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your-daily-biaswrecking · 4 years ago

Text

Serva me, Servabo te

save me and I will save you

pairing: photographer!Taehyung x f.reader

genre: angst, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, lil spooky, lil fluffy

word count: 7.7k | reading time: 40 min

chapter summary: perhaps staying close is going to be better

warnings: as always a little spooky house and a little twist

All chapters | Masterlist | Read on AO3

Chapter 4: Meticulous chaos

You didn't want Taehyung to be the first thing you thought about when you woke up, yet he was. Probably because you woke up due to noises coming from another room, and you must have subconsciously connected that to the only other person living there with you. Nevertheless, there you were, lying in bed with your eyes fixed on the ceiling but only seeing the face of a pretty boy. You shook your head. See, this is why you didn't want to stay there with him. This is why you didn't want to spend too much time around him; because you can easily get used to it.

Because when you looked through your clothes to pick what to wear, the idea of him seeing you in that outfit crossed your mind and surely affected your choice. Because when you kept hearing noises from around the house, you couldn't help but wonder what he was up to. And because you worried about how it was your turn to cook, as if there was a dire need to impress him. When you hopped down the staircase, you walked around the rooms with a clear intention of spotting him. He wasn't in the kitchen, nor the hallways. Not in the sitting room either, that solely boasted its fireplace with a strong flame.

That fire was almost out last night. Yet there it was, dancing about as if it was immortal.

You headed back to the kitchen after your small search was proved fruitless. Even though you had thought you wouldn't have to eat again for the rest of the week after the feast you had the previous night, your stomach was tight from hunger. There was, of course, the easy solution of buttering up some toast along with all the toppings the Manor provided. But Taehyung had gone out of his way to make pancakes for the two of you, it would be a weak admission of defeat to settle for less. You chewed on your lower lip as you investigated the cupboards for ideas; it almost felt like you had put yourself in a competition no one had asked for. A competition that you were doomed to fail, considering the skill Taehyung had displayed in the field already. But if he had to brag about making his hook-ups fall for him through breakfast, you had to at least try to go against him, didn't you?

And then you saw the perfect item: a pudding mix. All you had to do was add milk and bring it to a boil, no extravagant cooking talent needed. And you'd get nice little bowls of vanilla cream that not only would be a unique breakfast but would also fit the aesthetic of the Victorian house and appear as intricate as his pancakes. He didn't have to know it was actually an instant mix.

The wooden floors from upstairs kept making loud noises while you stirred the cream in the flower garnished pot. It almost sounded like he was moving around furniture, but why? You tried to take your mind off him -he had been in there too long, you thought- and finished up your breakfast, serving four small balls. The pudding smelled absolutely delicious but was still steaming, so you opened a window and put two of the bowls out to help them cool down faster since you were impatient to eat. The yellow pot had gained a couple of dark spots at the bottom, a clear sign that you hadn't stirred the milk as much as you should have. You went straight to rubbing it, hoping to fix it, while you noticed the noises had died down and you assumed the other man would walk into the kitchen any time now.

Then you heard the obvious sound of the front door closing. You dropped the pot. Where was he going? Without eating breakfast? Without even saying a "good morning"?

"Tae?" you found yourself calling out. Then you cleared your throat. "I mean... Kim Taehyung?"

There was just silence. You looked out the window but he wasn't in the garden. A sort of itch bothered your right hip, something like curiosity, or even affection for the man, that you had buried and embodied deep in your gut. An itch that acted up when you decided to ignore your thoughts of him once again and go back to scrubbing that pot.

But then the unmistakable sound of the door was heard again. You froze and bit your lip, trying to stop yourself from calling out his name again. However, you couldn't stop the way your head slowly turned towards the door, peeping from the corner of your eye at the hallway, waiting. You heard the footsteps, then you saw just the tip of his shoe before you jerked your head back forward. You wouldn't be caught watching the door, waiting for him to enter. That would be embarrassing.

"Something smells delicious." His voice was husky, his tone lower than normal, as if that sentence was the first one he had spoken that day. Which could very easily be the case.

Your eyes ran to his form the moment you deemed to be safe, and even though you knew who you would see, you still didn't expect the exact sight and ended up smiling sheepishly. Taehyung's somewhat long and curly hair was falling over and under a pair of clear glasses that hung low on his nose, poking at his eyes, looking like he had just woken up and hadn't even run one hand through it. His head was tilted back so that he could stare at you from under his locks, and his jaw was slightly turned to the side as he was probably biting his tongue. Lips and cheeks a soft pink; long fingers stroking his chin. His hair tucked behind his ears made them stand out, along with his thick neck that was framed by a short turtleneck he was wearing.

All that and your eyes hadn't even traveled further down yet.

"Hey," you simply said, your voice small, barely escaping your tight throat.

How could a man look so good in such a sight of sloppiness and untidiness?

"Hey," he rasped, let his arm fall to his side, and smiled at you. He had his camera hanging from his neck and hovering over his stomach. One hand in a pocket of his dark jeans, and a jacket on. Took two steps closer while keeping his eyes to the ground. "Did you cook something? What's the smell?"

"Yeah, breakfast," you responded and gave up on the pot you were cleaning altogether, washing your hands to turn to him. You swallowed hard when you realized Taehyung was standing right in front of you, close enough that you had to look up to see his face, yet far enough to not guarantee a complaint. And there you were again, almost uncomfortable just by existing around him. Though this time it was a different kind of uncomfortable. Something that derived from a sense of comfort that you, but mostly he, displayed right now. You couldn't quite place what it was.

"What kind of breakfast?"

"Vanilla pudding." You noticed his eyebrows rise under his fringe.

"Sounds nice." He gave you a smirk. "Didn't think you'd do that for me." He tilted his head to the side, trying to make you look at him, but you avoided eye contact.

"Don't worry, princess, it's not because of you." You bit the inside of your cheek, regretting immediately having called him that, even if it was his own words you were using against him. And the silence that followed for a heartbeat made you grow with worry.

But then Taehyung laughed. Loudly. He pulled away, swinging his feet towards the island with his back turned to you, clearly enjoying your remark. Enjoying the air in the room, the entire moment and interaction between the two of you, so casually, as if it was all going according to a plan he had made.

And then you realized. There was something in his aura that had changed. Looked a lot like the one he exuded when you first met him. Yeah, those past couple of days he had been walking around as if he was sorry he was taking up space. Now he was walking around as if he knew he could seduce you just by standing next to you. He probably wasn't wrong. Yoonji had said the fact that Taehyung was attractive made the whole situation of being stuck with him there easier, but you were certain it was the exact opposite. Just how attractive that man was, was starting to make staying there with him so, so difficult.

"Uh, well... I had breakfast hours ago when I woke up but- I'll indulge in some pudding since you made it," Taehyung murmured, leaning on the counter with his elbows and looking you up and down as if he was talking about eating something else.

You frowned a bit as you processed his words, along with his outfit. "Where have you been?"

He grinned in a way you knew he had been waiting for you to ask. Then he took the camera off his neck and placed it on the table. "Actually, I thought I'd go find that fairy ring you talked about."

"You've been out?"

"Yeah, I took the mushroom trail you said you took, the one in the tour guide. But I didn't find it."

"You've been out all morning?" you insisted.

"Yeah, I told you. But I didn't find any mushrooms. Like, how far into the woods did you go? I was walking for half an hour and I still hadn't found a single mushroom."

You stared blankly out the windows. "That's weird, when I went, the path was filled."

"Weird, huh?" he mumbled. He hummed and looked around a bit before he turned his attention back on you and your frozen stare. "How many days do mushrooms live? Maybe I was too late?"

"So, you just got home? You were out up until now?" you asked again.

Taehyung frowned. "Yeah, I already told you. Why do you keep asking?" His frown deepen when you didn't answer. When you just kept looking off at nothing like a statue. "Amy? Why, what happened?" he asked concerned, something in your expression not sitting right with him.

Finally, you looked at him. The inner corners of your eyebrows turned upwards as you took a deep breath. "I... I've been hearing... noises."

He pushed away from the counter and walked closer to you. If he did that to make you feel more protected, or himself, you didn't know. "What do you mean? What kind of noises?"

You shrugged, still staring at him without even blinking. "I don't know, just- noises. From upstairs. I thought it was you."

You felt his right palm fold nicely around your left elbow, a touch you almost didn't register right away. He didn't speak immediately, nor did you. Perhaps because there was only one thing that crossed both of your minds, yet neither of you wanted to admit it. It was foolish, wasn't it? You were adults. Adults don't believe in those kinds of things. So you kept quiet, looking with wide eyes and searching in each other what was proper to say. Because you wouldn't profess what you really wanted to say.

Perhaps that is the most adult thing you could ever do; not admit your true thoughts and feelings.

"It's an old house," the photographer was the first one to speak, starting a sentence even he didn't know the ending. "Sometimes it just makes old house noises."

