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maggyme13 · 5 years ago

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Why Licking (6/?)

Why Licking-Masterlist

Masterlist

Warnings: Smut

Part 5

AN: I am sorry it took so long to update, but I recently started an apprenticeship and therefore have not much time or energy to write.

I hope you like what I wrote and please let me know what you think!

Have fun reading^^

Four days your monthly bleeding lasted.

For days of you laying snuggled on a mountain of furs (wearing your usual shirt) with the white beast resting right against your body.

She stayed close to you wherever you went; she was like a second brighter shadow. Azog was just the same and stayed at your side, whenever he wasn’t needed ruling. He cleaned you multiple times a day with either a cloth or his tongue, for he forbade you to use bloodmoss to seize your bleeding.

During this time, he had not taken you once. If it was because he was disgusted by your blood (what you did not thought), or because you had mentioned the pain you were in- you didn’t know for sure, but you were glad. You felt so weak and wounded already. The pale orc fed you three times a day and when he had to rule, he would return to you to take care of you whenever he had the time.

Not once did you even see a shadow of the dwarf, and you wondered if he had been killed by your captor. But when your bleeding had stopped, Azog brought him back inside again.

��You will join me again, now that you have stopped bleeding. You need to learn how it is here. For this is now your home, until you die. Ankarth does not leave your side, she really likes you.”, the pale orc growled into your ear while washing your skin inside the basin; his mouth kissing down your neck to your shoulder-blades. “You are so beautiful and delicious.”

“Azog, do you maybe have another shirt or something else for me to wear? The one you gave me is starting to fall apart, and I need something to change into while I clean this one.”, you mumbled shyly and hoped not to anger him.

His movements stilled, and you thought he did not take it lightly what you had said, and so you quickly added, “Though I can just continue wearing this one.”

“I will make sure you will get what you have asked for. You are mine and will be treated as such.”, his one hand moved down your chest and stomach, only to pull you against his strong chest. His member poking against your backside.

Slowly, the male guided you towards the edge of the water, you knew what was coming, and so you braced your hands against the stone.

His hand cupped the mound of your womanhood, before lifting you up so your hips met his. Azog´s manhood slid between your legs and folds for a few times before entering you as deep as he was able to. Once he was settled inside of you, he moved his hand to your lower stomach to support your weight and make it more comfortable for you in that position. The male´s strokes were slow but strong with every push hitting your special spot. It did not take long for you to reach your climax and the warm feeling to spread through your veins. You knew, you shouldn’t enjoy what he was doing, but at the same time did you rather enjoy than suffer.

Azog´s hot breath hit your skin and his sharp canines tickled your neck when he growled something at you. His words filled with lust and something that might be desire.

“You fit me so well. I can´t get enough of you. I wished I could stay inside of you forever. But we need to finish, for there are things I need to tent to.”

Nibbling gently at the mark he had left, the male left your body (you suddenly felt empty without his member), and your feet were back on firm ground.

“Come, you need to get out of the water.”, he spoke, already walking towards the chest that contained his amour- very much naked and not caring.

His every movement was followed by the heated glare of the dwarf; whom seemed to be a lot thinner than the first time you had seen him and so you wondered if he was even fed.

Grabbing one of the towels (that always laid next to the basin for you to use), you pulled it around you body and began drying your skin. Your eyes already searching for ´your´ shirt, that Azog had tossed somewhere on his task to get you to the basin and have his fun.

Unfortunately for you, did it land right next to the dwarf.

Well, there´s that. I wonder if he hates me as well. I mean, I am kinda free- at least compared to him.

Slowly, you made your way to the wanted issue of clothing; one of your hands trying to secure the fabric against your skin, while the other was reaching for the shirt.

He must have noticed you approach, because his head turned to you and your eyes met. What you saw shining in them was even worse than the feared hate: Pity.

The Dwarf was chained and hungered, it was obvious to you that he was treated far far worse than you, and yet HE pitied YOU.

Not being able to bear that, you quickly turned away and hurried to get dressed,

Tears threatening to fall.

“(y/n).-“, you heard the pale orc address you, and you hurried to dry your eyes and cheeks.

“Yes, Azog?”, you mumbled, turning around.

Instead of an answer, the male nodded towards the door, and you knew he meant for you to hurry and get ready to leave. With a small glance, you made sure the Dwarf wouldn’t catch a peak, before pulling the worn shirt over your head.

Motioning for you to lead the way, Azog grabbed the chains of his other captive and pulled him along after him.

The way back to the main cave was easy and well lid, so you were able to think about the way the other orcs might react upon seeing you leading the way: would they attack you? Would they ignore you?

Stepping through the opening of the hallway and into the main cave. The gathered orcs ignored you for the most part, though made generous space for your to make your way to your usual seat. Once you were seated, a bowl with freshly baked bread and grilled meat was placed in front of you, together with a cup filled with brew.

Azog took his seat next to you, asking you to feed him once in a while with pokes, and soon all kind of different orcs stepped forward to speak with their leader. You thought you were able to differ between warriors, smiths and ones that seemed to be some kind of farmer.

It was later in that day, when the white Warg- you learned was called Ankarth- trotted over towards you and snuggled against your side, happily wagging her tail.

Just like a giant dog.

It was another short while later when you noticed an orc you had never seen approach. He was almost as tall as Bolg and Azog. Blades were strapped to the back of his hands, making it look like he had huge claws. He wore a Wargskin similar to a cloak, with the skull serving as a helmet.

He must be high in command as well, with the way he is dressed and walks.

“Drago.”, your captor greeted the new one with a guttural growl.

“Azog. You called for me to ready my riders?”, Drago rumbled back, not even glancing in your direction.

“It has been a long time since you and your Wargs tasted blood. Say, is your injury healed?”

“It has been far to long. We yearn to rip out throats and to inflict pain.”, the orc answered his leaders question, a sinister grin spreading over his lips. The tone and sign alone made you shiver; he surely did not speak about picking flowers.

“Good. Take your riders. Ride south towards the realm of the horses. Bring fear and destruction but keep away from the old forest and the white tower. Gather supplies. See to it that you find clothing for my mate to wear. You may bring pets for you and others back, if you find them worthy.”, the leader commanded with a smile in his voice, and whatever he had said caused several dozens of fur clad orcs to cheer.

Taking a closer look, you noticed them being dressed similar to that Drago- those were his men, and you felt sorry for anyone who would cross their paths in the future.

“With pleasure, Azog. I will see to find appropriate dressing personally. May I see your mate, to make sure I can do it accordingly?”, Drago nodded, a feeling of honour sounding in his voice.

Azog was known to be protective of what is his, and he had made it obvious when he had his Warg ate the orc the other day; so being task with seeing to his mate wellbeing was a huge sign of respect and trust.

Hearing the way the new orc spoke had caught your interest, he suddenly had his attention cast onto you, and when he spoke the word ´shok´, you knew he had said something that had to do with you.

“(y/n). Stand up, so Drago can find you suitable clothing.”, Azog hummed into your ear and with the way he pushed his hand against your side, told you he wanted you to stand.

A slight confusion written on your face, you stood up (carefully to not accidentally flash anything) while staying as far away from the warrior as possible. You knew Azog was showing you off to him, though you were not sure why. Surely not you share you with him, right?

Drago´s eyes ( you now noticed were of a dark red colour), ranked over every little centimetre of your body, taking in every little detail. Uneasiness spread through your veins, though it did not take long for him to nod, and just turn away and call something out to his men; who followed him out of the cave, some of them already readying their weapons.

Can I sit down again?

“May I sit again?”, you whispered, slightly turning towards Azog.

“No. Drago will raid and bring back clothing for you to wear. But for now, follow me and let me show you more of your home.”, he answered, standing up himself and nudging you towards the other entrance of the cave you knew, where a small orc offered you a torch you happily accepted.

Ankarth on your tail.

He guided you to the Cave you had once entered the mountain through.

“We will start at the Entrance. This cave contains the stables of the Wargs and some quarters for their riders and guards, as well as of the Beastmasters. They are responsible for breeding, training and caring of the beasts. This entrance is, even though the biggest, the most unlikely to be detected one. And even if someone does and tries to sneak inside, will he be ripped apart.”, the orc exclaimed proudly, all the while motioning at different areas.

You did not give much attention though, for sunlight at the other end of the cave had caught your attention. All of the sudden you yearned to feel the sun against your skin again.

It feels like forever since I had seen the sun last.

“Soon, (y/n). Soon you will be able to feel the sun again. But not here. Come, I will show you.”, tugging at your wrist, the pale leader pulled you towards a hidden staircase, that ended in front of a heavy looking door. Without any strain Azog opened it, revealing a hidden walkway on the slope of the mountain.

“This is where I will take you to walk outside. It is well hidden and well-guarded. But you will not walk here alone. There is another entrance that leads to the training grounds and arena. This is where we go next, for I have to train and you will watch.”

Even if it was just sparring, Azog was ruthless. Who wasn’t good or fast enough ended with broken bones and cuts. It showed you once more, how much weaker you were and what little possibility of you getting away there was.

Your captor was by far the strongest fighter you had ever seen, and while you felt fear rise, you also realized once again, how much you must meant to him. He was easily able to break you into two, with his fingers, and jet the most pain he had caused you were the bite on your neck and some bruising. No broken bones- nothing.

And while this sheer show of strength frightened you, for you know what could happen to you should you lose his favour, it ignited something inside of you at the same time.

The way his muscles worked beneath his scarred skin. The way he breathed and let out deep growls during the fights. The way he looked at you whenever he had beat another opponent.

You were mesmerized, and he seemed to like the way you were staring at you, for once he had caught your stare, he showed off even more.

For hours you watched him fight and with every fight you started to share his excitement. You wanted him to win, and you flinched whenever one of the attackers threatened to best him.

Forgotten was the fact that you were his captive, during those moments you were on his side and another feeling started to grow: want.

You wanted the male.

Azog must have noticed the change in your demeanour, because instead of starting another spar, did he walk over to you. His sweaty skin glittered in the light of the torches, and you couldn’t but reach to touch his strong chest, once he had reached you; your fingertips tracing the scars and your eyes looking up into his.

Your breath stopped in your throat when you saw the lust burning in his eyes.

“Not here.”, you breathed, not averting your gaze.

Within a second did he have you thrown over his shoulder and carried you through your unknown tunnels back to what you hoped where his quarters.

His hand rested on the back of your thighs; his fingers dangerously close to your womanhood. You were sure, if it wasn’t for the shirt, you would feel his skin against yours; and the longer the walk took, the more did you yearn to feel just that.

You caught yourself feeling up his strong backside while being carried, and once or twice did your fingers brush over his loincloth covered ass.

“Not long. Not long and I will give you what you want, what you need. I can smell it: your arousal, your want and your need. I have waited for this day, and I will make sure you will not forget it. Now you are fully mine. Not only because I chose you, but because you chose me as well. This time, you will be in charge.”, he hummed with a warm tone.

After what felt like hours, Azog had finally reached the door leading to his quarters. He slammed it open with a kick and almost ran towards the bed of furs.

Laying you down, he at once detached his prosthetic, and opened the clasp to his loincloth. He was already hard and throbbing, and a deep growl left his chest, when you laid before him naked and waiting. The Shirt thrown somewhere you did not care at that moment.

For the first time did you allow your eyes to roam his body without fear, and another hot wave burned through your veins.

You gulped in anticipation. Reaching for the male, you wanted to pull him above you. Not knowing how else to do it. But he only kneeled in front of you and shook his head.

“No-“, he growled one of the few words of westron he knew, catching you of guard for a moment.

“No?”, you breathed confused, though it went away when his stump pulled you against his chest, and his hand draped your legs around his waist. His member resting against your core, parting your lower lips.

It was then you realized he wanted you to be on top of him.

“But- I don’t know how-“, you moaned in frustration.

Your body needed to feel him inside of you, to feel the tingle. But now, you didn’t know how.

A chuckle left his throat, and he licked over his mark on your neck, his hand moving to rest on your inner thigh.

“I will guide you.”, he nibbled.

You felt his stump move beneath your ass, lifting you high enough for him to guide his member into your aroused entrance.

You groaned in union. His dick twitched inside of you and you felt the urge to move. You only did not know how.

“Please-“, you breathed against his skin, hoping he would take over control again. But he wouldn’t.

“No. I told you, you are in charge of our mating this time. Here, let me guide you.”, he rumbled against your skin, his mouth moving to the other side of your neck.

His hand and stump rested against your hips, and you thought he might turn you over again, when he started gently to push your hips back and forth. At once, pleasure began to spread from your core and soon you took over his movements and you were the only one moving.

Rocking back and forth you rolled your hips, slowly finding the right speed and interval to bring you the most pleasure. Beneath you, you felt Azog shift. His hand and Stump roaming over your body, pulling you flush against his chest. His mouth nibbling and biting at your throat, only to slowly move down to your breasts.

Soon he was sucking at your nipples and a new form of arousal spread through your body, making your heart beat faster and breathing hitch.

Faster and faster did you roll your hips chasing your release; your head falling back in pleasure and your hands clutching the males upper arms for support. The orc growled against your chest, his tongue rolling over your nipple and his teeth scraping the sensitive flash.

You came, with stars dancing in front of your eyes and no strength left to breath.

Blissfully exhausted you slumped against the male´s chest, not even able to catch a thought.

