light poles in advance bring another smile to my face. Something about this time of year always sits right with me.

Before I know it, I'm pulling into a parking space at his apartment complex, waiting for the powerful vocals of the 6th song on the album to fade away. Sighing a little, I lean back in my seat, sweeping my eyes over the parking lot as the windows start to fog up. Who would have thought that I'd be back here nearly a year later? With warmth in my heart and a certain silver haired, idiotic yet adorable man on my mind.

"I love you," I mumble shyly, holding eye contact despite my heated cheeks and racing heart.

His whole face lights up with his smile, sparkly brown eyes outshining all the stars in the sky as he cups my cheeks in his warm palms. "I love you more."

Stepping out of my car, I pick up my purse and head inside, sharing a knowing look with the familiar security guard on my way to the elevators. It feels so good to be back, the year-long bad memories vanishing with every step I take. To my home—to my heart. The man my heart calls out for like a rescued fish returning to sea.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach when I arrive on his floor, taking my time to walk down the brightly lit hallway. I wonder what is in store for me tonight. After all, when it comes to Baekhyun, anything can be awaiting me on the other side of that door. Possibilities are endless.

Taking a deep breath, I knock on the door, smiling softly when it opens seconds later only for my jaw to drop to the floor.

Baekhyun... with his silver hair parted to the side, wearing fucking brown eyeshadow. That new black blazer of his has buttons on the ends of the sleeves, sitting perfectly on his broad shoulders. But the real sight to behold is lower down on his body, starting from his half-buttoned black shirt showing his honey-toned chest. That view alone could send a woman into a coma, but then he had to tuck his shirt into a pair of snug leather pants. The belt around his hips shows off the curves of his waist and those damn black heeled boots are back again.

I don't even care that he can see me practically drooling—I already know what's on my menu for tonight.

"Hey," He smiles charmingly, taking my breath away.

I take a moment to compose myself, peeking at him from under my eyelashes with a smile of my own. "Hi, B."

His eyes and smile soften. "Come in, it's cold out." He steps aside to let me in, closing the door behind me.

Humming softly, I relish in his alluring cinnamon scent. "Not really," I mumble distractedly, thinking of how much warmer I feel at the sight of him while he helps me take off my coat. The way his breath hitches has a smirk quirking at my red painted lips. "What are we having tonight?" I inquire, glancing over my shoulder at him.

Baekhyun's eyes immediately shoot up to mine. "D-Dinner," He coughs, trying to cover up his flushed face behind his hand.

"Oooo," I walk further into the apartment, following the spicy aroma of food and making my way to the kitchen. "Okay. What did you order in?"

"Actually," Baekhyun's citrus shampoo floats in the air when I reach the doorway, staring at the set table with wide eyes. "I made it myself," He mumbles shyly, the cool plastic of the flower pinned to his blazer brushing against my back.

"Holy shit…" It's a fucking feast. Fresh salad, crunchy garlic bread, and the most appetizing platter of spaghetti that I've ever seen in my life. Not only that, the single-lit candle in the middle of the table has my heart and below squeezing in earnest. This cheeky little hopeless romantic.

"The meat is turkey-based," Baekhyun perks up after a few moments, walking around to place used pots and pans in the sink. Busying his fidgety hands with moving everything off of the counter. "I bought hot sauce but didn't put much because I didn't know if you'd like it spicy or not."

Walking further into the room, I rest my hand on the back of a chair, watching him with a lick of my lips.

Baekhyun continues occupying himself with everything in the kitchen, not even noticing when I slowly approach him. "The toast is on the softer side and I have some sweet tomatoes in the fridge-"

Fuck it.

I grab him by his jacket when he turns around, tugging on him so hard that a few buttons pop off and scatter around on the floor.

Baekhyun gasps, stumbling a little before bracing his hands on the surface behind me, the dishes on the dining table rattling under our joined weight. "Riley-"

I smash my lips to his, kissing him with fervor, backing him up until his back presses against the counter. I'm relentless with tugging and biting down on his bottom lip, capturing it between my teeth. He moans right into my mouth when I part his lips, sucking hard on his tongue.

The audible smack of our messy kiss echoes around the walls of his apartment, steadily building up tension in my stomach and the ache between my legs. Baekhyun softly huffs and puffs for air after a few minutes, pulling back to catch his breath with rosy, lipstick-smeared lips. "D-Dinner-"

"I'd rather eat something else," I utter lowly, rubbing my hand down his chest. My eyes flicker back up to his wide orbs just in time to catch him gulping, his warm brown eyes darkening significantly.

He looks at me for a long moment, hesitation vivid in his body language. I step closer, cupping his cheek before pressing my lips to his, gently coaxing his soft lips to dance with mine. Baekhyun takes a deep breath before wrapping his arms around me, the caress of his hands over my exposed skin leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This, I muse, shivering in delight when my body is fully pressed against his, is what has been missing.

He grows more daring the longer our lips lock, his warm hands sliding up the back of my thighs and venturing under my dress, bunching up the fabric. His fingertips teasingly slipping between my thighs has my pussy quivering, my own palms tugging on his tucked in shirt to feel more of his skin. Baekhyun grips my ass before spinning us around, hoisting me up onto the counter while I tangle my hand in his hair, my lips still glued to his. I moan when his fingers land on my clothed core, welcoming him between my parted legs.

"You're so wet," He breathes, a look of awe on his face. Sweat is already dripping down from the edges of his hairline, casting his skin in a dewy glow under the dancing candle lights.

"I'm not the only one," I murmur, tapping the back of my fingers on the bulge in his snug pants.

Baekhyun groans, pulling me into another kiss, making me gasp when he tugs me closer to the edge of the counter, his hardon right against my heated core. I shiver, wanting to widen my legs and close them at the same time when he rolls his hips, the thin fabric of my lace thong doing nothing to conceal his erection from my throbbing clit.

Our loud moans and sloppy kisses fill the air, the temperature rising in the room with every roll of his talented hips. I tighten my grip on his hair, gritting my teeth to hold back the tension building between my legs. 11 months has been way too long for me to not be intimate with someone like this, but looking up at Baekhyun's already fucked out face, I wouldn't have it any other way.

With shaky hands and quivering legs, I reach down to undo Baekhyun's belt, flinging it out of my way before pulling his zipper down. My hand slips a few times when he moves my thong to the side, sliding his middle finger into my greedy core.

"Ah…" I pant, tilting my head back as he trails searing kisses down my neck. "Fuck." The feeling of him inside of me after so long has me squeezing my thighs around his waist, fighting the wave threatening to fall over me when he finds my sweet spot immediately.

"So good for me," He murmurs, sucking my earlobe between his teeth. He slips in another finger when I finally pull his cock out of his boxers, swirling my fingers around his tip and stroking him in my firm grip. We speed up as we pant into each other's mouths, too turned on and drowned in pleasure to keep up with our kiss.

"Fuck, baby." He pulls back, cheeks flushed a pretty red hue, "C-condom-"

"No time for that." I shake my head, digging my heels into his lower back only to pause, narrowing my eyes at him. "Unless-"

He shut me up with a kiss this time. "No." He murmurs, meeting my eyes, his firm grip tightening on my hips. "No one else but you."

I am surprised by his answer, but I just nod, letting him continue. I might not be able to read Baekhyun like a book as he says I do, but I know he doesn't fuck around when it comes to his health. Let alone when it concerns the pretty, thick dick he has. Brushing his hair away to look into his eyes, I part my lips only for my breath to hitch, blushing at the feeling of him aligning his cock with my entrance.

"May I?" He murmurs, resting his forehead on mine.

The annoying throb between my legs has me clenching my teeth. "If you don't-" I gasp, clutching onto his shoulders as he slides in to the hilt. The burn of him inside me after so long is more than I expected.

Baekhyun pauses to let me adjust, pressing a chaste kiss to my lips that just makes me spasm around him. A gasp escapes him in turn, his slender fingers digging into the soft swell of my hips. "Easy, baby." He strains, voice deepened in lust.

"Easy for you to say," I grumble through gritted teeth, my back arching when he circles his hips. He presses flush against my goosebump-covered skin, giving me warmth as he starts up a comfortable rhythm, spreading my legs as far as the counter will allow. I can't help but gulp, leaning back against my braced palms. Just the view of his stunning body fully dressed beside his unzipped leather pants is messing with my head, let alone his cock pressing every spot within my walls that drives me insane.

Baekhyun pulls out, and before I can say anything, I hear his knees hitting the floor. Silver locks of hairbrush against my inner thighs moments before warm, wet sensation brushes against my clit.

"Mmm," He moans, tightening his grip on my thighs when I jolt. He pulls me even closer to the edge of the counter, placing my legs over his shoulders, "Come here."

All I can manage to do is tangle my fingers in his luscious locks. Hopefully they are strong enough to sustain my knee-jerking tugs when he drags his lips over my core, sticking his tongue into my hole and taking my folds between his lips. Baekhyun is just… gentle, slurping and smacking his lips against my throbbing core without a care. He's taking his time down there as if he has all the time in the world. I feel bad for my arousal dripping onto the counter and all over his chin—it's embarrassing, but it's never been this… this good.

"So sweet," He murmurs, sliding his warm palms up my waist.

Trying my best not to succumb to the coil in my stomach, I risk a glance down at him. The sight of his tongue poking out from between his coated lips to caress my swollen nub in the gentlest of ways has me tensing up—even more so when his brown eyes flicker up to meet mine.

"Baekhyun." I pant, tugging harder on his hair.

"Come on," He breathes, gripping my hips when I start to tremble.

"B-Baekhyun." It takes everything in me to hold on, bracing myself against the counter. "I want you inside…" I throw my head back when he slips a finger inside, quickly followed by another.

"Give it to me." He demands, so softly in an airy tone, his breath hitching at a particularly hard tug on his roots. He's damn near pleading for it and it's driving me crazy. "Come all over my face, baby."

Yeah, there's no winning this fight. With his lewd words and soft lips wrapping tight around my clit, rolling it around inside of his mouth with his tongue, that's it. Game over. How I managed this long without falling over the edge by the works of his mouth is a mystery within itself.

Baekhyun doesn't stop humming and massaging my clit with his lips until I softly push his head away, closing my shaking legs. He stands back up, sliding his hands up my thighs and leaning in for a kiss. It's different from the others we've shared tonight, filled with a certain hint of gentleness and love that matches the yearning and adoration in his sparkly brown eyes.

"Fuck, Riley." Baekhyun pulls back, cock twitching in my hand when I rotate my wrist. He cards a hand through his hair, chuckling in disbelief. "You are driving me crazy."

"Yeah?" I drawl, wrapping my thighs around his waist. "Come show me crazy."

"I'm not gonna last…" He admits, looking worried.

"How long do you plan on loving me, Byun Baekhyun?" I demand, tucking my index finger under his chin for him to face me.

Baekhyun's eyes dance like shimmering orbs of light. "Until my last dying breath."

"Well," I breathe, butterflies fluttering my stomach when his words settle in. "I'm sure we can fit in plenty of rounds until then."

The sweetest smile forms on his handsome face before his brows knit together, biting his bottom lip when I pull him back inside, digging my heels into his back.

"Don't hold back," I whisper into his ear, brushing my lips over his neck. Baekhyun takes a shaky breath, pulling away until only his tip is in my sensitive core. The bruising grip he has on my hips is the only warning I get before he plunges back inside.

Baekhyun doesn't hold back in the slightest. He sets a fast, near brutal pace, lifting my hips to slam inside of me at an angle that has me screaming his name, clinging onto his clothed shoulders for dear life.

"Fuck, baby." He groans, his steady rhythm taking on sloppy, shallow thrusts. The squelch of our joined bodies stirs up an unexpected heat in me. "I'm gonna-"

"Yeah," I breathe, locking my legs around the back of his trembling thighs. My heart and pussy clench in earnest at the expression on his face.

Baekhyun pants, sweat dripping down his forehead and falling off of his jaw. The flap of his jacket exposing his chest with his shaky movements. "Can I-"

I lick the salty sweat from his heated skin, sucking harshly where his collarbone meets his gorgeous neck. "Inside me, B."

He groans the loudest one of the night, hiding his face in my neck as he pounds into me. His cum spills deep inside, hot and messy. The warmth of it triggers my own release. I have to bite down on his shoulder to contain the uncontrollably loud moan that's ripped from my throat with his final gentle thrusts.

Baekhyun slows down to a stop, his chest flushed to mine while we try to regain our breath. The smell of sweat and sex permeating the air has me giggling breathlessly, running my fingers through his damp hair.

"Fuck—baby," He mutters, hurrying to pull out. "Your dress."

"It's-" I moan, biting my lip when he slides his fingers back in.

"Where's a towel," He frantically looks around, the most comically concerned expression on his handsome, dewy face. "There it is! Ah, it's too far away... I'm sorry, baby-" He stops when I wrap my hand around his wrist, slipping his cum covered fingers between my lips.

"Take it off of me," I whisper, staring right into his dilated eyes.

"You'll be cold," He murmurs, looking between my eyes and my mouth sucking on his fingertips.

"Then warm me up," I purr, wrapping my thighs back around his waist.

Baekhyun's jaw drops, his cock already stirring against me. I reach down to take him into my hand, rubbing my fingers around his tip. "You'll be the death of me." He groans, tangling his hand in my hair and pulling me into a searing kiss.

Hours later, we're curled up in bed. My head on his pillow with his hands in my hair.

"W-Will you stay the night?" Baekhyun whispers, brown eyes no longer showing signs of tiredness.

I smile, completely in love with this new side of him. Baekhyun, in all that he is, is the most beautiful man in the world. "Of course, baby," I murmur, tracing random shapes on his honey skin.

He perks up with the most beautiful smile growing on his face, gently pulling me closer until my head rests on his chest, his fast-beating heart a dead giveaway to how happy he is. I kiss over his heart, looking up into his shimmering brown pools of love. Is he...? Gently swiping my finger under his eye has a tear falling down his cheek. And another. And another…

"You mean everything to me," He breathes, arms and legs tangled so much with mine I don't know where he ends and I begin.

I smile, falling asleep to the beat of his steady heart and the security of his warm arms. "You mean the world to me."

•••

Time goes by so fast when you're happy and in love, turning even your hardest days into nights that you want to remember. Just having that person you love the most by your side, through thick and thin, for better or for worse, makes all the difference in the world.

—The only downside is how agonizing time passes when you are apart.

I pop my bubble gum with my chin resting in my palm, humming and tapping my pen on my desk. After catching up on a day's worth of paperwork, (blame my procrastination… and spending the weekend at Baekhyun's,) I'm bored, impatiently waiting for noon. There's only one way to fix this mood before I'm in a slump for the rest of the day, and looking at the home screen of my phone, I plan to arrange that very soon.

As soon as 12:00 pops up on the clock, I tap the first number on my speed dial, pressing my ringing phone to my ear.

"Hello?" His honey-smooth voice flutters over the line.

"Baekhyun." I apply a fresh layer of lip gloss to my lips, tucking away my hair to make sure my diamond earrings don't get tangled. "Are you free for lunch?"

"Yeah." He mumbles distractedly, shuffling papers filter through the call before a door shuts.

"Come over." I demand, hanging up. Pushing back from my desk, I walk over to my vanity table, straightening out my black lace, sleeveless bra from under my robe. It's mid-Spring again, already hot enough to wake me up in the middle of the night when I don't sleep with my fan on. The perfect excuse for what I have planned for my "week off" of work. I don't care how many business meetings I have to host from the comfort of my own home.

The doorbell rings just as I'm smoothing down my hair, checking my reflection one last time in the mirror. I make my way out of my bedroom and into the living room, pulling the door open with haste.

Baekhyun stands on the other side with wide, frantic eyes, dressed impeccably in a black suit with his slicked back silver hair the slightest bit ruffled. "Riley, what-"

I yank him inside, crashing my lips to his, pressing his body to the door before it slams shut. His scent surrounds me in seconds, vanilla-scented clothes with traces of smoke. The rich citrus of his soft hair and the hint of musk on his skin from a long day of work. My hands are undoing his tucked in shirt before he can get a word in.

"Riley." He grunts, holding me close as I trail messy kisses down his gorgeous neck. I walk backwards to the couch, toppling onto it with him following me.

"How long before your next meeting?" I murmur, pulling him closer by his tie.

Baekhyun visibly gulps, brown eyes darkening significantly before they flicker back up to mine. "They'll survive." He chuckles, licking his lips, leaning in for another frenzied kiss.

Yeah, Baekhyun wasn't kidding about him being a workaholic—which I already knew, but damn if it isn't annoying sometimes. He's more busy stressing over the new designs for his clothing line than helping me plan his 27th birthday party. All my subtle questions to find out what he would want have been futile. It's just been him typing on that damn computer of his for hours.

I go around spraying the plants in his office, talking sweetly to each of them to make sure they get enough Co2. Their droopy leaves need some perking up with the sheer amount of gloom coming off of Baekhyun's furiously typing form.

He abruptly stops, sighing loudly for the 100th time today. "I should give up."

"Nooo," I pout, walking behind his chair to wrap my arms around his neck, taking a small peek at the rough sketches on his computer. " Keep going, don't give up now."

Baekhyun smiles tiredly, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand. "What do you know about that, hmm?"

"A bit." I smile softly, lightly resting my head on his. "Things may seem shaky now. Just out of reach. No longer within your control." Twirling his hair around my finger, I smile to myself. "But that's okay, it means you are being challenged. And a challenge conquered to the best of your abilities will do you a lot of good." I close my eyes, basking in his presence and comforting scent. "So keep going, you'll never know what you are capable of until you reach the end."

My eyes snap open when Baekhyun suddenly spins around, staring up at me with wide, teary brown eyes. "B-" I wheeze, not expecting him to pull me into his arms, hugging me like a lifeline. "Baekhyun…?" I try again, growing alarmed when his tears wet the front of my shirt.

He only holds me tighter in response, his chest silently heaving against mine. I slowly wrap my arms around him and gently tangle my fingers in his hair, pressing a kiss to his ear.

He's adorable, in every way, shape, and form. Ugh, I'm going to end up in a love-induced coma one day with the way my heartbeat always skips when I'm around him. No matter if I'm meeting him for lunch or if he comes to work across from me at my desk when I'm chasing deadlines, I wouldn't change a thing for the world.

—Except maybe his sense of timing things.

I startle awake, clutching my racing heart with unsteady breathing. The details of my nightmare slowly fade away, but it does little to calm me down. Feeling a sense of urgency, I clumsily search around for my phone. I'll text Baekhyun; I need to make sure he is okay.

My eyes squint at the bright screen of my phone, not expecting to check it in the middle of the night, let alone the notification I find there.

Baekhyunee💘💕🥺💓😘

Thursday, 2:34 am

Riley

Hlep

I nee d u

I fly out of bed like a bat out of hell, rushing over to his apartment, nearly hitting three pedestrians on the way. Parking hazardly in the first empty parking spot I find before jumping out and all but running to the fourth floor. I pound on his door loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood until he opens up, revealing bloodshot eyes and a can of beer in his hand.

"Baekhyun, what's wrong?" I pant, resting my hands on my knees and frantically looking him over. He mumbles something unintelligible under his breath. "What?" I demand, trying to catch my breath.

"I-I just..." He mumbles sluggishly, slouching his shoulders with sadness in his puppy eyes. "I just miss you."

My frantic heart softens. "Get inside and sit down." I demand, pressing a kiss to his cheek before closing the door.

I love this man so fucking much. Even if he annoyingly wakes me up sometimes at 2 to 3 am, I'd run over to his place with my baggy pants and sleeping cap in a heartbeat.

•••

June rolls back around before I know it. This time, however, I plan to decline Jongin's offer to participate in the dance competition again. But to my uttermost surprise, he'll be taking Kyungsoo instead. For tap dancing.

???

Just how multi-talented is Baekhyun's group of friends? Spare me some of that energy, please?

Speaking of friends, Chanyeol's tall figure invited us over to his house today, the mansion that he used to share with Baekhyun and Jongdae.

—I have a grudge against him right now though because he literally called Baekhyun in the middle of the night to challenge him to some video game duel. The comical way his face changed when he saw me glaring at him from the corner of their video call though. By the end of their conversation, an invite was extended to me and Sehun too. It's "best friends" night, and boy do I have a lesson for Park Chanyeol. Lesson one: never underestimate a woman on a mission. In work, life, or on the playing field.

"Damn, man," I mumble, looking wide eyed at the huge flat screen TV and various game consoles around the room. "Leave you alone with the mansion for 2 years and you stocked up your mancave to the finest degree."

Chanyeol flicks a few buttons on the wall next to the door that dims the lights, letting the bright TV and a few arcade games illuminate the room. Baekhyun's eyes twinkle brighter than anything else in the spacious room. He goes over to chat with Chanyeol while I stand in the doorway with Sehun.

"Hey," I whisper, nudging him. "Remember when you used to stream your games back in the day? And the pink hair?"

"Oh yeah." Sehun chuckles while I notice Chanyeol perk up out of the corner of my eye. "I had a setup similar to this back at home." He stuffs his hands in his pockets, taking another look around. "Less impressive though," He mutters, crinkling his nose.