"What are old house noises?"

"Maybe it's just the pipes."

"Yeah, that's what they always say," you snorted. "In horror movies!"

And then Taehyung laughed. With the hand that was on your arm, he ruffled your hair like you were some kind of adorable kid making up stories, completely invalidating your comment. I guess he chose to play the grown-up.

"Well, good thing we're not in one then, right?" he chuckled as he walked away and sat down in one of the chairs.

He was probably right. But still, how dare he pretend to be the logical one and insinuate you weren't. You rolled your eyes and puffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I mean, you never know," you grunted.

Taehyung bit his tongued visibly between his front teeth as he smirked at you. "Don't you think that if this place was haunted or something, they would advertise it as such? They'd make a lot more money that way."

"Not if it was really dangerous," you argued. "Then I think they would keep it a secret and offer the place at a great price to lure people in. Which is probably how Jimin and Yoonji could afford this in the first place."

"Ha!" Taehyung simply said in a way you couldn't tell if it was a genuine laugh or a sarcastic one. "No, Jimin is a lot richer than you think." He frowned as if scolding himself. "Motherfucker is richer than me!" he complained. "That's not fair, I'm the one who made him famous. What's a model without his photographer, huh?"

You tried not to break character, rolling your eyes back to avoid smiling. "That's beside the point. The noises?"

"Probably the housekeepers."

"Oh."

The truth was you hadn't thought about that, had almost completely forgotten about them. Possibly, you had even started doubting their existence; what kind of housekeepers are completely invisible?

"I didn't see them," you said. "Did you?" He shook his head in response. "Did you light the fireplace in the sitting room?" He shook his head again and you had to sigh in defeat. "Well, I guess that was them, too. Even if this house had ghosts, I doubt they'd be lighting us a fire to keep us warm."

"Or cleaning our rooms," he added with an amused grin.

You reciprocated his energy. "Unless the housekeepers are the ghosts. That would be convenient."

"Maybe that lady that was here the first day was a ghost, too. Maybe the whole Manor is run by ghosts."

You both laughed at the idea. Yeah, it was indeed ridiculous. You had to laugh.

"So... pudding?" Taehyung suggested then, pressing his lips together and motioning towards the bowls that were sitting on the counter next to you.

"Oh, right." You jumped a bit at remembering. "I have some here," you mumbled as you turned around and opened the window that put up little resistance.

You frowned at the sight. The two bowls you had placed on that window sill not long ago were still there, but...

"The bowls are only half-way full," you announced, bringing them inside while you stared at them confused the entire time.

"It's okay, I'm not that hungry."

"No, I mean they were full, then I put them outside to cool down, and now half of it is gone!"

Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, considering how to reply for a second. "Are you suggesting I ate them somehow?"

"No!" you exclaimed, your frown deepening.

"Then what are you suggesting?"

You shook your head, exhaling. "I don't know," you said, and you really didn't. "Do you know if there's a cat or something around here?"

He humored you for a moment and thought about it. "No, actually... Haven't seen any cats. Have you?"

"Or- do you know if fairies, perchance, like pudding?"

Taehyung smiled at you and shook his head. But he didn't argue that any kind of mystical being was out of the question to be the culprit responsible for your pudding disappearing, so you guessed there could be a part of him that believed it. Or at least thought about it. And yet again was too pragmatic to admit.

"If we don't know what ate those, I suggest we just throw them away," he said eventually.

You agreed. "There's more, anyway." And with a motion, you emptied the little cream left in the bowl in the bin. The two spare bowls were still filled to the brim and warm to the touch. "But these haven't cooled down yet."

"It's okay, I prefer them hot anyway."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

You raised your eyebrows as you grabbed two little spoons and sat down next to him. "Hm... I'd never have guessed that about you," you whispered and pushed one bowl in front of him.

He opened his mouth dramatically. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," you said biting back a smile, shrugging too, for added effect. "You just seem like a cold guy."

Taehyung snapped his head away, his chin raised high. "I'm not cold. You just don't allow yourself to get to know me better."

"I'm talking about pudding, princess."

"Stop calling me princess!"

"You first."

A small battle of stares and smirks ensued between the two of you before he gave up and picked up his spoon. You remained, and watched, waiting for his reaction like it would be your payment. And the boy, as if he knew, dragged him movements out; dipped that little spoon in the jiggling, runny cream slowly, moving the bite close to his lips ever more so, as though he was filming a commercial. He held the spoon there long enough for you to lose your thought while staring at his lips, the deep cupid bow decorating the top. Then, finally, he tried your pudding and you had to hold your breath when he closed his eyes. Was it because it was really good, or really bad?

"Oh, that's really good."

You sighed in relief. Then snorted at his act. "Don't sound so surprised." You had a taste too and you mentally congratulated yourself. Not that you had done anything much, but he didn't know that, and the result was good enough to boast about.

"I mean-" Taehyung continued while taking another bite, "-I did notice you almost burned that pot over there, so excuse me if I am pleasantly taken aback."

You rolled your eyes and smacked his upper arm, but decided to stay silent. At least for as long as you ate. Taehyung didn't speak either, simply gave you a quick glance after every bite, almost as if he was checking you were still next to him. Next to him, so close to him... You could have easily chosen a seat farther away, but let's be honest, whether it was consciously or unconsciously done, you needed to be in as low of a proximity as possible. It felt safe.

Which is probably why you got up at the same moment as he did, walked to the sink right after him, left the kitchen, and headed down the hall right behind his steps. Taehyung didn't notice, or if he did, he didn't mention it; even if it could be a nice excuse for the teasing he loved to do. He simply stopped in front of the main staircase, looked up, then around him, and then straight to you and said:

"What are you going to do now?"

"Eh?" Were you supposed to do something other than follow him around all day? Well, damn... "Um, I don't know. What about you?" you chewed out your words.

"I wanted to continue some of my work."

You remembered what he had said the previous day. "Right... And you need the sitting room to yourself, I assume?"

He shook his head. "I don't mind sharing," he said in a near whisper.

Your chest puffed as you took in a deep breath at that, trying not to let your face light up. Then again, you couldn't see your face and you could only hope it didn't betray the way your toes curled at the thought of Taehyung implying he wanted to stay in the same room as you. The way his eyes searched your own for a reaction, however, let you know he probably hadn't detected it.

"Oh, good," you mimicked his voice. "I mean, that room is easily the coziest one here, so I'd like to do my reading there, too." You felt proud of your quick and believable excuse.

"Right." Taehyung smiled at you. "It has a lit fireplace, too, so of course we both wanna stay there," he said, basically revealing an excuse of his own.

Inarguably, those were the true reasons to stay in the sitting room. It had nothing to do with the fact that both of you were starting to think the place might be haunted or, God forbid, the fact that you craved each other's company.

Satisfied with yourselves, you jogged up the stairs with the same pace, parting ways for only a minute in order for either of you to fetch your laptop and your books respectively. Taehyung called dibs on the large armchair by the window facing south and you settled for the side of the sofa that was closest to the fireplace. That way you were opposite one another and it was not only easy, but unavoidable, slipping a glance over your work and onto the other. And, simply due to the laws of statistics, it was therefore easy and unavoidable making eye contact a few times as well. He seemed more comfortable when that happened than you, giving you his usual smirk, or even the occasional wink. You, instead, cleared your throat or pretended you were taking a break from staring at the same page all the time, rereading the same sentence.

Yet it was impossible to stop. Taehyung was like a colorful flower in a garden and you were like a starving bee; simply put, you were drawn to him. Both your eyes and mind were incapable of staying focused on your books, every few seconds drifting off across the room in search of the same image again and again: the photographer's serious face, his eyebrows naturally set in a frown, his lips moving along with his thoughts, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Despite that, you weren't upset when that wasn't what you got. You weren't upset when you were met with his smug expression instead, or his head thrown back, or his attention on the dancing flame. Sure, getting caught made your face burn disagreeably, but you were never upset.

You thought being there with him -and I am referring to the entire week- would just make your blood boil. Yet it didn't. Was it because he was acting unexpectantly nice to you, an indication of a different character than the one you were counting on? Had you simply stopped hating him so much with the passage of time? Or had you gotten used to him already? Was it a combination of all three?

Whatever it was, it was definitely causing you to appreciate his presence right now.

"What are you working on?" Right, and it was definitely helping in wanting to know more about him.

Taehyung smiled at you. "I'm editing some photos for the magazine I work for."

"Oh. The ones you took in the garden?"

His smile grew, his teeth showing. "No, no. Those were just for me." He seemed so happy with the interrogation, so happy that you were showing interest. It almost made you cower a little, but he went on right away. "These are from a photoshoot I did right before I came here."

"With Jimin?"

"No, unfortunately," he chuckled. "This one was a lot harder to work with."