“So beautiful. So skilled. And yet you had been untouched. I can´t wait to get more. But for now, rest, my little Mate and gather strength. We will not leave these quarters until all urges are seated.

Part 7

#azog #azog x reader #orc #orc x reader

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ms-rampage · 4 years ago

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Eden’s Gate: The Mother Chapter 3 - The Father

Warnings: Some swearing

Word count: 2k

Where it all began.

Summary: Mandy finally meets The Father Joseph Seed, and he gives her an offer she has to accept no matter what.

Guest OCs: None

Guest Characters: Archangel Gabriel (Supernatural), Archangel Raphael [mentioned], God/Chuck [mentioned]

Note: This takes place in 2012.

************************************

It’s been a few weeks since Mandy Winchester had arrived in Hope County.

Joseph had a few of his followers keep an eye on her.

God told him about her. That she was the one. The one that will guide the Project to the New World.

She passed through Hope County to get some gas, some grub and sleep. But before that Archangel Raphael had told her about Joseph. That she needed to protect him no matter what.

She had a few encounters with a couple of peggies but of course they didn't get to see her face because the second they broke into her hotel room she planted a bullet in their heads.

She's a professional hunter, you know demons, vampires and shit but of course no one knows of her job.

When Joseph found out about the hotel incident, he knew that it was The Mother.

God had told him about her arrival.

He couldn’t approach her right away.

The Voice told him to be patient, and that he’ll tell him when the time was right.

Raphael had told Mandy to wait until he approached her, and go with it from there.

Again no matter what happens, Joseph must be protected.

Then that day came, Mandy was at the Spread Eagle bar with Mary May, Grace Armstrong, and Nick Rye having some drinks.

When 3 cultists approached her while she's sitting at the bar.

Everyone in the bar sees them, and are reaching for their weapons.

"The Father wishes to speak with you" one of them says to her.

She turns around, forgetting about why she was there in the first place, and says.

"I don't know who that is. But if he wants to speak with me he can tell me for himself".

He didn't take kindly to this, forgetting Joseph’s orders.

He aggressively grabs her arm, pulling her away from the bar.

“Let me go asshole!!!” she yells.

She punches him in the face, knocking him out.

The other 2 pull their guns out, unsure if they should aim at her because of Joseph’s orders.

Everyone else in the bar pulls out their guns, and aims at the other 2.

I mean everyone, Mary May, Nick, Grace, the cook, and a few locals having drinks.

Mandy who is shaking her hand after punching him says.

"If The Father wants to speak with me then I will go myself" she says.

“Mandy, you don’t have to go. We have no problem killing these peggie fucks” Mary says to her.

She replies, “No it’s fine Mary. I just wanna know what The Father has to say to me, and if I need backup, I’ll let you know”.

She leaves the bar, and gets into her truck.

Mandy has learned a lot about the Project at Eden's Gate from the locals

She knows they meet up in a church in the middle island next to Dutch's region, and she’s also 100% sure she knows the eldest brother Jacob because of her husband Joel.

She knows Joseph needs to be protected because Raphael told her to, and she hasn’t seen him at all. Not even a photo of the man.

Entering the center island, it's all fenced up, and has barbed wire.

She makes the only left turn down the road to Joseph's church.

As she pulls closer to the property, she sees the front gate is open.

A sign in front that says "The Church of Eden's Gate".

"What the fuck am I doing?" she asks herself, “Is this really worth it?!”.

She steps out of her truck, and approaches the church slowly.

All the Cultists on the property eyeballing her like she's a piece of meat.

This isn't the first time a bunch of hillbilly fucks eyeball, and stared her.

When she gets within 10 feet of the church.

A man with no shirt on, tattoos, beard, his hair tied up, rosary wrapped around his hand, and yellow Aviators steps out.

She stops dead in her tracks the second the church doors open.

“That must be Joseph” she says to herself, “He’s quite a handsome man”.

He gives her an intense stare that makes her spine go numb.

Her stomach feels like it's twisting, and turning in knots.

She doesn't say anything, she stands there, trying to make herself look intimidating and fearless.

This 5'3, 135Ibs, 40-42 year old woman who can knock out a fully grown, bushy bearded, crazy eyed hillbilly Cultist with one punch.

Tries to make herself look terrifying even though she's had her encounters with monsters in the past.

Joseph looks up at the sky, and he softly says.

"I have heard so much about you".

Confused, Mandy doesn't know what to say or do, she stands there and hopes Joseph continues with whatever he has to say to her.

It's almost like he can read her mind, he steps closer to her, placing his hands on her shoulders and says.

"He told me you would come. God said that the The Mother will arrive''.

“Damn it Chuck!!” she says in her head.

After a few minutes of not saying anything, Mandy finally speaks up.

Taking a deep breath.

"T-the Mother?!?" she asks, confused.

Joseph nods his head, "Yes" he says softly.

He places his forehead against hers, his hands on both sides on her head.

Confusion drowns her mind.

Joseph moves his head away from hers, and says.

"The Voice told me you would come. The Mother will show herself. It would be your face".

He places a soft gentle kiss on her forehead, and pulls her into a tight embrace.

Mandy, with no other choice, hugs him back. Her hands placed on his chest.

Hoping he would release her soon because she is beyond confused, and will need to process what is happening.

Even though Raphael told her, she had to do this. She was still confused by all of this.

After what felt like hours, he lets her go.

The first real question she asks is "Why me?".

He places his hands on her head again.

His thumbs rubbing the soft skin on her cheeks.

Looking into her brown eyes as if he was looking into her soul, he says.

"It's all part of God's plan, he brought you to me. To be my other half".

Mandy hasn't been romanticized, or been spoken to like that in several years.

The only ones she had left in her life are her 2 daughters.

Whom she lost custody of 4 months ago.

Hearing Joseph's words brings some peace to Mandy knowing that there is someone who cares about her other than her family.

Even though she doesn't know him that well herself.

He knows her very well, like he's known her for years.

She knows he needs to be protected, but the other feeling she’s getting is different.

If she’s developing feelings for him then that's not a good thing.

That’ll put a target on him, and make her look like a traitor to citizens of Hope County that are being tormented by this man, and his followers.

She knows he's not possessed by a demon, or any sort of spirit because her hands are placed on his bare chest, and she's wearing iron rings that were soaked in holy water.

He holds her in his arms. His left hand on the back of her head, and his other on her upper back.

She looks back, and sees about 15-20 of his followers watching them.

Like they were all waiting for her answer.

He lets go of her, his arms still wrapped around her, and asks “What do you say?!”.

Unsure, and not knowing what she’s gonna get herself into.

“Umm, can I have a few days to think about it?. Then I’ll give you a straightforward answer”

He nods his head, “Of course”, and he plants another kiss on her forehead.

He has his followers make a path for her to go back to her truck.

She gets in, and drives back to the Spread Eagle.

******************************************

She pulls up to the bar, still not sure what her answer is.

Mary May, Nick, Grace and Pastor Jerome sitting at the bar.

The moment Mandy walks in the bar Mary immediately asks.

“What did Joseph want?!?”.

“Umm, he uhh” she takes a deep breath, “He asked me if I wanted to be The Mother of Eden’s Gate”.

They all look at her in disbelief, then at each other.

“Well you said no didn’t ya?” the cook from the kitchen asks.

“Well of course she said no” Mary says, “That be my answer right off the fucking bat”.

“What did you say when he asked you?!” Nick asks

“I told him that I would think about it” Mandy responds.

“You’re not thinking about joining those peggie fuckers?!?” Grace asks.

Mandy sits down at the bar, and sighs “On the drive here, it got me thinking, and I thought it would be a good plan. That I say yes to joining them, but on one condition they can’t torment none of you guys, and not just you guys. I mean everyone in Hope County. No stealing properties, businesses, killing innocent people, and forcing them to join the cult”.

They all exchanged looks, and after several minutes of silence Mary spoke up.

“It’s a great plan and all, but do you really want to be a part of their shit?!?”.

“It looks like I don’t have a choice. If I say yes, I give them my piece and they accept it, then you guys are free. But if I say yes, give them my piece and they say reject it”.

“Then it was nice knowing you Mandy!” the cook says from the kitchen.

“I asked Joseph if he can give me a few days to think about it, and he said it was okay”.

“So what are you gonna do?!?” Nick asks.

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Either way there’s a chance I might end up dead” she replies.

“We know you’ll make the right choice Mandy” Jerome says.

“I hope so too” she says, and gets up from her seat to go outside.

“Where you going?!” Mary asks.

“I have to make a few phone calls” she replies, and leaves to her truck.

She gets into her truck, and drives to a secluded part of Holland Valley.

Behind the Lamb of God church.

She gets out of her truck, and prays to Raphael.

“Hey Raph, it's me Mandy. I need your help, so get down here ASAP”

After a few minutes the sound of wings fluttering behind her.

“Okay, Raph I really need- Gabriel?!?!” she says before turning around, and seeing a different Archangel.

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. You were expecting Raphael” he says, sarcastically.

Stammering over her words. Unable to even two words together.

Wha-? Where? Why?!?”.

“Are you gonna finish any of those sentences?!?” he asks with a snarky tone.

“Where’s Raphael?!?” she asks, irritated.

“He sent me on behalf of him” he says.

“What?!. Why?!” she exclaims.

“Okay Man, I’m gonna need you to take a chill pill, and let me explain on behalf of my big bro” he says, again with a snarky tone.

“Okay, okay, fine. What was he gonna say?!” she says, hands on her hips. Calming down a little.

“He says. Just to summarize it” Gabriel says as he pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it, clearing his throat in an overly dramatic way, and reads it without even looking at it.

“Just say yes!!!!. Do what you were sent here to do!!!!”.

He balls up the paper, and throws it at her head. “Do the job, and get it over with!!!”.

Mandy scoffs, “Really Gabe?!. These people are my friends, they’re being tormented by this man and his followers. And if I join Joseph, and his Project I would be betraying them!!”.

Gabriel shrugs, “Well it looks like you should join them to protect your human friends, or not. This isn’t my problem. It’s yours. Peace”. He gives her the peace sign before disappearing.

“No, Gabe no!!!” she exclaimed, and he disappears.

She groans loudly in frustration, and looks up at the night sky.

“Seriously?!? Come on Chuck!!!. Fuck!!!”

Mandy knows what she has to do.

In order to protect her new friends, their businesses, and their families.

She has to say yes, and be The Mother of Eden’s Gate.

Hopefully they’ll come to terms on her offer.

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peaceoutofthepieces · 5 years ago

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show me some stars (beneath this ceiling)

Sobbe Fic

Here is this 11k mess, written during the run of the show, as a set of missing scenes. For those who haven’t already seen it on ao3. Five times Robbe wishes he could wake up next to Sander, and one time he does. (part 3 covers the night after that scene, so you can skip that if you want!)

Robbe’s heart is racing. He’s breathless.

Sheer adrenaline is keeping him going. It’s the only thing providing any heat. His clothes are still piled in his arms, and he can’t pause to think about that, doesn’t want to, knows it’ll terrify him. He just keeps running and laughing, following the shock of bleached hair that stays only a few feet ahead of him. Sander’s laughs float back to him and keep him following, chasing. He can’t believe they did that. He has no idea what they’re doing.

He’s jolted abruptly to the side, dragged by Sander’s hand on his wrist, and then they’re behind a row of bushes and Sander is cursing and laughing and putting on his clothes and oh, that’s what we’re doing. Robbe shakes himself out of it, feels stupid for standing there in a daze when he’s freezing. His hands are going numb and his legs are aching from the mixture of the cold and exertion and his stomach is clenching entirely subconsciously and his nipples are literally going to fall off, he’s so fucking cold.

Then there’s another touch, on his still bare waist and the side of his neck. His t-shirt’s halfway up his arms and he’s never been so warm. Sander’s clothed chest presses against Robbe’s bare one as he slants their lips together and his laughter spills into Robbe’s ribcage, filling him up. Robbe kisses him and almost drops his clothes, forgetting everything else in his urgent need to touch. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” Sander mumbles. “You’re beautiful. You’re freezing.”

“Yeah, because you won’t let me put my clothes back on.” Robbe means it, but he doesn’t want Sander to move, laughs through the words as he presses closer and Sander pecks his lips once more. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. What he’s thinking. He’s not thinking at all. It’s a blissful feeling.

Sander steps back, hands falling away slowly and leaving goosebumps over Robbe’s skin. Robbe aches to lean back into him, to stay close to his blissful heat. He doesn’t care that he’s standing behind a bush in his sweats, still bare from the waist up. He doesn’t care about what all of this means, if it means anything. He doesn’t care about anything but kissing this boy again.

Instead he pulls his shirt on, tugs his jacket over his arms, and only realises once he’s wrapped up how cold he actually is. They couldn’t even dry themselves off, and his clothes are already damp enough to be irritating, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, because as soon as he’s dressed Sander pulls him in again, and Robbe’s mind empties. It’s a dangerous thing, how much he likes it. How much he wants it.

Sander kisses the corner of his mouth, trails a fluttering path along his cheek, lets out an amused huff against his ear when Robbe sways into him. He wraps his arms around Robbe’s shoulders and says, “We forgot our bikes.”