Chanyeol quickly walks over. "Number one victory royale?" He asks, eyes wide. "King of the south-bound?"

"Moisty mire extraordinaire...?" Sehun inquires, eyes widening as well.

Chanyeol stares him down for a long, hard minute, and then raises his hand. "Truce?"

Sehun smirks, gripping Chanyeol's hand firmly in his. "Truce."

I blink, more than confused. Baekhyun catches my eye and just winks.

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

I'm having a huge dilemma—no, a midlife crisis. All hell is about to break loose and I'll be in the center of it.

Baekhyun asked me out on a date—I know, I know, listen!

He asked me out on a date… with barely any hints on what to wear.

He didn't say, "wear whatever you want," when I called him earlier. He told me to, "wear something nice."

Nice?! Nice. That's all I got while he remained tight-lipped about his own outfit. At least give me a color, man!!!

So, here I am, swiping clothes left and right in my closet like a madwoman until my eyes land on the perfect dress. One of sheer beauty and elegance.

A white, off the shoulder, hollowed out strapless mini dress with floral patterns from start to finish. The sleeves are made completely out of lace, the ends resting beautifully on the back of my hand. I smile at my reflection in the mirror, keeping my makeup light, only focused on enhancing my features. My phone buzzes just as I recap my eyeliner.

Your chariot awaits.

Giggling, I quickly type up a reply, tucking my phone into my clutch while wondering what this 'chariot' could be. Baekhyun sure does fancy using these cheesy words lately it seems.

Strutting down to the parking lot as gracefully as this dress will allow, I feel thankful for the warm summer night air. Bugs and I, when I'm wearing a dress like this, I need all the warmth I can get.

A blue jeep pulls up and honks at me, confusing me for a second because it isn't Baekhyun's Audi until they roll the passenger window down, revealing Jongdae's ever-bored face.

I blink a few times. "...What kind of low budget uber is this?"

"Yah!" Chanyeol loudly protests, barely overpowering Jongdae's rambunctious laughter. He glares at the brunet clutching his stomach.

"Hop in, Cinderella." Jongdae chuckles as the car doors unlock.

I carefully climb into the back seat, readjusting the hem of my dress.

"Someone got all dolled up tonight." Jongdae grins, shooting a teasing look back at me.

"Ubers don't talk much, Dae." I point out, watching the city lights fly by while Chanyeol pulls off and navigates us down barely familiar roadways. "Where are we going?"

Chanyeol meets my eye in the rearview mirror. "Where do you think?"

"If I didn't have your mother's number on my speed dial I'd call the police, Park," I grumble, resting my elbow on the car door and my chin in my palm. Jongdae's laughter quirks a smile on my lips while Chanyeol continues driving with furrowed brows and a grumpy frown on his face.

After a while of speeding cars and the radio quietly playing, a certain blue building catches my eye. "Where are we?" I perk up, my eyes widening at a sign in the distance. "Is this...?"

"UN Village," Jongdae supplies.

"Step on the gas, Yeol."

"I-I'm not sure you want to do that, Riley." Jongdae tries to diffuse the situation, his weary features flickering over to the competitive expression forming on Chanyeol's face. "You could get motion sickness and-"

"I thought you were the fastest on the road, Yeol," I fake pout, subtly making sure my seatbelt is secure. "I guess I was wrong."

"Oh yeah?" The tall oaf counters, bursting for a challenge at this point.

"Riley," Jongdae tries again when Chanyeol sits up straighter, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Don't-"

I curl my lips up into a shameless, cheshire cat grin. "Betcha."

My back thuds against the seat when he accelerates. Chanyeol weaves in and out between other vehicles on the road like no one's business. Thankfully the traffic is light tonight and we are taking a lot of unpopular backroads. Heaven knows what would happen if he did this in the heart of Seoul.

Jongdae holds onto the passenger car door and the back of Chanyeol's seat for dear life, the reflection of him in the mirror looking a little green against the bright city lights. By the time Chanyeol slows to a stop, he's leaning his arm across the dashboard, tucking his head between his knees.

"Never," He croaks out, gasping for air. "Again."

Chanyeol's triumphant smirk has me holding back a giggle. I direct my eyes out the window to avoid Jongdae's disgruntled glare.

"Ha! You call that fast?" I grin, hopping out of the car on wobbly legs. "My Grandma can drive better than that."

"Riley," Jongdae pipes up weakly, holding his stomach while Chanyeol's nostrils flare, big brown eyes ablazed. "Don't encourage him, he isn't your ride home."

I begin to rebuke, but pause, noticing an odd building in the distance. "What the…" It's a giant white structure with a curved entrance, another one of those intricate places that the Hannam-dong architects must have loved to build here. "What kind of building is that?"

"Keep walking," Chanyeol nods, gesturing to the long walkway between the tall walls. "You'll see."

Butterflies erupt in my stomach, making me nervous for a moment, but the good gut feeling I get from looking between both their expressive eyes encourages me to move forward. "Thanks for the ride, Yeol," I say softly, patting his jeep before taking a few steps back. Smirking mischievously over at Jongdae. "Sorry for making you lose your lunch, Dae."

He waves me off with a fake annoyed expression, not able to hide the curl of his little smile.

I spin around on my heels, walking through the entrance between the two curved walls. The clicks of my heels on the pavement is the only sound I hear. Following the uneven path, I crinkle my nose, wondering what the hell Baekhyun is up to this time. Got me out here walking down curved pathways in the dark.

Well, apparently the building curls all the way around to a see-through door in the middle, but that isn't what makes me stop in my tracks. It's that flash of familiar silver hair.

Baekhyun leans against the wall with his silver hair parted in the middle, twinkling under the bright lights. Wearing a white blazer, a white t-shirt and silver leather pants. The metal of his belt catches the light along with the rings on his fingers and accessory necklaces adorning his neck.

I snap my jaw shut, making my way over to him. "Baekhyun…"

He smiles warmly, little strands of hair dangling in his eyes in the most handsome way. "Hey."

"Hi," I whisper. "You look…" Eyeing him from head to toe—to those damn sexy heeled boots, I'm at a loss for words. "Wow."

Baekhyun chuckles, moving off of the wall to walk closer to me, taking me by the hand. "You look beautiful as well," He murmurs, kissing every knuckle on the back of my hand.

I feel my face heat up all the way up to my ears. I've only been out here with him for 5 minutes and I'm already about to faint from the softness blooming in my frantic heart. "What are we doing tonight?" I ask softly, not sure if I want to keep gazing into his sparkly brown eyes or look away from the butterfly-inducing adoration written all over his face.

"It's a surprise," Baekhyun supplies, chuckling at the impatient expression on my face. He brings my hand to his cheek, staring deeply into my eyes. "Walk with me?"

My heart goes into overdrive. With that look on your face? I couldn't deny you if I tried.

I nod and let him take the lead, resting my head on his shoulder. There's something about being with him at night like this. Something unexplainable and magical in the air. The soft fabric of his blazer brushing against my cheek and the light July wind blowing through his hair. He's so warm and smells so good I have to bite my tongue not to drag him back to my apartment just to curl up next to him on the couch.

Something tells me that tonight will be a special one, but really, if it's with Baekhyun, anywhere and everywhere, I'll love it either way.

I notice something out of the corner of my eye when we step out onto a sidewalk, briefly lifting my head from Baekhyun's shoulder. "Dokseodang Children's Park?" I mumble curiously.

Baekhyun hums. "This is my favorite place." His eyes sweep over the slightly aged equipment, resting a hand on my back.

Humming myself, I start to reply only for my eyes to dart over at the dirt road ahead.

Baekhyun immediately takes notice, coming to a stop at the edge of the sidewalk. "What is it, hmm?"

I look up at the annoyingly buzzing light pole. "That flickering light-"

Baekhyun snaps his fingers, and the whole world goes black for a moment, then a dozen lights twinkle in the darkness. Fireflies lighting up the night under the shine of the full moon.

"Come on." His honey-smooth voice rings, softly squeezing my hand before leading the way. I rest my other hand on his arm and watch my every step, realizing we are climbing a hill with the deep slope brushing against the front of my heels. Grass crunches under our footsteps, crickets sing their late night songs of cheer, and then I see a peek of something bright as we near the top of the hill. I gasp, nearly tripping in my haste to get a closer look, my heartbeat skyrocketing when we reach the edge of the steep hill.

A stunning table seated for two sits in the middle of the plateau, with a cooler holding an unopened bottle of champagne. Dome-covered plates are set on the white table cloth and a few candles are lit on the table. Vanilla fragrance flutters in the gentle wind as I take in the dozens of lanterns hung up in the tree above. Brightening up the area surrounded by miles upon miles of other rolling hills without outshining the moon. I even spot the UN Village sign at the other side of the park; you can see everything from up here.

"Baekhyun…"

He smiles so brightly when I look at him. "Yes, my love?"

You mesmerizing little hopeless romantic. I can only press a kiss to his soft cheek, hugging him.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes," I mumble into the safety of his shoulder.

He rests his head on mine, hugging me to his chest. "Then why are you hiding, hmm?"

"I love it so much," I mutter, fully content to stay here for a few more minutes. "It's so pretty I have tears in my eyes. I can't believe you."

Baekhyun chuckles, rubbing my back so soothingly it takes all my strength to not melt further against him. The heavenly scent of vanilla once again meets my nose; we have a date waiting for us.

Slowly pulling away, I look into his sparkly brown eyes, smiling shyly before making my way over to the table. He's a step ahead of me in an instant, pulling out a chair for me while I giggle, hiding my adoring smile and red face behind my hand. God, my heart is racing so hard I swear it's threatening to jump out and run to him.

I give him a grateful smile, my skin buzzing under the familiarity of his gentle touch when he pushes me in, his citrus and cinnamon scent perfectly blending with the vanilla while he walks to take his own seat across from me.

Baekhyun sighs softly, tilting his head with a nearly playful smile. "Ready?"

Grinning a little, I tilt my head to the opposite side, relishing in the twinkles of amusement sparkling in his eyes. "Ready as I'll ever be."

He chuckles. "On three?"

I nod, gripping the handle on the top of the dome cover with another smile.

"One," He leans closer to his dome, mischief swirling in his brown eyes. "Two."

More than amused, I play along, butterflies fluttering in my stomach under his beaming smile.

"Three!"

I lift up the dome, setting it aside while taking in the food neatly arranged on the plate. It's a Korean cuisine that I haven't seen before, full of delectable vegetables and tender meat. Watching Baekhyun take his first bite has my mouth watering for two reasons. I carefully cut a slice of beef, closing my eyes when it melts on my tongue. Holy shit, who is the chef behind this? That person needs a raise.

"Kyungsoo made it," Baekhyun smiles, chuckling when I hum at my next bite. "I have to help him out next week though," He frowns, nearly pouting. "He doesn't like doing things last minute."

Recalling the whole ordeal for Jenny's birthday, I can't help but laugh. "I know," I smile, resting my chin in my palm.

Baekhyun smiles, his nose scrunching adorable while cutting another piece of meat.

Conversation flows naturally between us, as always. Baekhyun is just like that, an easy person to talk to, but it's much different than before. He hums a lot, resting his chin on his palm while gazing at me with adoring and attentive eyes, the tiniest of loving smiles on his face. If I wasn't wearing this expensive white dress, I'd lean over the table and kiss the hell out of him.

However, the mood changes slightly when we are nearly done. He keeps tapping his fingers on the table and his foot against the leg of his chair, clearing his throat with a worried expression on his face.

"Bae?" I call softly, tilting my head at his lack of response. Tired of the constant clink of his leather boot against the wooden chair, I nudge my foot against his. "Are you alright?"

He blinks, sitting up straight at once. "Yes, love." He clears his throat again, smiling shyly. "Wanna dance with me?"

"Dance?" I look around at the grassy nature and chirping wildlife, meeting his eyes again. "There isn't any music here, B."

He shakes his head, standing up. "Yes there is."

"I-" I go quiet when he takes my hand, resting it over his beating heart. Looking up into his imploring brown eyes, I start to understand. I nod, slowly standing up as well, following him over to the empty side of the hill.

Baekhyun lifts up our joined hands, interlocking our fingers together and resting his other one on the small of my back. I rest my free hand on his shoulder, gazing deeply into his brown pools of warmth. He makes the first move, slowly stepping forward while I take a step back. The crickets chirp louder with every movement we make, growing more confident by the minute.

Melting at the way his heart beats against mine, I look up at the stars, millions and billions of twinkling lights filling up the night sky. Meeting Baekhyun's gaze again, however, reminds me that not all the stars and planets combined can outshine the sparkling light in his warm brown eyes. He smiles softly as if hearing my thoughts, squeezing my hand before spinning me around, welcoming me right back into his loving arms.

I could spend forever like this, staring into his eyes and listening to his beating heart. Just the two of us while the rest of the world fades away, nothing but background noise to our undying love.

"Look," Baekhyun perks up, looking up at the stars. My eyes flicker up, widening at the shooting star streaking across the night sky. "Make a wish," He murmurs warmly, taking a step back.

Feeling a sense of hope and childlike urgency, I whip around to face the star head on. What should I wish for? The star is reaching the edge of the sky! Sensing Baekhyun's comforting figure behind me, I have all the answers I need.

I wish… Closing my eyes, I clasp my hands together, finding strength in the soft summer breeze. For a love like this, for all of eternity. The last few streaks of the star fade away when I open my eyes, smiling softly until I remember where I am and a certain someone who is with me. Where is Baekhyun? Stiffening up, I quickly spin around in alarm, slapping my hands over my mouth at the sight.

Baekhyun: on one knee, holding up a small jewelry box with shaky hands and vulnerable. "Why do you look so scared?" He breaks the ice, chuckling nervously.

"I thought you left," I blurt, snapping my mouth shut.

He laughs fully this time. "No." He shakes his head, smiling up at me with the sweetest of smiles. "I'm right here."

I take a deep breath, nodding slowly.

"I love you," He declares warmly, keeping his eyes steady on mine. "I love the way my name falls from your lips, the soft swell of your hips, the love in your fingertips." He smiles. "How your doe eyes go wide when you're surprised. The way you curl up next to me in your sleep when I'm working at night." A little grin forms on his face. "The shy expression you get when you ask if I want the rest of your food and that little song you always sing nonstop around the house when you're happy."

I cover my face in embarrassment, peeking at him from between my fingers.

Baekhyun chuckles, continuing, "I love the little notes you leave when you make me lunch. The way you squeak when I kiss right here." He taps the back of his right ear. "Your beautiful mind and all the mischief that comes with it..." He laughs a little. "The way you nag me when I don't dry my hair and yet always end up doing it for me anyway."

"Your sarcasm and loving touch," He murmurs, sparkles dancing bright in his eyes. "The dimples you try to hide when you smile." He cracks another grin. "Your quirky mismatched socks and way of talking." He laughs warmly when I groan, rethinking all my life choices. "How red your face gets when I compliment you." He hums. "Your loud, high pitched, raspy laugh that I know you hate but I simply adore."

"Oh my god," I cover my eyes, knowing how right he is and how hot my face feels right now.

"How sexy your accent is and how sassy you get when you're angry," He murmurs humorously, giving me a knowing look. "That high horse you climb on when you don't want to admit you are wrong that leaves me frustrated and amused at the same time." He chuckles, sighing softly, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "The look on your face when you cry that makes me want to hold you and hide you away from the world."

My heart squeezes as tears spring to my eyes. I sniffle softly, fanning my face while meeting his loving eyes.

"I love everything about you." He takes a shaky breath. "Not a day goes by where I'm not grateful for you coming into my life."

He looks down for a moment, blinking rapidly before flicking his hair out of his eyes. "I know I'm not much," He mumbles. "I-I know I've done so much shit in the past that you have every right to walk out on me for. I know that you deserve way better than me." He swallows thickly, lips trembling before he presses them into a thin line. "Even with all of this, I have some promises I want to make."

Baekhyun raises his head, reaching to take my hand in his. "I promise not to run away. I promise to communicate. I promise to stay by your side through every blessing and hardship you go through." My heart pounds at the determination in his words and sincerity in his shimmering eyes. "I may not be the perfect man for you." A hint of remorse sparks briefly in his brown eyes. "But I promise to love you with all that I have—with all that I am," He pauses, holding my hand securely in his. "Until my last dying breath… If I break any of these promises you have permission to kick me where the sun doesn't shine." He mumbles in a jokingly grumpy tone, smiling when I giggle.

"I promise to love you until the end of time." His voice starts to wobble, hands shaking while looking deep into my eyes. "Please," He opens the box, revealing a sparkly, rose gold ring with matching gems lining the sides. "Marry me, and be mine."

"Yes." I choke out, tears streaming down my face when I bend down to cup his tear-streaked cheeks in my hands. "Yes. Yes! A million times yes."

Baekhyun stands up, slipping the ring onto my ring finger with uttermost care. As soon as he's done, he pulls me close, sealing my lips in a searing kiss that I gladly let take my breath away.

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

"Unzip me?" I ask, peeking up at him from under my eyelashes.

Baekhyun hums and I spin around, chills going down my spine when his hands gently brush my hair out of the way, warm fingertips brushing over my cool skin. The instant relief of being free from the snug material has nothing on his quiet gasp as he slowly drags the zipper down. He steps back while I shrug off the dress, leaving it to pool at my feet before turning to face him.

His hair color looks out worldly under the favor of the moonlight; shining strands of silver and dark grey swaying with the summer breeze. The way the light reflects off his chains casts him in an eternal glow as he looks at me with those warm, brown eyes. The hints of adoration and need in those captivating orbs break me from my trance.

I take more steps until I'm standing in front of him, pushing his blazer off his shoulders and tilting my head to meet his awestruck gaze, my tone soft and warm, "Baekhyun."

He gulps, letting it fall to the floor while I rest my hand on his chest, placing the other on the back of his neck. The fast beating of his heart under my palm makes me smile before my lips press to his, savoring the taste of champagne on his tongue. I tighten my hold on him when he wraps his arms around my waist, backing me up to the bed.

I sit perched on the edge of the mattress, looking up at him when he pulls off his t-shirt, exposing lean muscle and honey-toned skin to my hungry eyes. I can't help rubbing down his chest and gazing at him from head to toe, smiling at the tint of pink to his cheeks. His leather pants join the scattered pile on the floor before he joins me on the bed, his gentle hands pulling off the rest of our clothes.

"You sure are being bashful tonight," I murmur, lightly tangling my fingers in his hair, relishing in how his warm body presses mine to the cool sheets.

Baekhyun smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to my collarbone. "Let's take things slow tonight." He meets my wide eyes with his adoring ones, pulling the covers over our bodies when I give a timid nod.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

youtube

Cry with me

A/N:

HA! Y'all thought I was going to break these two up forever. I still had the Un Village scene left!!! >:'D A lot has happened in this long asf Finale and you know, on one hand (me being me) I'm never satisfied with it, HOWEVER those last two scenes? Yeah, that's the best for me. :')

Okay I NEED TO RANT for 2 minutes. *inhale*

I have never, ever EVER had such a hard time writing a character. My perfectionism really popped out in Jackson's scenes, I swear. I tried writing about this man and it just didn't feel right because I don't know him as well. I legit spent almost a week watching Youtube videos, GOT7 music videos, JACKSON SOLO VIDEOS and fell down a rabbit hole of smut (typical smfh) just to figure out how to present him properly! I know writing is all about how you present your character and how you can make them different than the person you base them off of but holy f*ck I wanted him accurate and that accuracy kicked me in my nonexistent balls… so that up there was the final result *deep exhale*

After all of this I can safely say that Jackson is one of my favorite soloists and member of GOT7 bye-

-THE ACTUAL END NOTE WITHOUT THE RAMBLING-

We've finally made it, loves. Six Phases is completed. It's been 2 long years of writing this story. 2 years full of laughter, smiles, dance breaks, hardships and tears.

I'm writing this end note before I even finish the story that you've read above. I'm writing this little note while on hiatus. I'm writing this while in the process of working on this story so I can heal - because that is the very reason this story was created. For healing. For growth.

The Baekhyun character you all know, see, hate and love? His expressions of love are heavily influenced by IRL Jenny; my girlfriend; my heart. My coauthor; my other half.

Without her, I wouldn't know genuine happiness, vulnerability, or to know that someone can love you unconditionally. Flaws and all. Without her, I would have stopped at chapter 4 and disappeared from the writing world forever. She taught me that it is okay to be open, my loud annoying rambling self and that I deserve to follow my dreams. She has stopped me from deleting this story a hundred times. She is the reason why I opened my heart time and time again to truly let these characters' voices be heard. Their flaws and all.

Every character is a part of me, but Baekhyun and Jenny are inspired by her. I can't express how grateful I am to her without crying on you; I've cried enough happy tears while finishing this lmao SO just know that she has helped me a lot with completing this story, and for what I will write in the future.

Before I end this note that has gone on for too long already, I want to express my gratitude and love to everyone who has helped me continue and finish this story. Please don't feel bad if I don't mention you directly, I have warmth in my heart for everyone who has read Six Phases. You being here means the world to me.