You nodded to show you understood. You gave your books a glance, debating whether you should keep the conversation going or go back to silence. Not that you could focus on those books, but perhaps Taehyung could focus on his thing and you were preventing that. "What magazine do you work for?" you asked, anyway.

"Vogue."

You choked. "Wha-" He had said it so nonchalantly you weren't sure you had heard that right. "Vogue? As in, the Vogue?"

"Vogue Korea, yes."

You laughed, shaking your head. "And you just say the magazine I work for? As if it's not a Devil wears Prada kind of situation?"

He licked his lips, his eyes running over your whole face. "What do you want me to do, brag? Isn't that the type of thing that made you dislike me in the first place?"

You raised an eyebrow at his words. "You don't even remember meeting me, how do you know the reason I dislike you?"

Taehyung tilted his face and lied back in his chair. "An assumption," he said casually. "Anyway, I thought you already knew I worked there."

Your tongue poked the inside of your cheek as you narrowed your eyes at him. "Believe it or not, Taehyungie, I didn't spend my free time looking up facts about you."

"Such a shame, I happen to like stalkers."

You snorted at his odd sense of humor, one of the things you clearly remembered about him. But the implication that he wanted to like you didn’t go by unnoticed. In fact, you had picked up on every single comment that served some type of flirting role, at first brushing it off as just the way the man is -he probably did the same to everyone- but you couldn’t help but question whether it was more than making conversation and if it had something to do with you. If, namely, he thought you were pretty or liked you enough to toy with you that way. It didn’t sound improbable.

“How does someone like you get a job at a place like that?” you asked again, seeing you had room to annoy him further with your questions. He didn’t seem exactly eager to get back to editing.

“Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean,” you said, rolling your eyes.

“Do I?” he asked again, but raised his eyebrows in a way you knew he was more entertained than offended.

“You’re so young.”

“Touché. Well, um…” He placed his laptop on the coffee table and leaned closer. “I made a video with Jimin and I in it as my last project in college, and then when I uploaded it on Instagram it went kind of viral. That way I was able to find a job right after I graduated, meanwhile, my follower count kept growing. Jimin gained traction too, and when he was scouted as a model for a commercial, he asked that I be his photographer. We’ve been working together ever since.”

You nodded along. You knew parts of that story, like how Jimin started his modeling career, but you had never considered it from Taehyung’s point of view.

“And Vogue?” you questioned.

He shrugged casually. “Started working there about half a year ago, when Jimin had a photoshoot for the magazine. They offered me a two-year contract.”

You hummed in response. You knew Taehyung was not doing bad in terms of his career, but you had never grasped just how good of a career that was. In your head, you thought of him on the same level as some random influencer; simply had a cute face and a few million followers online. But he seemed to be on his way to becoming one of the greatest photographers in our days, given the exponential growth of his fame in just some years.

And you… You were staying in an old house alone with this celebrity. It should be overwhelming, and it was, but not for that reason.

“Wow. It had never dawned on me just how big you and Jimin are,” you mumbled. “Like, how is Yoonji managing to keep such a man around, still?”

Taehyung laughed. “Yoonji is one of the coolest girls I know, of course she has Jimin. Also, I remember the man had a crush on her since day one of meeting her, and also she was one of the few people that were nice to him back then. He had a lot of bullies, you know.”

You fidgeted a little, looking away. “Even so, he could have cheated or left her for someone better,” you almost whispered. “Isn’t that what celebrities always do?”

You noticed out of the corner of your eyes that he was chewing on his bottom lip aggressively, staring at you unblinkingly. He didn’t respond. Neither to deny nor affirm your words. You cleared your throat and looked around the room, spotting the grandfather clock next to the door, and decided to change the subject.

“When should we have lunch?”

Taehyung finally looked away, picking up his laptop again and placing it on his lap. “I’m in no rush.”

You puffed your cheeks full of air. Maybe it was just an excuse to leave now, but you said: “Yeah, but making food takes a while.” You closed your books and held them tight in your arms, getting up and heading for the door. “Perhaps I should start cooking. Or, at least, see what there is to cook, I don’t know.”

You were almost out of the room when he quickly spoke up, hasting to stop you. “Hey! What… What do you think about having a picnic?”

That really caught you off guard. “A what?”

Taehyung licked his lips when you looked at him over your shoulder. “A picnic. The weather forecast says there’s going to be heavy rain from tomorrow on, and the woods seemed lovely this morning. I was thinking today might be our last chance to get outside a bit.”

You turned fully to face him, trying to digest his words. “You wanna go into the woods?”

He shrugged just one shoulder. “We could go towards the river. I mean, do you really like being in here so much right now?”

Oh, he knew you were scared of these walls. What he didn’t know, however, was that the outside sounded just as scary. Especially after something ate your pudding. What the hell was that?

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “A picnic, though?”

“We can just get something, like, to eat, some snacks and stuff, fill up that basket in the kitchen, and go for an afternoon walk by the river,” he tried further to sell the idea to you. “It doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”

You fidgeted again. “No, it- it sounds romantic.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

Maybe it was. You weren’t sure yet. Then again, the idea did sound nice, something that you would have definitely liked to do normally. You switched your weight from one leg to the other, back and forth, thinking about what to say. But the longer you took to respond, the more intense his look seemed to get. It put you on the spot, it prevented you from thinking straight, only making your mind focus on his eyes and the way he was waiting for your agreement. And the longer you couldn’t think straight, the harder it was, the more anxious you got.

“Fine,” you blurted out then. Why, you didn’t know. Maybe because you couldn’t think of a decent reason to say no.

You missed the way he smiled at you in favor of getting out of there quickly. You hid away in your room, no longer concerned with being alone since you had other things to keep your mind busy with. The other things being Taehyung and Taehyung alone. You tried contacting your roommate in need of some advice or a simple willing ear to listen to you, but she either was ignoring you or the signal was so bad she didn’t even get your texts. So all you were left to do was walk up and down the room, rummage through your clothes to find something to wear, sigh repeatedly while lying face down on the bed, bounce your leg and pull your hair… Nervous as if you were going on a date. Feeling funny in your stomach and you didn’t know why.

Taehyung was already in the kitchen, making a couple of sandwiches. You joined him without too much noise, packing up some crackers, some cheese, some charcuterie, some fruit. The basket was already looking deliciously full, and it was all starting to seem like a good idea, after all, ignoring the itch that was against this whole thing. You even smiled and agreed to the bottle of wine he suggested completing the meal. You covered everything up with a blanket you borrowed from a spare room and left the house with the hiking guide in your hands.

“The stream seems to be very close, only about a ten, fifteen-minute walk,” you let him know as you read the guide.

Taehyung was walking ahead of you, caring the basket he had insisted on, leaving you in charge of recognizing the path. He had his small camera with him, hanging from his shoulder like a purse, and every now and then he stopped to take a picture of the scenery. He was right; the forest seemed inviting today. Looking around you almost couldn’t believe it was the same trees surrounding you. There was ample sunlight boring through the branches and the leaves, hitting your face gently and providing some warmth. The trail was wide and easy, making the walk enjoyable enough, something the other trail had barely offered. What you didn’t expect to find was wild, purple little flowers by the egde as if it was already springtime.

Taehyung bent down and collected every single one of them, making room for them inside the basket.

“Why are you picking flowers?” you asked.

“For you,” he simply answered.

You clicked your tongue, not quite believing him. “Seriously.”

“I just thought they’ll look good with our picnic,” he said, changing his original answer.

You hadn’t even walked ten minutes and you could already hear the running water, gentle yet loud enough to reach your ears. And then it appeared next to the trail. The river was wider than you expected and boasted the bluest waters you had ever seen. White, roundish rocks were inside and around the stream, causing it to splash onto them violently and make all the noise. It was shallow, you could easily see the bottom of it, and the trees were almost falling over it, hiding it away, giving the water its bright, turquoise color.

“There should be a bridge here,” you said, checking the guide again, while Taehyung had already placed the basket down and was taking pictures of the place.

“There is,” he said, pointing upstream without taking his eyes off his camera.

When you walked closer to him and leaned over the edge, you spotted the stone, single arched bridge that was definitely older than the Manor. Its grey stones having turned dark for the most part where the water hit. Over it, it was clear enough for you to be able to see the peaks for a couple of mountains in the background, the river probably having begun up there and gotten so far in its search for the sea.

“Here.” Taehyung’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, along with his hand that landed on your arm. He pushed you in front of him. “Stand over there.”

“Wha- why?”

“Let me take your picture.”

You stayed still, where he needed you to be, and stared at him as you felt your entire head fire up. “Me? Why would you do that?”

Taehyung just looked at you as if you were acting weird and this was something normal you did all the time. “Isn’t that what people do on vacation? Take pictures?”

“Um…”

“Do you not want a picture with the bridge?”