Robbe hums, leaning against the blonde’s chest and turning his head for more kisses. Then he freezes. “What?” He looks around, pointlessly, in some mindless hope that their bikes have followed them on their own. Because they certainly didn’t fetch them on their way. “Fuck,” Robbe says, burying his face in his hands. Sander sneaks his fingers around them and kisses each one, just above the wrist, and Robbe lets him pull them away. “We can’t go back,” he mumbles, detached and contained even as he feels hysteria creeping in. “There’s no way I can get a new bike. I need to go back. Fuck.” He doesn’t understand how they were so stupid. How he was so stupid. He followed Sander blindly, without pausing to think. He can’t really bring himself to regret it.

Mostly because Sander’s cupping his cheeks and kissing him again, whispering a gentle, “Hey.” He waits until Robbe’s looking at him, which might be a mistake, because when Robbe’s looking at him he’s not entirely capable of doing much else, such as listening to whatever he might say. “I can get it for you. I’ll go back. Wait here.”

Robbe does manage to hear that. (Although it does only sink in once Sander begins walking away and takes with him all his distractions.) He laughs, feeling some of the hysteria creep in, and reaches out for Sander. “Sander, wait, wha—“

Sander turns to him, arm in Robbe’s grip, and simply raises a brow. Robbe has the sudden realisation that this probably isn’t real. That he must be dreaming. He’s probably been dreaming for the past few weeks—dreamt Sander up entirely and created this dramatic, drawn out, heart-stopping fantasy. Even though he’s not artistic enough to conjure such a thing, to capture such accurate shadows and sparkles, that particular brightness to Sander’s eyes under the scarce spread of stars and a single street light. Sander himself. Yet, only in his deepest, wildest fantasy could something—someone—so perfect exist.

If he is dreaming, though, it’s unlikely anything particularly bad will happen. It won’t matter if he does.

He’s already accepted that Sander could lead him anywhere and he’d probably follow without a question asked. So he leans in to kiss him again, hand grasping at soft, bleached hair, and says, “I’ll come with you.” Because he’s dreaming, and nothing matters. His mind has given him this, and he’s already taken it far enough that there’s no point in stopping now.

He feels Sander’s smile, against his lips and his cheek and in his chest, settling low in his stomach, and then they’re running back the way they came. Clothed this time, at least. God, what are they doing?

When the pool is in sight again, Sander comes to an abrupt stop and presses his arm to Robbe’s chest, a barricade and a support. Robbe’s breathing harshly, and he shouldn’t really be, he’s relatively fit, so he chalks it up to Sander, because the boy’s been leaving him breathless since they met. Sander looks over his shoulder at him and holds a finger to his lips, an ineffective warning due to the smile beneath it. The hysteria has been replaced with giddiness. Robbe bites his lip to hold back giggles and nods, and they creep towards the door together, Sander’s hand still hovering near Robbe’s chest. They crouch down behind the hedge a few metres away and Sander looks around, peeks his head over the top, and then yanks Robbe after him in a final sprint to their bikes.

They collect them and climb on clumsily, Sander stumbling much like he had that first time, barely even an hour before. Then they’re off again, pumping their legs and letting their laughter fill the open space.

Sander zooms off ahead of him; but Robbe doesn’t have much trouble catching up. When he does, Sander holds out his hand. Robbe smacks at as he had earlier, and Sander grips his fingers like he had earlier, except this time he keeps holding on.

Robbe doesn’t mind one bit.

It makes his bike wobble a little, but he doesn’t doubt that if he fell, Sander would either catch him or fall with him. So he lets himself be towed along at an easy pace, lets Sander swing their arms between them, lets himself be, content and free and careless.

Sander turns his dangerous smile on him once again, and Robbe’s heart picks up speed, but he only says, “Back through the tunnel?”

Robbe feels himself smiling back, unable to contain it. “So we can race again and I can beat you while you’re not cheating?”

“Hey!” Sander gives his hand a tug. “You cheated the last time,” he exclaims.

“I did not,” Robbe denies, but his smile is betraying him. He’s not, technically, lying. The competition aspect had been pretty absent by that point—it hardly counted as cheating when they’d stopped playing. Plus, they’d both come up at the same time. Robbe counted it as a win all around.

But if Sander’s still up for it, Robbe’s not above a little play-fighting. A bit of friendly competition has proven to be a good choice so far.

He lets Sander tug him along, lets himself be guided, unable to keep his eyes on the road in front of them. He stares at Sander, instead, tracing his eyes over his side profile. His hair, still damp, though drying quickly. His lips, the slight uptick at the corner. The dark curve of his eyebrow over bright eyes, intense as always but shining. Looking as content as Robbe feels. His quiet nature urges him to look away every time Sander turns his head, not wanting to be caught. It doesn’t matter than he can feel Sander’s gaze linger on him then, only looking away when his bike jolts oddly underneath him due to an errant stone or crack in the pavement. He can’t quite fight the smile off his face, however. It sits there, small and dopey and unmoving. Even when Sander lets go of his hand to race him down the tunnel. Even when his bike spins out of control and he almost careens into the wall, turning into a laugh at Sander’s panicked return and string of concerned questions.

Even when they make it back to Robbe’s building and roll to a stop a little bit away, Sander’s feet settling on the ground as he gives it an appraising look. Robbe leans his back against the building and allows their gazes to meet this time. He feels silly for being shy before, all anxieties appearing foolish as warmth fills his chest. Sander stares at him, biting at his lip and seeming hesitant for the first time since Robbe met him. Then he’s getting off his bike and halfheartedly propping it against the wall. The distance between them disappears in an instant, but Sander stops himself from closing those last few inches. Robbe can feel the tension in him, pulled taut like a string that has its end hooked in Robbe’s own chest, and he lets it droop in relief by pressing forward and nudging his lips against Sander’s.

Sander sighs into his mouth and his confidence makes an abrupt reappearance, his hands settling on Robbe’s hips and pulling him right in. Robbe parts his lips and lets Sander take what he wants, tries to give back all that he gets. His arms wind themselves around the blonde’s neck without his conscious decision. Trying to be closer. Trying to hold on.

It didn’t feel like this, kissing Noor. Kissing anyone. He’s never been kissed like this before. Well, that’s not counting earlier. Or a little while before that.

Before Sander. He’s never been kissed like this, before Sander.

He’s never wanted to be kissed like this, before Sander.

So he knows to enjoy it. To savor it. If it’s a dream, he wants to enjoy it as much as he can. He wants to remember it, as much as he can. He wants to focus on Sander and only Sander. He doesn’t think about those times he was kissing someone else, doesn’t think about Noor. He thinks about the fact he can feel Sander’s pulse under his hands. About how soft his hair is even with all that bleach in it, how he tilts his head and kisses him a little harder when Robbe runs his hands through it, tugs it just so. About Sander’s hands, on his waist, sliding around to his back, up to the back of his head and tangling in his hair, anywhere they can reach. About Sander’s lips, pressing against his over and over, parting on gasps and letting Robbe in. About Sander’s tongue, teasing over his lips and the roof of his mouth and flicking against his teeth until he draws a laugh out of him, until he can make a joke out of it just to dive back in and make Robbe lose his mind again.

About Sander, and nothing else.

He’s still smiling when Sander pulls away, drawing it out with a few lingering pecks, pressing one to Robbe’s nose before stepping back entirely. Even when he says, “I should get going.” Because Sander’s still smiling, too.

Robbe nods, swallowing down his words before they can escape. He doesn’t say anything, because he wants to say stay. He wants Sander to come in with him. To kiss him again. To curl up next to him, around him, on top of him, whatever. As long as he stays, close and warm and content, where Robbe can feel him.

He wants to wake up with him and finally be able to believe he isn’t dreaming.

But he can’t do that, so he nods, and Sander’s still giving him that look, so he thinks he might kiss him again. Hopes he will. Instead he reclaims his bike and walks it backwards, keeping his eyes on Robbe. Robbe watches him until he has to round the corner and realises he really just wants to wake up with him because it means he wouldn’t have to leave.

Robbe wants to stay here forever.

He knows that’s probably cliche, and corny, and sappy, and whatever else, and it makes it seem less genuine than it is, less meaningful, but he really can’t explain how much he means it. He has Sander right where he wants him, and he doesn’t ever want to let go.

He already let go when he shouldn’t have. Worse than that. He pushed him away, hurt him in order to do it. He was sure he’d ruined everything. He was trying to. He should have.

He doesn’t deserve this, really. He knows he doesn’t. Sander should never have even looked at him again, never have spared him a single thought. He shouldn’t have been forgiven.

He wants to apologise again. Feels it bubbling up in him every few minutes. He’s torn. He wants to apologise again, multiple times. He knows apologies don’t suffice. He feels so happy. They’re both so happy. He doesn’t want to ruin that. He wants to stay on this high they’ve found, wants Sander to keep smiling so he can trace it with his fingers and his lips. Wants to tease more of that brilliant laughter out of him, wants to make him scoff and roll his eyes, wants to earn back that intense look from that night, their first night, forever ago but really only a week before. He wants to kiss him again and again and then do more than that, but maybe not now, maybe not yet, but the sheer feeling of wanting at all is something he wants to hold onto.

He wants to hold onto Sander and never let go.

Sander makes it so easy for him to want these things. He just has to smile, or kiss his cheek, or lay on his chest or shoulder, or touch him in any of the smallest ways, and Robbe is gone. He’s just so beautiful that Robbe’s chest hurts, looking at him. Not looking at him.

Really, he never stood a chance. He doesn’t know how he ever thought this was something he didn’t want.

From the moment Sander played him in that kitchen, he’s all Robbe’s wanted.

And Sander wanted him, even before that.

“What are you thinking about?” Sander asks, chin propped on Robbe’s chest with a barely-there smile on his face. Robbe moves the hand in his hair down along his cheek and runs his finger over the blonde’s lip to make it widen, turning into that easy, blinding, sunshine grin that he’s so familiar with.

He debates whether or not to tell the truth, but Sander’s eyes have slipped closed under his ministrations, so he musters up the confidence. “Did you really like me from that night?”

Sander’s eyes open at that, soft and bright and too green. Robbe’s heart flutters even before he says, “Yes. Did you really not notice me?”

Robbe shakes his head, then lets it fall back against the pillows. “I don’t know how you even knew it was me. You couldn’t even see my face?” It turns into a question at the end, because he’s suddenly not sure, suddenly can’t remember. Maybe he’d taken the mask off for a moment, or Sander had seen him before he put it on, but he doubts it. The picture is clearly him, but of course Robbe is going to recognise himself, that’s not the same thing. For someone who’d never seen him before, it’s a different story. He can’t believe Sander even recognised him. He can’t believe he didn’t say anything about it.

“I saw your eyes,” Sander points out. He reaches up and plays with Robbe’s hair. “Your hair. The rest of you.” His tone is so suggestive there that Robbe laughs, pulls him up for another kiss, because he can and he still can’t quite believe it so he’s going to remind himself as often as he likes. “Also, Noor took you mask off to kiss you. I was surprised by how much I wished I was her.” Sander plants a kiss on his cheek, trails a few down his neck, and Robbe hates what he does him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it.

Still, Robbe isn’t used to this, doesn’t know what to do, and he can feel heat creeping into his cheeks. It makes him giggle and look away, but that only gives Sander more room, more of Robbe’s sensitive skin to work with.

He adds his teeth to the mix, biting down lightly, just a nip, and it really shouldn’t affect Robbe the way it does. But his stomach stirs and his cheeks only get warmer and he can’t help but squirm, whining a drawn out, “Sander,” in protest. Sander chuckles and nips the spot once more, definitely enjoying Robbe’s little gust of breath, but relents when Robbe twists towards him in search of another kiss.

Robbe can’t stop touching him. He always his a hand on his neck, in his hair, skimming over his back, down his side. Wherever he can reach. Anywhere and everywhere he wants. Sander reciprocates in kind, so Robbe’s pretty sure he doesn’t mind.

Sander half lying on top of him is really, really nice, and Robbe thinks he’s making that thought pretty clear. So when Sander sits up to look down at him, much too far away, he really should be expecting Robbe’s protests. He laughs and pokes Robbe’s cheek, leaning down to kiss his nose, just to make his face scrunch up. “You’re adorable,” he mumbles, easy smile on his face, and Robbe blushes and turns his head away, giving a breathy laugh.

“You can’t keep doing that,” Robbe protests.

“What?” Sander raises his brows. “Complimenting you? But you’re so cute, Robbe,” he coos, smushing Robbe’s cheeks. Robbe bats him away, but it’s half-hearted. It only leads to Sander catching his hands and pressing kisses to the back of them.

Robbe is really tired of being the only one blushing, and he’s not about to be outdone. He pushes Sander back against the pillows and swings a leg over his lap again, enjoying the brief surprise that flickers over his face. “Woah, we’re very confident,” Sander teases and Robbe just hums, stealing a short kiss. “Or very needy?”

“Hey,” Robbe protests, deciding to silence him by kissing him again. He doesn’t think about how it probably proves Sander’s point. Sander’s kissing back, though, holding him to his chest, so Robbe makes himself comfortable on his lap and kisses him until his lips are numb.

Then, he just leans into him. He wraps his arms tighter around his shoulders and tucks his face into his neck and relishes in the way Sander’s hold tightens in return, arms strong around his waist. He presses his lips to Sander’s neck lightly, briefly, and then just sits there. Holding him. Being held. This is all he intended. Closeness, intimacy, yes, he craves it always around Sander, but nothing more, nothing they aren’t yet ready for. He just wants them to be like this, just them, close and comfortable and together.