Loving Mentions

Miss Kay - you seriously don't know how much you have restored my love for this story. I'll never forget the first time you reblogged SP on tumblr and your comment still brings tears to my eyes. I always thought this story was garbage and seeing how much you enjoyed reading it encouraged me to pick up where I left off. Thank you for everything <3 I can't thank you enough.

Miss Jamie - I always love reading your comments and the theories you had with each new chapter of the story. I'll never forget that Minute Man joke, I swear. I'm still laughing over it. Not to be giddy but I always look forward to your comments ^^ Thank you for always sharing your thoughts about the story with me <3

Sherlock Holmes Anon - dear, you and your THEORIES!!! I adore them all. I love all the knowledge you've brought to the table about the meaning of the colors in this story and its universe. You are amazing and everything you are studying is paying off!!! Wishing you all the best in your studies ^^ show those exams who's boss, they got nothing on you and your lovely brain <333333

My aff loves

Beau1996, alexajjang, byundipyun,

queeniexoxo, byunsugar, Taqdees,

juntar, Vish15, baeknhyu,

Baekie_18, Endzii22, ohyeahbb, Shawolgurl, bbhmystar.

- thank you for all of your lovely comments. Your words made me the happiest in the world. Every time I used to get those instant aff notifs on my phone, I'd run across my house to read them, ahhh~~~ I always love hearing from you <33333

My tumblr lovelies - thank you sooo much for all the love and interactions you've given to my story T-T I'm not tearing up, it's the cake batter in my eyes. You guys are amazing.

My beloved anon readers, tumblr and aff commenters - I'm sending you so many freaking hugs and tissues for the angst you've been exposed to XD hearing the hot tea and ideas you had for this story was such a joy. Thank you <3

I've spent hours a day replying back to you all, no joke. Every comment is precious to me and I always want to give back what you all have given me <333 I hope this story's ending was a happy one for you, I've had it planned since fall 2020 and I'm so happy to finally be able to share it with all of you.

Thank you, for interacting, commenting, subscribing, and upvoting. I appreciate all the love you've given this baby (haha) fic of mine more than you can ever imagine. This story is dedicated to all of you <3

-and oh, don't worry. This isn't the end of Baekhyun & Riley's story, this is only the beginning. <3

Thank you, can't wait to see you soon 0:) <3

~Love a million times over, Nisa

youtube

#baekhyun smut #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun romance #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun angst #The End #Six Phases

76 notes · View notes

ruleofexception · 3 years

Text

SoulM8 AU - Ch 7

Day 3 of this NSFW nonsense! @snowwhite-andtheknight

Morning comes with a headache that’s out to get him like he owes money to a mob boss, and the horrible realization that he’d failed to brush his teeth last night.

It’s like he’s got little Chewbacca’s for teeth. Fuzzy little monsters where his pearly-whites should be. And his tongue-

Ack.

His tongue can taste itself. And it’s so not good.

It’s legitimately like something crawled into his mouth in the middle of the night, shit itself and then promptly died. He’s got a shit-carcass on his tongue. Right at the back, near his throat.

Tongues shouldn’t be able to taste themselves. They just shouldn’t. But if he’s suffering from the lingering taste of this shit-carcass, then it’s probably safe to assume that his morning breath is-

Oh god.

The breath gets caught in his lungs. Lips press together - like that’s somehow going to keep the stench from wafting out into the open - and his eyes scrunch shut a little tighter as he hopes - prays - that she’s still sleeping. That she’ll be too lost to her dreams to notice the bed shifting as he crawls his way out of it and drags himself into the bathroom to brush his teeth and gargle a couple bottles of Listerine. Maybe rummage through his cupboards for some Tylenol or something to help with this headache trying to split his skull in half with a jackhammer.

Terrified of opening his eyes to find emerald staring back, he starts off slow. Just a sliver of gold. Barely enough for him to even register the sunlight pouring in through the window to land on-

Empty sheets?

That seems… odd.

They spent the night cuddling. He knows they spent the night cuddling; because at one point, he woke up in a slight and disoriented panic, because something was wrapped around him like a goddamn jetpack.

It was her. She was wrapped around him like a jet-pack which did very strange things to his heart and made him ache to whisper his love for her, even as she snored very loudly in his ear.

And that means that his sheets should not be empty.

Before it can make a monster of his emotions, Obi tries to wrestle with his anxiety and convince himself that maybe she’s just wormed her way down the bed. She’s small enough. Tiny enough that it might be easy to lose her amongst the sea of sheets. This vast ocean of a mattress.

He’s not really sure if that’s even possible, but, then again, he’s never dated someone this tiny before. So, it might be a thing.

Usually he finds himself with women who have no problem reaching the top shelf or who - especially if in heels - tower over him. He’s never had to consider whether he might lose them to the tide of sheets, because they always took up the whole bed. Shirayuki, however, may be able to reach the top shelf if she stands on the counter, but heels - even the largest ones she could get her hands on - would likely only bring the top of her head up to his nose. If that. And the bed?

She may very well be lost somewhere near the bottom, where the comforter is likely all fucked up. Maybe she’s down there, drowning in it. In need of help, to free herself from its clutches.

“Shirayuki?”

He dares a whisper, opening his eyes, determined to check and-

And curses - rather loudly and creatively - when the mid-morning sunlight almost fucking blinds him. Little bursts of light dance behind closed eyes and his head throbs as he shoves his face back into the pillow with a moan.

Surprisingly not stupid enough to try another staring contest with the sun, only seconds after being blinded, one foot cautiously ventures out towards her side of the bed. Past chilled and empty sheets, his foot and leg wander, searching for a limb, waiting for an annoyed and sleepy grunt, or a terrified shriek as he accidentally boots her from off the end of the bed. Finally, his toes find-

The edge of the bed.

She’s not here. There’s nothing here.

Nothing but empty sheets.

“The fuck…” he slurs into his pillow, brows pinched.

Where is she?

Last night he’d had a lot more to drink than he’s had in a while, but-

But, still.

He remembers most of the night. Remembers enough to know that she was fucking here and-

Something clatters in the kitchen - a wooden spoon, dropped on the floor, he thinks - followed by a tiny squawk and hushed curse.

Ah.

She’s still here. Good.

For a brief second there, he was starting to worry that, perhaps, the impact of the L-bomb he dropped hadn’t quite hit her until she sobered up. Fear that, maybe, she’d grabbed her things and left, before he or the sun had a chance to rise.

Obi relaxes a little. Lets his heart try to get back to its regular old rhythm, as he takes a moment to revel in the soft and muffled sounds of Shirayuki flitting about in his kitchen. Making herself at home. And although it antagonizes his headache, he grins. Laughs a little, to think that last night actually happened and that she loves him, just as he loves her and-

And almost gags when the pillow spits his breath back up in his face.

Wrenching up and away from the noxious fumes now clinging to his pillow, he gasps and struggles to sit up. To find his feet and swing them over the edge of the bed, with the hope that they’ll just know how to carry him to the bathroom, without him having to open his eyes, so he can do something about the awful stench without being totally blinded.

Again.

But his feet are hopelessly tangled in the sheets and every time he tugs at them, they only seem to become more ensnared. The blankets, creeping up his legs. Swallowing his knees and thighs as he continues to struggle.

Jesus, fuck-

These fucking sheets are like quicksand. And, just like in the movies, the more he moves, the more of him becomes trapped. Twisted in the unforgiving folds of madness.

Already, they’ve claimed him up to his waist. Inching their way up past his belly button.

If he carries on like this, in only a few more minutes, he’ll be the one who turns into Stay-Puft. Which could be fun, but not exactly how he’d like to start his morning. Especially when Shirayuki is somewhere in his kitchen, humming along to whatever song is stuck in her head, and sober.

Possibly hungover, as he is.

But, sober.

And that’s the important part.

With a renewed sense of determination, he starts to claw and yank at the blankets, with heavy and tired limbs. Buck and squirm as they, somehow, manage to engulf him up to the long, jagged scar on his chest.

“Fuck off, sheets.” He snarls sleepily.

There’s no way he’s giving up. He absolutely refuses to lose to a stupid piece of fabric. Shirayuki is out there, and he’s not. And the sooner he can free himself of the sheets and get himself to the bathroom, the sooner he can hold her in his arms. The sooner he’ll be able to ask if he can kiss her.

If that’s not incentive enough to claw his way out of these godforsaken sheets, come hell or high-water, then he’s not sure what is.

Groggily daring to crack one eye open, he tries again and-

“FUCK!”

His heart launches itself into his throat just as his eyes go wide, and he tumbles - ass-over-teakettle - out of the bed to slam into the floor as a blind and twisted heap of human and sheets.

“Ouch.” Grumbling, he tries to rub at where he’s just beaned the back of his head off the floorboards, but finds, with a growing sense of frustration, that he’s now neck-deep in sheet-sand.

“O-Obi?” Shirayuki calls out to him, worry making her voice tight. Closer - inching her way down the hall towards him - she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He grunts, hopelessly fighting with a sheet that’s doing its best impersonation of a straight-jacket. Blinking sunlight and tears from his eyes, he breathes heavily through grit teeth and growls, “Just having-”

“A rough start to the morning?” The giggle from the doorway does absolutely nothing to calm or steady his heart, still lodged in his throat.

“Admittedly, not my smoothest,” with a pained chuckle, he rocks his head back until it rests on the floor, “but I-”

The words stop dead on his tongue. He blinks at her for a moment, trying to process. Trying to figure out if what he’s seeing upside down, is the same right-side up and-

“What?” Shirayuki smiles coyly. A deep blush quickly paints her throat and drips down towards the tops of her breasts, before it vanishes beneath the apron she’s wearing.

He’s having trouble recalling if he even owns an apron. He doesn’t think he does. Honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever owned an apron. But the longer stares, the more he finds that he doesn’t much care where it came from or if it is, somehow, his. He just knows that he likes it. A lot.

Swallowing hard, he tilts his head slightly, trying to get a better look at her. Trying to read what’s written in gold script across her tits. “You’re wearing an apron.”

“I am.”

The apron itself is already enough to divert the blood flow from his brain, but it’s the breathless hum of her laughter and the way she tucks a flyaway piece of red behind her ear, that just about pushes him over the edge. Growing harder by the second, he raises a hopeful brow at her. Wets his lips and groans, like whether he lives or dies hinges on how she responds. “Only an apron?”

“Don’t be silly.” Another delicious wave of laughter. “I’m wearing more than just an apron.” She winks at him and - still watching him from over her shoulder with one graceful red brow arched as though to say ‘see?’ - turns around, and slowly saunters back down the hallway towards the kitchen.

Struck stupid, Obi’s gaze falls down her bare back, drinking in the thousands of freckles splashed along her skin-

The apron strings, tied back in a little lopsided bow at the base of her spine-

And, finally, the pièce de résistance-

Dark, lacy panties that cut across the swell of her ass in a way that is so fucking hot, if he were capable of forming a single, coherent sentence, he’d beg her to come over and sit on his face. Whimper that he would very much like to have her for breakfast.

As it is though, just seeing her walk down the hallway, away from him, wearing nothing but an apron and those fucking panties, causes every synapse in his brain to fire at once and he does the human equivalent of blowing a breaker. Completely short circuits.

Whatever doesn’t stop working entirely, starts to malfunction. Both his heart and his lungs - neither of which seem to remember their job - struggle to find room in his throat as his gut explodes into flames. His brain starts to melt and his poor cock - woefully confined beneath at least three different layers of material - twitches and throbs.

Only when she’s no longer in sight-

When all he can hear of her is soft, delighted humming coming from the kitchen; accompanied by the sounds of coffee being poured and things frying in pans-

He starts to flail about on the ground like a madman. Like a dollar-store Houdini, who’s more apt to end up in handcuffs than break out of them.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck.” Twisting and writhing, desperate to free himself of these goddamn sheets, he pants, “Holy sweet fuck, I love her.”

With one arm mercifully free and a foot close to joining the number of movable, functional limbs he has, he starts trying to trip and stumble and drag his way towards the door. It’s not a graceful process. Not even close. But he doesn’t care, because it works.

The sheet slowly loosens its grip on him and by the time he’s up and fumbling his way towards the bathroom like he’s got two left feet, it’s just a puddle of material in the middle of the hall.

Heart doing its very best to break his ribs and flames licking up the inside of his chest, Obi all but flings himself into the tiny bathroom, and immediately starts digging through the cupboard for tylenol and mouthwash.

Fingers pause their frantic flight when they land on the box of condoms. His breath catches.

It’s fine, if she doesn’t want to. And he’d be totally okay if all they end up doing is talking about what happened last night - what was said and what wasn’t said - while they eat the breakfast she’s made, but-

But if the apron-

And those goddamn panties-

Fuck.

If either of those are any indication of how this morning will go, then he’ll be a well-fed man. In every sense.

He swallows hard. Refrains from biting at his knuckle to hold in the moan that’s building in the back of his throat and takes a deep and shaky breath, before fishing a condom out of the box and slipping it into his pocket.

_____

The advil he frantically choked back is starting to kick in, the total scrub-down of his teeth and tongue have left his mouth feeling like some icy cave in the arctic, and the kitchen smells amazing. Freshly brewed coffee, crispy bacon and fluffy pancakes.

Her.

“So you like it?” Shirayuki purrs, arching into him. Stretching up on her toes until the heat of her words is a ghostly kiss against his lips. “Really?”

“Like is an understatement.” He gasps when her fingers rake through his hair. Cup the back of his neck. “I still can’t believe you texted Yuzuri, asking her to drop off a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron.”

“Hahh-” a sharp breath and a shiver, as his palms glide up her sides; a trail of goosebumps, left in the wake of his touch. “Drunk me does have her moments.” She wets her lips. “And Yuzuri is a good friend.”

Gold flicker down. Though she’s still covered by the apron and its gold-scripted order to ‘Kiss the Cook’, the tops of her breasts - rising and falling with rapid and excited breaths - are stained red with the heat of her blush. Obi nods, appreciative and enthusiastic. “A great friend.”

For a moment, the kitchen goes silent and still, save for their shallow breaths and racing hearts. Not even the clock in the living room, or the yappy dog from next door, make a sound.

Finally, nails curling against his scalp, Shirayuki whispers, “Hey, Obi-”

“Mhmm?” It’s a choked sound. Strangled, before it even has a chance to fully form.

“Last night you told me that, if we were sober-” she leans in closer. So close that when she speaks, he can almost taste the words on her lips and tongue. “You’d kiss me.”

“I did?” He tries to tease. Tries to raise a brow at her, like he’s no recollection of having said that. But even to his own ears, he’s breathless. A low and wanting whimper, more than it is a lighthearted jest.

“Mhmm.” The hum that vibrates up and out of her is as sweet and thick as honey. “Thoroughly, I believe is what you said.”

Gaze fixated on the way her lips have pulled up into a half smile to dimple her cheek, he leans in with breath held captive in his lungs. “Thoroughly?”

“Mhmm.” The hand cupping the back of his head, with nails dragging pleasantly along his scalp, starts working to grab a fistful of his hair. It’s her turn to whimper. To choke on words hardly formed as they slip from her throat. “And we’re sober now.”

“So we are.” He grins. Rumbles; determined to make her tell him exactly what she wants. “Your point?”

Bordering on exasperated, she pulls back only far enough to gesture frantically at her tits and the gold script winking up at him. “I really don’t think I can make this any more clear, Obi.”

Unable to help it, Obi snorts and gently butts his forehead to hers. Lets his fingers curl into her sides as he draws her closer once more. So close, that they’re chest-to-chest and the hard length of him is pressed against her belly. “Shirayuki, I should have kissed you last night.”

“Yeah.” Soft - so impossibly, unbearably soft - she murmurs, “You absolutely should have.”

Before her, those words would have scared him. Would have left him wondering what else he’s about to lose. What else he’ll have to replace. Because, before her, when intimacy was involved, ‘should have’ usually meant something was about to be thrown or broken. That he was about to learn the price of ‘no’.

But, now-

Now, ‘should have’ means that she agrees with him. Agrees that he should have kissed her, but understands why he didn’t. It means that she’s giving him permission, now, to do what he should have done last night.

‘Should have’, no longer means that he’s royally fucked up. It just means that she’s patient enough for him to figure his shit out.

“I guess I’ll just have to make up for lost time.” And he means it. Every word. He will do everything he can to make up for the time they’ve lost - and he’s not just talking about the kiss he withheld last night. He’s talking about all the years he made her wait. All those moments she was haunted by the big flashing zero on her wrist, because he was too stupid and stubborn to let himself believe that maybe - just maybe - there was someone out there, waiting for him.

That she was out there, waiting for him.

“I guess you will.” She teases, “And you can start,” her lips dust against his as she whispers, “by finally kissing me.”

_____

Shirayuki gasps against his lips as they stumble backwards and the countertop bites into her back. He devours the sound. Feeds it to the flames that bellow and roar within him, and starts searching for the next scrap.

Waiting for the next gasp or whimper or moan he can have.

The hand threaded through her hair - the one that cups the back of her head - tightens and fists as the kiss deepens. As her nails bite into his chest. Claw at his shirt. Wander their way down to the waistband of his jeans and tug playfully at his belt loops.

He thinks that’ll be it. That, in a moment, she’ll retrace her steps. Maybe let her fingertips slip beneath his shirt and flutter them along his abs. Make her way back up until her palms lay flat over his heart and she’s left to silently wonder over the gnarled, puckered skin she’s stumbled upon.

But she doesn’t do what he expects; which in a way, he supposes, he should have expected.

Only one of her fingers seems to be brave enough to test the waters, but it more than makes up for its shy comrades. Fearlessly and with very little hesitation, it dips into his waistband and wriggles beneath the tight elastic of his boxers; and while it’s not quite long enough to reach wiry hair or brush against the head of his cock, it’s certainly long enough to make his hips stutter at the sensation. His heart thunder in his chest and a groan swirl in his lungs.

Encouraged, Shirayuki grunts, trying to stretch a little more. Reach a little farther. Convince her other fingers that if they were to work together, maybe she could somehow manage to shove the whole of her hand down into his pants, without having to worry about button or zipper. And, albeit slowly, they start to join the first. One by one, her fingers stop hanging around outside his jeans and try to wiggle their way down to where the first is doing its best to follow the sharp cut of his hip, towards his cock.

Obi leans into her with a moan. Traps her hand and wandering fingers between them as he pulls her bottom lip between his teeth. Bites and nibbles and sucks as he quickly tries to decide whether the hand resting on her hip wants to migrate to her breast or her ass, and-

And it’s really not fair that he has to decide on one, when he wants both. Needs both.

Breaking the kiss with a harsh gasp, pulling her hair only hard enough to tilt her head and bare her throat to him, he growls against her pulse, “I don’t have enough fucking hands.”

Her laugh is a breathless pant. A delighted whimper. “Is that so?”

“It is.” Teeth graze along the column of her throat. “I need-” fingers dig into her hip, growing more and more frustrated that he can’t have both and still keep a hand knotted in her hair. He counts. Debates. Finally settles with a huff, “I need at least four.”

“Hahh-” her own hand - still trapped between them and fingers dangerously close to rubbing up against the head of his cock - starts to wiggle and fidget a lot more intensely than it’d been a second ago. “And what would you do with four hands?”

“Hair. Breast. Ass.” The words rush out of him like a prayer - like he might somehow speak it into existence. Like, somehow, if he is a very, very good boy, he’ll get another set of arms for Christmas.

As he presses a sharp kiss to where collarbone meets neck, Shirayuki shivers. Stutters breathlessly, “T-That’s only three.”

He pauses a moment. Brows pinching together momentarily as he tries to think of a good use for the fourth one, other than just ‘spare’ or ‘other breast’.

It doesn’t take him long.

He grins against her, and purrs, “Clit.”

“O-Oh. Mmmm.” The fingers trapped in his boxers, spasm. A knuckle brushes against his cock, making his hips jolt and her breath catch. “F-Four would be great.”

The strangled noise he makes - the one that’s doing its best to masquerade as some kind of intelligent response - quickly turns into a hiss sucked through his teeth, as her fingertip finds the head of his cock, circles once, then gently rubs along the slit, already slick with precum. To keep himself from moaning or cursing, he occupies his mouth by sucking at the hollow beneath Shirayuki’s ear.

“Obi,” she chokes on his name with an edge of needy frustration building in her throat and, with what seems like a lot of effort, withdraws her hand, letting his boxers snap back into place, as she moans and starts fighting with the button on his jeans. “Undo your pants.”

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

He’s already painfully hard. Embarrassingly so. Like, at this point, he’s halfway convinced that all she’d have to do is look at his cock the right way and he’d come.

A curious, teasing finger was more than enough-

If she gets his jeans undone-

Takes his cock in her hand and strokes, even just once-

“Obi, please-” she whines. Throat bobbing sharply under his teeth and lips. Flustered fingers continue to struggle. “I can’t get it.”