You gulped, pushing your hair behind your ear and then immediately undoing it because you knew you looked bad that way. “Alright,” you whispered. Truly, it wasn’t anything that crazy, you had your photo taken so many times before, by so many people -even strangers- and still, you had no idea what to do, how to pose. You just stood there, looking not at the camera but at the man hiding behind it.

“Right!” he called once he was done. Gave the screen a glance and nodded, satisfied with himself. “Not bad at all. Wanna see?”

He wasn’t lying. The picture was more zoomed than you expected, your face taking up most of the space and outshining the scenery, but it wasn’t bad. Apparently, your a little confused-a little awkward face appeared pretty nice through the lens. Or maybe it was all just the talent of the photographer.

“Where do you want to sit?” he asked you.

Happy to be back to occupying yourself with anything but your thoughts regarding him, you looked around and walked deeper into the path. “Let’s get closer to the bridge, there’s an opening there.”

And so you did, found some grass you could put the blanket down on right by the foot of the bridge. Taehyung gave you the piece of clothing to lay down, and right after the bouquet of flowers he had gathered. Shaking your head at his antics, you placed them on the side, by the basket. The photographer left you alone to take the food out as he got distracted by the beauty of the place again, walking right to the middle of the bridge and taking many pictures. Up the mountain, down the stream, back at you and your little picnic set.

You arranged all your food on the two plates that proved themselves too small for everything, keeping the sandwiches along with the bottle of white wine inside the basket, two glasses on each side of the blanket. It was a nice spot, you thought. It had a nice view and the sun reached down to cover you, the wind blocked away from the forest to your left and all of it together making for a cold-free location.

“Tae,” you whined his name when he got back down there yet was still just taking pictures here and there. Pictures of nature, of the food, of you. Again. “We’re not here for a photo shoot, we’re here to eat!”

He hit himself on the head. “Oh, right. How could I forget,” he said in a teasing voice, yet put the camera away and finally sat down crossed legged in front of you. He gave you a big, boxy smile. “This is nice, isn’t it?”

You looked away, kind of not wanting to admit it, but nodded anyway. “Let’s eat,” you announced, picking up a sandwich.

Taehyung opened the wine bottle and pour both of you some. He clicked his glass onto yours and smiled at you before tasting it. And you were taken aback; that was the best white wine you had ever had.

“Hold on!” you mumbled, taking a look at the bottle to double-check the name. “This is really good!” It was a Sauvignon Blanc, but that wasn’t surprising. It must have been the specific variety because it had such an aroma, just a fruity taste, it seemed more like drinking juice than a dry wine.

“I know,” Taehyung told you. “You know, I’m not a big fan of alcohol but I always make an exception for this wine. It’s my favorite.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

He sucked some air through his teeth. “Probably because it’s a little pricy…”

“Are you implying I’m poor?”

He laughed. “No, I’m implying I’m rich.”

You chuckled while rolling your eyes at him, too. Then you both started biting down on your sandwiches that, needless to say, were delicious, the bread soft and crunchy as if it was baked just that morning. You filled your mouth up with all other snacks as well, appreciating the combination of the wine with the cheese. Oh, and you gulped down that ambrosia-like drink so fast. One glass, then another… You couldn’t have enough.

“I swear, I’ll get too drunk to walk back home at this rate,” you chuckled as Taehyung was pouring you the third glass.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

You dismissed him with a push on the arm. He wasn’t drinking as much but was reciprocating your energy easily. Your chuckles, your jokes, your openness. He threw a grape in the air and caught it in his mouth, which in turn gave you the brilliant idea to turn this into a game. The rest of the food was all gone save for a couple of crackers, the sun was getting more golden as it was slipping downwards, the birds’ chirping getting louder and the temperature falling just enough to make you squirm.

Your brain felt fuzzy but you would argue it was in a good way. You lied down on the blanket with a giggle, folding your arms behind your head, looking at the sky. It was pink.

“We should head back before it gets too dark,” you shared your thought.

Taehyung hovered over you, enjoying your eyes instead of the view. He hummed. “I don’t want to leave yet.”

You smiled at him. “Me neither,” you admitted, and it was true. “Look at the sky!”

He glanced up just as a flock of birds flew over, making him decide to grab his camera one more time. As he was too busy to notice, you let yourself look at him. Stare at him. He blended so well with the artistry of nature, you thought. And he was acting so nice lately, he was making you feel so nice. You knew that meant you were letting your icy cold walls break down in front of him, but at the moment you didn’t have the mental strength to stop that.

“Can I take a picture of you just like that?” he asked when he turned to you again.

You didn’t flinch, you didn’t cower away. You just grinned and let him. The man hovered over you again, hiding his face behind the lens, and you kept giving him the brightest beam you had to offer. Not because you suddenly knew how to pose; it came effortlessly. Taehyung stood up to photograph you from farther away, then got back on his knees and literally crawled to you. Your expression couldn’t help but get more and more serious, the closer and closer he got. Kneeling next to your hip and holding himself up with an arm next to your head, you heard his camera snap a couple more times, and he was so close to you now you felt like there was barely enough space to breathe.

“Tae…” you purred in an attempt to bring his attention back on earth, feeling like he had drifted away somewhere.

He heard you, and with one last snap, he pulled the camera away from his face. You couldn’t have predicted how much worse that would be; how much worse it was to be looking at his eyes -his lips when he licked them- instead of an inanimate object. And he was, oh, so close.

He smiled at you sweetly and completely dropped the camera next to you but still didn’t move an inch. Perhaps he was even getting closer as he used both hands to trap you under him- you didn’t know, you couldn’t fully understand.

“You know, Amy, I’m really glad we came here,” he spoke, his voice as low as it was that morning, basically resonating in a whole different frequency, nearly hard to be registered by a human ear.

You pressed your lips together as you gave him a curt nod. “Yeah, the picnic was a good idea.” He wasn’t even touching you but you felt like you couldn’t move. Why couldn’t you move? Why didn’t he move?

He licked his lips again and pushed his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “I mean- hmm…” his voice vibrated in his throat. ”I’m glad we both came to this Manor. It’s better that you’re here.”

You had to bite your lower lip and your legs pressed well together. “Uh, yeah…” you said, clearing your throat immediately after. “I’m glad you’re here, too. To be frank, it would have been very boring if I was staying here alone.”

He licked his lips a third time- what the hell? Was he doing it on purpose, solely to keep your attention on them? Or had he always been doing it and you were just noticing now? Noticing because your eyes were on his lips anyway.

“I’m good company, then?” he chirped.

“You’re not terrible.”

Taehyung chuckled. You noticed his eyes traveling down your body with an amused smirk. “You’re not so bad yourself, princess.”

The way the nickname rolled off his tongue made your stomach do a flip. It wasn’t like all the other times he used it to make fun of you. Or maybe it was, but this time you liked it. Maybe you were too tipsy, or too lost in the moment, but your breath was heavy and his eyes felt like beams of fire burning into your form. And you couldn’t get a hold of yourself; you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t pull away, you couldn’t think straight. Your muscles moved on their own, your body taking control over your mind and you leaned in without knowing, without realizing. You really didn’t realize what you were doing until your lips hit his.

Taehyung immediately kissed you back. One of his hands snaked under your head and held the back of your throat to pull you closer to him as he swallowed you desperately. It was impossible to escape- his lips were soft and fit on yours with practiced ease. He was warm, and your body craved this heat as if it was freezing to death. And you couldn’t stop, you couldn’t pull away, you couldn’t think straight. And perhaps you didn’t want to.

He broke away only for a second to catch his breath; it was a second too long. The moment his lips left yours it was like you were freed from a prison spell. You could move, you could think. And you did, pushing him away.

“No…” you mumbled. Got on your feet right away, looking around as if you were lost. “No, no!” you basically screamed.

And you started running away.

“Amy!” Taehyung called your name as he got up too. He called you again, and again as he saw you run down the path you had taken to get there. “Amy, wait up!” you heard his voice get fainter as you got farther. But you didn’t wait up. You didn’t slow down. Now that you had started running from him, you didn’t know how you would stop.

Next Chapter

#kim Taehyung #taehyung fanfic #bts #bangtan #bangtan fanfic #v #fanfictin #multichapter #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #enemies to lovers #slow burn #angst #bts x reader #serva me servabo te #save me and i will save you #chapter 4

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rocket-remmy · 5 years ago

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The Great Irish Bake-Off|| Deirdre and Remmy

March 7th. Baking, brains, and banshee friends. Happy Birthday.

March 7th. Remmy stared at the calendar. The little Google notification on their phone had gone off earlier that day and Remmy didn’t know how to turn it off, or change it. March 7th. Happy Birthday, Remmington! You’re 30 today! And a little smilie face with a party hat on next to it. March 7th. Calendar Reminder! Baking w/Deirdre! All day event. March 7th. Remmy tapped on the notification. Tapped on the trash can icon. Deleted it. March 7th. Just another day. Baking with Deirdre. That was all.