“Can I just stay here forever?” Sander asks quietly, after a moment. The words ruffle Robbe’s hair. Robbe hears the echo of his own thoughts in them and cuddles closer, squeezes him tighter.

“You can,” Robbe whispers, because he wants to say, please, stay, I don’t ever want you to leave again. Even though he’s the one who left, really. He’s the one who did this to himself, who let fear consume him and pushed Sander away. The knowledge that Sander wants him regardless, wants him forever, makes him a little dizzy.

“You know,” Sander starts again, “I bet we live together, in another universe. I bet I get to stay with you like this, every day.”

Robbe wants to be in that universe. Except he doesn’t, because then that means he wouldn’t be here, right now, where forever seems far away but there’s an undeniable something stirring to life between them. He can’t admit to even thinking about any of that, though, so he hums. “Just the one?”

Sander shrugs, laughing when the movement makes Robbe’s head bob. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

Robbe shrugs back. He thinks he would find Sander in every universe. He doesn’t think he’d let him go for long in any of them. So his answer, that he only admits to himself, is infinite universes. I would choose you, stay with you, forever, always. He doesn’t give a verbal answer, but he kisses Sander’s shoulder.

A phone buzzes, and Sander reaches to pick it up, and something in Robbe’s chest twists and tightens. His immediate thought is that it’s Britt, texting again, sending a sweet message to her boyfriend. His stomach revolts at the mere thought. When he subtly turns his head, he catches a glimpse of the contact, Sander’s mother, and feels silly even as relief takes over him. He tells himself it wouldn’t matter anyway, that if it had been Britt, Sander wouldn’t reply. He didn’t before, Robbe’s sure. He’d promised that if he did, it would be for the simple reason of telling her to stop.

Sander heaves a sigh and tilts his head against Robbe’s. “I’ll have to go, soon. My parents want me to have dinner with them.”

Robbe nods, solemn, because he can’t say no to that. He wants to, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to be separated from the other boy again, no matter how briefly. He wants, at least, proof that this is real. That it’s going to last a little longer, beyond today and a few after that. He wants Sander to stay here so Robbe can hold him, can continue to apologise without the words, and finally, finally, wake up with this boy next to him.

“Hey,” Sander says softly, knowing exactly what Robbe’s thinking, just like he always does. “It’s just tonight. I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

Robbe only nods again. Sander jostles him until he can cup his face, then drags him until their nose to nose. “Hey. I’ll miss you, too.” Robbe smiles at that, closes his eyes, and settles once he feels Sander’s lips on his. The next time, he thinks. They’ll be able to stay together next time. They have forever to wake up together.

Robbe can’t breathe.

It’s because his entire chest aches, he knows. It’s because his ribs feel bruised and out of place and something’s been dislodged in his stomach and he simply can’t get the breaths in.

He knows it’s because he’s terrified. And he’s crying. And he doesn’t really want to be breathing, right now.

He curls up tighter and considers it, wonders, but his lungs are begging and he can’t think so his body works on its own and does its best to provide. The only air he can get is sucked in through his teeth, and it leaves him gasping and wheezing but it’s working. He knows, because the pain intensifies. His breath rattled along his ribs, knocking on every bone, pushing and pulling in and out and fuck, it hurts. His stomach throbs. His head is buzzing, spinning, and he’s glad he’s still lying down, even though the chill of the pavement is seeping into his bones and deepening the ache. He doesn’t want to move. He can’t. There’s no point.

Then the ringing dies down, and he can hear his breathing again, except he’s hearing double. Echoes.

Except he’s not. He’s hearing another person. He’s hearing Sander.

He squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in another breath. He needs to get up. He needs to, and he will, he just has to take his time. He just has to not think about it. He prods at his chest, testing. It gets a choked cry out of him, but he can bear it. He can. He presses his hand to the ground and pushes himself off, slow, too slow, wincing all the way. He manages to roll onto his knees and then he pauses as his vision goes dark around the edges, as the ringing in his ears returns. He breathes deeply and waits, and once he can he seeks out blonde hair. He finds Sander curled against the wall, unmoving. He makes no sound other than watery, laboured breaths.

Robbe’s heart thumps painfully.

Sander’s only a short distance away, but it takes Robbe years to crawl to him, to find the strength to lift a hand and set it on his shoulder. Sander flinches from his touch and Robbe retracts it immediately, hurt by this amid everything, even though he understands, even though he should’ve expected it. Robbe looks at his face—at the bruise on his cheek, around his eye—and bites down a sob. “Sander,” he tries, then clears his throat, tries again. It’s quiet, but Sander blinks, focuses his gaze on Robbe, and reaches out for him.

Robbe instantly settles a hand on his uninjured cheek, brushing away the few tears that have leaked out. He needs to know if he’s okay, needs to ask, but of course he can’t ask that, of course Sander’s not okay, how could he be? Robbe certainly isn’t.

Sander doesn’t ask, either, just stares at him and says, “Robbe,” in a ragged tone. Robbe strokes his cheek, shushing him, assuring him, but Sander just reaches up to touch his temple, repeats, “Robbe.”

When Sander pulls his hand away, his fingers are red, wet with blood. Robbe’s blood. Robbe blinks at it, raises his own hand to the cut, and feels bile rise in his throat. His next breath is ragged, panicked, and Sander forces himself up to sitting with a groan. He pulls Robbe against him, cradling his head against his chest, and Robbe allows himself one short, low sob before forcing the rest down. Sander tightens his arms around him. Robbe says, “I’m okay.” He’s amazed his voice doesn’t break.

“You should go to the hospital,” Sander argues, except he doesn’t, really, his tone too flat, emotionless. Robbe just shakes his head. They should both go to the hospital, probably. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t think Sander would agree, either. So he repeats that he’s fine, says that it would be unnecessary, because he’s not going to go if Sander’s not going with him. Sander is his priority.

Robbe gives his waist a squeeze and says, “I just want to go home.” Sander pets his hair. He debates asking if he wants Robbe to call someone, but he isn’t sure who he would call. Jens, Senne, whoever, would come get him, but they don’t know. He could call Milan. Milan would know, instantly, and he would question and hover but he would back off when Robbe asked. Right now, though, he doesn’t even want him to know. He doesn’t want to be coddled and pitied and taken care of, because that won’t make him feel better.

For right now, he wants to believe it didn’t happen.

He wants to hold onto Sander and have Sander hold him and pretend that they’re okay. The ache in his chest can be replaced with the fluttering heartbeat Sander always conjures, the pains in his stomach soothed by warmth. He knows he shouldn’t want it, shouldn’t try to ignore it, shouldn’t push it away, but he does. For now, that’s what he does. For now, that’s all he can do. He soaks up some more of Sander’s comfort until the blonde starts to loosen his grip, and they slowly make their way to standing.

Robbe can’t even imagine getting on his bike. When he simply starts walking and wheeling it alongside him, Sander does the same without a word. He’d been worried it might’ve been broken, but nothing seems out of place. He can’t quite say the same for himself. Nothing’s broken, he’s pretty sure, but out of place—well, out of place fits everything. They’re farther apart than he would like, both their bikes between them, but Robbe bites his lip and refuses to ask for anything different. Sander’s been oddly quiet. Maybe he doesn’t crave contact and comfort like Robbe. Maybe he wants space. Robbe isn’t going to deny him something like that, not now, and he knows that asking would do exactly that because Sander wouldn’t deny him, either.

So he walks and tries to ignore the hole in his chest that’s growing to match the space between them. When Sander walks him right to his door, he doesn’t ask then, either. He just looks and hopes the other understands, prays that he’ll accept the unspoken offer. Sander gaze glances off him, to the side, back the way they came, the way he would leave if he’s going to, and Robbe knows he is even before he speaks. “I think I should go home, too.”

Robbe nods, mute. His mouth is dry, his throat closed. He unsticks his tongue enough to say, “Do you want someone to take you? I could—I could get Milan, or you could call someone, or we could get you a taxi—“

“It’s fine,” he cuts him off, not frustrated or angry or tired. Soft, quiet, the way he only seems to be with Robbe. When he sees that the other doesn’t believe him, he momentarily abandons his bike and takes the two steps to Robbe, cradling his face. “It’s fine, Robbe.”

And it’s not, Robbe’s not, and he’s relieved he doesn’t have to wake Milan and terrified of Sander walking the distance himself and his breath is catching in his lungs again and he can’t get it to move, can’t move anything. Sander’s hands slip down to his shoulders and glide down his arms until he can grip Robbe’s, squeezing in comfort, and Robbe slowly exhales.

Please, don’t, it’s not okay, I’m not okay, I won’t be okay if you leave, so please, don’t. Stay. I want you to stay, Robbe thinks.

He says, “Will you text me? When you get back?”

Sander nods, smiles, and it’s fascinating how everything in Robbe calms at the curve of his lips. He leans in then and presses them to Robbe’s own, brief, chaste, and Robbe squeezes his eyes shut. Sander kisses his forehead and steps away. “Of course,” he murmurs, tone smooth as ever, and Robbe digs his nails into his palms. He won’t be weak, will be as strong for Sander as he’s being for Robbe, and that means he can sleep on his own. It means he doesn’t have to reach out again, doesn’t have to cling on and refuse to let go. It means there’s no reason for him to cry when Sander gets on his bike and heads down the street without looking back. He can’t see well enough to be completely sure if he winces, but he’s sure enough.

The apartment is dark and quiet when he makes it up the stairs. He’s disappointed and relieved. He doesn’t want to explain. He doesn’t want to interact with anyone. He doesn’t want to be alone. He wants Sander.

He curls up in bed, alone, legs tucked up and arms close to his chest, and he hates it, because it takes him right back there, but it’s all he can do. Curl up in a vain attempt to protect himself. To stop it from hurting so much. To feel some sort of comfort.

It’s not really working, so he thinks about Sander, because all thoughts of Sander are comforting, soothing, always. Except now when he thinks about touching him, kissing him, it’s followed with after, and he’s right back there, and his only image of Sander is the boy curled up on the ground, trying to protect himself after trying to protect Robbe. His chest constricts, his eyes sting, and squeezing them shut doesn’t help. The image is still there, the tears slip out anyway. He fists his hand in his pillow and holds on the way he wishes he could hold onto Sander, the way he wishes he’d held on a few moments ago, refusing to let the boy leave.

Crying only increases the pain in his chest, his stomach, his head, but he can’t stop. He probably should have checked himself out, should have at least cleaned the cut on his head, stuck a band-aid on it, anything. But he avoided the mirror in the bathroom and got changed in the dark and all he wants to do is sleep. He worries that maybe he shouldn’t, that maybe his head injury is worse than he wants to believe, but it doesn’t really hurt that much, and he’s just so, so tired. His tears are making the pillow damp and cold under his cheek, and it only makes him feel worse, frustrated. He wipes them away, digs the heel of his hand into his eye for a second, and almost misses his phone lighting up where he’s left it on the locker.

Home and in bed. I love you.

Robbe’s sight blurs again, and he’s only able to send a heart in response. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t say anything else. He holds his phone to his chest and allows himself to think of Sander again, to imagine that he’s here, tucked in behind him and around him. Holding him, protecting him, loving him. Being here. He’s used to wanting Sander, but it’s never felt quite like this. Even when he thought he’d lost him, even when he missed him more than anything, it wasn’t quite as much as he misses him now.

He wants to wake up to Sander’s arms around him, to his sunny smile, unmarred by pain or fear or sadness. He wants none of it to have happened.

For once, he wants to wake up and find it was all a cruel, terrible dream.

Robbe has never really thought he’d like being manhandled, never really thought about it at all. It’s definitely not something he’s fantasized about, or anything like that. But having Sander toss him around, realising that he can, well—he can’t say it doesn’t do things to him. He can’t say it doesn’t turn him on. Though, clearly, everything about Sander turns him on. From his outrageously bleached hair to his brilliant green eyes to his ridiculously soft lips. Then there’s all the rest of him, his arms and his hands and his chest and his stomach and his back. His thighs, that Robbe has become recently more familiar with, that are now held captive between Robbe’s own as Sander rucks his shirt up to his chest and detaches from his neck long enough to pull it off.

Robbe knows it’s distracting him, that he has more he wants to say, more he wants to ask, but it’s incredibly comforting. Sander kissing him, Sander touching him, Sander wanting him, Sander here. It’s all he wants, at the moment, all he needs, so he helps divest Sander of all his layers again and simply pulls him close. Now that he knows the strength hidden in those deceptively skinny limbs, he marvels at how easily Sander lets himself be handled, how he shows no resistance as Robbe pushes him onto his back and takes over. It’s intriguing, the understanding that he could, that Sander could easily hold him down if he wanted to. Sander wouldn’t just do that, he knows, wouldn’t use his strength against him, and that’s what makes Robbe seriously consider it. He wonders if Sander would do it if he asked, is pretty sure that he would, then wonders if it’s something he wants, if it’s something Sander would want, and he can’t believe he’s even going down this line of thought so he tucks it into the back of his mind for sometime much, much later.

When Sander’s finished distracting him with his muscles and his kisses they remember the breakfast Sander so kindly snuck out to get. Robbe finds the croissants on the floor, all still safely in the bag. Robbe worries about all the potential crumbs in his sheets for about half a second, in which he wants to eat carefully, before he’s tucking himself into Sander’s side anyway. Sander presses a kiss to his hair and accepts the offered pastry.