“Good.” He says, grinding himself further into her. Trying to keep her searching fingers from finding what may be the only thing between him and making this last for more than a few fevered minutes.

Although the hand on her hip is still very much torn between ass and tits, Obi bids it to start wandering up along her side. To go for breasts, hidden away beneath that clever and cheeky ‘Kiss the Cook’ script. Because, while feeling the lace of her underwear beneath his fingertips, squeezing her ass and helping her grind against him a little harder, is a hard choice to pass up, it wouldn’t be long before his own fingers were trembling and dancing along the lace’s edge, looking for more.

Too soon, he’d eagerly make space in between them so he could slip his fingers down to play with her clit and tease slick folds with his middle finger. And more space for him to play, also gives her more room to find and undo that goddamn button.

As his hand traces along her side, inspiring goosebumps to ripple out across her skin, she wiggles and squirms, trapped between him and the counter. “O-Obi-”

“Yes?” He hums, lips not leaving her throat. Slowly, gently, his hand slips beneath the apron and eases over her breast. Squeezing just on the soft-side of rough, he teases, “Can I help you?”

“Y-Yes, you can-” Shirayuki arches into him with a delightful moan. Presses herself further into his palm and speaks through grit teeth as she starts to yank at belt loops and waistband. “You can undo your goddamn pants.”

Apparently, for now at least, she’s given up on fighting with the button and is going straight for trying to rip his pants off of him. Which is making it really fucking hard not to grin. Not to laugh right out loud. Especially when she issues a long, low and incredibly frustrated whine, and starts trying to just shake him out of his clothes.

He rumbles, entirely too smug, “Nope.”

“Please?” Her breaths hiccup and he’s certain she’s about two seconds away from stomping her foot and trying to attack his button again.

A trail of kisses along her jaw makes her tremble and sigh. And, adjusting his grip on her until the weight of her breast is in his palm and her nipple is hard between his finger and thumb, he whispers against the shell of her ear, low and teasing, “Still no.”

“Hngggg… Why not?” It’s a half sob as she starts to squirm again; grinding against him in a way that almost makes him cave. Almost makes him reach down between them to snap open the button and let her do as she pleases with him. See what she has in mind and last for as long as he’s able.

But he’s not ready for this to be over. Not ready for her to take him into her hands and make him come, before they’ve even really started. Before he’s had a chance to make her beg for it.

“Because-” nothing about his groan suggests he’s in control here. It’s so heavy with want, that it’s honestly a bit of a miracle he manages to speak at all. “I’m nowhere near done with you, yet.”

#guiltyobiyuki22 #day 3 #obiyuki #ans #akagami no shirayukihime #lemon #soulm8 #timer au #there was going to be more to this (in which they finally actually bang) alas... not this time around.#but hey at least they finally kissed?

19 notes · View notes

cranetreegang · 3 years

Text

The Messenger: Part One: The Task

Hey! Thanks for checking this out. I've been working on this short story because I think mermaids/mermen are super neat. This is the first part of many. Let me know what you think!

Summary: Evie decides to take up the long vacant position of the village messenger to venture into the forest. The forest is known for taking those who enter, and they never return. Will she become another causality? Or will she find that not everything is what it seems?

Word Count: ~4,100 words

----------------------------------------

The dreary morning sun illuminated my quaint room enough for me to see. I stared at my tense reflection in the mirror as I tugged my hair into tight braids. Today was the day I would have to venture into the forest beyond the safety of the village. The very same forest that was filled with creatures that tricked, or slaughtered, anyone who trespassed. I always wondered if the stories were true or not, since I haven’t heard of anyone dying or missing since I was a little girl.

A bitter smile reflected back at me. I would be finding out soon enough the validity of the dangers that lurked within the shadows of those towering trees. I looked over my hair and face again, trying to delay leaving for as long as possible. I knew I couldn’t stay though. I had to meet my fate in the wooden unknown that has plagued my imagination for far too long.

I shrugged my black wool robe over my shoulders then left the warm embrace of my cabin. The cool air stung my cheeks and filled my lungs. I stood in front of my cabin for a moment longer. The wooden structure before me was nothing of note, but I still called it home. A pit in my stomach formed at the thought of never coming back home.

I turned on my heel to began the short walk towards the village. My head was swarming with thoughts of the endless possibilities of what could happen today. Pine smoke and baked goods filled the chilly air that brought a brief warmth to my otherwise frigid thoughts. People milled about the center market square on their way to their jobs, but froze when their eyes landed on me. The silent stares made me feel like I was a wandering ghost. Like I was already dead, and I just hadn’t realized it yet. I tried my best to pay them no mind as I approached the post office.

An older man with balding salty chestnut hair greeted me with a pitying warm grin that bordered on a frown. Postmaster Griffith had been posted here for as long as I could remember. To be under his tutelage was unexpected. In fact, I never would’ve foreseen myself taking up the vacant position of messenger if not for my desire to leave the village. I had a burning itch inside of me for ages to go into the forest, but venturing into the forest would mean immediate banishment if you were caught.

“You’re here.” He greeted me; his wrinkles seemed to consume most of his worried filled sea green eyes.

I nodded and smiled. “Good morning. I’m ready.” I sounded more sure than I felt. I held out my hand to take the bulky leather bag from him. He hesitated between my outstretched hand and the mailbag. His brows pinched together and his lips formed a tight line as he handed me the bag.

“There’s no shame if you don’t make it there. No one will hold it against you if you come back before making the drop-off.” He whispered loud enough for just me to hear. I slung the bag onto my back then squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it and be back before nightfall.” I gave a gentle smile to ease the burly old man who seemed to be wallowing in guilt at sending me into the forest.

“I sure do hope so.” He sighed.

I bowed my head and gave a brief wave before setting off towards the woods. Young and old people alike gathered on either side of the street that led out to the wall of trees. I could hear whispers and murmurs of their worries, fears, and speculations at what would happen to me. I even heard bets being made that I would come back running, or that I would end up dead before the sun hit the highest point of the day.

I kept my head held high despite wanting to crumble under the growing fear the closer I got to the edge. When I reached the beginning of the forest, I glanced behind me to see everyone still staring at me. I bit my lip then took a deep breath. I had to know. I took a confident first step into the woods then another. I smiled a bit at not being eaten right away and kept my brisk stride going through the woods.

Rocks of various sizes lined the dirt path that was overrun by various plants and tree roots. My gaze climbed up the tall trees that towered over me. The trees gently swayed in the wind and leaves would rustle over the sounds of birds chirping. The air felt cleaner than in the village, which I thought was odd. I never noticed how the trees gave off such a rich earthy smell. I marveled at how tiny I was compared to these massive trees. I went up to one such tree and tried to wrap my arms around the base, only to not even make it halfway around its trunk.

When the sun rose further in the sky, I pulled the map out of my pack, which nearly ripped apart in my hands, to ensure I was still on the right trail. The map itself was from the last messenger years ago, when I believe Griffith was a young man. Crude drawings made up of three arrowheads with a line through them for trees consumed most of the tanned paper. Rectangles with a triangle on top represented the markers I would need to go to. A thick black line curved through the trees to each marker until it stopped at the square shaped drop-off point. Judging from the entrance of the village to the first marker, I had another hour of hiking before I reached the first marker, if it still existed. I would need to get to three different markers before reaching the drop-off point at the end of the trail. Which meant that if I kept my current pace, I would reach the drop-off by early afternoon.

I put away the map, and continued down the path. I was having a good time, all things considered. I found myself humming a happy tune that went with my upbeat stride. I swung from tree trunk to tree trunk as I hopped on outstretched roots that crossed the path. I couldn’t have asked for a better day to be out in the woods. I paused my brisk pace when something shined through the branches in front of me. I cautiously approached the foreign object with hints of worry starting to come over me. When I finally got close enough to the glowing object, I realized that it must’ve been a marker.

The marker was a rectangular wooden post that went up to my chest with an orange glowing pyramid on top. I cautiously tapped the pyramid and was shocked to feel it was made of glass. I peered into the glowing apparatus, but the light was too bright for me to actually see inside. The post that the pyramid was on had strange markings that I traced along to the bottom. I recognized some of the engravings that lined some of the houses back in the village. Not that I knew what they meant though.

My ears perked up at the sounds of water in the distance. I pulled out my map to see if there were any water features nearby, but the parchment only contained the markers and the drop-off point. I figured it must be some sort of river or waterfall nearby causing that noise. I looked between the path and the source of the water in conflict. I knew I wasn’t supposed to stray too far from the glowing markers and path. The burning feeling in my chest seemed to almost heighten at the thought of going towards the water. I wasn’t about to let my opportunity for exploration go to waste.

I glanced around me to ensure no one was around before stepping off the path towards the water. I snuck carefully over fallen branches and made sure to keep myself as quiet as possible. I didn’t think I would be ambushed since I hadn’t seen anything yet, but I wasn’t about to take my chances being so far from the trail. I followed the sounds of water until I reached a clearing. I ducked under the tree branches to see a secluded lake that had a trickling waterfall coming over a towering slate cliff face. I couldn’t hold back my gasp at the sight of the pristine blueish green waters that laid before me. The breeze took with it the crisp cool smell of the lake that mixed well with the overall woodsy scent. My feet took me to the rocky shore before I realized what I was doing. The water was beautiful and clear and I followed along the water’s edge onto a rock that overlooked the deeper part of the lake.

I leaned over to stare into the clean blue water below. I was amazed that I could see the bottom so clearly. I knew I couldn’t touch the rocky bottom, but it felt like I easily could with how pristine the water was. Bright colorful fish swam between clusters of vivid green kelp and hidden rock crevices. I sat down to continue my staring while I ate a meal of some jerky and an apple. I tossed down bits of my apple to watch the fish swarm over the piece. When people spoke of the forest, I would’ve never imagined a place like this existed.

I was almost angry that everyone spoke of such horrors, when something this beautiful and serene existed. I began to question if there were such things as creatures or monsters living in these woods when the hairs on my neck stood on end. Someone was watching me. I tried to casually scan the tree line around me, but I couldn’t find the source. I cursed myself for letting my guard down so easily, but I remained calm. I reasoned that it might have been a curious animal watching me.

That idea was shattered when a deep male voice ripped through the silence, “How is this possible?”

I jumped to my feet at how close the man sounded, but I was unable to find him. I looked all around me and kept my eyes trained on the unmoving tree line.

“Who’s there?” I asked with a waver in my tone.

“I should be asking who you are. You’re the one intruding here.” The man was still nowhere to be seen, but he was very close to me.

I gripped onto the straps of my bag to provide some sort of comfort to me. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

A soft chuckle seemed to come from right over my shoulder. I whipped around, but was met with no one again. But, there was no way someone could’ve been behind me though. Because there’s nothing but the lake behind me. A crippling fear was threatening to take over me at realizing that this person might not be human at all, but a creature of the forest.

“You’re very jumpy for someone that’s trespassing on my home.” He had a light teasing tone in his voice that irritated me. He was toying with me.

“Well, maybe you can introduce yourself, and I wouldn’t be so nervous.” I spat back even though I was in no position to be so hostile.

The sound of gushing water was right next to me, and I nearly fell back in shock at the sight of something emerging from the depths of the lake. I almost couldn’t believe what I was looking at. The creature laying casually before me was a man, yet nothing like a human at all.

He had wet black hair that went to his shoulders and covered some of his face. The color of his hair reminded me of a raven’s feather with how the sun seemed to make his hair glossy with hints of purple emerging through. Protruding from his hair on either side of his head, he had coal black fins that faded to a deep dark purple. The fins were webbed with small sharp spikes on the end. I could make out a trail of matching ebony spikes and fins that covered his spine. The fins would fan out on occasion to reveal how wide they were. At least as big as my hand stretched out from my thumb to my pinkie finger.

His eyes were a dark violet that was consumed in a sea of onyx. They seemed to glow and flicker as if related to his thoughts. Dark circles hung under his eyes that added to his void-like appearance. His face was well defined and regarded me as if waiting for me to do or say something. Eager, almost. His overall complexion was a dark navy grey that reminded me of a troubling storm cloud. He seemed to be paler than normal though, and he looked like he hadn’t eaten in some time. I noticed a damp smell coming from him that wasn’t entirely unsavory.

He had lean arms that were still fairly muscular despite his starving state, and he had sharp claws for nails. I noticed webbing between each of his long clawed fingers that were covered in onyx scales. He had fins on each of his forearms that were a dark purple, nearly black. They moved seemingly on their own and would fan out the same way as the fins on his back and face. Bright crimson slits with fine filament protruding out were on his ribs. I assumed these were gills since they reminded me of fish gills. In fact, onyx scales lined most of his body in various places on his arms, chest, and face.

The most disturbing part was his legs, or lack of legs. Instead of legs, he had a tail that reminded me of a lengthy slender fish or snake. This tail was longer than any set of legs and appeared stronger too. I was sure if I had been in the water, he could’ve easily dragged me to the bottom with little to no effort. There were various fins that protruded out from his otherwise smooth looking tail and his tail ended in a wide fan that seemed feathery and light. Like a torn silk dress floating in the wind.

His tail, although terrifying in its implications, was breathtaking under the sun. His scales were a shade of black that I’ve never seen before. Like the night sky was placed upon him with dark purples and blacks. Hints of wine red could be seen at just the right angle, but overall he was like a being of darkness. He was beautiful in all the wrong ways. He was unnatural and I realized that I needed to get far away from this thing as fast as possible.

I jumped away from him and planned on sprinting all the way back to the village when he called out, “Don’t go!”

I froze in place, which I wasn’t sure why. This creature was exactly what everyone warned of. But, I didn’t keep running. Instead, I turned around to face the thing from the lake. His brows were raised in surprise, but he seemed relieved when I stood in place.

“What are you?” I blurted out before he could speak. I bit my lip at how scared I sounded, but he gave me an amused smile that revealed sharp teeth lurking behind his friendly smile.

“I think you meant, ‘Who are you?’, but I suppose manners aren’t really your strong suit.” He said in an accent that I couldn't place.

“Well, they didn’t exactly explain how to act around… well,” I motioned over his stretched out fishy body, “you.”

“That’s a shame. I'm actually quite wonderful to talk to. Or, so I've been told.” The wavy fins at the end of his tail idly flicked in the air like a cat’s tail. “I’m a mer, by the way.”

“A mer?” I took in his features again then continued, “That’s… that makes sense.” I frowned as I tried to gain some sort of clear thought in my head. “I’ve read about your kind in books. I didn’t think you lived in lakes though.”

His bitter laugh was unexpected, yet pleasant to my ears. Even though he seemed anguished by my comment, he did his best to hide it with an easy grin. “What can I say, I’m not like other mer. One of a kind really.”

“Is that a good thing?” I wondered out loud.

He grimaced and avoided my gaze by looking out into the woods behind me. “What’s your name?” His tone was cold, but still curious. I thought about the implications in giving him my actual name, but I couldn’t find a good reason as to why I shouldn’t.

“Evelyn. People just call me Evie though.” I bit my lip then asked, “What’s yours?”

“Oh, now you want to know.” He shifted back to his friendly demeanor in a flash. I found it somewhat unnerving. “It’s Niloros. People just call me Nil.” He held out his dripping clawed hand for me to take. I stared at it with a mixture of hesitance and suspicion. He could easily yank me into the lake then I wouldn't stand a chance against him.

“This is the part where you shake my hand.” He teased.

I looked away from him due to my cheeks growing hot. “I know. I just… Why are you being so friendly? Not that I don’t like it, it’s just…,” I sighed while finally looking back at him. He was watching me with a sad expression as if he understood all too well why I was wary.

“You’re worried I might eat you. Rip you limb from limb and make a necklace from your teeth.” He exhaled while he lowered his hand.

“I am now.” I mumbled under my breath. “But, kinda. I’ve never met anything like you before. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.” I realized.

He gave me a soft smile. “Yet, you’re still here. And not running back where you came from.”

My brows furrowed and I found it easier to stare at my feet than into his deep onyx eyes that seemed to be reading me far better than I would’ve liked. “You’re nothing like I imagined.” I admitted.

His head craned to the side for a moment. “And what did you imagine?” He asked.

I laughed a bit to myself. “That you’d be a ‘scary’ monster.”

He had a somber look that he didn’t conceal. “Maybe I am.”

I was surprised he would say such a thing. Was he admitting that he was indeed a monster to be feared? Was I about to become his dinner? A note from the book I read mentioned something about merfolk travelling in groups. I scanned around for another one of his kind laying in wait to ambush me, but I didn’t notice anything out of place.

He laughed at my shock which made me more flustered.

“You’re funny, ‘people call me Evie’.” He smirked then added, “Why are you out here when you believe there are ‘scary’ monsters in these woods?”

A voice in the back of my head was telling me I shouldn’t tell him. Yet, I couldn’t find a reason to not trust him. He seemed to be genuine, for the most part. I also didn’t get the sense that he wanted to cause me harm. No, he was curious. About as curious as I was.

I patted the leather bag on my back. “I’m the new messenger for the village.”

His brow raised. “Messenger? I haven’t heard about a messenger from that village in some time.”

“You know about the village?” I inquired.

He nodded. “Yes. Mostly everyone here has.” He hummed in thought. “We don’t see many leave the village though.”

“That’s because we get banished if we do.” I informed him in a hushed voice.

“But not messengers.” He realized. “Interesting that such a harsh law is in place.”

“It’s for our protection.” I defended.

“Right. From the monsters.” He seemed far away for a moment then asked, “Who decreed that you weren’t allowed into the forest, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I thought you would know that. Since you know about the village.” I countered.

He let out an easy laugh with a slight eye roll. “Darling, if I knew, I wouldn’t’ve asked.”

Darling. The way it rolled off his tongue was natural. Familiar. I felt a warmth in my stomach from the simple word. I had to pull myself from the feeling to answer his question.

“Our leader. Mistress Talia.” I said.

His lips formed into a thin line that bordered on disgust at the mention of Talia. He looked up at the blue sky then back down at me. “You still have a long way to go, messenger. You should leave before you’re here at night.”

“You know Talia?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but instead jumped back into the lake. I ran towards the rock’s edge and saw him staring up at me from the surface of the water.

“You should go, Evie. It’s not safe at night.” Before he could dive under the water I shouted,

“Wait!”

He stopped his descent and waited for me to speak. The words I wanted to say were stuck in my throat for a moment. I mustered up the courage to ask,

“Can I see you again?”

His black brows rose for a moment before nodding with a slight smile. “I would like that.” His voice was soft and gentle.

He dove under the water before I could say anything further, and I watched him swim away with such speed and grace, I was envious. I stared out at the waveless lake for a few more moments before finally heading back to the marker.

Seeing the soft glowing marker was reassuring, and made me question if the whole encounter with Nil was real or not. I had questions invading my mind, and consumed my thoughts as I got to the next three markers. I was ripped from my daydreaming when I came in front of a miniature green hut attached to the top of a pole that came up to my shoulders. The pole had similar engravings as the markers leading me here. I kept a note to myself to ask someone about these engravings, and what they could possibly mean.

I figured this must have been the drop-off and opened the wide door of the hut. It was deeper than I initially thought and I placed all the letters and boxes into the opening. I closed the door and started the trek back to the village. I thought about swinging by the lake again to talk with Nil, but the sun was setting quicker than I would have liked. I would only have maybe an hour of light left by my estimations. I felt resolved in returning to the lake as soon as I could, but for now I had to worry about getting back safely.

The sounds of the forest were soothing and I tried my best to memorize details on my way back to ensure a faster journey next time. There were hardly any boulders, so they made good points of reference anytime I saw them. Soon, I was back at the first marker with little trouble. The prickling sensation I got at the lake returned when I turned towards the village.

I scanned around me for eyes, and I felt like I was back at the lake for a moment.

“Who’s there? Come out!” I shouted into the dense trees. My voice didn’t carry very far, and I felt a bit silly yelling at the trees. The feeling of being watched didn’t go away though. I grimaced at the likelihood that I would die when I was so close to returning home.

I kept walking then said, “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m just the messenger.”

Still no reply or anyone emerging from the shadows. I didn’t change my pace, but I was definitely more on edge. The two hours back to the village was excruciatingly long compare to this morning. The feeling of being watched never left me, and it took every fiber of my being not to start running. When I saw the houses poking through the trees, I lost all restraint and began sprinting towards the village. When I burst through the treeline, I whipped around to see if anything was following. Much to my relief, the feeling of being watched faded away and I hurried towards the post office without hesitation.

As I walked up to the village, people froze in shock at seeing me. A cry rang out before people swooped around me.

“I can’t believe it! We thought you were a goner!” They all seemed to be saying at once. Everyone was whispering, shouting, and cheering at my arrival. I shoved my way past the crowd to get to Griffith, who was waiting for me at the entrance of the post office.

“I knew you could do it.” He beamed at me while taking the bag. “No troubles?” He wondered.

“None.” I admitted, despite the stalker towards the end. I couldn't let him know that though. I couldn't let anyone know about what I experienced in the woods today. Not if I wanted to continue going out there. And I wasn't ready to stop when I had only just gotten a taste.