They looked up, glancing around the kitchen. It was a Saturday, but Blanche was out of the house and there was almost a peaceful quietness about. Moose was sleeping on the floor next to Remmy’s feet as they scrolled through pictures online of cool cakes. The Great British Bake-Off was paused in another tab of Netflix. Remmy checked the clock, still a few more minutes. They wondered if Deirdre was the kind of person to show early. They bookmarked a few more ideas that looked fun before setting about pulling out all the ingredients they thought they might need. There was a roll of fondant at the store, but Remmy figured it was best to keep busy all day today, and thus had, instead, bought all the ingredients to make it by hand. Baking was easy for them. Step by step instructions with exact measuring. Easy. It was cathartic, relaxing. They wondered if they’d gotten that knack from their mom. It was always hard to know. It was even hard to know what traits they’d picked up from their father, seeing as the man was either drunk, passed out, or gone. Or yelling.

When the knock finally came, Moose perked up, following Remmy out of the kitchen and into the foyer. They paused a moment, though. Deirdre was an enigma to Remmy. They liked her. She was nice to them. She told them about what they were and answered all their stupid questions. And she had this soft, almost missable way of showing her affection. It was probably why Morgan had fallen for her. Remmy didn’t want to scare Deirdre away, because they liked her, too. She was a good friend. Well...she was on her way to being a good friend. Opening the door, Remmy put on a smile. “You ca-- is that a stand mixer?”

Someone should have told Deirdre that stand mixers were heavier than they looked. Of course, she owned one, but she rarely picked the thing up and moved it around. Buying a new one, in a fun yellow color she thought Blanche might like too, and carrying to her car and then from her car to the front door, was more work than she anticipated. But this was work for someone she felt deserved, or needed it, or something. She wasn't one to question her whims when they arose. What did she do when she wasn't screaming and killing? Wasn't that up to her? "Yes, it's a stand mixer. Do you want to point out that I have hair too and am wearing clothes? Is this what we're doing? Pointing out observations? I see you have a nose, Remmy," she said plainly, holding the appliance tighter in her arms and gesturing to the bag dangling from her arm. "I also bought some supplies, those fancy things the real bakers use—or so I was told." She couldn't tell a sales pitch from genuine information when it came to things she didn't care about, and she had the money to not really care either way. "I—now, don't look at me like that. It's your birthday, and soiled as you think the day is, I think we can bake something like your moth—" she slammed her mouth shut, cutting the sentence off and narrowing her gaze on the zombie. "Did you think I just picked this day randomly? For watching a baking show?" She shifted again, adjusting the stand mixer's box again. "Can you move aside and let me in, please? I'm going to throw this at your face if I'm made to hold it for another second."

“I just-- didn’t expect you to bring a whole stand mixer,” Remmy said, giving a little shrug. They stepped out of the doorway to let Deirdre in. “You talk a lot. Here, I’ll carry it,” Shifted to reach out and take the stand mixer from her, closing the door with their foot. They’d cleaned as much as possible yesterday, but it felt like the house was eternally a bit dusty. They supposed the ghostly roommates just liked it that way. “Um-- mind the snakes and tarantulas, please. They’re my roommate’s. I tried to put as many away as I could but sometimes they still get out. They’re all harmless though.” Moose padded along behind Remmy as they lead Deirdre through the foyer, past the old wooden grand staircase, and into the kitchen and breakfast nook. Set the mixer on the table next to all the other stuff they’d pulled out. “Deirdre, I know why you wanted to come over today. I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

“That--I don’t--you--I don’t talk a lot.” But Deirdre did, and she knew that. She handed the stand mixer off to Remmy and grumbled her way inside. “Luckily for your roommate, I enjoy snakes and tarantulas. Though dead preferably and--” Deirdre paused, looking up. “Did you...get a haircut?” She was aware, suddenly, that she was talking too much again but these words were important and she wanted to say them. “You look good,” and she smiled as she followed behind Moose, keeping a very respectable distance from the slobbering creature. “Oh, good then,” Deirdre pulled a knife out, with flourish, “I’m here to kill you and I’m so happy we’re on the same page about this.” She paused, expecting laughter as her smile grew from simply lopsided to cat-like. “No, I’m just joke--am I talking too much again?” The fae coughed and slid the knife away. “I, um--ahem. I only came over because I assumed you’d do something dumb like...not...cele--you know what? I don’t need this. I can leave.”

“You kinda do,” Remmy commented, but didn’t push it further. Deirdre was kind of flighty, and they never knew if they were going to say something to offend her. They patted their head, forgetting that they had, in fact, gotten a cut. “Oh, um yeah, thanks. It was time.” Remmy started fishing the stuff out of the bag Deirdre had bought when she pulled out her knife. They couldn’t help but jump a little at first, before giving a chuckle and shaking their head. “You won’t kill me,” they said simply, “You like me.” Smiled gently as she started talking again. It was kinda nice, actually, to meet another person who could ramble and not realize it. Remmy was just looking back down at all the stuff when Deirdre slid the knife away and they felt their stomach do a little flip. “Please don’t leave!” they said, perhaps a little too quickly. “I mean...please stay?” They looked at all the stuff spread out. “I wanna bake a cake with you. Look--” turned the computer so Deirdre could see the cakes they’d been looking at, including one that looked like a human heart, and one that looked like a pile of bones. “I was looking up ideas.”

"I don't like you. Morgan likes you and I like Morgan." Deirdre explained simply, offering a huff before her eyes widened as her words occurred to her. "I don't—I don't like—" the Fae coughed, shaking her head and leaning over to look at the computer screen. She needed to spend more time with other Fae, the humans were starting to get to her. But for now, cake. She narrowed her gaze on the examples, "I appreciate the novelty of a cake that looks like a bone but I would also like to point out that you said you've never done this kind of a cake before and I don't intend on helping any more than flipping a switch up and down. Now, are we butting bones inside the cake because that seems far more exciting to me, and I always carry a bone." She looked over at Moose, communicating in a series of glares that he wasn't going to take it. Then she glanced back at the screen, "why don't we try to do the one that looks like a brain? So it's thematic in a tacky way just like birthdays are." Deirdre turned to Remmy, "what do you think? You can...make up your mind."

Remmy raised a brow, but dropped it for now. They didn’t need her to say it to know. And the little cough made them understand it all the more. Lydia had said fae can’t lie, and Blanche said something about it making them sick, so it only made sense. “I mean, I’ve decorated cupcakes before,” Remmy said, pulling up a photo of the moose shaped cupcake they’d made for Blanche recently. “See? It’s just that, but bigger.” They raised a brow at Deirdre. “You carry a bone with you? I mean...I guess I can’t really say much. I do, too, sometimes, but mine’s for Moose. Sometimes he finds bones on our walks, too. Lotta dead things out in those woods.” They started organizing the stuff and pulled up a recipe, before giving a soft, genuine laugh at Deirdre’s little joke. Gave her a lopsided smile before they started opening up bags. “Then you can be the resident stand mixer operator. I’ll do the rest of the work.”

“That is not the same thing and we both know it,” Deirdre groaned, mostly to suppress the impressed grin that wanted to twist her lips. Maybe there was something to be said about inherited skills. Deirdre imagined she got her cutting coldness from her own mother. “Mine’s for me,” she said, moving around the kitchen to set up the stand mixer, a skill she only had because she spent an hour on hers--even though it was as simple as unpacking and plugging in. “Yes! The woods are delightful for dead things. This whole town is,” she hummed. Once done, she looked up from her work, which was obviously extremely hard. “I’m done,” she deadpanned, “and now I’m bored. Let me do something else. Or--” she paused, pretending to get back to something on the stand mixer, “what was your mother like? From what you’ve heard? I just--it’s nice to talk while we work.”

“It’s kinda the same!” Remmy argued, giving a little huff. Just because they’d never tried decorating a full cake before, didn’t mean it would be hard. They’d watch quite a few videos to prepare, too. Blanche had shown them the tutorials part of YouTube and now Remmy was obsessed. What else did one do when they didn’t sleep? “Huh, guess that’s why I was drawn here, too, then.” They went about setting the different mixing bowls up in order from largest to smallest and then set each ingredient that would be needed for each different part next to those bowls. Nice and organized. They were just about to start measuring when Deirdre asked her question. They paused as well, picking at the edge of the measuring cup before shrugging and digging it into the bag of flour. “You can measure the liquid stuff into the bowl if you want.” Dug into the starch next. “My uncle said she was always giving people free cakes. Even though it was the only way she made money. He said she just liked to see people smile.” Dumped it into the bowl. Salt. Sugar. Reached for the eggs. “She was from Ireland, I guess. They both were. They’re parents got mad she wanted to marry a Scot. Not like, really really mad. But he said they gave her shit for it.” Cracked an egg. “He always said I reminded him of her but like...how am I supposed to know? I never met her. I could never tell if that made him happy or sad.”