Robbe holds the bag under his chin in hopes of catching some of the mess and sinks down lower, turns closer to Sander’s chest. Just to make it a little more difficult for Sander to see his face as he admits, “I wanted to wake up with you.”

He can hear Sander crunching on his food, knows that’s why it takes him a while to answer, but the time allows his anxiety to build. It’s soothed slightly by Sander’s fingers skimming over his collarbone, back and forth in an idle rhythm. “We can take a nap.”

“Sander,” Robbe protests. He can hear the amusement in Sander’s voice, the teasing, but he can’t quite match the tone. Can’t quite get the volume into his voice, can’t quite mask the fact that he’s still a little upset. That he’s still a little wary, still a little untrusting of this.

Sander finishes his food and wraps his now freed hand around Robbe’s waist, the other still draped over his shoulder. “I woke up with you. And you’re so beautiful, Robbe. You looked so peaceful, and content, and I just wanted to do something for you. To make you smile.”

“I would have smiled seeing you. I don’t need croissants. I just needed to know you hadn’t left again.”

Sander presses his nose to Robbe’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to. Before. Britt, she just—she made me confused. Made me think it’d be better for you if I wasn’t with you. And I was—I was scared, and I believed her.”

“Sander,” Robbe whispers, finally allowing himself to turn towards him. “I could never be better off without you.”

He can’t quite explain how much Sander hurt him, doesn’t actually want to. He wants to bask in this, in them, wants to cling to it and trust that Sander means what he said. He truly thinks that he does, believes it more with every kiss and smile and softly spoken reassurance. He wants to enjoy it while he can, to enjoy Sander. He doesn’t want to ruin their renewed happiness with any of this. He mentioned Britt and that was enough, made his stomach churn enough.

He doesn’t want to mention that. Because Sander hasn’t brought it up. Robbe thinks there’s a vague allusion in there, hears it in the hitched tone of ‘scared’. But it doesn’t feel open to discussion. If feels far away, now, removed, hidden. Like they’ve made the mutual decision to forget it ever happened.

Robbe’s not sure he’ll ever be able to. But he doesn’t bring it up.

He doesn’t bring it up because he can see the pain in Sander’s eyes now, can see it slowly being replaced with relief, and he wants to rewind to the happiness they had moments ago, wants Sander to give him his sunshine smile and kiss him and make him feel okay. He listens to Sander’s sigh, sees the beginning of his smile, and takes the initiative himself. He lets himself get lost in the kisses, lets himself drown in them because he trusts Sander to always give him more air. Because there’s an equality to their give and take that he’s never found anywhere else, a surety and a balance he’s still getting used to.

Robbe makes his marks where he pleases and is happy Sander doesn’t protest. Is spurred on by his response, all the lovely tiny noises he makes, taking it as encouragement. Sander only eventually tugs him away to kiss him again, before returning the favour.

He’s content. They’re sweaty and flushed from their activities, trading kisses and words and affection. He’s a little wired, a little overheated, but it isn’t bothering him much. Lying on his bed with his head on the soft pillows and the covers pulled up to his chest and Sander curled around him, he’s content. He feels more peaceful than he can ever remember being. Nothing else has ever brought him this kind of quiet happiness, the kind that fills up his chest and spreads through his veins, wrapping his heart in warmth and cradling it in the most gentle grip.

Sander presses a kiss to his shoulder and then tucks his chin over it. He trails a finger over Robbe’s forearm, light sweeps back and forth, and says, “I’ll have to go home soon.”

Robbe twists his hand around until he finds Sander’s and locks their fingers together. His heart clenches, as if it can hold on to that content feeling by sheer force of will. As if it can hold on to Sander. “Can’t you stay?”

“I wish,” Sander sighs. He tightens his grip on Robbe—squeezing his fingers, hugging him closer to his chest. “I want to. I would stay here forever if I could. Can I? Can you lock us in?”

Robbe smiles. “You can.” He twists in the other’s grip, turning his head to look back at him, and whispers, “I won’t let them take you back.”

This earns him another kiss. Robbe really wishes he could stay again, really wants the chance to wake up with him, but he’ll take what he can get. He’ll take Sander’s promise to text him as soon as he gets home and then late on into the night. He’ll take his deep kisses and loving touches now. He’ll take ’I’ll come back tomorrow as soon as I can so we can finish this, okay?’ in all its giggly glory when he tries to convince Sander to stay through his masterful powers of seduction.

He’ll take a goodbye kiss, I love you murmured against his lips, and Sander’s t-shirt to wrap around him in the boy’s place. Because he has infinite time in infinite universes to wake up with this boy, and he knows now that their separation is only temporary.

Whilst they, Robbe and Sander, are one hundred percent, forever.

Then he realises none of it was real.

He wants to go to him, still. Despite Britt’s words, despite Sander’s lack of reaction, Robbe wants to go to him. It’s why he stands there and watches the ambulance pull away. It’s why he begins to pedal after it, before his senses come back to him and he stops abruptly, just outside the school. There’s no siren, and they’re going at a steady pace, not in a rush. It’s quiet, not particularly notable. Complete devoid of panic. It does not at all match Robbe’s urgency, the fast pace of his heart.

Sander had looked so small. So young. So emotionless. He hadn’t looked like Sander. There had been nothing of the bright, magnetic boy Robbe has come to know. That spark that had first drawn Robbe to him had just been extinguished, leaving a dim holder in its place.

The lump in Robbe’s throat has grown so large that it’s choking him, and he can’t find the strength to swallow it down.

How did he not know?

He’d just lain there, half asleep, and let it happen. He’d watched Sander continuously get up, listened to him pace and open windows. He’d thought his breathing had sounded off. He’d thought there was something off, maybe, earlier. Thought maybe it was unusual.

Still, he hadn’t really thought anything of it.

Why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he fucking wake up and pay attention and stop him? Why didn’t he notice?

Why didn’t Sander tell him?

There’s hundreds of reasons, probably, many unreasonable but understandable. Would it have made any difference, if Robbe had known? Maybe he would’ve paid more attention. Realised earlier and managed to keep Sander with him, or take him home, or get him back before the paramedics had to.

But it wouldn’t have changed the thing that actually hurts. It wouldn’t have meant Sander loved him for real.

He feels his heart collapsing in on itself, there in the street, shriveling up like Robbe is tempted to do. He wants to just curl up on the pavement and hide. To let the ground swallow him whole, putting him away like he’d never even existed. No one could love someone who didn’t exist. That wouldn’t be half as embarrassing. It wouldn’t be half as painful.

But people are already looking at him, watching while pretending not to, and the last thing Robbe needs is to draw more attention. He’s sure they’ve all witnessed everything. It makes his heart ache, thinking of Sander here, under all their scrutiny. Out of his mind and vulnerable, naked and lost and alone. Anything could have happened to him. Robbe wonders what did happen, who found him and called who must be his mother and Britt and the ambulance. If it was a stranger, someone still here, standing around. If it was the police. If it was Sander himself. Robbe doubts that, but he supposes he shouldn’t trust his judgment on anything. He doesn’t really know what Sander would do, because he doesn’t know Sander at all.

He’d known a Sander who loved him, and he’s just found out that Sander doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t quite like the idea of breaking down in the middle of the street, and the lump in his throat is quickly turning into sobs. He has to get away before he can let them escape, because he should try to keep at least some of his dignity. He’s not sure if it’s too late for that, already.

It’s like that night weeks ago. Robbe returns to the flat to find it dead, no one there to greet him, and he’s simultaneously relieved and crushed. He wants Milan’s wisdom, his gentle honesty and boundless comfort. He wants Zoe’s motherly gaze, her easy affection and warm hug. He wants Senne’s silent company, nonjudgmental and comforting in its own, brotherly way.

He doesn’t want anyone else to see him like this. He doesn’t want any pitying eyes. He doesn’t think he can handle any interaction, doesn’t think he can form words or deal with physical contact.

None but Sander’s.

It’s what twists the knife. The understanding that Sander is the only one who could possibly comfort him right now. That despite all of it he wants Sander’s arms around him and Sander’s pieces of affection and Sander’s words of comfort. He wants Sander, as much as he always does, as much as it feels like he always has and as much as he knows he now always will. It hurts, the realisation of just how much Robbe loves him.

It hurts that not even two hours ago, Robbe had had him in his arms. It hurts that not long before that he’d had him even closer, in a way he’s never had anyone but Sander. It hurts that he’d been so sure Sander had loved him then, because how could he do that, make Robbe feel like that, if he didn’t? Why would he bother? Why would his eyes shine like that, his smile matching them, if not because he was in love?

Mania, Robbe’s been told.

He types ‘bipolar’ into Google on his phone, curled on his bed with a pillow crushed to his chest and tears freely soaking his cheeks. But his eyes are already blurry and the brightness of the screen is only making them worse and the words he can make out are only increasing the pounding in his head. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, what he thought he’d get out of it, why he didn’t realise it would only make him feel worse. He’s already established that the only thing that could make him feel better is Sander. And Sander isn’t here. He’ll probably never be here again.

He’d been with him. They were happy. So happy, so content. Sander had surprised him, had been so sweet and teasing and tantalizing, as he always is. Robbe had wanted him more than ever. They’d had dinner. They’d had sex. They’d been together, and Robbe had been so content. He’s never felt anything like it.

And now it’s gone.

Ripped away from him.

Like it had never fucking existed.

The sudden thought comes to him that it possibly isn’t like this in every universe. It can’t be, right? In another universe, there’s a Robbe who’s with his Sander right now, who has been for years and who will be for the rest of their lives. In another universe, there’s a Robbe and Sander that have just met. In another universe, there is a Sander who loves him.

This also doesn’t really make him feel any better.

He wonders if, maybe, in another universe, there’s a Sander who isn’t bipolar. If there’s a Sander free of mental illness entirely.

Robbe doesn’t care. He’s not in another universe, and he doesn’t want another Sander. He wants his bleached blonde, green-eyed Bowie lover, bipolarity and all. It doesn’t matter to him. He wishes he could at least tell Sander that—that he’s found that someone to love him, that Robbe loves him more than anything, unconditionally, and it doesn’t matter that Sander didn’t mean it. He’s still the best thing to ever happen to Robbe. He still deserves the world. Robbe wants to tell him that.

He wants to wake up in the morning with Sander in his arms, like he was supposed to. To give him one last kiss, one last reminder, and promise him that everything will be okay. He just wants to know that Sander’s okay.

But just the thought of his name makes his heart ache. He never really wants to see him again. He realises there’s a possibility he never will.

He goes to sleep with nothing but that thought to keep him company.

It’s not exactly what he expected, when he finally does wake up with Sander, but he isn’t disappointed.

Blonde hair tickles his chin and gentle breaths tickle his collar. There’s a comforting weight on his chest, along his side, that he hadn’t realised he’s been missing this past week. That he hadn’t known he’s grown to expect. He wasn’t supposed to get used to it that quickly. Now that he has it, he can’t quite figure out how he lived without it. The idea doesn’t scare him, not like it might have a year ago, a month ago. He doesn’t think it’ll be an issue.

Sander shifts in his sleep, curling his arm closer to himself and pressing his face into Robbe’s chest. Robbe pets light fingers through his hair and kisses the top of his head. He covers Sander’s hand with his own and traces over the knuckles until it relaxes again, flattening over Robbe’s stomach. There’s still a tension evident in his shoulders, the taut curl of his back, but it has eased out slowly through the night. His expression, at least, is completely smoothed out, peaceful in his sleep. Not at all like the broken thing that had taken it over yesterday. That had probably been there for days before Robbe found him. Since Robbe let him go.

But he’s here now, he reminds himself, and that’ll have to be good enough. Now, he’s holding onto Sander. He doesn’t plan on letting go again.

It had been hard, seeing him like that. Almost worse than the week before. It only wasn’t because Robbe was finally sure, yesterday. There hadn’t been the same fear and confusion and doubt. There hadn’t been the same despair. Robbe was sure he was losing Sander, before. That wasn’t a worry yesterday. Robbe hadn’t planned on leaving without him—if Sander didn’t want to leave at all, Robbe would be staying with him. Because he knew, as soon as he got that message, that Sander didn’t really want him to leave. He just couldn’t bring himself to ask Robbe to stay.

He’d sat there for almost an hour just holding him. He’d moved to settle them more comfortably against the wall, but other than that, he’d been a solid and silent presence, hoping that Sander would understand. Or at least stop pushing him away.

It seems to have worked.

He’d wiped Sander’s cheeks wordlessly and asked what he wanted to do. He strongly suggested they go home, of course, but he would’ve stayed as long as Sander needed. Sander hadn’t wanted to go home. He still hadn’t realised. He needed his home to be Robbe, right now, and Robbe knew it. He wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else, either, if their roles were switched. Sander’s his safe place, too. Even if he doesn’t yet know it.

Robbe has known it since the first time Sander touched him.

He comes to life slowly now under Robbe’s own ministrations. His arm shifts first, draping over Robbe’s waist and pulling him close in what seems to be a completely unconscious gesture. It makes Robbe smile anyway. His head moves next, turning first into Robbe’s chest before realising it has nowhere left to go. He makes a muffled, disgruntled sound and twists around again, pillowing his cheek more comfortably and scrunching his face up in displeasure. Robbe tucks the covers up around his shoulders and passes a soothing touch over his jaw, and his eyes blink open.