Griffith let out a joyous laugh while bringing me into a tight bear hug. “My girl, you might just make it yet.”

“When do I have to go back?” I asked a bit too eagerly.

“What? You want to go back! You shouldn’t push your luck!” He gasped.

“Maybe. But I still wanna go.” I insisted.

He stared at me in confused horror before shaking his head. “If all goes well, we should get a delivery at the drop-off for us that will need to be retrieved. But, that won’t be until the end of the week.”

I nodded in understanding. I wished it was sooner, but perhaps it was best to wait. I needed to sort through what I experienced today anyways. “Alright. See you at the end of the week.”

I shoved my way through the crowd and dismissed all their questions with a light laugh. Most people left me alone after they realized I wasn't giving them any information. I wasn’t in the mood to answer their questions, or celebrate. I had too many thoughts and questions that were burning away at me. By the time I reached my cabin, I was alone once more. I stood in front of the wooden structure once more. I couldn't stop the bittersweet feeling from this morning reminding me that I could've died today. Instead, I got to see my dingy home once more.

I shut the door behind me and laid against the cool oak door. The one question that was still in my mind that trumped all the others, were about Nil. Nil… he knew things. And I wanted to know exactly what.

-------------------------------------------------

Click Here for Part 2

#merman #merfolk #short story #creative writing #writing #writers on tumblr #story

11 notes · View notes

just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Love Is Not Forced ~ 18

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,030ish

Summary: The Princess arrives in Brooklyn.

The King of Brooklyn had been a nervous wreck, the two weeks the Princess had stayed in Wakanda. He feared that she was never going to show, never going to give him a chance. The hope that blossomed within him upon receiving T’Challa’s letter that the Princess would soon be in Brooklyn, was fleeting. The nerves set in were worse than before. The King knew that he had messed up with Y/N, multiple times, and that her stay in Brooklyn would be his last chance.

King Steven’s three closest friends had to keep him calm and keep the preparation running as the King worried. There was Captain James Barnes, or Bucky, who was make sure that the guards were prepared. There was Lady Natasha, James’ wife, who was making sure that the place was clean and fresh flower arrangements were being prepared. Lastly, but certainly not least, there was Lord Samuel Wilson, or Sam, who was making sure the guard was prepped as well and that the meal menus looked good.

“I think I’m going to pass out,” Steve stated, pacing back and forth in the entry way of his castle.

“I wouldn’t put it passed your body, with the way you’re pacing,” Bucky responded, watching his King.

“I can’t wait for the Princess to arrive at the same time we’re carrying your body away,” Sam laughed. “Now that would be a story to tell!”

“You boys helping Steve’s nerves, or making it worse?” Natasha asked, walking into the room.

“Worse.” “Better.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and headed over to her nervous friend. She put her hands on his arms to get him to stop pacing and look at her.

“It will be fine, Steve,” she said.

“I’m going to screw up again,” he panicked, shaking his head. “I just know it.”

“Steve,” Natasha moved her hands to the King’s face to keep his focus on her. “Breathe. There’s no way you could possibly screw up again. You have so many different ideas and advantages to get her to open up to you. The Princess has never seen the sea or walked on the beach. Show her how wonderful our kingdom is.”

“Your Majesty,” a guard came in, “the Princess of Alexandria is approaching the gate.”

The smell that filled Y/N’s nostrils as she approached Brooklyn’s castle was foreign to her. But it smelt wonderful. It was salty and kind of chilly. She was became more in awe, the closer the carriage got to the castle. The King’s castle was built on top of and on the side of a cliff. Crystal clear, blue water was its view and there were beaches covered in white sand below. King Steven had told her Brooklyn was beautiful and, unfortunately, she wholeheartedly agreed.

As the carriage pulled up to the castle, the King and his guards were there waiting to greet her. The King rushed to the carriage to open the door and help the Princess out.

“It’s so good to see you again, Your Highness,” the King said, holding a hand out to help her out.

“Likewise,” the Princess responded, curtly, as she ignored his hand and helped herself out.

The King sighed. He knew it was going to be hard to gain her favor, and this just proved it. “I hope the trip here wasn’t too bad. The roads from Wakanda to Brooklyn can be rough.”

“They were fine,” Y/N responded, keeping her eyes busy at looking everywhere else but the King. From what she had seen of the castle so far, she was impressed. But she would never tell him that.

“So, I was thinking that I could introduce you to Brooklyn tonight?”

“Tonight?” Y/N finally let herself look at the King.

“Well, not to the whole kingdom,” he rushed, looking a bit embarrassed. “But you told me that you’ve never seen the sea or beach before, so I thought that you and I could have dinner on the beach.”

Y/N was a bit surprised at his offer. “You’re not sending me to rest until tomorrow? All the other kingdoms have shown me to my room and told me to rest until the next day.”

“We could do that, if you want. I just thought that—“

“No. I… I don’t want that. I… Yes. I would love to join you for dinner.”

The King smiled, though trying to hide his excitement. “Okay. Umm… you can get settled and rest until then though. Dinner won’t be for a few more hours.”

“Okay.”

“This is Lady Natasha,” the King pointed to a woman standing with two men off to the side. “She will make sure your stay here in Brooklyn is the best it can be.”

“Hello, Your Highness,” the red head stepped up, giving a curtsy. “It will be my genuine pleasure to help you during your stay here.”

“Thank you,” Y/N smiled.

“If there is anything you should need, don’t me afraid to ask Lady Natasha, myself, or my two right hands,” the King stated. Steve motioned for the two men to step closer. “This is my captain of the guards, Captain James Barnes.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess,” the Captain bowed, grabbing her hand for a kiss. “And you can call me Bucky. Captain Barnes is too formal.”

“Lady Natasha is the Captain’s wife. And this is Lord Samuel Wilson.” The second man stepped forward, repeating the same actions as the Captain. “He is in charge of basically everything else.”

“You can all me Sam,” Lord Wilson said. “And what the King means by basically everything else is that I teach him how to flirt.”

Y/N laughed. “Oh. Then, I’m sorry to say, Sam, that you are doing a terrible job.”

Bucky let out a loud laugh, hitting Sam on his back. “I told you Sam. You aren’t that good at flirting. That’s why I’m the only one with a wife.”

“That’s enough,” the King said. Y/N looked at him with a sly smile, he was clearly embarrassed. “Lady Natasha will show you to your room. And I’ll pick you up from there for dinner.”

“Thank you, King Steven. I can’t wait to see more of your beautiful castle and kingdom.”

“I have no idea what to wear to the beach, Wanda,” Y/N said, concerned, as she looked through the dresses that had been packed for her.

“I have something, Your Highness,” Lady Natasha spoke up. “I not sure how it will fit. But we can try it.”

“I’m open to anything at this point, Lady Natasha.”

“I will go fetch it then. I will be right back, Princess.”

Natasha was back almost as soon as she came, with a blue and white dress in tow. It was simpler than the dresses that had been packed for Y/N, but it was still pretty. Natasha and Wanda changed the Princess into it, quickly, because Natasha said that she had been told the King was almost ready. Y/N couldn’t help but feel nervous as the time drew near. She didn’t know what the King would be like, or even what the sea water and sand would be like. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Wanda quickly answered it.

“Your Majesty,” Wanda greeted with a curtsy.

“Is the Princess ready?” King Steven’s voice asked from the hallway.

“I am,” Y/N answered, moving towards the open doorway.

“Great,” the King smiled, holding out his arm. “Shall we be on our way?”

“We shall.” Y/N walked out and headed down the hall, ignoring the King’s arm.

The King sighed. “Will she ever forgive me?”

“She will,” Wanda replied. “It will just take time. The Princess… she just has trouble trusting people, that’s all. Just be patient, Your Majesty, and continue trying. She’ll come around eventually.”

“Thank you for the advice, Lady…”

“Wanda. You can just call me Wanda.”

“Well, thank you Wanda. For the advice. I must be off. The Princess has seemed to have gone off without directions of where to go.”

“Good luck, Your Majesty. And have fun.”

It didn’t take long for Steven to catch up to Y/N. She had stopped around the corner, fiddling with her hands as she waited. They walked to the outside staircase, that led to the beach, in silence. Steven didn’t know what to say, or where to even begin with the Princess. His mouth had already caused him so much trouble with her, he was afraid he’d do it again. As the ventured further down the stairs, the King heard the Princess gasp.

“What is it?” The King asked, worried that something was wrong.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, staring out to the sea.

The sun was sitting just above the horizon. The sky was the brightest shade of orange she had ever seen. She looked down to see the waves crashing against the white sand. Y/N believed that she had never seen anything more beautiful in her entire life.

“It is,” the King said, smiling at her. “We must hurry though, if you want to watch the sunset from the beach.”

“Yes,” the Princess smiled.

The two hurried down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Y/N stopped at the last step, staring at sand below. The King watched curious as to what she was going to do. She slowly set one of her feet down. It sank a bit, causing sand to flood into her shoe. She lifted it up, trying to shake the sand out of her shoe.

“Here,” Steven came up to her. “Sometimes it’s better to go barefoot.”

“Really?”

“Really. That way you can feel the sand between your toes and the waves come up over your feet.” The King knelt in front of her, looking up at her. “May I?”

Y/N nodded, lifting her foot towards him. He carefully removed her shoe, setting it on the bottom step before gesturing for her to lift her other foot. He took that shoe off with the same delicacy as he did the first. After setting her other shoe to the side, the King stood up and held his hand out to Y/N.

“Come on,” he said, smiling at her. She carefully took the King’s hand, stepping down onto the sand.

“It’s so, soft,” she giggled, moving her feet around in the sand. “I love it!”

“I’m glad,” Steven chuckled.

The Princess looked down at his feet, which still had his boots on. “Will you not join me, Your Majesty?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

The King sat down and pulled his boots and socks off quickly. The two of them set towards the water. When they weren’t too far from the shore line, the Princess started running towards the water. She knew that it was improper but she didn’t care. King Steven simply smiled as he watched Y/N reach the shore line and step into the water. Y/N laughed as the waves rolled up over her feet.

“This is wonderful,” she said.

“It is isn’t it?” Steven said, coming up beside her. “Sometimes I take it for granted.”

“If I lived here, I would make sure that I visited the beach at least once a day.”

“Maybe I should take you up on that.” Y/N looked at Steven, curious. “While you’re here, you visit the beach once a day and I join you.”

“I can’t visit it more than once?”

Steven chuckled. “I didn’t mean it like that. You can visit here as much as you would like. I just meant that at least for one of those visits, you let me accompany you. Would that be okay?”

“It’s your kingdom, Your Majesty. You can accompany whenever you please.”

“Yes, you’re correct that it is my kingdom. But you are my guest, and I do not want to push boundaries.”

“I think it would be okay if you were to accompany me at least once a day. I think I could handle that, as long as we’re out here.”

“It’s a deal then?”

“It’s a deal.”

next chapter >

If you want to be added to the tag list, send in an ask or dm me.

Tag List:

@dreamilyunaffectedwreck (won’t link)

@freya-xo

@laic2299

@kissesofdeadforme

@paintballkid711

@cherthegoddess

@frozenhuntress67

@hadesnewpersephone

@pukklv

@marinettepotterandplagg

@learning-howto-be-myselfx3

@kaithezaftig

@booknerdinator3000

#steve rogers x reader #loki x reader #t'challa imagine #thor x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel imagine #steve rogers imagine #loki imagine #thor imagine #avengers imagine #king!Steve Rogers x reader #marvel royalty au #marvel medieval au #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #avengers fanfiction

164 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - prelude

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m so excited to be starting this fanfic a bit sooner than expected, but i’ve been outlining it since i finished the outline and end for the unseen one and decided to go ahead with it when i saw a nice pink aesthetic board. i hope you enjoy the prelude, let me know what you think xx

NEXT CHAPTER

handmaid: a female servant, a subservient partner or element.

The lights were unusual shades of blue, green, and red. That was the first thing she noticed as she walked inside the club Genevieve had picked for her last night of freedom, as she called it. Of course the lights weren’t the only thing that was bothering Y/N: the loud music which made it impossible to have a civil regular conversation, the heels that were too tall and did not belong to her, the equally borrowed tight see through black dress, the long earrings that got tangled in her hair whenever she slightly turned her head to the side, the constant on/off rhythm of the lights and the need to squeeze between a sea of people to get anywhere were some of the things that made her want to return home, curl in a nice thick cozy throw and watch TV until her eyes were too heavy to remain open.

Nevertheless, she was to be constantly by Genevieve’s, or Gwen as she preferred to be called, side, mostly by her father’s orders. Therefore, here she was in a Friday night, dressed in mostly Gwen’s hand me downs that would normally lay in a cardboard box in the back of her wardrobe. Soon enough, Gwen had found herself a nice booth, after all being the daughter and apparent heir to the west mob family had its perks. Sometimes, even more perks than dangers.

- Oh, Y/N this is Nathan. - Gwen introduced her to one of the man that were sat at her booth. He was the picture perfect look of man she normally surrounded herself with, the type of man you would see in a teen sitcom with plump skin and a Californian-like vibe to them. It wasn’t exactly a hard job for her to attract them either as the young heiress was, in a word, stunning. Her unruly red locks were constantly slicked back in a straight hairstyle, dark makeup and a red pout constantly got her whatever she wanted. However, tonight she was kissing all of that goodbye as first thing in the morning, she would finally be formally presented to that who was to be her husband.

It had been arranged way before Gwen had even been born and despite the glamourisation and complete debauchery seen in most mobster movies Y/N had grown up watching, most weddings occurred that way, planned. This one in particular was a special one considered the Stan family mafia and Gwen’s had been sworn enemies until the day she was born when her father signed her hand away. It was mostly a tactic to unite both families in a way that was very permanent. Y/N had learned not to be shocked about it, however, she still didn’t like to think of two grown men deciding the future of a unborn baby girl as if she were currency. Yet again, she was a woman and since she had an older brother, who despite working as a doctor and giving up on the lifestyle ages ago was still pretty much the one expected to take on the mob boss title, she was either to life in complete bliss or to get married.

Her betrothed however was a completely different story. Gwen wasn’t much to talk about either, saying that they had met once when she was eighteen at a formal her father had thrown and that he had pretty much ignored her the whole night, so most of what Y/N knew about him came from rumours. The Stan mob family had quite a reputation, specially when it came to hits and their associates, however they were always somehow shrouded in mystery. Sebastian Stan himself was one to adore that sort of aura, so much that despite it all, Y/N had never seen him or knew what he looked like. She knew him to be older than Gwen, with a sharp tongue and a certain allure that attracted bottom feeders, but other than that, she knew nothing.

- Gwen, we should probably go home. - she urged, constantly checking her phone and watching the hour number increase as if time was nothing. However, the young girl had no absolute interest in going home, specially when she had found herself a rather interesting company. - Gwen, your father is gonna be mad.

- If you’re so worried about my father then don’t question me. - Gwen returned to her flirtatious conversation with the blonde boy, leaving Y/N to huff, grab the pink sugary drink she’d been drinking for the past two hours, and venture herself in the club, they sure probably had a smoking lounge which led to some sort of air she could inhale. In all honesty, even inhaling smoke sounded better than inhaling the smells of the main floor.

Weak on her feet due to the oversized and worn out heels, she made her way through the crowd, her eyes paying no help at finding any sort of stairs of doors that would led to some sort of freedom due to the constant blinking lights. Defeated, she decided it would be better to return to Gwen before she decided to abandon her for Malibu Ken however, Y/N quickly found herself in the middle of the dance floor being pushed from side to side. Whenever she tried to walk some way, the sea of people would make her walk the other way like some helpless puppet until she hit something rock hard, spilling her drink and sending her crashing to the floor. She felt her chest hit the coloured blinking ground hard, and had it not been for her own hands holding onto the floor, her head would’ve ping ponged off the pavement too.

Nevertheless, none of that mattered because what first came in sight as she looked ahead were what looked like a very nice pair of leathered shoes which made her face pale and her heart stop. She had spilled her drink on someone. No, not just someone. Someone either rich or with enough connections to get inside one of the most elite clubs of all of New York.

Y/N looked up, not completely being able to make up every single feature of his face but being able to make up that it was a man, a much taller man who probably did not have a smile on his face. At the thought of being screamed at or thrown out, she immediately rushed to her feet, noticing the big pinkish stain spreading on what looked like a pristine crisp cotton dress shirt. Her hands flew to the napkin holders in one of the tables, immediately grabbing enough tissues to clean a whole country only to dab the drink out of his shirt, her heart racing as nothing came out of it.

- I’m so sorry. - she probably said for the 100th time, tissues bunched in her hands as she finally got a good look of his face. He had an unreadable look on what she thought was probably the single most gorgeous face she had ever seen in her whole entire life, and that was something coming out of someone who had met half the models at Paris Fashion Week with Gwen. It was somehow being stoic and classic, like a 50′s mysterious Marlon Brando. He stopped her motions, grabbing the tissues from her hand and placing it at the bar. That was it, this is how I die, Y/N thought to herself. - I’m so sorry, I’m ... I can pay for the shirt, I really didn’t mean to spill it on you. I just wanted to get some air but everything is confusing here and ...

- It’s alright, angel. - the man raised his hands, showing no harm but still maintaining an aura of mystery, almost as if she wasn’t supposed to be talking to him.

- I have to return to my friend. - she stumbled onto her feet, praying not to fall in front of anyone else as he looked at her leaving. She was just a doll and he couldn’t help but observe as she got lost in the middle of the crowd like a sheeps in a wolf’s den. He was hypnotised by her figure in that god awful oversized dress, thinking about how beautiful it would look draped on his floor, how radiant her eyes appeared looking up at him ..

- Everything alright, boss? - his view of the crowd was obstructed, the clear sight of her disappearing and being replaced by the ugly mug of one of his men. Had he had his gun with him, he would’ve been laying on a pool of his own blood right now. - We saw the girl and ...

- And now you’re gonna go fucking look for her. Invite her to the VIP room, don’t keep me waiting. - he watched as they rushed into the crowd like headless chickens looking for a girl they barely got a look of. He snickered, taking a step forward to return to the only place where it didn’t stink of cheap liquor. He stopped, noticing he had stepped on something and slowly moved his feet away to see a small dainty necklace with a pendant that looked like some sort of bird. The man scrunched his face as he lowered to grab the chain, probably some cheap metal, before sticking it in his pocket, taking a quick look of the crowd.

Y/N meanwhile was being dragged out of the sleazy club by Gwen who was no longer interested in her boy toy. The girl couldn’t lie, she was happy she was being dragged away from the club, however, rushing down the street in oversized heels. Due to the rush of exercise and adrenaline coursing through her blood and turning her rather breathless which led to her putting her hand over her chest and noticing the lack of her necklace’s chain.

- Wait, Gwen. - she stopped the heiress before they could get inside the car where the chauffeur had been patiently waiting their arrival. - My necklace, I don’t have my necklace.

- Maybe you didn’t bring it, Y/N. - the redhead spoke up, already inside the car, phone in hand. - C’mon, it’s probably home.

- I’m sure I brought it.

- You’re worrying too much, c’mon. - Gwen patted the leather seat of the car. The young girl took a long full look at the club, Gwen was probably right, maybe she didn’t bring the necklace. With a quick motion, she closed the door of the car, watching as the club became more and more distant.

A memory.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan AU #sebastian stan reader insert #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mob boss AU #ingenue!reader

489 notes · View notes

nicknellie · 3 years

Text

It’s nearly two in the morning and I just spent an hour writing a Flarrie idea that’s been rattling around my head for weeks, so here you go. It’s essentially both Flynn and Carrie having no idea how romance works. Enjoy.

Smiley Faces and Love Hearts

The notes were really starting to get on Carrie’s nerves. Every time she opened her locker a scrappy piece of paper would flutter to the ground, ripped around the edges and so heavily doodled on that the lines on it were hardly visible. And every time she would sigh and pick it up, read through it, roll her eyes, and throw it in the bin. She wouldn’t have minded the notes if they had been a little nicer. As it was, each and every one of the notes so far had been an insult.

That morning’s note was no different. Carrie was already having a bad day - she had quite literally woken up on the wrong side of bed and ended up stubbing her toe (which was still throbbing almost an hour later), then she had spilled coffee down her favourite top and hadn’t had time to change, so she’d improvised and pulled a jumper on without really looking at it. When she was already halfway to school she had realised that she had forgotten to bring all of the music she’d spent the weekend working on for the Dirty Candi rehearsal that afternoon and sworn loudly in frustration; that had earned her a stern talking-to from an old lady who happened to be passing and thought Carrie had aimed the swear at her. Because of that she had ended up late for school.

And then came the note.

It fell out of her locker the moment she opened it and began drifting to the ground. She snatched it midair and smoothed out its creases. Carrie knew that reading the note would only make her feel worse, but she couldn’t help it. Her curiosity got the better of her and she read the single word scrawled messily amongst doodles of flowers and love hearts.

Demon.