Deirdre realized this was a bad idea as soon as Remmy started speaking. She wasn’t good with comfort, or emotion, and most of the time she didn’t care to do either of those things. It was pointless, but so was holding weight to a day of the year that should have been light. Her logic, about as sound as it was when she threw Remmy in front of that car all those weeks ago, was what she used to perk herself up and listen. She did her assigned job of measuring and pouring diligently, nodding along. Remmy’s ability to speak casually about what should have been easily traumatic for any other human (or ex-human) was impressive. Deirdre liked it. “She sounds like she was a good person.” A really good person, a foolishly good one. Remmy and her had that in common, it seemed. “Ah, Ireland! I’m also from--you know that.” She paused, halting her one job and simply letting Remmy pick up the slack where she left it. “People always say that...about dead loved ones. They’re always reminded of them in other people. Who knows how much truth that had...but it must’ve made him happy. To see her again, in the littlest ways.” Deirdre stepped back, jumping up to sit on the counter and watch Remmy walk, her legs kicking like a restless child. “Maybe you get your generosity from her, maybe you don’t. Who's to say? Is it wrong to want to remember a woman you’ve never met? To wish you could? Of course not. But we’re also baking a cake for you--in the metaphorical sense.”

Remmy had never thought much about the detached way they spoke of their dead mother. It made sense, in their head, that they weren’t upset about it because she wasn’t someone they’d ever known. How could you possibly grieve someone you’d never met? It didn’t seem logical. Still, something Deirdre said made Remmy’s heart clench just a little harder when they thought about her. “What’s it like over there?” Remmy asked, not meaning to ignore Deirdre’s words of comfort, but more than sure that they wouldn’t be able to hold on to their cool demeanour long if they lingered on those thoughts. They still felt weary and drained from breaking down so fully on Skylar last week. “In Ireland. My Uncle had an accent, like yours. They were kids when they moved over here, so it wasn’t like-- a thick one. But he said certain words funny.” They glanced back at her, moving almost automatically over to the stand mixer and pouring in the ingredients. They gestured to the on button. “Will you do the honor?” they asked, giving another lopsided smile.

Deirdre refrained from explaining that her Ireland was much different from a humans. She knew the rolling hills well, the forest and its trees. She knew the pixies and the leprechauns, and those were the parts she loved. The pieces away from the humans. “Beautiful,” she said after a moment, “more than the pubs and old streets will tell you. There’s something that you just have to see for yourself. I’ll take you one day, Remmy. I told you that we have about two hundred years.” Deirdre had about two hundred more years, years she could spend as Remmy’s friend, if she wanted to. “I can give you a promise, if you want.” She smiled, finally flucking up the small switch at the side of the stand mixer, starting it at a slow whisk to prevent ingredients from flying up in their faces. She’d done that at least once before. “Ireland’s small, so you can go all over--one end to the other. Know the land, know your way home. Yet, big enough not to feel suffocating. It’s not like America in that. This country’s so big, you’d probably forget where you were--are.”

“It sounds great,” Remmy said, making sure to start stirring in the wet ingredients to make the batter nice and smooth, just they watched the professionals do. “It also sounds like you kinda miss it.” They added the last ingredient, let it sift in, then motioned for Deirdre to turn it off. “You don’t have to promise me,” they said with a grin, glancing sideways at Deirdre as they pulled the bowl out and started pouring the batter into the different pans. One square, one round. They could carve the cake after. “I know you’ll keep your word.” They set another bowl down on the stand mixer and started putting in the ingredients to the fondant in. “What flavor do you want? I can’t taste it so it’s up to you to pick,” they said, holding up the different vials of flavor they’d bought. “Cherry?” A grin.

Deirdre tensed, tightening her grip on the counter’s edge. “I do miss it, but missing something isn’t as simple as....missing it.” She turned her gaze, staring out at the kitchen wall of this gothic Victorian house instead. “The secret, I suppose, is that you’ll always miss something, no matter where you are.” With no desire to really explain herself, she sighed and brought her attention back to the zombie. “Sometimes the promises are reassuring, words are just words, otherwise.” She paused, eyes wide suddenly at the mention. “I love cherry! It’s--have I ever told you about the cherries that would grow at the edge of my family’s estate? They were unbelievably bitter so the only time I got to eat cherries I could actually swallow was the--” she paused again, this time to collect herself. Taken with excitement, she’d forgotten the person she was supposed to be. “Cherry is fine, I suppose. Or we could dump a couple of spices in there and make it into something you can taste, and I can pretend to chew and then spit out.”

Remmy blinked. The statement didn’t make sense, but a lot of what Deirdre said didn’t make sense to Remmy. She spoke in a way that they didn’t quite get yet, but they were working on it. Her explanation helped. “So, you don’t wanna go back? You like it here?” they asked, picking up the cherry flavor. “Well, words mean stuff to me, so I don’t need the promise. But if it’d make you feel better, we can promise.” They couldn’t help the grin that spread on their face as Deirdre exploded with her cherry excitement. When she stopped, it almost hurt a little. As if she were stopping the person she was in order to be the person she was supposed to be. Remmy had seen that so many times, in the faces of their friends. “That’s okay, I really want someone who can taste to try the cake more than myself. I wanna know if I did a good job.” They poured a few drops of cherry flavor in before turning the mixer back on and letting it mix into the butter cream. “I’m gonna start the oven, turn that off when it’s all mixed in,” they instructed, heading over to the oven in the corner of the room.

Deirdre tensed again, how was it that coming over to help Remmy had the conversation momentarily flipped on her? It was Ireland. They shouldn’t have been talking about it. “I can’t go back,” she sighed, “I’m needed here.” And she urged silently that the topic be dropped there and left there. Her desire to speak of herself diminished more each day that passed, until her sense of self would fade under the ideal she should be. “Words mean stuff to me too,” she repeated, pensive. Again, urging a shift into lighter topics. “Well it smells good,” Deirdre spoke over the mixer, eyeing the buttercream. “How do I know when it’s done?” The red coloring swirled to create a pink and Deirdre eyed it, waiting until it resembled something she was used to seeing before flicking the mixer off. “Do you only bake when you have an occasion to? Or do you make things for your friends often?”

Clearly, Deirdre didn’t wanna talk about Ireland anymore. That was a hint Remmy could take, even if they were oblivious most of the time. “Right, that’s fair,” they said, closing the oven after the cakes were in. It only took a few minutes for the smell to encase the room, and Remmy felt a small pang of sadness at the idea of not being able to truly taste it. They wiped it away, though, put it back into the box in their head where every other sad thought went, and moved on. Started rolling out the fondant with the roller, into a big enough sheet, just like the guy in the tutorial video had done. It seemed to be the right consistency. “Is it all one color?” they asked, glancing over. “Yep, it’s done. Nice!” A toothy grin. “I don’t really do it often, no. I guess I’ve been doing it more lately cause like...it helps relieve stress or whatever, but not too often. It’s easy to just follow instructions, you know? Don’t have to think too hard about anything.”

“So you should do it more often then,” Deirdre started, her mouth fell around the rest of her words, opening and closing lamely around something she wished could be inspiring or comforting but knew wouldn’t be. In the end, she settled on a soft chuckle. “White Crest is certainly a place full of stress, but I mean you should bake just for you, Remmy.” Now she was even starting to sound a little like Morgan, that’s what she got for spending so much time around the human. “One day your life will be the way you want it and your birthday won’t feel so heavy. One day, I know. That day isn’t today, but I hope it can be a start for you. Your mother sounds like a kind woman, she’d want the best, despite the circumstances--wouldn’t she?” Deirdre jumped down from the counter, wandering around the kitchen like a bored cat. “If you could have one thing, Remmy, anything at all--just yours--do you know what you’d ask for?”

“Oh, um--” Remmy started, reaching over and pulling the bowl with the buttercream in it out. They had a half an hour until the cakes were done cooking, and then they’d need to cool, so it was going to be a bit. Remmy grabbed a spoon and scooped a little onto it. “I don’t really...baking for myself would be like, kinda pointless? Since I can’t really eat it. I just like...doing it for other people. Here--” held the spoon out to Deirdre, “--taste it. Cherry enough? I can add more.” Once Deirdre took the spoon, they went back to the fondant and started dumping some of the rolling flour onto it. It puffed out and caked itself onto the counter some. “I don’t...I mean, that seems so far away, right now. All of that. Being-- okay.” They turned to watch Deirdre wander the kitchen. “I don’t know what I want. I’m not, like-- good at anything. Or with anything. I don’t--�� matter? “--want for a lot, I guess. I just want...to be at peace. I want to be alive again.”