Robbe greats him with a smile, small and easy, and Sander fixates on it, expressionless.

“Hey,” Robbe says quietly, and his mind stops there. His earlier determination and conviction seems to have gone, run off and left him with his tail between his legs. He feels out of his depth, suddenly. Sander’s eyes are clearer than before, so intent and alert and green. There’s a pebble sized piece of Robbe’s heart purely dedicated to loving those eyes. He doesn’t want to see them sad again.

They travel over his face now, taking in every inch, cataloguing him, and Robbe feels settled under their intensity. This doesn’t scare him. This is familiar. This is Sander.

“I thought maybe I’d dreamt you,” Sander says finally, an admission and a revelation all at once.

Robbe trails his finger around Sander’s ear, through the short strands of hair, and down along his jaw, watching as Sander’s eyes drift shut. He says, “I know the feeling.”

This earns a tiny smile. It’s the best thing Robbe has ever seen.

He lifts Sander’s chin enough to kiss his forehead and is mildly surprised when Sander stretches further, a silent plead. Robbe is all too happy to comply. He keeps his kiss soft, close-lipped, and Sander seems content to follow along, reciprocating with ever gentle press of his mouth.

Robbe brushes their noses together, lets their foreheads rest together, then tugs Sander back on to his chest, wrapping him up tightly. He drops another kiss on his head as he does so, for the simple reason that he can. “Don’t you have school?”

“Mm,” Robbe affirms. “My exam isn’t until later, though. I get to lie in with you for a bit.”

Sander hums. “Lucky you.” There’s some of his usual suggestive intonation, hidden in the still visible traces of his smile, but it’s weak. Only barely there. Robbe is happy to take what he can get.

“Very lucky,” Robbe agrees, squeezing him tighter just in case the message isn’t clear. Sander doesn’t say anything, but he picks Robbe’s hand up off his waist to tangle it with his own, settling them on Robbe’s chest. Robbe lets him play with his fingers in silence. If that’s what Sander needs, it’s not much for Robbe to give. His throat still feels tight and there’s a lingering ache covering his heart, but Sander’s here. He’s with Robbe and he’s safe and that’s all that matters.

Sander eventually clears his throat. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Robbe wonders if he says it for lack of anything else. He wonders if maybe he’s joking—teasing. Because that doesn’t make any sense. Robbe should be thanking him for being here. He wants to thank him for everything. Robbe wouldn’t be who he is without Sander. He wouldn’t be himself—he would never have gotten the chance. Robbe says, “You can stay forever, if you like.”

Sander makes a questioning hum; Robbe hums affirmingly back at him. He doesn’t say anything else, because if he tries, he’ll say everything else. He’ll tell Sander how there’s nothing he wants more, how he wishes he could infinitize this minute and live together in it forever. Because maybe they’re not currently as happy as they could be, as they have already been, but it’s more than Robbe expected to ever have again. He’s content. He thinks Sander is, too.

But he wouldn’t be if Robbe said any of that, so he doesn’t. Not right now. It’d be a bit contrary to his minute by minute promise, he thinks, and he doesn’t plan on breaking that.

Robbe questions, “Are you hungry?”

Sander hasn’t eaten much. He hasn’t moved, really. When Robbe brought him home yesterday he’d spent the first while laying with him. Sander had immediately sunk into his arms and fallen asleep, his body a dead weight after having completely shut down with exhaustion. Robbe realised he probably hadn’t slept properly in days. He stayed with him for over an hour, just laying there and providing whatever comfort he could, before getting up to get himself food and deciding to make Sander some as well.

He hadn’t wanted any of it. Robbe hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t wanted Robbe hovering. Robbe had left.

Well, he’d gone out to the sitting room and stared blankly at the television until Milan and then Zoe had come home. They’d distracted him a bit, but he couldn’t help wandering into Sander occasionally. He used the excuse of needing to study more, sitting at his desk and studying little more than Sander’s features, until Sander had called him quietly and reached his arm out in offering.

He’d gotten Sander to eat a little dinner. He settled in with him again then and he hasn’t moved since.

But it spins round and round in his head, poking at his skull. The reminder that Sander probably hasn’t eaten much in days, either. Robbe can’t force feed him, but he can casually bring it up every now and then.

“Not really,” Sander mumbles, and that’s fair. He’ll leave it at that. “You should go make yourself breakfast though, if you are.”

“I’m okay,” Robbe assures. “I want to stay here for a little bit.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Then, “You don’t have to stay with me. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Sander.” Robbe shakes his head, then realises the other boy can’t see him. He adds a little extra incredulity to his voice instead. “You’re not a burden. You’re my boyfriend. I missed you. Can’t I just want to lay with you for a little while?”

Sander swallows, but his voice is still hoarse when he speaks. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Sander,” Robbe says again. He tugs at the boy’s side, urging him back a few inches so he can look at Robbe and hopefully be more convinced. Sander reluctantly drags his head up onto the pillow, not far from Robbe’s own. Robbe rests a hand on his neck to keep him there. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Okay?”

Sander rolls onto his back, and the movement takes him just a little further away. “There is,” he whispers brokenly. “I hurt you. I’ve hurt you so many times.”

His eyes are glistening again, and no, this is not what Robbe wanted. At all. His heart throbs. He should’ve kept him bundled up in his arms. He’s farther away now, and Robbe’s scared Sander won’t let him reach him again. He shifts a bit closer, breaching some of the distance, and decides to at least try. “I know. I hurt you too. But none of it hurt as much as when I thought I’d lost you.”

Sander’s already shaking his head, fingers clenching and opening over and over again on top of his chest. “No, no, you got hurt.”

And suddenly, Robbe understands.

“Sander, no. No, that’s not—“ But Sander doesn’t even seem to be listening, still shaking his head and clenching and unclenching his fist, chest rising and falling in unsteady motions. He abandons the soft tone then, putting as much conviction in his words as he can muster. “Sander, no. That wasn’t you. You did not hurt me. That wasn’t your fault, Sander. Do you hear me? That wasn’t you.”

“Hey,” he continues, gentle again, cupping Sander’s cheek and tilting his head towards him. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. If I hadn’t been with you—“

“No, Sander. If I hadn’t been with you. You got hurt, too. Why aren’t you blaming me? Why should it be on you?”

“Because I told you not to do anything about it,” Sander snaps. He looks back at the ceiling and rubs his hands over his face then leaves them there. He’s breathing harshly, still, and his shoulders heave once, a tremor running through him. Robbe pulls his hands away, tangles them with his own and sets the whole bundle on Sander’s chest. A hopefully steadying weight.

“Okay,” Robbe whispers. “Okay. But that doesn’t make it your fault. You have to know that, Sander. It wasn’t our fault.” Sander remains unmoved. “Sander,” Robbe prods. Then, “Why didn’t you want to go to the police?”

The blonde closes his eyes. “I did. I thought that we should. I just—that morning, Britt was there and when she asked what happened I just told her. She wouldn’t let it go and she already knew about us and she was—she was angry at me and I just told her because I thought that she—I don’t know.” That brokenness is back again, and it seems so far from the Sander he knows that it doesn’t seem like Sander at all. But this is just as much Sander as the boy he met in the beach house. This is a part of Sander as much as Bowie is, as much as his art is, as much as Robbe is. It’s just the part he didn’t know. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, Sander, c’mere,” Robbe coaxes. “Come.” Sander settles back into his arms again after some insistent probing on Robbe’s end. Robbe takes the opportunity to rub his back, smooth sweeping motions up and down, until Sander relaxes some. “Okay, now go again. Just breathe.”

Sander does just that, taking a few deep breaths until they grow somewhat even again. “Thank you,” is muttered into Robbe’s chest.

Robbe kisses his forehead, moving his hand into Sander’s hair, the other now rubbing soothingly over his arm. “What did she say?”

“She asked what did I expect?” Sander huffs a laugh. He seems, like Robbe, not to find it very funny. “Did I not know what happens when I just go around kissing boys? But I wouldn’t, because it was the mania, and I couldn’t think of things like that when I was manic. Didn’t I know that’s why it had to be treated? Didn’t I know that’s why I shouldn’t be pushing her away, because I need her to take care of me? Because I wasn’t thinking, I never think, and she knew it would get me hurt, that it’d make other people get hurt because I couldn’t help but drag them into it, because of course they’re going to hurt you if you don’t act normal—“

He cuts himself off with a ragged breath, but Robbe knows before he hears the sound that he’s crying again. It’s not like yesterday. He isn’t sobbing, isn’t falling apart. This is different, quiet and controlled, and Robbe can’t help but think it’s worse. He hates that Sander still feels this need to direct his hurt inwards, doing everything he can to protect Robbe from himself. Robbe will gladly carry some of the weight if it means he can have just a sliver of Sander’s light back in his life.

He will gladly take every memory of Britt and every word she’s ever said from his beautiful blonde head and shred them into a million pieces.

“Sander, no.” Robbe curls towards him, holds him impossibly tighter, and feels some of the ache fade. “Sander, that’s not okay. It’s not your fault. Do you hear me? None of it is your fault. You’re not abnormal because you’re bipolar. You’re not abnormal because you like boys. They’re the ones who are fucked up, okay? It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you, baby. It’s not our fault.”

Sander tucks his arm between their bodies to press his fist against Robbe’s chest. “But it was, the first time.”

Robbe freezes.

“I started it.”

Robbe tries to make words, but he can’t quite get anything out. His voice has left him, shrinking low in his throat, away from the tension closing his vocal chords. His brain cowers away, shutting down before it can run away with its lone thought. Every single one of his cells is only capable of screaming no.

“They weren’t even doing anything, they were just outside this club. These guys still called out to them as they passed. But they weren’t going to do anything. They wouldn’t have done anything. But I couldn’t let it go, and I called them out, and when he—when he came over to me I asked him what the fuck was wrong with it, and then I...I kissed him. I thought, I don’t know, I thought—I thought I’ll just prove my point, and I didn’t even think. It was the stupidest thing I could’ve done and it seemed like a perfectly sane idea.” He laughs derisively, and it’s almost a sob. Robbe blinks hard at the wall and draws his bottom lip between his teeth, holding Sander silently. “It was my first manic episode.”

“The guy hit me,” he says, in a tone that implies obviously could be tagged on at the end. “And I think I just went into shock. But the two outside the club came to help me, and it just—it didn’t make any difference. There were four of them and they were bigger and they knew what they were doing. I went to the police with them. But all they focused on was that I provoked them. It didn’t even matter that they’d thrown the first punch. I goaded them into it. I kissed him, so he had the right to sprain my wrist.”

“Fuck,” Robbe breathes, finally. “Fuck, Sander. I didn’t…”

He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, because of course he didn’t. There’s so much that he didn’t know, that he still doesn’t, that he probably never will. There’s a limit, somewhere, to the things Sander will ever be willing to tell him, he realises. But he’s telling him this now. So Robbe will listen, no matter how much he wishes it’s something he’d never have to hear.

“Britt was there. I don’t know why. I don’t even remember where it was. But she saw the end of it, and she helped me get home, and she messaged me the next day. She’s the only one who knows what happened, aside from my parents. She told me the same thing then. That I should’ve known better in the first place, that I should’ve expected it, that I should’ve at least known better than to expect anything from the police. That going to them would only elongate the whole thing and I should just forget it ever happened, because if anything I was the one who looked bad. I’d done the wrong thing.”

“Sander,” is all Robbe is capable of repeating, hopelessly. He makes himself think through it for a moment, heart breaking a little further with ever one of Sander’s trembling breaths. “That wasn’t okay, either. Yes, you fucked up, but you had the right intentions. You were trying to stand up for someone, trying to help, and you took it overboard but you didn’t hurt anyone. Not like they did. They shouldn’t have hurt you. It wasn’t your fault that they hurt you.”

His chest loosens enough to let a small stab of fury through, a little bit of steel. “And Britt,” he continues, “she shouldn’t have told you it was. Not then and definitely not now. That’s fucked up, Sander. She was the one in the wrong, okay? If she loved you, she wouldn’t have treated you like that. You can’t believe any of that. I promise it’s not true.”

Sander’s hand slides around his neck to curl in his hair. He meets Robbe’s gaze and Robbe holds it, steady and sure. Sander presses forward and kisses him, equally determined, and Robbe returns it slowly, until it turns soft and reassuring and Sander melts into his side once again, face tucked into his neck. Robbe adds another kiss to his hair.

“Is it too late to go to the police, now? Do you still want to?” Sander asks after a moment.

Robbe gives him a squeeze. “I don’t think it’s too late. But we don’t have to talk about that now, okay? We’ll just chill.”

“Minute by minute.” Robbe can hear his smile. He gives an affirmative hum in response. “How many other Robbe and Sanders do you think are lying like this right now?”

“Right now? None.” Sander looks up at him, and Robbe lets his voice drop to a whisper. “I think, the universe is giving us this minute. This minute is just ours.”

Sander’s smile is brilliant. Robbe wants to wake up to it forever.

#sobbe #rosander #robbe x sander #wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #sobbe fic

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danetobelieve · 4 years ago

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Standing Vigil || Ricky, Rio and Winston

Location: the beach beneath the cliff’s which the Roommate Squad lives on.

Timing: the morning of the 18th of June

Tagging: @3starsquinn, @ricky-corderbro & @danetobelieve

Description: Nell and Luce liberated some selkie skins which they gave to Kaden who in turn gave to Ricky. The boys (and Winston) give their fallen friends a proper farewell.