Should’ve guessed it would be something like that, she thought bitterly, scowling as she scrunched the note up again and flung it into the nearby bin. All the other notes had been equally nasty things, many of them worse, but all had been surrounded by those infuriatingly happy doodles - smiley faces, hearts with arrows stuck through them, beautiful swirly patterns that took up half the paper. It was almost as if the person sending the notes was happy to insult Carrie, like they thought it was a game.

Carrie knew who was sending the notes, of course. There was only one person who had the gall to say that sort of thing to her face, and sending the little notes was only a step away. It had to be Flynn - she was the only one who ever felt able to talk back to Carrie in any way.

That was the worst part because that very thing was probably why Carrie liked Flynn so much. So many people were intimidated by her because of who her dad was and her status, and a lot of people only wanted to talk to her so that they could say they were friends with the Carrie Wilson. It made things quite lonely sometimes - she knew she always had Nick and Dirty Candi by her side, that they were true friends, but knowing that other people weren’t interested in her for the right reasons always stung. That was what made Flynn so different, so charming; she wasn’t intimidated by Carrie, she was willing to put up a fight, and she didn’t want to hang around her just to say that she did. For the most part, Flynn treated her like she treated everyone else, a normal human being.

Except for the notes. The notes, admittedly, were a downside. The worst part wasn’t that Flynn was sending these little notes, it was that Carrie couldn’t work out why. They hadn’t been friends for about a year now and had mostly stayed out of one another’s way, so she had no idea why Flynn was suddenly popping notes in her locker. She wondered if it was to get her attention - but why could Flynn possibly want that?

On a normal day, the note calling her a demon wouldn’t have been too much of a bother. Read it, ignore it, chuck it away and be done with it. But that day, after everything bad that had happened that morning, it really hurt. Carrie didn’t often cry, least of all at school where people would see her doing it, but she found herself blinking back tears that stung at her eyes, forcing herself not to let them fall.

“Hey Carrie,” came an unhelpfully chipper voice from behind her. Flynn’s voice. Because of course she chose today of all days to come and talk to Carrie. “I was just wondering if you happened to find anything in your lo— Hey, are you okay?”

Carrie rolled her eyes. She’d never been a subtle crier. If she was guessing correctly, her face was currently bright pink, her eyes glittering with tears like the sea, and she had been sniffling far too loudly for a minute straight. She wiped roughly at her eyes, trying to dispel the tears.

“Go away,” she told Flynn. “Whatever you’re here to say, I don’t care.”

Flynn looked utterly stumped, like she had no idea what to do. This was probably the opposite of what she had been prepared for - she had most likely expected to find Carrie, annoy her for a little while, unsubtly bring up the subject of the notes, and dip out again. She wouldn’t have been prepared for Carrie to be in tears.

“Do you... do you wanna talk about it?” Flynn ventured. Carrie had never heard anyone sound so uncomfortable. She shot Flynn a glare like a knife and Flynn shrugged as if to say ‘yeah, that’s fair’.

“I don’t have time for you,” Carrie spat, being nasty because right then it felt good in a bitter way. It felt right to take her anger out on Flynn. “If you’ve got something to say then spit it out and let me get on with my day.”

“Carrie...” Flynn said quietly. She might have been imagining it, but Carrie was sure she heard something resembling concern in Flynn’s tone. But it was gone as soon as it had come because a moment later Flynn had composed herself and said, “Your sweater is inside-out,” before walking down the hall, back the way she’d come.

Carrie muttered a swear under her breath and stalked off in the opposite direction.

It was the strangest thing. For about a week after that day, the notes stopped. Carrie wondered if Flynn had finally taken the hint that she wasn’t going to rise to whatever game Flynn thought she was playing. Perhaps she had finally seen it was annoying and it wasn’t a good way to get Carrie’s attention (if that was what she wanted - Carrie still had no clue why she might have). She thought that was the end of it, that they could go back to ignoring each other.

Until exactly one week after the incident, a note fluttered out of Carrie’s locker.

She frowned and picked it up. This one was already a little different to the others - the first notes had all been scrunched into untidy balls, but this one was neatly folded. Carrie cast a quick glance around the corridor, seeing if Flynn happened to be nearby. Presumably it was still her sending the notes. But there was no sign of Flynn in amongst the crowd of other students, so Carrie opened the note and read it. Then she read it again. And again. And again. And each time she read it she became more and more confused.

Smile! Today’s going to be a good day.

It didn’t make any sense. It made less sense than the unnecessary insults. Was Flynn mocking her? Had she planned something for later that would make Carrie’s day considerably less good? Was this some new form of insult that Carrie was unfamiliar with? She doubted the last idea, she was practically the queen of insults. And she couldn’t work out for the life of her how this was supposed to be mean.

And yet the idea that it was sincere was even stranger.

Still, she pocketed the note and tried to push it to the back of her mind. She tried not to let her mind linger on how weird it was that Flynn’s demeanour had so suddenly changed from cruel to encouraging. She tried to ignore the butterflies it awoke in her stomach. She simply tried to forget that Flynn had suddenly started being nice. But over the next few weeks, the nice notes kept coming and Carrie kept getting more confused.

Sending positive vibes :)

Your DC gig last night was great!

Good luck for your English exam later, you’ll kill it.

Your outfit looks amazing today!

None of it made any sense. Especially the last note - Flynn wouldn’t have even seen her outfit when she wrote the note. Carrie kept each of the kind notes because they gave her a warm and fuzzy feeling in her heart that she didn’t want to admit to, but she still was utterly clueless about what it meant.

It went on for weeks. Carrie’s birthday came around, and in her locker that morning she found a birthday card. It was filled with smiley faces and birthday best wishes and for once, unlike all the other notes, Flynn had signed it. She and Flynn hadn’t been friends properly for a year, and the idea that Flynn still remembered when her birthday was sent her mind into overdrive.

After a month or so, Carrie finally got the nerve to approach Flynn after school one day and get to the bottom of it all. It had remained a mystery for too long.

“Flynn,” she called, seeing Flynn a little way across Los Feliz’s car park, walking side by side with Julie. Both of them turned to look when Carrie shouted and she felt herself blush a little. “Wait up.”

Both girls stopped walking and let Carrie catch up with them. Julie had a smirk on her face, looking like she knew far too much. It didn’t sit well with Carrie. Flynn on the other hand looked far too casual and collected to actually be calm at all. She was smiling in that over-the-top, fake way she had been when she and Julie randomly came over to Carrie’s house that one time, seemingly just to spill water everywhere and show Carrie and Nick pictures of raccoons.

“I want to talk to you,” Carrie said, forgetting formalities and not beating around the bush.

“Okay,” Flynn replied with a shrug, “what’s up?”

“Just you,” Carrie said awkwardly. She cast a glance at Julie, half-apologetic, but Julie didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s cool,” she said dismissively. “I’ve got to get to rehearsal with the guys anyway. I’ll see you later, Flynn.”

Carrie waited for Julie to have walked far enough away so that she wouldn’t hear what they were talking about. Flynn looked awkward, shuffling about from side to side, fiddling with the strap of her bag. Carrie suddenly didn’t know what she wanted to say.

“Right,” she said, trying to sound organised and matter-of-fact, but coming across as a little bit frantic just with that one word. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handful of the nice notes Flynn had left her, and shoved them into Flynn’s hand. “Those.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “What about them?”

“You’ve been leaving notes in my locker,” she began. Suddenly she felt unsure of herself despite knowing that it had to be Flynn. It was too late to back out now, so she powered through. “They started out as insults and then you stopped for a week and then they became... nice. And kind. Those are the kind ones. And you gave me a birthday card.”

“Yeah,” Flynn said, like it should have been obvious. “What’s your point?”

Carrie threw up her hands exasperatedly. “I don’t get it! Why are you doing it? What’s going on?”

Flynn had the audacity to look amused. Her little smirk, adorable as it was, just made Carrie angrier.

“I thought you’d figure it out with the first notes,” Flynn said thoughtfully. “Julie said you wouldn’t. I guess she was right. But she also said you’d get it with the nice ones, so she was wrong there at least.”

“Get what?” Carrie demanded.

“Look,” Flynn said, “I’m sorry for the mean notes. They were just a bit of fun that I didn’t think through properly. I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t realise it would upset you.”

It took Carrie far too long to realise what Flynn was talking about. She meant the day she’d found Carrie crying, and she thought it was just because of the notes.

Carrie felt her face flush and she crossed her arms over her chest. She mumbled, “It wasn’t just that. I wasn’t bothered by them that much. There was other stuff too.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” she snapped defensively. Flynn looked taken aback as if she had expected Carrie to spill everything right then and there. But after a moment or two, she seemed to regain her composure.

“That’s fine. But still, I am sorry. After you got upset I thought for a bit and decided I’d - you know - try and cheer you up. So Julie suggested I try writing you some nicer stuff. Did it work?”

Carrie rolled her eyes, but still thought back over the past few weeks. She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt so... giddy. She had been excited to wake up and go to school, eager to see what message was left in her locker. And her mood had remained high throughout each day because whenever she stuck her hand in her pocket she felt that little scrap of paper with words of encouragement scribbled onto it, telling her how strong she was. And every time she thought of Flynn tucking those notes into her locker, her heart did a giddy little flip and butterflies danced in her stomach.

So yes. The notes had helped.

Suddenly the whole thing felt awkward. Carrie realised in that moment that she had come to get a crush on Flynn throughout all of this. It made her heart slam and she could hardly look Flynn in the eye. And in her momentary panic she said, “Whatever. Just stop leaving the notes. Leave me alone completely.”

And she turned on her heel and left, leaving a stunned Flynn behind her.

Carrie had never regretted anything so quickly. As soon as she arrived home, she headed upstairs to her room and tried her hardest to think of some way to undo what she had said. She didn’t want the notes to stop, she didn’t want Flynn to leave her alone. Quite the opposite. But she had said it, and now she needed it to change.

The next day, Carrie arrived at school much earlier than usual. There were only one or two other students in the hallways, talking in low bored voices or cramming in some last minute studying. None of them paid her any mind as she walked straight past them, past her own locker, and stopped outside Flynn’s. She pulled a note out of her pocket - one she had written herself - and pushed it through the locker door, hearing it drop down on the other side. She took a deep breath, smiled, and then began to wait.

She watched from a safe distance twenty minutes later when Flynn approached her locker. She looked a little downcast and dreary; Carrie prayed she didn’t have too much to do with that. But her look of gloom was soon replaced with confusion when she opened her locker and found the little folded bit of paper inside.

Flynn looked around the hallway and Carrie ducked behind a door. She was only hiding because she didn’t want Flynn to see her and decide, for whatever reason, not to read the note. When she was sure that Flynn would have turned back around, she peeked out again and watched Flynn’s mouth move as she read the words on the note.

Sorry for yesterday and thank you for everything. I really like you, Flynn. —C

She watched Flynn read the note over and over again, watched the little smile grow on her face until there was an all out grin. Carrie thanked the heavens that she had guessed right, that Flynn did feel the same way. That was why she had been doing all this - from the very start, it had been because she wanted Carrie’s attention. It was because she liked her the same way Carrie now realised she liked Flynn. Carrie thought that the fact it had worked was somewhat of a miracle.

Flynn turned Carrie’s note over to the blank side, whipped a pen out, and wrote something down. Carrie took her opportunity - she headed over to Flynn as she began to fold up the note, and she pinched it right out of her fingers triumphantly, feigning confidence to drown the unsteady beating of her nervous heart.

“Is this for me?” she asked sweetly, holding the note between two fingers for Flynn to see.

“I was gonna put it in your locker,” Flynn said.

“This is quicker,” Carrie replied dismissively.

Flynn smiled brightly as Carrie opened the note. She read it once, twice, three times, and felt her heart quicken with each word.

Go on a date with me?

Carrie looked to Flynn again, unable to hold back her smile any longer. She beamed at her and was glad to see the gesture returned. It was a beautiful sight - Flynn had a smile like the sun, in that Carrie was sure her world would revolve around it for a long time to come.

“Does this weekend work for you?”

#im half asleep so im sorry for any mistakes #jatp #julie molina #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #flynn jatp #carrie wilson #flarrie #flynn x carrie #carrie x flynn #flarrie fic #enemies to lovers #oneshot #my writing #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #first date #this could be the set up for the flarrie requests im gonna write actually!!

26 notes · View notes

dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Trieste Venture (End) - S Nami Bolg

In this entry, the MC sings a song that is commonly heard in Russia around Christmas time though it’s not necessarily a Christmas Song.

"We actually survived." Lu Mingfei gasped. "I thought several times that I should start chanting poems."

Chu Zihang was next to you, checking your blood pressure. You were still far too weak to participate in the conversation. Or even get annoyed at Mingfei again. All your strength reserves were completely exhausted. Caesar was strapped into his seat but still out cold.

So he prattled on. "I used to read a book and said that Japanese generals would recite a death poem when they died." He rolled his eyes up to the sky. "What is "Heaven" There must be light at the end, and the clouds and mists are scattered. There is only a bright moon in the heart. Forty-nine years of prosperity, a dream, a wine cup in the first phase of glory, and what else is there? When I wake up, I will go to sleep", he recited. "I thought that was particularly sensational."

　　"It wasn't that they started chanting just before they died," Chu Zihang said. "In fact, most Japanese military commanders have a mediocre level of education. They used to find someone who could write poetry to do it well, and they just chanted before they died. "

　　"That’s what I said. What if I only say 'Heroes forgive me, there are no poems left?’"

Chu Zihang let the air out of the blood pressure cuff and held up his blade. "I need to check your blood. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." You turn away but can help but flinch when the blade scores your skin.

What comes out is a mixture of crimson and inky black ooze. It seemed to be a fifty fifty ratio.

"Is it bad?"

"It's not good. If you use Blood Rage again there's no saving you. I'll have to kill you."

"Thanks."

Chu Zihang suddenly stared at you, unsure of what you're thanking him for. If he asked, you're not sure you could answer.

"I feel dizzy."

"We're low on oxygen… but also Something else survived," Chu Zihang said.

You looked at the screen, thousands of black shadows were floating up from the bottom of the sea at high speed, gathering together like black vortexes. The group of mermaid hybrids, the last group who escaped from Takamagahara, was exceptionally large; they were not affected by the nuclear explosion. A huge figure appeared in the black whirlpool formed by the mermaid group. Every time it swept the sea with its long tail, it was accompanied by countless undercurrents and countless whirlpools. The mermaids floated around it, because when the thing was swimming, an upward high-speed current was formed around it, just like fish schools like to migrate with giant whales sometimes. The fastest were already approaching the Trieste, and under the spotlight, their ice crystal-like tusks reflected dazzling light.

"Do you still want to chant poems now?" Chu Zihang asked.

"Like a hero!" Lu Mingfei sobbed.

The depth is about 3,000 meters, and when the inertia brought by the nuclear explosion shock wave is exhausted, they will have no way to accelerate.

Chu Zihang might be able to release Royal Fire again, but the submersible could not withstand the impact. The outer shell was making a frightening tearing sound, and the resin porthole was deforming at a speed visible to the naked eye. Royal Fire and the nuclear explosion shock wave caused irreversible damage to the shell of the deep submersible, so it would be nice if they could float to the surface in this way. The remaining hope is the safety rope. You're just waiting for Chisei's safety rope to pull.

"I seem to hear the sound of cracking eggs." Lu Mingfei whispered.

"This is our shell cracking." Chu Zihang said.

It did sound like the sound of an eggshell breaking, and the cracks slowly extended on the surface. The sound of metal tearing and curling was sickening, and it was followed by a "pop", and then the sound of fluid surging.

"It is leaking, but the water has not intruded into the cockpit." Chu Zihang said, "Trieste has a double metal shell, with light kerosene between the two layers. Now the shell is perforated and the kerosene is leaking."

"Hey Sumeru! Sumeru! Hurry! We need the support of a safety cable!" Chu Zihang yelled.

"They're not answering." You whisper. You're feeling sleepy. At any moment, your eyes will close and you won't open them again. Exhausted from the fight, Blood Rage and the serum, the lack of oxygen won't allow you to regain strength.

The Trieste stopped ascending, and now it was surrounded by a group of mermaids.

The behemoth floated in the observation window. It was a black dragon swinging its long tail in the sea. That was the thing that was struggling in the crack in the seabed just now. At the last moment it finally broke through the seabed and escaped. Its golden pupils are like giant candles, and its decayed body is draped with ancient armor. The armor is connected by layers of bronze chains. Between the bare ribs, swimming in the abdominal cavity, were a swarm of ghost tooth dragon vipers! It turns out that the body of this thing is the nest of the ghost tooth dragon viper. As if thousands of lights were lit at the same moment, the eyes of the sleeping fish all awoke. Endless numbers press to chew their way into the cockpit. The king of these mutants opens its mouth in a silent roar, and his teeth are as transparent as crystal.

To your oxygen starved brain, the lights of their eyes and the silvery flashing of scales and teeth become mixed with the dreamy memory of Christmas lights and falling snow. You suddenly feel warm inside and smile. It was irritating, but Racoon Boy is right. You really want to sing right now.

S Nami Bolg, ‘God is With Us’ was that old Christmas song, a triumphant challenge to opponents. The lyrics said that if they so much as dared come against them, they would be met with a resounding defeat. But it was easy for children to learn, because all they needed to know were the words “God is With Us” to sing along after every verse.

In your mind, as you sing the lyrics in the mix of a voice and a hoarse whisper, you can hear the voices of your friends, older and younger, singing with you as you stare into the eyes of the decayed dragon without a trace of fear. You can almost feel Renata standing beside you. She always had a sweet voice and you worked to match the way hers sounded in your mind. You imagine her glancing at you with her coquettish, mischievous manner. Your attempts to match hers weren’t a challenge but what was friendship without at least a little rivalry?

So your voice grows stronger with hers trembling in the soprano range.

“God is with us! Understand this, O nations, and submit yourselves! Hear this, even to the farthest bounds of the earth. For God is With us… God is with us…”

Chu Zihang sat back in his seat with a soft sigh. By the third lyric, he could mouth the words, God is with us, in Russian.

The dragon slowly opened its ribs as to though answer this challenge, and the ghost tooth dragon vipers leaped out of their nest. They pounced on the Trieste. It was like the sound of millions of silkworms chewing on mulberry leaves, violently biting. Outside, the portholes are densely packed with the golden eyes of the fish and the teeth marks on the plexiglass are growing deeper. There were terrible sounds in all directions. The fish were not only biting the plexiglass, but also drilling holes in the metal bulkhead. Thousands of them are now swimming between the outer shell and the inner shell. These fish that can chew through anything, are eating the fiber optic cables and the insulation as though it were food.

The lights on the control consoles went out. The water pressure meter and the ampere meter swung to zero.

The last layer to protect them was the metal inner shell.

Chu Zihang reached out his hand to you and it closed around your fingers. “It was nice meeting you.” He said.

“Same.” You replied.

You turn to Lu Mingfei who took your other hand. “I’m also… very happy.” His voice was choked. “I’m sure… the Boss would say something heroic but… I’m sure he’s happy he met you too.”

You let out a breath. “It’s weird… I’m saying good-bye ag-...”

You never finish that sentence. The porthole collapsed and the sea filled the cockpit like a sledgehammer, breaking the supports holding your seat to the deck and then tearing you out of the seatbelts themselves. You’re violently sucked out of the cockpit and into the swirling ocean with nothing to protect you from the frigid water or the debris. Things are striking you and you’re filled with fear, but your eyes are squeezed tightly shut.

You feel a sudden burst of heat and the debris striking you is blown away. Royal Fire? You open your eyes but you can’t see anything but blue ocean and a bit of shining light. Your mind, finally starved completely, mercifully shuts down before you can even start to drown.

#Dragon Raja

16 notes · View notes

tealin · 4 years

Text

Temperatures

As always, when you see one of these posts pop up you can head straight over to twirlynoodle.com/blog to see it properly formatted and with pictures. Tumblr didn't even take the crosspost last time so I don't know what's going on!

It’s all well and good to share photos of Antarctica – after all, it is a beautiful place, and we are predominantly a visual species. The photos can give you a sense of what it looks like, but not what it feels like. If people know anything about Antarctica, it’s that it’s cold. But how cold? And what kind of cold?

I cannot speak to the full range of Antarctic weather. I was down for exactly a month, in early summer, and aside from the first week, the weather was unusually calm and mild. To my great disappointment, I didn't see a single blizzard! But I did get enough to compare the feel of Antarctica with other places I have been, and I hope that by making those comparisons here, I will bring you a little closer to understanding quite literally what it feels like to be there.

Temperatures are misleading. A number can only give you an impression of what one might actually feel when one steps out the door. Humidity, sunshine, and wind are external factors that affect the perception of temperature; this can be further influenced by how much sleep or food you've had, BMI, resting metabolism, your accustomed climate, where you've just come from – so, 6°C can feel different from one day to the next, or to two different people standing side by side.