“No I mean--” Deirdre pinched the bridge of her nose, “I mean you bake for your pleasure, but the food you give to--oh, why not Blanche? I bet she’d love to come home to cupcakes. You do something for yourself, you do something for others. It’s not like cupcakes will go uneaten. It’s…” Deirdre trailed off, coughing as the rest of her sentence fell from her lips, “...equivalent exchange.” The banshee took the spoon happily, grateful mostly for the distraction. “Mhm,” she hummed, “it’s good. I mean--it’s okay.” What was she doing here? This also wasn’t really her job at all. She froze then, hearing Remmy continue. “It’s good, Remmy,” she corrected herself, pride be damned. “It’s good. So herein lies the proof you’re good at one thing. And emotions, those are another thing you’re good at. Helping people....” Deirdre trailed off, tilting her head. “And were you at peace when you were alive, Remmy?”

“You sound like Morgan,” Remmy said absently, continuing to work the fondant until it was a nice shape. They stopped, looking over at Deirdre. They recalled all the times she had told them to call her and asshole, and told them that they weren’t friends. All the times she’d told them they had a place in the world and if they didn’t perform that, then what were they worth? And yet, here she was now. Under all that hard exterior, there was a soft, good person. Otherwise, why would she be here? And who was Remmy to judge. Whether Deirdre was a good person underneath at all or not, she still deserved happiness and love. So why couldn’t they ever believe that about themself? Remmy kneaded the fondant a little too hard, feeling the rolling pin snap under the pressure. “Why are you here?” they suddenly asked, turning to look at her. “You said we’re not friends, but you--” they stopped, turned away, eyes boring into the creamy substance on the table. “I don’t know if I was. I don’t know if I’ve ever known peace. I don’t know what that is, what that feels like. But I know for one split second, before I died, and I was on the ground...I was okay. In that moment….I was okay.”

Deirdre grimaced at Remmy’s comment, a bitter ‘I know’ sat between her teeth. She didn’t want to sound like Morgan, like a human. She didn’t want to be here, caring like some paragon of generosity. Fae needed each other only, she should have been with them instead of with some ex-human. She wished so desperately for those lines to come back, the kinds she could draw easily in the sand, working them over and over again until they became trenches. But she’d just been spending so much time on this side, finding parts she liked. Was it wrong to be happy like this? Yes. Absolutely. The small smile fell from her face and her features turned cold. She tilted her head, looking at the snapped rolling pin. Funny how that worked, how easy things could break. And that perverse desire to see it happen, to feel something else shatter other than themselves. Did Remmy feel it too?

“When you were dying, you mean,” Deirdre straightened up, “there’s peace in death, I know it well. I’ve seen people go screaming, crying, and those that pass with a smile. Those are the smart ones. But dying isn’t living, and you just answered your question. You want peace, you want to be alive--being alive didn’t give you peace.” What did it say about Remmy that their one moment of peace was dying? What did it say about Deirdre that she understood the feeling completely? “You can close your eyes and wake to nothing, to know a world without life--without pain, torture, sadness. Death is a mercy, my family has said it a thousand times. It’s simple.” And so, what did it mean that Remmy knew undeath then? “I think I came to comfort you, Remmy. Offer you peace. But the only peace I know is death, and I never learned how to give comfort.” She stepped closer to Remmy, placing her hand on their shoulder. “All of your life has been living where others have died, hasn’t it?” She pushed down, pressing her weight into Remmy’s shoulder. “Is that what you carry with you?” She pushed harder, imagining none of these brought Remmy any pain. “Guilt? The desire to find a kind of peace you know isn’t the answer? To finally lay yourself down as life should have taken you?” She released her force, lifting her pressure away. “You have a life again.This can be peace too, you know that, right? Complicated peace, but genuine.”

Remmy’s eyes followed Deirdre as she stood up and came over to them. Death was a mercy. How were they supposed to believe that when death hurt so much? And not physically. No, emotionally. Psychologically. Deeply. A pain Remmy felt so far in their soul the only way out of it was to pretend it wasn’t there. Lest they fall into the dark pit, where every single one of their friends was dead. Where they had woken up. Where they had to carry all of them and their burdens on their shoulders. Guilt. Deirdre was right. Remmy carried all of their guilt. All of their pain. All of their souls and memories. And maybe they didn’t need to, but they couldn’t figure out how to put it down without falling to pieces. Without understanding what had happened. Her hand was heavy on their shoulder. The weight of their guilt. They understood this. Deirdre removed her hand, removed the pressure-- but for Remmy, it was still there. It would always be there. The guilt was the only thing holding them together anymore. “I don’t know how,” they finally said, glancing down. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I want with my life, or my new life. I don’t know what makes me happy, and I don’t know what my place in this world is. So why me? Why do I get this chance? It’s just wasted,” they said, hand tightening on the counter, “I’m just a waste.”

Deirdre cast her eyes down too, wondering what Remmy was trying to find in the tiles, and if she could see it too. The tiles, however, just looked like tiles to her. No answers there. She looked up, letting silence hang between them for a moment. There were a hundred things her mother had told her about worth, how one’s value could only be found in living their purpose. Deirdre’s was to serve fate, Remmy’s was as the world’s bottom-feeder. She opened her mouth to explain this again, then shut it just as quickly. “I don’t know,” she sighed, “what to tell you, I mean. There’s no magical answer, I suppose. I know Blanche or Morgan would have something more comforting to say. I can tell you that Blanche feels the same way about herself, and I can tell you to try and listen to the same things you’d tell her….but no comfort. No answer. That’s not---that’s not something I’m good at.” Deirdre reached out again, another hand on Remmy’s shoulder, this time devoid of metaphor. “I can tell you, Remmy, with honesty that...waste or not...I do...enjoy your company. And you don’t seem like a waste to me. Life shouldn’t be a waste, no matter if it’s lived again.” She paused, pulling her hand back. “You are my friend, Remmy. And no matter what you think of yourself, that fact won’t change. I’d rather you not see yourself that way, but even if you do, I’m still here---I’m still your friend.” Her mother’s voice clattered at the back of her head, and she winced, silencing the sound. She knew, without a doubt, that Remmy’s only value could be in serving their purpose. But this wasn’t kind, and most of all, it wasn’t what she wanted to tell Remmy. “I’m sorry I don’t have a way to fix that for you, Remmy. I wish I did. All I can offer is my friendship….I hope it means something.”

Remmy didn’t want to cry. In fact, they’d done more crying lately than most of their life, probably. They hadn’t even had the energy or the heart to cry after coming back from overseas. And yet, here, it was like one after the other after the other. Remmy turned away from Deirdre at first. Somehow, her non-comforting words did comfort Remmy. They were so tired of everyone just saying it was going to be okay. That they were still them, that everything would work out. Remmy didn’t want those words anymore. They just wanted an answer. And Deirdre didn’t have them, either. The hand on their shoulder made them turn their attention back to her again, unsure of what to say, even in the face of her admission. Hadn’t Deirdre been the one to tell them that they were nothing if they didn’t fulfill their duty? Hadn’t Remmy accepted that fate? Yet, here she was, telling them, waste or not...they were friends. Remmy’s eyes blurred and they blinked, trying to wipe them dry, but only making more come. They turned away from Deirdre again, hands braced against the counter’s edge. “I don’t-- you said we--” DING! Remmy’s head swiveled, silently thankful for the interruption. They scrambled away from Deirdre and over to the oven, pulling it open and reaching in for the pans. They were already halfway out when Remmy realized they weren’t using any hotpads. The pain set in a moment later. There it was again, that dulled ache. Getting bigger. Remmy stumbled-- “Fuck!”-- tossed the pan onto the counter, knocking back the bowl of buttercream and toppling several bottles of food dye. Their hand was a searing red. All they could do was watch it bubble, blister, burn red, then start to fade. Just like everything else. Nothing lasted. They walked slowly over to the sink and started running cold water over it. More of a reaction than a relief. “It’s okay,” they finally said to Deirdre, not quite looking at her yet, “that you’re not good at being um-- comforting. Not everyone is and that’s...okay.” They turned the sink off and finally turned to face her again. “It does, um-- mean something to me. That we’re friends. It means...a lot.” They came back over to her. “You make me feel like...less of a waste.”

It was an odd scene to watch, and then suddenly very comical. Deirdre laughed, loud and proud the way that she did; head tipped back and teeth bared as though she could snap from laughing to anger in a second. Remmy, on the other hand, didn’t find it so humorous. And, given the heaviness of the topic before them, maybe it shouldn’t have been. But Deirdre knew to take life in stride, simply as it came. Likewise, she knew to take people like that too; exactly as they are. “I was just about to say that I thought this kitchen needed a little more red!” She laughed, leaning against the counter and trying to meet Remmy’s eyes. She went about righting the bottles of food dye a moment later, half a mind to at least spare Remmy the clean up (she didn’t plan on helping, naturally). “Well, good,” she crossed her arms and looked over at the zombie, “because you’re not a waste, in my opinion.” Nothing in life really was a waste, so it wasn’t that much of a lie. Even if the voice of her mother, often intermingled with her own, droned on about an undead’s use in the back of her head. “And it should mean a lot,” she reached out to jab her finger into Remmy’s shoulder, a playful gesture more than a spiteful one. “I’m not just friends with anyone. I have standards, after all.” She smiled, gesturing to the cake with her head. “There’s a fun metaphor about cakes being hot my mother would tell me; you have to wait for them to cool, and so too does time need to be obeyed to correct pain. Of course, none of that matters in the moment, where the cake is hot and you still feel like shit. So you focus on what you can do, however small,” Deirdre reached into the bowl of buttercream and swiped some with her finger, “which is to say, remember that things are hot next time, my friend.” She smiled, licking her finger.