Warnings: no official warnings; this is as close to a funeral as we’ll probably write though so bear that in mind.

Everything about this was wrong, and that ate at a small sheltered core of Ricky’s heart that sounded and smelled like the waves off Rinn Mhaoile. It should have been elders. It should have been all selkies. There should have been names, clan members standing in the shallows to recount stories, give benedictions, request boons from the waves for safe passage. But instead it was a single selkie, a magician, and a repentant hunter, and Ricky only hoped it would be enough to grant the souls passage to the Deep Tides. He’d woken up early enough to give himself some time to get read; traditionally burials happened at sunrise as the tide ebbed back into the ocean deep, and he’d given himself time to shower and have a cup of coffee and take some time to think. He tied his hair back with a ribbon that his mom had used, slid the silver ring on his finger that bore her mark, and gathered up the skins from where they had been sitting on a chair in his bedroom, making his way downstairs clad only in a swimsuit to start to head towards the beach, his own skin draped over his shoulders. Even though they were both human, or at least more human than he was, Ricky deeply and fervently appreciated that both Winston and Rio had agreed to help with the burial, “It’s uh…. It really means a lot to me that you guys agreed to do this.” He managed to keep his voice from sounding too choked as he hugged the skins close, “Tide should start going out soon so we should uh head down to the beach.”

Winston hadn’t slept. They knew that they were going to have to be up early and they’d tried to get an early night’s sleep but they were still trying to work out if and how they would be able to get rid of the eye in their hand, their research had dragged on into the night and before they knew it the alarm they’d set to wake them up had been blaring and they decided that it was time to get ready. They could sleep later, it wasn’t like they had work for a while. Heading down and outside of the house with their friends, Winston shivered in the cold morning air. But they were dressed equally appropriately, though they wore a hoodie to keep them warm and still felt the early morning chill in the air. “Of course Ricky,” Winston replied, looking up at Rio. He looked- Winston forced themselves to look away, this wasn’t the time to be obsessing over Rio. They had work to do. “We’re always going to be here to do these things, especially after what we have learned about this … person,” Winston could hardly comprehend a being so evil that it would do this, “they deserve to be given a proper funeral.” Winston set off, their sandals crunching through the gravel and loose sand as they wound their way down the cliff path to the beach.

Orion was out of place. He didn’t deserve to be here. It was because of people exactly like Rio that Ricky has to do this funeral in the first place. Rio didn’t know the whole situation. Hunters had to be involved with this, right? Weren’t they always? And Rio was just like them. But as sure as Rio was that they didn’t deserve to take part in such a bittersweet ceremony, how could he say no? This wasn’t about what Rio thought he should or shouldn’t be a part of. Ricky wanted him there. So Rio needed to be there. Even if he didn’t deserve to be. And even if Winston was there, the sombering mood of the morning making it even more obvious that the two had too much going on between them. But Rio was dedicated to not making this awkward. Even if he was about to be knee deep in water wearing a long sleeve shirt and track pants. He figured he could at least roll the track pants up a bit to avoid getting too soaked. “Just let us know what you need from us.” Rio agreed with Winston, offering whatever they could to help Ricky out.

Ricky made most of the trek down to the darkened beach in silence, fingers carding over the smooth skins he held in his hands. As he crunched down the path he struggled internally with his own worthiness to complete this ritual. He was thousands of miles from his clan, he was too young, he just wasn’t the selkie his mother had been. How could he send these poor men and women off to the deep when he hadn’t even been able to do that to his own mother. “Not much.” He muttered quietly as the path gave way to the silent beach, the crash of the ebbing tide the only sound, “I can say everything that needs to be said. There just needs to be three people. To stand for them in death, and to watch over their ashes as they join the sea.” He hadn’t bothered with shoes as he’d left the house, so the transition from beach to wave he could make without stalling. Barely feeling the frigid cold of the waves he strode out until he was almost waist deep in the water, turning back to his friends “You guys don’t have to come out this far. Knee deep is fine. Just within earshot and spell-shot. We uh…. We can start whenever.”

Winston had been feeling slightly better about everything with Rio after the night they’d spent with Skylar watching Cell’s at Work. It had been a good way to diffuse the tension, though it remained ever present. “We can of course do that, it’s an honour even if we’re not the ideal candidates,” Winston couldn’t help but feel out of place. But the fact that Ricky trusted them to do this meant more then anything else right now. Slipping out of their sandals and tossing their hoodie and t-shirt down with it, they left them in the sand and made their way forwards. The waves foamed up against their toes, greeting them and guiding them towards the sea. Wading in so they were only a few feet away from Ricky. Shivering slightly in the early morning air, Winston kept as silent as they could. “Just give me one second, I want to do this properly.” Winston took a moment to center themself, taking a long breath and exhaling before repeating the motion once more and exhaling a thin tendril of fire that they caught between the index finger and thumb of both hands, holding it there as a tight ball, Winston looked at Ricky, “tell me when you’re ready and I’ll light them.”

Orion was more of a placeholder than anything else. Unlike Winston, Rio had no real purpose to be here. It was better that way. Too much involvement wouldn’t feel right considering the situation. His eyes were glazed over and he felt empty inside. If Rio felt this away about the senseless death of these people, people he didn’t know and had no kind of connection to, he could only imagine how awful Ricky must feel right now. He watched Ricky curiously, trying to decipher what was going on in his head right now. He was so ridiculously strong. He never let fear or sadness show up on his face. Because he always thought he needed to be strong for everybody else. It was noble, but stupid. Rio wished that Ricky would break down with him once in a while. It might help Ricky process whatever he was going through. Rio shot a glance over towards Winston, carefully studying their face as the fire they was holding illuminated it. Rio didn’t need the light to see them, his hunter sight took care of that. But he did like the way their face looked through the ambience. Though the weather didn’t bother Rio much considering his attire, the water was freezing cold against his feet. The cold continued as Rio followed in deeper, nipping at his ankles and following up to his shin, where the prickling sensation finally ceased when the water found his track pants and favored that over his knees. Here they were. At this point, Rio didn’t have much to offer to the group aside from his support. He smiled at Winston, nodding in acknowledgement of the moment before turning his focus back on Ricky. Time to get started, it seemed.

Nodding as Winston conjured an impressive ball of fire in his hands, Ricky turned his gaze back out to see, towards the pale peach fingers of a rising dawn, holding the skins out towards the sun as it peaked over the horizon, their cool weight draped over his arms. “You deserved better than this.” His voice cracked sharply and he took a brief moment to collect himself as he felt a few tears roll down his cheek, “You died far from clan and shore, from those who knew and loved you, and were deprived your chance at rest. We stand your vigil now to try to fix that.” He cast his gaze over his shoulder to look at Rio, standing cold in the water behind him, “Behind me Orion Quinn stands vigil for your past. As the light from his namesake is already long-past history by the time it reaches us, he stands in the ebbing tide to honor the life you lived.” He gave a weak smile and turned back to face the sun. “I am Ricardo Cordero, son of Clan Muirgen, and I stand vigil for your present. For the span of life you were supposed to live and was robbed from you. For the light you were meant to bring into the world, and the strength we were robbed of by your absence.” Turning to look at his best friend he wiped tears from his face with his shoulder, “And Winston Dane stands vigil for your future. The cleansing fire, not born of earth or sky, that will return you to the Deep Tides and the clans that swim in the calm and dark. We do not know your names, and cannot tell your clans that you have been rescued from bondage. But a recollection of you will be carved in the Tidestone of Clan Muirgen. Six unknown souls laid to rest. May the Deep Tides call you home, may your ancestors welcome you into those hidden shoals, and may you rest in peace knowing your vigil has been kept.” He barely managed to make it to the end of the sentence before his voice broke entirely, and he held the skins out in front of him, gripping the tops as he nodded mutely to Winston.

It was a sobering moment. Winston was so new to all of this. The idea of all of this, of everything that was going on, it was hideous. Winston hated it. The apparently hidden and silent war that raged beneath the surface of the supernatural world. Hunters butchering werewolves, vampires killing slayers, wardens hunting fae, it was all so violent and Winston hated the amount of it that they had already seen. Standing vigil now was a bittersweet privilege. They were lucky that they were never really involved unless they stepped up. A cold bead of sweat trickled down their back as the waves of the ocean lapped against their body. Taking a deep breath, Winston slowly willed thin ribbons of fire to expand off of the surface of the ball, they hovered for a moment before weaving together and darting forward. The tendrils of flame colliding with the skin. For a moment they blazed across the surface before slowly, yet surely the skins took the flame and began to pass it along their surface. It devoured them with such veracity and hunger that Winston let the magic go and slumped in the water for a moment. The cold quickly brought them back to awareness and they watched as the skins truly caught alight. The fire growing now, greedily swallowing the pelts up.

Orion wasn’t sure when he started crying. It had been teetering there for a while. He was familiar with the sensation, the heavy feeling weighing down his eyes as they decided whether or not the tears would fall. At some point, they had given up the fight. Probably when Ricky’s voice broke, which may have been the most heartbreaking thing he had ever heard. Rio forced his palm over his mouth, afraid that the sniffling would interrupt Ricky’s flow or ruin the ceremony. Tears rushed down his cheeks now and he was full on blubbering, the sounds of his gasping breath mumbled slightly by the hand he held tightly against his face. When Ricky spoke his name as part of the ceremony, Rio used his free hand to give a slight wave out into the ocean. Did Selkie’s believe in spirits? If they were real, were they watching over the three of them now? Once it was done, Winston set the pelts on fire. The sight was beautiful, but sad all at once. But Rio understood why they did it. What a way to go out.

The sound of the crackling flame at once stood in opposition to and in harmony with the waves crashing around his waist, and Ricky held onto the pelts until the very last possible moment, until the flames had started to lick blisters and angry red wounds onto his hands. As he released them to the dawn sky, the flames were so voracious that not a single hair fell to the waves before it was ash and he heaved a deep and rumbling sigh as he watched the twisting motes of black make their way out to sea. Turning his back onto the sunrise he trudged his way slowly through the waves back to where his two friends had been standing in more shallow water, pulling them both into a tight hug. “Thanks.” He managed to get out as he squeezed them both, “I couldn’t have made it through that without you two.” Wiping at the tears drying on his cheeks with the back of his hands he released them both and steadied himself, trying to put the face of jovial control he usually wore. “Come on. We’ll dry off and I’ll buy you both breakfast. Raise a mug of coffee in a toast. We’ve done all we can for them now.”

#wickedswriting #p: orion #p: ricky #para #chatzy para #chatzy #standing vigil

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nochanchu · 6 years ago

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back to you

pairing: lee donghyuck x reader genre: spiderman + post-break up au | drama, romance, fluff, themes of comfort and aching for it; includes anxiety wc: 3,920 description: He knows he shouldn’t lean on you for fear of what may come, but he’s young, dumb, and impulsive, if there’s anyone he’d come running back to—it’s you. author’s note: a long overdue story I’ve had in my drafts since may... but still one I enjoy nonetheless!

It hits Donghyuck just how much he depends on you a moment too late.

A moment far, far too late—several months actually.

Despite this, he knows that out of everyone in his pool of friends, the one person that he can lean on when the going gets tough and he can’t seem to breathe, that he can call in the ungodly hours of the night when he just needs to talk and silence is too unbearable, it’s you.

If he can recall far back enough, you’ve always been his solace, his guiding light in the darkness that follows any hero. He calls you, airs out all the baggage and anxieties until suddenly he has to pause to catch his breath, and all at once, fresh air fills his lungs and nothing else matters. He basks in the soothing dulcet tones of your voice, clinging to every word even if they’re mumbled and coated with fatigue. That’s how it’s always been.

Even now, when the last thing he should be doing is forgoing what Doyoung said.

He knows he’s being selfish by moving away from the Kim Enterprises building in favor of another path. But between the pain eating away at his ribs and the aches across his body, his brain acts on its own accord.

When he blinks, what he last remembers as the New York skylines becomes the brick-stacked walls he knows too well. He rolls up his mask just to make sure he isn’t seeing things, and it’s just as he left it all those three months ago. He’s not sure what he expected to be different when this area of your home has never once looked different during his occasional passing trips, but his uncovered eyes drink in the vicinity for something different for no particular reason.

The bag of soil you had him carry up is still at the corner near the entrance to your dining room, half-touched and only somewhat smaller than before. There’s still an empty beige planter beside it, too. The plants that litter the corners aren’t as lush and viridescent as before, but they’re alive. Trying to be, at least.

Kind of like me. He would say this aloud, but he feels his throat close up.

If he makes a sound now, then this is really happening. He can’t even accept that he’s standing right here, right now. As Doyoung has said time and time again, this is dangerous, and really, really bad things could happen. Unspeakable things that holds reasons his mind didn’t register until reality sunk in and reminded him that his situation was not as simple as it once was. So, Donghyuck had to make that promise to the two of you that he wouldn’t just come to you like this, in fact he made well to add that he wouldn’t be coming to you at all anymore.