There are roughly two types of cold: dry and damp. The influential factor is water, because it takes a tremendous amount of energy to make water change temperature – this is why it takes so much power to boil a kettle, and why we bring hot water bottles to bed instead of hot gravel bottles. In dry environments, there is less water vapour in the air to suck up the heat coming off your body, so you get to keep more of it for yourself. It may be well below freezing, but you will feel the cold merely as a sensation on your skin, where it meets the air, and not something that goes right through you. Damp cold, because of the energy-hungry water in the air, feels a lot colder. It’s not enough merely to cover your skin, you need layers of fabrics that have moisture-repelling properties (wool is key; cotton is useless). Your precious body heat will leak out through any weak point in your clothing. Because of their different properties, dry air can be much colder than damp air and yet feel more comfortable. In my experience, damp cold is the worst when it’s above freezing, because below freezing the air can’t hold so much water. Damp climates, however, tend not to get much below freezing, so when people from damp climates imagine very cold temperatures, they imagine the insidious cold they know, only much much worse. It’s not necessarily like that.

Even the objective numerical value of a temperature presents a problem: my historical sources, and the United States of America, report temperatures in Fahrenheit, while the rest of the world operates in Celsius. Scientists prefer the metric system, but McMurdo is an American base, so it's functionally bilingual. I tend to think in Celsius, but as the historical record was in °F and I wanted to be able to compare what I was experiencing with what my guys experienced, I paid more attention to °F while I was down there. In this post, I will report actual temperatures in both, so you can look at whichever one you understand best.

When I left Britain in mid-October, we had been having a very mild autumn, after a hot summer. My hopes for hardening up a little on the way to Antarctica were dashed when Vancouver, though objectively colder, felt merely fresh and delightful, I assume because it was unseasonably dry. LA is always dry in the autumn and usually hot, so that was no surprise; Christchurch however was much warmer than expected, and because it wasn't as dry as LA, felt even hotter. After several days' delay there, I feared my blood was much too thin to be hurtled into ice and snow.

It is regulation to wear one's Extreme Cold Weather gear on the plane to McMurdo. Aware that I'd just had a fortnight of heat to thin my blood, and that they were just coming out of a cold snap down there, I was only too happy to take this precaution. When the plane landed, everyone piled on their balaclavas and tuques, and when the door opened, an icy-looking fog formed as our pent-up breaths met the cold air from outside. Here we go, I thought. As I approached the gangway I braced myself for the smart of cold air on exposed skin and the stiletto keenness as I inhaled, but . . .

. . . it was fine.

In fact, it was so fine that when I was allowed to change out of my ECW, I put on my street shoes, not even my cold-weather hiking boots. I knew dry cold from Utah and Alberta, but I was coming to understand that in an Antarctic context, “well it was -20, but it was a dry cold” isn't a joke, it's just a statement of fact. +6°C(42°F) would be miserable in damp Cambridge, but -6°C(21°F) was quite comfortable at McMurdo – if it wasn't windy, one could happily go about without a coat.

One always had a coat to hand, though, because the wind could turn up at any time, and it made a big difference. The first time I went to Cape Evans it was so mild as to be balmy – I was in snow pants because they were required for the snowmobile, but on top I stripped down to just my base layer and a medium-weight sweater, and was even a bit warm in that. It was -1°C/30°F, but I could happily have sat down to a picnic.

Before we left, I wanted to make a quick trip up Wind Vane Hill. I got hot climbing it, but while on top, a breeze kicked up, and before long I was wishing I hadn't left my jacket at the bottom. The reason I have my hands tucked in my snow pants bib in the above photo is because they were beginning to feel quite nippy. I always had a jacket with me after that, even if I cursed its dead weight the whole time. (It was usually my trenchcoat, not the big red parka, for this reason. I will go into more depth on clothing in a future post.)

A similar thing happened on my Basler flight. I'm afraid I don't know the actual temperatures where and when we landed – we were at the inland extremity of the Barrier, though, so everything I'd read told me it ought to be noticeably colder than McMurdo. It might well have been. But the only clue that it wasn't a perfectly warm summer day was that the slightest stir in the air breathed ice on my hands. It felt much the same at the much higher altitude site of CTAM. The interior of the continent is even drier than the coast: apparently, in the absence of wind and on a bright sunny day, this makes temperature barely perceptible at all.

A windless day is a vast exception in the case of Antarctic weather, though, and besides chilling a human body, the direction of the wind makes a big difference to the objective air temperature. A north wind, arriving from over the open sea, was comparatively mild. Most of the time, however, the wind was from the east to south, coming cold off the icy interior. This sends it funnelling through The Gap straight at Hut Point. The Hut Point Wind was infamous in the Heroic Age; even now it can be a pleasant day at the station, but one must remember to kit up just to walk around the corner to the Discovery Hut.

It did make for some great photos, though, because if the conditions were just right – which they were a few times in my month there – the wind would kick up some freshly fallen snow and things would look so very Antarctic. The funny thing was, on the days when it looked quintessentially polar, it was actually comparatively warm. The snow was so powdery that a fairly light wind could lift it, so it didn't have to be brutally windy to look brutally windy. The cold really sets in when a high pressure system stays in place for a while and keeps the air still; if there is turbulence, there is warmth, and if a weather system moves through – such as the kind that delivers snow – the temperature rises considerably. So in order for there to be fresh snow to blow around, there will have been a recent warm spell, whereas if it's starting to get cold again, the new snow will have compacted enough not to blow around. The strongest winds I encountered in Antarctica were at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess it from my photos, which haven't a speck of drift. I am sure there are exceptions to this, but this was a dependable pattern in my time there.

Above: two images of light snow blowing off just after a snowfall, when it was comparatively warm. Below: 30-knot winds at Cape Crozier, but you'd never guess.

One of my oddest temperature memories was in one of those balmy drifty situations. I had been asked to give my history lecture over at Scott Base, and I was to wait for the Kiwi truck at a designated pickup point on the road coming over from The Gap. There are three official categories for weather in Antarctica: Condition 3 is when everything can operate as normal: it can be cold, it can be windy, but visibility is fine and the ordinary precautions will see you through. Condition 2 is when things are starting to get serious: drift and/or winds are reaching dangerous levels, extra precaution is necessary, and venturing outside is discouraged. Condition 1 is when everyone is required to stay indoors except on vital business as merely venturing outside is a life-threatening risk. During my month there it was always Condition 3, but within the hour of my pickup a Condition 2 had been declared on the Scott Base side of The Gap. My ride said she would be coming anyway, as she would be overwintering and needed the practice of driving in Condition 2, so I went up to meet her. I was hoping I would finally get a blast of Antarctica, but it gave me a surprise. For one, it was warm. And, yes, it was windy, but not desperately so, and the wind had a damp sweetness that, weirdly, made me think of swelling streams and crocuses. The Condition 2 had been called purely because of the drift, which was obscuring the road and therefore made driving more hazardous than usual. It was surreal to hear my driver checking in with her radio operator as if she were chasing tornadoes when it was really quite pleasant out.

My first few days at McMurdo were by far the coldest of my whole visit. When I first visited the Discovery Hut it was -18°C, or just below 0°F, and rather windy on the way back. That was when I learned that one can be feeling really quite cosy all over but one's outermost extremities can still suffer the cold – I distinctly remember wondering why my fingertips were tingling when I felt so warm, and a little while later my toes went numb and I had to stamp them back to life. The dryness, not sapping your core heat, can lure you into a false sense of security, and nab your digits while you're not looking.

After that, daily highs mostly hovered around the freezing point, and lows rarely dipped as low as -10°C/+14°F. This was really very mild – indeed, the people who'd been down since September could often be seen flitting about in t-shirts – and was an amusing irony for me personally. Twice in the past I'd visited Calgary in search of 'Antarctic' cold and hit, instead, a relatively mild spell; it turned out that in Antarctica I was getting exactly the same weather that I had thought un-Antarctic in Calgary. Not only was it the same weather on paper, but it felt exactly the same as well – the light, fresh kiss of frosty air on one's cheeks, surprising warmth in the sunshine but a breeze to keep you honest, and even the same granular texture to old snow. Altitude can give you the same feeling, as the thinner air cannot hold as much moisture as it can at lower levels, so if you've not been to the Prairies but have been on a ski holiday, you can use that as a reference point as well.

It is much harder to draw parallels with damper climates. At home in Cambridge, I have a sort of 'misery zone' between 4°-10°C (40°-50°F) where it's too cold to be warm, but not cold enough to be crisp, and the damp seems to seep through every layer to reach in and chill. As the thermometer plunges towards freezing and below, it is, ironically, more comfortable weather, because the colder the air is, the less moisture it can hold. In Britain I have sometimes found myself taking off layers as the mercury falls. When imagining Antarctica, people often extrapolate from their own experience of cold temperatures: If your base measure of cold is the 'misery zone' in a damp climate, such as Europe or the Eastern US, then you may think 'If 6°C feels like this, then -6° must feel that much worse' when in fact all the other factors at play can make it preferable. Even the cold days on my arrival at McMurdo were nicer, experientially, than a misty morning in deepest February back home. At one point, Cherry describes Antarctic summer weather as resembling a crisp sunny morning in September, and indeed from a British perspective Antarctica often felt more like a bright and breezy 13°C (55°F) than anything closer to freezing.

This gave me some perspective on the early explorers. If they had spent their lives on this chilly island, and then travelled to Antarctica over a chilly sea, they would be coming at it with all the assumptions one acquires from experience with humid cold. Finding not an amplification of your worst experiences, but instead a wonderland where the thermometer seemed to exist in a different reality – certainly the case when they arrived in midsummer – would encourage some overconfidence that we might consider reckless. Some, like Scott, had been down before and knew how deceptive the weather could be; his journals are full of chiding his team for not taking Antarctica seriously. But there were many who were new to it, and even after an Antarctic winter, sheltered as they were in an insulated hut by the sea, they did not fully grasp how dangerous things could get inland and how narrow the margins were. A breeze may be thrilling when it brings the truth of -10 to exposed skin warmed by the sun; when the truth is -40 it's instant frostbite. While I didn't get temperatures that low, my experience with higher ones can, I hope, help me imagine how that would go.

The dryness that made the cold so bearable granted me a reprieve from an opposing worry. Outside of Britain I generally find buildings overheated in the winter – I have to remind myself to pack light 'inside clothes' or else I suffocate. This is especially the case in the States, and McMurdo being an American base I foresaw having to strip five layers off and put them back on again every time I entered or exited a building. They may have been overheated, but I don't know – dry air saps the potency of heat as well as cold, so it was as comfortable to wear three layers as one, and that saved me a lot of time in the cloakroom. Thanks, Antarctica!

I had got so used to the nip in the air that I thought I'd be inured to cold for the rest of the winter, but once I was back on this cold damp North Atlantic island, the misery zone was as potent as ever. I may not have picked up thermoregulation superpowers in Antarctica, but I did come back with two secret weapons: merino wool base layers, and an utter disregard for my appearance so long as I was warm. I highly recommend both to anyone in a disagreeable climate.

#travel #antarctica #cold #travel blog #weather #mcmurdo station

103 notes · View notes

lacheri · 3 years

Note

hi cherry!! congrats on 200<33 ur event is so sexy i’m so excited!!

ok so infp+scorpio sun, libra moon, aries rising

she/her pronouns

as for trope i literally do not care what u do i just fucking love jean kirstein like if he told me to jump off a building i would do several backflips as i went down. so do with that info what you will

my love language is physical touch and words of affirmation

thank u bestieeee

hi cass! tysm for joining my event and being super patient w me as I juggle my billion and one projects ilysm <33 (tw: drugs)

The Lovers: this is the ultimate soulmate card. a couple stands in the Garden of Eden, the man looking to the woman, the woman looking to the angel, a symbol of consciousness and the divine. this is a card for eternity, karmic connections, a sure sign of a past life connection — true love at its finest.

robbers - the 1975. "She says babe, you look so cool."

Soulmates — Jean was your soulmate. Twin fucking flames, destiny written in the stars. Each life played the part, you always found your way back to one another. Not an ocean, nor a desert, could keep your souls apart. Every time he touched you it was electric, every kiss felt like he was setting you aflame. He was the match and you were the matchbox; you ignited him, reminded him of who he truly was, of where he was meant to be.

“We’re like Yin and Yang, you and me,” Jean would press his lips to your temple, a lit cigarette rolling between the fingers of his free hand. “Fire and water, wind and sea — I fucking love you.”

You’d roll over, smirking as you rested your chin on his chest, hand reaching for his cigarette, “You a poet now, Jean boy?”

When he’d finally give in, passing the lit stoke over to you, he’d mumble out, “I’d rather be a songwriter, actually.”

When you’d exhale the toxins, Jean would grab your cheeks, smooshing your lips together and leaning up to peck your pout. This always ended in a heated make out, it always did. Until Jean would go to roll up a blunt, sparking it up and moving on to the new drug.

Jean would lean against the wall then, pulling the dizzying smoke from the cigarillo, exhaling as he would begin to muse, “We’re like Bonnie and fucking Clyde, y’know? I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Jean, come back to bed,” you’d throw your head back against the pillow, feeling the warmth he’d left behind on the mattress fade quickly. “Profess your love for me and cuddle me.”

He’d stride over, placing the blunt into the ridges of the ashtray on the nightstand, both hands placed on the sides of your face as he’d tower over, “I love you, forever and always. You’re my everything girl, my muse, I’d kill somebody for you.”

When the two of you would finally leave the comfortable tranquility of the bedroom, his white t-shirt hanging off your body, Jean clad in gray sweats, you’d venture to the kitchen. You would attempt to make breakfast, however Jean’s arms would circle around your middle as he pressed your back to his chest, chin on the top of your head.

“You’re going to be the best wife someday,” Jean peppered a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Jean!” you’d giggle, wiggling in an attempt to break free from his hold. “I’m just making pancakes!”

His hand would travel to yours, spatula in hand, tapping gently on your ring finger, “Mrs. Kirstein, total milf material.”

Rolling your eyes, you finished cooking, placing the pancakes on clean white dishes, shoving his plate into his chest, “How romantic.”

“Only for you baby,” Jean shot you a cocky smirk, the two of you navigating to your shared living room, popping down onto the couch. You ate in silence, your legs thrown over Jean’s crossed thighs.

You felt the sudden onset of mischievousness, smirking as you took your syrup covered fork, and pressed it to the side of Jean’s stubbled cheek, “Whoops, my bad.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” he was quick to set his empty plate to the ottoman, his attention locked in on you. He grabbed the bottom of your half filled plate, and pushed it right into your chest, covering you in your breakfast.

“Jean!” you gasped, throwing your head back in laughter. “Now I’m gonna be all sticky!”

“Oh no,” he feigned concern, his forearms trapping your back against the couch as he crawled on top of you. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

You squealed as he rubbed his syrup-covered cheek all over your face. You threw your head to the side, shutting your eyes to avoid getting the substance in your eyes, “You’re like a dog!”

To prove your point, Jean attached his teeth playfully to the side of your neck. Both of you laughed carelessly, and you turned your face back to your lover. You hummed as he smiled down at you, eyes half lidded. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, hands coming up to cradle your face as he adjusted himself between your open legs. Jean pulled away, resting his cheek against your collarbone.

“I really love you,” you mumbled against his forehead, placing your lips to his hairline. “I could stay like this forever.”

“What, covered in maple syrup?” Jean teased. “I love you, more than you’ll ever know. You’re my forever. In this life, and the next.”

He pushed his lean torso off of yours after a few sweet moments, pulling you up along with him. He undressed you slowly, fingertips running over every crevice and dip of your body, guiding you straight into your bathroom. Jean tugged his own clothes off as you set work to turning on the hot water of the shower.

You felt the hot liquid roll over your shoulders as Jean stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, “You’re so gorgeous. ‘S not fair.”

Jean’s fingertips were nimble and soft as the two of you showered, lathering shampoo across your scalp. You shared giggles as you bumped into one another in the confined space, Jean taking full advantage by peppering pecks against your exposed skin.

You’d never get sick of this, in this life, or any other. Jean was right about one thing, he was your forever.

#lacheri's 200 follower event #I stg I'm gonna finish these!!!! slowly but I WILL #I hope u like it cass <333 gave it super grungy vibes bc I'm self indulgent #tw: drugs #tw: smoking

12 notes · View notes

sewnblade · 4 years

Text

The Manslayer

A/N HI GUYS.... this is new for me. mainly just doing this to have an outlet for my self indulgent bullshit. <3 might do a few chapters of this but IDK??

TW: anything you’d see on peaky blinders is game. nothing graphic happens in this at all, but references to murder, parent death and abuse.

Humans- real ones- wouldn't conduct themselves this way.

Wouldn’t have had to be locked away, thrashing and cursing, in his office. Wouldn’t be passed out on the firm oak top of his desk, curled up with stocking feet, muddied on the bottom, torn, drooping over the side.

But here you are. Whiskey still acrid on your lips, the ghost of a cigarette stale on the back of your tongue. What does that make you?

Papers, ledgers and notes, a mess beneath you. He wouldn’t be happy. The drunken spectacle itself was frustrating, but not unheard of. Not remotely unheard of, for anyone in his life. But you know how he feels about the sanctity of his space, and how he’d deal with almost anybody else invading it like this.

Though- to be fair- it had been Polly that had turned the key.

There, unconscious and blessedly quiet, your mind passes through dim, malformed memories, watching them like a picture show someone has made of your past without having lived it. The villains laughable and overacting, the blood made of syrup and wine. In one of them, Tommy even shows up in time.

That’s out of place enough to wake you up.

Raising heavy eyelids, you can make out the flash of a lighter before you can piece together the man behind it. He’s sitting as he so often is- somehow at once slouching and as poised as a Greek statue, a sullen boy hewn in marble and timeless. Taking in the measure of you, of your state- and God, it is a state- he huffs through his nose and swirls his whiskey. “We’re going to have this conversation again, are we?” he drawls around his cigarette, a slight strain in his voice as he leans forward to pull a crumpled sheet of paper free from beneath your knee.

His tone is unreadable.

“Wh’time is it?” you dodge, making a show of propping yourself up on one arm, rubbing your eyes.

He doesn’t answer at first, taking a drag, but after a moment his half-lidded gaze finally turns to the side, towards the shop, and he motions similarly with his glass. “Well, late enough they’ve all fucked off, if that’s your worry.”

“It’s not,” you snipe back.

Unfazed, Tommy closes his eyes and raises his eyebrows for a moment in what is as close to a shrug as you’re likely to get. As much as you care about him- as much as you should feel comfortable around those eyes- every time they close there’s a flood of relief. A moment of shelter in a torrential wind that batters you, fights its way into the gaps in your coats and your stockings. Makes you turn your head away, squint your eyes so hard you can’t see where you’re going anymore. “You staying up there, then?” he asks, his demeanour not altogether unfriendly.

“Well,” you venture, finally sitting up, “every moment I’m up here is a moment you’ve got to talk to me.” A little grin, almost too small to notice, and you test the waters. “I’m sat on your numbers.”

He acknowledges you with a lazy ‘hmmh’ of agreement and leans back in his seat again. “You’ve cut all your hair off,” he observes, as though he hadn’t seen it the second he walked in. As though Arthur hadn’t barked the knowledge at him when he’d discovered you taking up as a working girl. The last time Tommy had seen your hair it was long and coveted, thick, softened with oils and pulled into a long, loose plait. Now, chopped blunt below your cheekbones, the curls hang in your eyes and do as they please.

“That's right,” you agree, trying not to sound defensive. “Men recognising me was bad for business. No one wants to fuck a—“ you catch yourself, and risk a quick look at him. Somehow, even perched on his desk with him sprawled in his chair beneath you, you’re still looking up at him. The incongruity leaves you a bit dizzy. “-well. Get a reputation as a manslayer,” you spit that word out like a mouthful of blood halfway through a boxing match, “and suddenly the men go shy.”

There is a flash of something old and scarred-over in his morning-mist eyes as they flick back to you, gaining his undivided and unpretentious attention for the first time that night. Christ, for the first time that month. He gestures at you, accusing, with his cigarette. “And I’m not paying you enough to let them stay shy? Is that it?”

You can feel the warm flush creeping up from beneath the collar of your dress, spilt wine leeching through a tablecloth. A beat, and you open your mouth to respond, but the thousand things you want to say to him are withering and retreating under his scrutiny. You’d fought for weeks for him to talk to you straight, and now that you had it, the words were quicksilver through your fingers. Instead, all you can manage is “can I have a drink please, Tom?” It's weak. Tentative.

In one motion, Tommy knocks back the rest of his whiskey, and clinks your glass together with his in pinched fingers to pull them toward the bottle. “From what I hear, it’s the drink that caused all this,” he replies. You’re not sure whether he means the mess you’ve made of his office, or the scene you made in the betting shop, or the state of your life- he’d be right in any instance, but he pours the drink regardless and sets it down again. “That was a rhetorical question, by the way,” he adds. “At the rates I’m giving you, you must be the only whore in Birmingham just doing it for the love of the job.”

You bristle. It was meant to hurt, and it did. “And what other job shall I get, Tom? Ay?” you finally fire back, hands gripping the edge of the table. “No one decent will hire me ‘cause of— ‘cause of what happened, and no one indecent will hire me ‘cause you’ve made it very fucking well known I’m tainted stock, by order of the Peaky fucking Blinders!”