Remmy couldn’t help the smile pulling at their lips. Deirdre’s laughter was infectious. And so was her smile. And her presence. They shook their head, smacked her hand when she swiped for the bowl. “Hey! Save it for later!” They grabbed the bowl away from Deirdre and made sure to find their hot pad before moving the cake pan over to the freezer to cool, along with the other one. “Your mom sure had a lot of bits of wisdom,” they said, closing the door and looking back over at Deirdre. “Was she always like that? Or, um-- is she? She’s still alive, right? Cause you guys live for like...a long time?” Remmy wondered what their mom would think of them, now. If she even ever had an opinion on a child. If she’d be proud or happy that Remmy could bake a cake. That they tried their best to smile every day. Would she have been upset that Remmy felt like a waste? That they were wasting this gift at second life. “I’m glad you finally admitted it, though,” they said, coming back over and scooping a spoonful of butter cream out before putting it in the fridge to settle. They held it out to Deirdre, climbing onto the counter to sit. “That we’re friends. That’s the best gift anyone coulda gotten me today,” they smiled, soft, tired, little lines pinching at their eyes, even in their now immortal body. It was a weariness that didn’t ever quite leave. “Asshole.”

“All we have is the present, Remmy! Let me seize the day and the frosting!” Deirdre pouted, foiled in stealing more buttercream as her heart desired it. “Hm,” she hummed, lost in her forsting-based thoughts. “My mother? She...well, yes. Everything is a metaphor or a lesson with her. She doesn’t believe in…” in waste, Deirdre swallowed the words back. “In not doing things simply for the sake of it. Everything needs to have a use with her.” It was easy then, to see where Deirdre got it. Who she learned from and how it shaped her. But she didn’t comment further, her mother was a topic she didn’t like to tread. She loved her, but that love was often hard to explain--and it was the sort of love that needed explaining. “She is still alive, she’s not even a century old yet. She is, for lack of better words, in her prime.” Deirdre tried to stop herself from hissing the words. Part of her mother’s youth contributed to a plethora of issues between them. None of which she wanted to talk about. “Admitted? I’m sorry--” her lip twitched, “I just decided right now that we’re friends. There was nothing to admit to.” But she broke into a smile and shook her head, accepting the spoon. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’ve got a kitchen to clean now.” Her smile grew as Remmy went on. “So it’s my birthday too then?” She put the spoon in her mouth, freeing her hands to clap. “Thank you, Remmy,” she pulled the spoon out, “you’re the gift that keeps on giving, truly. Now, if only we could work on that confidence of yours.”

“Huh,” Remmy said off-handedly, “your mother would hate my dad. That’s not even including the uh-- human thing.” They moved their feet up and down a little, finding it hard to sit still for some reason. “All he ever did was complain about shit and do whatever he wanted for whatever reason. Nothing had meaning to him.” Not even me. They leaned back on the counter, hands bracing against the cool stone of the tabletop. It was almost as cold as Remmy’s skin, and the smoothness of it was a small comfort. At least they could still feel texture. Remmy’s brow rose. “Uh huh, sure, right,” they said in a soft mocking tone, “just now admitted. Of course, sorry. And, you know, I say this from like the bottom of my unbeating heart: my bad.” A cheeky grin spread across their face as they waited for Deirdre’s response, giving a slight bow as she clapped for them. “Hey, I’m not being dramatic! It’s the truth. I’m not a very dramatic person, anyway. Thought you knew that by now.” They shrugged. “Well, I’m getting more confident around you, so like, that counts for something, right?” Because it had to. If Deirdre’s mom was right, and everything needed to mean something, then their friendship needed to mean something, too. And if it wasn’t enough, Remmy would make something more. Because they weren’t lying-- this was the best gift to receive today. It made their unbeating heart feel just a little bit lighter.

“She would hate him, and for what it’s worth, I hate him too.” Deirdre sighed, though not annoyed by the conversation or Remmy’s nonchalance about it. She was, however, angered by the mere idea of a man like that.The failure of a parent struck her as the worst kind. Children were vulnerable, innocent creatures. The most like animals that humans got, before instincts became coated with intent and opinion. “That is the unfortunate benefit to being human: the freedom to act as you please. Bad or good, kind or cruel.” Her family had spent generations observing humanity, she knew them well through teachings. She’d seen enough death to know them better, or to think she did. “And I say this from the bottom of my slow-beating heart: shut it,” Deirdre laughed, licking up the rest of the frosting off her spoon. “Oh? You’re not very dramatic? You just bowed for me,” the banshee smirked, “saying friendship if a great gift is a wee dramatic, Remmy.” More than a wee, if she was being honest. “It does count for something, and I’m honored I inspire this confidence. You’re better confident, just like you’re better with that hair. Better comfortable, everyone is.” Better making jokes, better taking their bows. Better like this, baking a cake. Better than thinking they were worthless. “I don’t think I said it, Remmy...but...happy birthday.” She smiled, “what great fortune you’ll get to celebrate again when Moose Day rolls around.”

Remmy didn’t respond at first. They weren’t sure how they felt about their dad, after all. It was only logical to hate him, after everything he’d done, but-- they often found that, when they thought about him, they didn’t hate him. They just felt...sad. For him, for their loss, for the fact that they’d never get to know what it was like to have a true, caring father. It just hurt, like everything else right now. So they didn’t think about it. Remmy looked at the timer and went back over to the freezer, testing the cake temperature with a thermometer. “That’s not dramatic,” they said back, pulling the first pan out and setting it on the table, “that’s just being showy. There’s totally a difference.” They pulled the next one out and set them side by side, prepping the counter to spread them out. They took a small moment to run their hand over their hair again, at Deirdre’s compliment. “You really didn’t like my long hair, did you? And um...thanks,” they teased, reaching to put on the rubber gloves and start removing the cakes. “Okay, here goes nothing.” And-- plop! The cake came out perfectly. For once, everything was working right. They plopped the next one out and stacked them up, then started the carving. It wasn’t so hard, though carving pliable, spongy cake was a tad harder than carving wood or clay. Still, it went well enough, and soon enough, Remmy was coating the thing with pink, cherry flavored buttercream. “See? I told you I could do this,” they said after a while, stepping down and motioning to the slightly lopsided brain cake. It didn’t look half bad for a first attempt. “It’s lumpy, just like regular brains.” They held up the knife to Deirdre. “Would you do the honors?”

“Right...dramatic and showy are different…” Deirdre trailed off as the conversation meandered. Yes, she did hate the longer hair. It was messy and betrayed a sense of self-apathy that unsettled Deirdre. This was better, a look Remmy could be proud of was better. She’d support that, even if they weren’t (newly-made) friends. She watched the zombie work, a smart comment offer here and there, but largely devoid of anything that could be too distracting. There was a joke in it somewhere, but Deirdre did enjoy watching people work--it was better when they seemed to like it as Remmy did. “I didn’t doubt you, Remmy.” She smiled softly, unsure if she might have actually said that she did; she really couldn’t keep track of most of the things that left her mouth. But there were a few that mattered enough to remember, Remmy being her friend was one. She eyed the cake, now done. She couldn’t see the lumps, weirdly enough. The objective merged seamlessly with the subjective and she knew, without doubt, that she was looking at the perfect brain cake. Deirdre nodded, taking the knife and cutting and plating herself a slice. With her spoon, she took the first bite...then the second, and the third and the fourth until she remembered that Remmy was awaiting an opinion. “It’s goob,” she spoke with her mouthful, swallowing it a moment later. Somehow, in some strange way, it was better knowing Remmy had baked it. That paired with its objectively good flavor made it an exceptional cake. “Remmy…” Deirdre put the plate down, staring at the zombie, “I promise you this is the best cake I’ve ever eaten.” And she didn’t tremble, didn’t even offer a cough--the promise was true and she’d meant every word. She hadn’t expected the zombie she threw in front of a cab to call her a friend, or to bake a cake largely just for her, but it was the present moment that mattered. And what mattered was that her friend had baked the perfect cake.

#chatzy #chatzy: deirdre #deirdre #the great irish bake-off #this is LONG and ALL OVER THE Place #but i love it #deirdre is a big softie tell everyone

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