His hand, still holding his cigarette, squeezes between his eyes. “You want for nothing, (Y/N),” he says, his voice tired and straining. You know that catch in his throat- he’s been shouting all day. Shouting, cigarettes, spirits, repeat. If he’s lucky, inhale some gunsmoke and furnace backdraft in between. He could be a baritone with that voice of his, could have sung for crowds. “I’ve seen to it, I’ve fucking seen to it—“ he’s raising his voice now, crescendoing, and you can feel the crowd swelling with him. Then, all of a sudden, he changes tack and the volume of his voice drops. “You don’t need a fucking job, you need to be looked after- and I’ve fucking well done that for the last three years,” he says, seething, and it's almost a complaint. He's trying to get the words out before you can object, and he can see your objection mounting.

Like clockwork, your indignation escapes you in a breathy laugh. “I need to be what? That’s fucking rich coming from you, Thomas Shelby. The last time I needed to be looked after, you showed up just in time to miss everything. I did it all. All of it.” After it leaves your mouth, tumbling, flooding out, you regret it immediately. It tears at you on its way out, the regretful sting of a honeybee. And as infuriating as it is, you hear your voice wavering, feel your face tightening.

For a moment, Tommy looks at you- really looks at you. Not coolly, not strategising or trying to put you in your place. And you know he can see through you, down to the churning, violent, black void you choke down every day. The dark hollow, the bottomless-sea eyes of someone who has taken human life, someone who has been harmed permanently, someone who walks among humans but is no longer one of them. You know, because when he lets you see it, you can see it straining to escape from the pits of his pupils as well. War had happened to him, being a Blinder had happened to him. Your father had happened to you.

And in return, you had happened to your father.

“So, fine,” he relents, and with a blink he’s managed to obscure the dark portal again. There’s only the frozen, windswept wasteland of his gaze. “You don’t want the money, you don’t have to take it.”

“It’s not about the money, Tom,” you argue, and are loathe to hear it come out in a whine. “It’s about— it’s about trying to live as a ghost in this city. Just an open, needy mouth, a parasite. You're the only people who will talk to me, and even you don't want to talk to me. It’s not fair on you, and it’s not fair on me. And I know you loved him, and I know I took him away from you—“

His expression shifts suddenly, and in an instant his hand is lashed around your wrist, the grip so tight and violent you think the bone might snap. “Is that what you think?” he demands, his voice dangerously low, his face close enough that you can taste the whiskey on his breath. “You think I resent you for what happened?”

“Don’t you?” it could very easily have come out sarcastically, and maybe that would have been preferable. Instead, it escapes you in a timid, weak breath that you despise instantly. “I’m the one that did it.”

And for one fleeting instant you catch it- you’re sure of it- pain flashes across his features. It’s gone as quickly as the flicker of a candle flame, but you know what you’ve seen. Those little frames of truth, the ones Polly could read as sure as tea leaves and bad intentions. You know she can, because she saw the dark spirit before anyone else. Warned everyone, warned Tommy. Only he hadn't listened well enough.

Tommy’s grip on your wrist stays, but softens. His thumb traces your pulse, making you very aware of the raucous thudding of your heart. His eyes, those February wind-storm eyes, fixate on you- and even though you can feel the intensity of what it means when Tommy Shelby gives you his attention, the power of it no longer buffets you and stings your eyes and lips. “Listen to me, (Y/N). Killing in self defence is not a sin, and I am not St. fucking Peter.” And just like that, the edge is gone from his voice. Because he’s got the measure of you, now.

You'd wanted to be an animal, a beast, a frenetic and untameable creature- because Tommy had more time and more patience for beasts than for men. What you hadn't anticipated- and you fucking should have, you little fool- was that the reason Tommy preferred the company of animals was that they fell under his spell without messy complication. After all, wasn't that the reason he'd spent all those afternoons as a boy helping at the stables with your father? Couldn't those hands, capable of such brutality and such violence, settle calm as warm sunlight against the sides of a horse's muzzle? Didn't every horse, whether wounded or ornery or spooked find something other humans couldn't explain in that cut-marble face and those December storm eyes?

He is taking you by the muzzle and blowing short puffs. You're nothing more than a mare causing trouble at the far end of the stable. Rattling her stall doors. And he knows how to settle you.

And it's working.

Your other hand finds its way to his grip on you, tentatively settling over his own. “You've done so much for me, Tom,” you admit finally. “I don't want you to think it's ingratitude, and I don't want you to think I don't appreciate you. I just- I want to feel like I- I dunno, I guess-”

As you fumble for words, you can feel his hand squeezing your wrist gently, reassuringly. “Like you're doing something to earn it,” he finishes, looking lazily across the room. He isn't really talking to you, you know- just thinking out loud, as he so often is.

“Like I'm of use to someone,” you correct him gently.

His head doesn't turn, expression doesn't budge even a tic, but his eyes come back to meet you. “And you want to be of use to me, ay?” he asks, still calm- but you can sense the whisper of a warning dancing beneath his words. “Have you even the faintest idea what can happen to people who agree to be of use to me?”

Scooting forward, you ease yourself off his desk, just leaning against it now, and find yourself occupying the position between his spread legs. Retrieving the bottle from where he'd set it a few minutes ago, you set it to his glass with a faint clink and refill it. He's silent, appraising again, but you can see that little glimmer of a laugh in his eyes. Where he kept it locked away, along with the other parts of himself that slowed him down.

Finally, you tilt your head like you'd been considering the answer. You hadn't- you knew it all along. “You let them?”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tw parent death #tw abuse #tw murder #tommy x reader

28 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years

Text

Of Sand & Sea - Prequel

@thava commissioned a prequel of my one-shot HERE, curious about the first meeting between Guppy and Gull. This was a great time for me, I had a lot of fun! I hope it’s everything you were looking for! It ran a little longer than planned, but I don’t think you’ll mind :D

Enjoy my work? Consider going to BuyMeACoffee to show your support. You can find the link in my MASTERLIST. Feel free to check out my other ramblings while you are there. DM me if you are interested in a commission of your own!

Enjoy, and Happy New Year!

The beach seemed a pleasant place. The crash of the waves, steady and rhythmic against the shore, filled her ears. The briny scent filled her lungs and washed away the stinging behind her eyes, though she still gave sad little sniffles every now and then. The girl walked along the sand, sweeping an abandoned bit of driftwood back and forth in front of her as she did. Far too young to be left alone to wander, but far too forgotten by the world for anyone to notice. She was dressed simply; an off-white tunic dress, old and over sized, that fell past her knees. The sleeves had been roughly shorn away, leaving her tawny kissed skin bare to the warm sun. She wiped the back of a sandy hand at her eye, blinking away the last of her tears.

This was her mother’s lands, she had been told. The islands of her forefathers. Whatever that meant. This particular island, small and entirely empty, had been her family’s for many generations. Though it had fallen into neglect after her grandmother had passed. Forgotten by the younger generation like some old heirloom left in the attic to gather cobwebs and mothballs. Far removed from the main islands and certainly off the map for tourists and greedy moguls. It was maybe only a few miles across in each direction, with a small grove of trees at the center which crowned the raised hillock where the house had been built. Though ‘house’ was a generous word, as the structure only had a few rooms and was set high on stilts. Like something out of a picture book, she had decided upon first seeing it.

This was her first time here, and as soon as she had buried her bare feet in the soft, warm sands, she had felt... different. More at home than she had in a long time. Not since…

The girl sighed, far too heavily for someone of her age, looking out across the stony beach to the ocean beyond. A weight in the corners of her large brown eyes that the waves could not so easily wash away. Her uncle thought it would be nice to bring her here. To get away from the city and have some quiet. Though he was always working... He knew nothing about children; had no concept of what she needed. He tried, to some extent. Bought her clothes, asked her what foods she liked. But more often than not, he would be in his own world, and forget she even existed. Spending his time lost in his writing, or his books.

She found she didn’t particularly mind. He was awkward, and a little strange. They were still trying to establish their relationship, so suddenly forced together. And he was older, with rickety knees and greying hair. He couldn’t keep up with her, and seemed to quickly tire of her lack of understanding and occasional emotional outbursts. As had happened this morning. They had been on the island for nearly a week now, and she had stayed in the house on the hill for the most part. Timid and frightened of the rest of the seemingly wild place. But she had nervously lingered too close to him for too long. Had gotten in his way one too many times.

His harsh words still rang in her ears as she wandered along the beach. The little patch of trees she had bolted to hadn’t been nearly so scary as the volume of his voice. And he hadn’t followed her. Hadn’t chased after her to make sure she was ok, or to apologize for losing his temper with her. So she wandered farther away, first down toward the rickety old dock where their small little boat was tethered. Then further, along the sands and stones, to the far side of the island. Clambering over rocks where she needed to, swinging her stick back and forth.

No, she decided. The island was not nearly so scary as she had first thought. And there was lots to look at. Sea birds who cawed overhead and gathered on the rocks to look at her with curious, beady eyes. Crabs that scuttled out of her way, or raised their claws at her stick when she poked gently at them. Lots and lots of shells too. Some half buried in the sands, some laying on top. As the last of her tears dried in the warm sun, leaving tracks down her dirty face, she began to collect them. Gathering them up in her dress. Tossing her stick to the side in favor of sandy shells and shiny stones.

A particularly large and gleaming shell caught her eye a little while later, tucked between some large rocks right at the edge of the water. She could see the foam from the waves splash up just beyond them, and eyed them nervously. She had never been taught to swim, and her uncle told such frightening stories of little girls being washed out to sea. But the temptation of the shell was far too great to be belittled by her fear of the water.

She piled her bounty on the sand, then carefully clambered over the damp rocks. They were quite slippery in places, and more than once her balance was challenged by their shifting and sliding. But she found a little burst of pride in herself as she managed to reach the top of one particularly large rock in front of her prize, and stood there a moment to peer at the little cove around her.

The little girl suddenly became distinctly aware of a soft sound, echoing above the crash of the waves. It sounded like a warble, a keening. Sad, and melancholy. It made her heart quicken and her fear rise again. Her large eyes darted about nervously, wondering if ghosts could come out during the day. Her curly dark auburn locks bounced about her eyes as she searched. Something moved near the head of the semicircle of rocks that formed this corner of beach, and her heart jumped. But then the keening wail came again, chirping now. Sad, but also… frightened.

She clutched her prize shell close to her chest as she cautiously ventured closer. Climbing timidly over the rocks, careful to avoid the little pools of water gathered in between where the waves crested the taller boulders to splash bits of ocean into the crevices.

The rocks clicked and shifted ahead of her, and she was distinctly aware of the movement seeming more frantic as she drew closer. Something sploshed, and slapped. Sounding like wet cloth smacking against the stones. She could finally see it more clearly now, and the girl ducked behind a rock in fright at what she saw.

At first, she had thought it was another child, naked and laying half in a shallow little puddle of water amid the stones. It certainly looked like a fat child, but with greenish-teal skin and a mop of seaweed colored locks on the top of its bulbous head. She braved another peek around the rock, easing a little closer. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else living on this island. Her uncle had told her as much, and she hadn’t any reason to disbelieve him. Curiosity overtook her fear, and she snuck closer. Perhaps a little more lonely than she would ever admit, and hoping for someone other than her uncle to talk to.

The rocks shifted and clacked beneath her feet as she moved a little closer. And the teal-skinned child’s head snapped around at the noise. Fixing her with large, bright yellow eyes.

She froze, shocked. She had never seen such eyes before! They had no whites, and it seemed like the boy had no eyebrows above them. Instead, his brow bowed out, like he had been stung by a bee. Lots of bees, she guessed, because it was very big. It was a boy, or at least, she thought it might be a boy. He had chubby cheeks and messy green hair, narrow little shoulders and spindly arms. The shape of his head and the color of his skin was distracting, but she was pretty sure it was a boy.

When he saw her, his eyes seemed to get larger. He wriggled, and kicked, as if trying to move closer. She jumped at that, skittering a few steps backwards. Her feet slipped on the stones and she gave a soft yelp as she fell. Landing hard on her bottom on the wet stones, her ragged dress becoming quickly soaked at the hem with the intermittent little puddles of water. Her shell went flying, landing a few feet away from them both, but closer to him than her. He froze at that, and stared back at her. Suddenly frightened of the strange looking boy, she crawled backwards, until her back hit a large boulder.

But he didn’t move to follow her. Though she saw him wriggle and scramble again. He gave a huff at his efforts, then the soft, keening wail came from his mouth. She had never heard such a sound before. She blinked at him, watching him collapse on his stomach in the puddle, splashing about. Yanking at his lower half, which appeared to be half under a rock.

A year ago, she had found a rabbit, stuck in a fence. Its back legs unable to fit through the opening its head and shoulders had managed to wriggle through. She remembered the way it had thrashed and kicked, its eyes wide. It had even squeaked, as if in pain, and had seemed even more frantic when she had approached.

The boy with the strange eyes and skin moved the same way as that rabbit. She watched him for a moment, until he lay still once more. After a little while, he craned his neck back. As if to see if she was still there.

“... Are you stuck?” She asked him, her voice a little soft for its timid-ness.

He blinked at her slowly, as if surprised to hear words coming from her mouth. Slowly, she eased herself back to her feet. Then carefully skirted her way over, giving him as wide a berth as she was able. His eyes followed her as she moved. They were a little eerie, but she squared her jaw stubbornly, and turned her own attention to the rock on his legs. It was big, not nearly so large as her, but it looked heavy. With a final glance at the strange boy, she put her shoulder against it and shoved with all her might. It shifted, and she heard the crunch of other rocks around them. But it didn’t move much. After a moment, she had to relent, and stepped back.

A check on the boy found him still watching her, and she noticed now that she could see him properly he didn’t seem to have ears. Instead, there were fins protruding from beneath his hair, and what she thought looked like little pink slashes on his fat neck. He looked strange… but not that scary anymore, now that she was closer. She could see specks of yellow across his nose and cheeks, and over his shoulders, arms, and chest. Like freckles, she decided. She had a few freckles, though hers were brown, not yellow. But the color seemed fitting on him, since he was a greenish-blue, and she paid it no further mind. Turning her attention back to the rock.

“It’s heavy,” She admitted, then glanced back at him, “But I can try again… pull your legs out, ok?”

He watched her silently, and for a second she wondered if he could understand her. There were some people who couldn’t, she knew. Some people on the main island spoke with different sounds and words that she didn’t understand. Her uncle had said they spoke a different language, though he hadn’t fully explained what that meant. But after a moment, the green boy nodded slightly and she gave him a small smile. So he could understand her then. Good!

“Ok, on three,” She instructed, leveling her boney shoulder against the rock again, “One, two, THREE!”

She shoved with all the might her little five year old body could manage, though her feet slid in the wet pebbles at her feet with the effort. Still, the rock lifted, just a little, and with a SHLUP, the boy scuttled backwards. Just in time too, as she lost her balance and dropped the rock back down moments later.

She slipped the rest of the way, falling onto her bottom again. The rock shifted, and both of them gasped nervously. But then it fell still, and after a moment, her face split into a broad grin. She even laughed a little, looking over at the boy to see if he shared in her mirth.

It was only then she realized it was not legs he had pulled out from under the stone. She wasn’t sure what they were, but there was more than two of them. They wriggled and twitched under her scrutiny, curling and uncurling. They were the same color as his body, but the undersides were pink with little suckers every few inches in matching pairs. As she watched, frozen in surprise, the boy inched a little closer. Seeming to snake his way over the rocks. The strange appendages carried him like legs, with his upper body propped straight up as hers was when she stood. But they didn’t move like her legs, more like fingers. Or like a spider perhaps, though they looked squishy like spaghetti. She was so surprised by the sight of him, she hadn’t realized the little boy had crawled right up to her, and was now peering at her nose to nose.

“... Who are you?” He asked her after another moment, and his voice sounded like he was speaking through a mouthful of water. His breath was salty, and he smelled like the ocean.

She blinked at him stupidly for a moment. “Me?”

He nodded, then reached out one stubby teal finger, poking her shoulder curiously. “... You’re all tan and pink. Like a gull without feathers.”

She pushed his head away. “Well, you’re all green! Like seaweed!” She shot back.

He scoffed, and she jumped as one of his weird feet fell on her ankle. “I look how I’m supposed to look. You’re the weird one.”

She shook her head. “You’re the weird one! And you smell like fish!”

His head cocked to the side, and she watched his nose flare as he sniffed at her. “You smell like sand, I think.” He seemed to consider this, looking her over. “What’s wrong with your tentacles? Why do you only have two?”

“Tentacles?” She echoed the strange word, and he grinned at her. Baring stubby little white teeth.

“Yeah, these.” He held one up, wriggling it in front of her face. Then poked her nose with its tip.

She cried out softly in surprise, covering her nose with both her hands. That made him laugh quietly. “I don’t have those!” She exclaimed through her fingers. “I have legs!”

She lifted one up slightly in illustration. He looked at it, then wrapped two of his tentacles around it. She giggled, kicking slightly.

“That tickles!”

“You’re weird, little Gull.” He told her, uncurling from around her leg and sitting back slightly to appraise her again. Then his grin returned. “I like you.”

“Do you live here?” She asked curiously, shifting into a better seat and wrapping her arms around her knees.

He shook his head, then pointed out to the sea. “I live there, of course.”

“In the ocean?”

He nodded. “Yeah, don’t you?”

She laughed. “Of course not! I can’t swim.” She turned and pointed over her shoulder to the small hillock behind them above the copse of trees. “I live up there. Well, right now anyway.”

“How can you live so far from the water?” He sounded surprised. “How do you stay wet?”

“I don’t want to stay wet!” She argued. “I want to get dry!”

“You’ve got it all backwards, silly Gull!” He shook his head, exasperated. “Getting too dry will make you sick!”

“But my bed would feel really gross if it was wet all the time.” She reasoned, thinking it over. “And I’m usually dry, and I’m not sick.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re sand colored all over.” He mused, reaching out with his tentacles as he leaned back on his hands, running them appraisingly over her arms. “You dried out too much.”

She thought that over for a moment, watching his tentacles skim over her arms. “No, I think I’m supposed to be like this. Everyone else I know looks like this too. I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you...” She reached out, touching the thicker body of one tentacle currently wrapping around her opposite wrist curiously. “Maybe you stayed in the water too long, and that’s why your legs and skin look funny.”

He unwrapped his tentacle, pulling it back and leaning forward to take up her hand with his. His skin was cool to the touch, and had a weird quality to it. Like a slug’s skin, but not so gross as that. She didn’t mind him touching her, turning her hand about and rubbing his thumbs along its length curiously. He lifted it up, looking at the underside of her arm, then sighed and let it drop back down.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you, little Gull. Are you sure you’re supposed to look like this?” He curled and uncurled his tentacles beneath him, inching in a half circle around her as he looked her over again. “Maybe you’re under some spell.”

“A spell?” She echoed, spinning to watch him circle her. Fascinated by the way he moved. As he completed his circuit, he slunk over to the pool of water, easing slowly down into it before laying flat on his belly so the water lapped over his back. Propping his head on his hands to look over at her again. “What kind of spell?”

He shrugged his knubby little shoulders. “Oh, I don’t know. I used to hear stories about people under spells. They have to walk the land alone forever and never return to the sea.” He twirled his tentacles back and forth behind him. “Maybe that’s what happened to you.”

She paused, falling silent and suddenly remembering her sadness. Resting her chin on her knees. “Maybe…”

They fell silent for a minute, and he seemed a bit puzzled at this. At her sudden switch. He chewed on his cheek, then shifted, rolling back out of the puddle. Water dripping from his teal skin.

“The stories say you can break the spell though.” He offered tentatively, scooching closer. One long tentacle reached out, plucking the large shell from where it had fallen. Bringing it back over and holding it out to her.

She took it with a soft sniffle. “... Yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Maybe you just need to come back to the sea.” He poked her shoulder again. “Then you’ll get the ocean back in your blood.”

“I don’t know how to swim.” She reminded him.

“I can teach you!” He replied eagerly. But she quickly shook her head. “Come on, it’s easy!”

“For you, maybe.” She scoffed, running her hands over the shell in her lap. “You’re a fish!”

He scowled at her. “I am not a fish!”

“Oh yeah? Then what are you?”

He paused, thinking this over for a moment. “Well… I’m… I’m just…” He straightened, puffing up his chest. “I’m Gupslessiano.”

“... Glupses-”

“Gupslessiano.”

“Gupplessan-”

“GUPSLESSIANO!”

She shook her head. “That’s too hard to say…. How about Guppy?”

The boy chewed that over, leaning back. “... Hmmm… I suppose it’s ok if you call me Guppy.” His bright yellow eyes darted to her. “But only if I can call you Gull!”

She grinned at him. “Deal!”

“So then, Gull,” He keened, skittering back a few steps, “... Wanna play a game?”

... The End

#merman #octomer #merman lover #sea monster #sea monster lover #sea monster boyfriend #childhood friends #first meeting #prequel #terato #exophilia #monster x human #monster romance #monster fluff

30 notes · View notes