The very thought of how big of a risk he’s running frightens the ever living fuck out of him, but he’s scared for other reasons too. The biggest of them is the one he feels deep within the marrow of his bones, where a wound cuts so deep into his abdomen unlike the previous ones he has gotten in battle; the sort of pain that wraps around him and elicits thoughts he hasn’t considered for his own sanity. The kind of thoughts that an newly turned eighteen-year-old shouldn’t be having in what is considered the prime of his life. But they won’t stop. The pain doesn’t stop. And all he wants to do is be selfish just this once if it means seeing you right now.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so damn selfish, he wouldn’t be standing at your balcony right now, and he certainly wouldn’t let his own body act on its own accord and fumble with one of the planters for the bronze key you’ve kept stashed there if ever he needed you or your place for whatever reason. He wants to do this despite how much he hates to admit that the distance has done nothing to sate these feelings at all. A part of him wonders if time has changed things on your end as he sifts through the dirt. He realizes he has to hope it’s still there even though he wouldn’t blame you for moving it either.

To his relief (and somewhat surprise), it’s there. He can feel the edges dig into the uncovered parts of his palm, now certain more than ever that this is no dream. Otherwise, he would have woken up by now out of shock to be this close, and from the cold that seeps into the ripped seams of his suit.

Donghyuck hesitates to use the key now that it sits in his hand. He knows he shouldn’t be here. How many times has he been told to stop going to you? How many times has he told himself that he can’t just come back to you whenever he pleases? Given, this is the first time since he put an end to things with you, he feels an unbelievable amount of regret coursing through him. He can’t tell if it’s the waning adrenaline from the earlier battlefield or if it’s the heartache that’s been clenching his heart, but being here is bittersweet and comforting all the same.

Knowing you’re so close, yet so goddamn far makes him wish to close the distance and finally get it through his own thick skull that there isn’t anyone else that he would rather be with than you. If he’s dying like he feels like he is in the “I’m really about to bleed out and collapse on the ground I’m standing on,” then you’re the last thing he wants to see before everything goes black and that light at the end of the tunnel greets him like everyone says it does.

Of course, he’s probably overreacting. Doyoung probably would have dragged him by the ear otherwise. However, all logic aside, his limbs won’t let him move anywhere but forward, while his brain is screaming at him to hightail it out of there. It’s as though his heart has taken over all motor functions. The way it moves his hand to press the key into the slot, he can’t seem to stop until there is a click! and he can slide the door open, hesitantly.

He takes about one step before he stumbles over the long-forgotten step, trapping a curse in his throat when he realizes he has knocked over the planter in his haste to stop from falling. His limbs have grown even heavier since feeling the warmth and familiarity of this place even from this area. Your scent manages to envelop him like a tight embrace and reminds him that he is supposed to be a stranger here, that he shouldn’t be here. But he knows this already. He hears it in his own voice and Doyoung’s, and when he tries to hear it in your voice, it’s impossible.

While his body is saying everything he wishes he could—as if trying to convey how he wants to see you just this once by making it ridiculously difficult to walk away, as if to tell him that if he can do that, then he can find some strength to get through the rest of tonight—his anxieties work to fight him against these whims. As quiet as the doubts were before, they have gotten louder and louder since the first sign of his turmoil.

Donghyuck takes a little less than a minute to decide that he better leave right now. He doesn’t know how long it will take until you wake up from the ruckus he has caused, but if he lingers he will face you for sure. And if he faces you, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. His mind could conjure up a plethora of scenarios, each one meant to mentally prepare him for an inevitable reunion that he’s been pushing for since he let you go, and the more he considers these things, the more certain he is about leaving back to his apartment where he can self-loathe and patch himself up, probably receive an earful from Doyoung for turning off his comms until—

“Hyuck?” The hallway light blinds him for only a moment, giving him enough time to register the confusion, vulnerability, and surprise riddling your hoarse voice. You squint at him, as if trying to decide if he’s really here or if you’re some figment of your imagination brought out by some odd dream. He takes you in all your glory in without missing the familiar dishevelled bed head you’re sporting and the way you don’t oppose his presence right now.

Donghyuck can’t even express his true feelings when a strong surge of pain overthrows all initial responses, and whatever words stuck to his throat get washed out by the sharp exhale of pain passing through his lips. You propel yourself forward and catch him before he collapses straight onto the floor, disregarding the slick, scarlet trail he leaves behind on your oversized t-shirt.

You frown more so at the wound than at him before setting him onto the floorboards as carefully as possible and locking the doors before leaving for the first-aid kit you keep on hand for situations like this. It’s a quick departure—by the time he blinks, you’re back with the red and white box, now flicking on the tableside lamp in your quaint living room.

He has to squint at first to adjust to the incandescence and the closeness of your proximity that constricts his throat from further conversation, because if he says anything now, he isn’t sure he can hold himself accountable for what comes out.

But Donghyuck whimpers as soon as the antiseptic wipes touches his wound. He doesn’t realize he’s gripping the end of your t-shirt, but he is and he hears your voice get smaller like the way you would on those late night phones calls or back when he was too scared to look at his grades after a test—those were simpler times.

“You’re safe. You’re okay.”

Those words were his lullaby. A mantra to get him through the roughest patches in this heroic business. He could see your face with the corners of your lips curled slightly and your half-closed eyelids fluttering between waking and dreaming everything single time. And somehow everything was okay, again.

But he’s not okay. He hasn’t been okay for a while now.

He was when you were together, at least. But any relationship is symbiotic. There’s a give and take, a push and pull. And like you with him, he wants to keep you safe, okay. He wants you without worries when it regards him. To know that you have spent nights on end just wondering if he’s going to make it back from an impromptu mission makes his heart clench, because there are things that you are more than willing to do for him, and it isn’t just picking up his call at four in the goddamn morning.

There was once a moment in your time together that you told him that you would go to hell and back for him. And he believes it. He knows you would. And that absolutely frightens him, because as ethereal as you are through his eyes, you don’t have the same lifespan as an angel. Neither does he, but he certainly stands a better chance against any demented, powered guy than you. And such an impermanence always made him second guess what he was doing by being with you. It was indisputably selfish to think that he could hang out to the only normal part of his life and expect no repercussions out of it. With a risk that high and a reputation growing as big as his, he had to stop before something happened.

He cut those ties and nipped them, and he hoped for better out of it.

You’re okay you’re okay you’re okay, he hears. I promise.

Donghyuck doesn’t open his eyes. He fears that if he opens his eyes, then this won’t be real; that he’ll wake up on the battlefield or in Doyoung’s medical room. But he fears that if he’s dead, then he’ll have never even seen you at least once before his demise, and that, for all reasons, frightens him as much as not being able to protect his aunt.

“Don’t go.”

I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s okay, just open your eyes for me. Okay? Just open them, please.

He doesn’t know what he’ll see if he opens them, if this’ll be real, or if what’s out there will be the end of him. And, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready. He just knows that it doesn’t hurt as much as it did before.

“Okay.”

He opens his eyes.

Your eyes meet his, and his breath catches in his throat—“This is real.”

You look like you’re torn between laughing and crying, and his heart leaps too far and wide for him to gauge. You’re still just as he remembers with your hair falling out of its makeshift ponytail, with strands all over the place, oversized t-shirt now stained in his blood, and a smile that could only be done justice by seeing it in real life.

“Of course, this is real,” you respond, unable to fight back the urge to hug him. He realized then that you hadn’t moved him from the floor, though he couldn’t blame you considering how hard it would’ve been to remove blood stains from the couch. It hurt a lot more to hug you back, but he did it and didn’t regret it either. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, even if you tell me to go.”

You kept your hold on him, even as he let go, thinking that was his cue to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he says once more, this time with complete coherence. “I—I—I don’t even know where the hell to begin besides there, but I fucked up. I fucked up so bad, and I don’t know if you want to talk to me or if this is another part of some messed up dream, but even if it is, then I’m sorry for—you know—coming back to you like this. I’m sorry that I couldn’t even keep my word. I’m sorry for being a selfish jerk, okay? I miss you so much. So goddamn much. I don’t even know what to do with myself. I just came here on my own accord. I really wanted to see you, just in case—”

“Just in case of what, Donghyuck?” He winces as you let go of him, and lock eyes with him. “Just in case you… die? You don’t come back? Just in case of what, exactly?”

He hates how panicked you sound, how pained you sound to say these things, and how he isn’t sure how he can alleviate any of it now that you two are in the position that you’re in. If this were any normal circumstance, the kind that didn’t involve talking about his death as plausible albeit all too soon occurrence, he wouldn’t hesitate to draw you into his arms and let you know that everything would be okay, that whatever was concerning you both was just a passing(, non-life threatening) phase that would come and go before either of you could blink. But things, as they currently were, have been different for too long to go back to old times like that. To reminisce in such a way feels like lifetimes ago, and yet he feels an obligation and desire to let you know that he’s here for you too.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, sighing. “I—I—yeah, alright? Just in case I die. I was scared, okay? So scared. Just a few hours ago, I was out there fighting for the sake of everyone else’s, and something went wrong or maybe—I dunno—almost went to plan for the bad guys, but I thought that was going to be my last battle. I thought if there was one thing I’d want to do, then it’d be to see you. And, I’m sorry that it took me being in this position to do that, but I want to keep you safe. I can’t just keep depending on you and risk your life like some selfish asshole. I’m sorry.”

“You’re an idiot. I hope you understand that, because you and I both know I don’t give a shit about what happens unless I know you’re okay. I only know you’re okay when I see you passing by every now and then. Or if I see you at school. Or I dunno, I hear from Auntie Soon about you. But, Hyuck, what I don’t get is why can’t you see that no matter how hard you try to push me away, that’s not going to keep me away. I mean I’ll respect any boundaries you set considering our break up, but that won’t ever stop me from caring about you, ever. I mean it. I want what’s best for you, and I think one thing I wish the most would be for you to stop being so stupid, and just accept that I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. Even if Mr. Kim set up some top-security detail to keep me from you, I’d manage a way to find out how you are.”

You both cracked a smile at that—of course, you would find a way. Of course, you wouldn’t relent, even if the odds were against you both. And, of course, he loved you for it. For all of that and more.

“That’s not fair…” His heart hasn’t stopped, not even a little bit. Only you could do that.

“It’s not fair that you keep saying that this is for the best when we both know who’s really taking care of your ass when a mission goes awry. I mean sorry Mr. Kim but I’m the best medic you got. I’m your own nurse and therapist, so I have him and his multi-billion dollar doctors beat by a long shot.”

“I know, that’s why I came here.” He adds, chuckling, “among other reasons.”

“Yeah, yeah, I missed you too.” You smile as he does, just hearing it is enough for him. Being here with you is actually more than enough for him—he tells you so, too. “Well, come back then. Stay then. Just stop pushing me away, alright? I want to hear from you, whether you’re hurt or sad or happy or whatever. All of that, Hyuck. Because I love you. I miss you. And, no matter what, we both know you’ll always come back to me.”

“I know. This was me trying not to do this anymore, and yet, here I am. Back as always.”

You take hold of his hand, knowing how badly he wants to hold you, yet being fully aware of how scared he is to initiate that.

“Tell Mr. Kim that you can’t push away someone you love, thinking it’s for the best—it isn’t. For either parties.” You pause for a moment, glancing at your window. “Who knows though? Maybe he knows you’re here.”

“Well, if he does, then he does, and I’ll deal with him if he doesn’t approve. I just had a near death experience, and I need this,” he says, raising your joined hands together a few centimeters off the ground. “I don’t ever want to leave, honestly.”

“You’ll have to. So will I. We have school.” You laugh as he groans. “Sorry. But I mean, we still have a full day to ourselves tomorrow. If you’re okay with sticking around. My parents are out, somewhere in Europe more than likely, and I know Auntie Soon will be happy to hear that we’re talking again.”

“True, she’s been ready to fight on your behalf ever since I’ve started deflecting all conversations about you.”

“That must be tough. I imagine she brings me up every second she gets, probably telling you that letting me go was the worst mistake of your life and other things along those lines. Would probably also leave behind hints about how to woo me back and get Auntie Taeyeon to nag you about breaking up with me.”

Donghyuck nods as fervently as he can in his state and enjoys the way you laugh so happily. “It’s almost as painful as this wound at how accurate you are. Were you telling her how I could potentially woo you back or something?”

“No! Not directly, at least. I said everything jokingly, so I didn’t expect her to actually tell you to do any of them.”

He thinks back to the suggestions; you would hint to his aunt about what he could do, though Auntie Soon probably did fabricate them, he doesn’t mind so much. He knows you both mean well, even Auntie Taeyeon, as intense as she can be.

You lie beside him, having already cleaned the floor sometime during that period he was passing out, propping yourself up by your elbow as you do so.

“You don’t need to do any of them, by the way,” you mention, “I know that look, and I mean it, you don’t. I’m content with this. As long as you’re being yourself. Not some robot you think you need to be to protect me from whatever metaphorical and literal bad guy is out there.” He opens his mouth to protest but you quiet him with a squeeze of you hand. “Let me protect you this one time, Hyuck. I can’t be out there fighting alongside you, as much as I wish I could, but I can protect you here. This is my domain, alright? And, if you’re okay right now, then that’s all that matters.”

“Okay, yeah, you’re right.” He cranes his head to look at you, not wanting to miss a moment.

“You must’ve been scared before, huh?”

“Yeah, I was scared shitless, honestly. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what would happen. I mean I know the consequences of defending the city, but this was a different reality—if that makes any sense?—” he continues once you nod, “I think I’m absolutely scared of death. I don’t know what it is or what to do about it, but no amount of powers in the world could ever make me feel as powerless as I did earlier. Like, if anything really had gone wrong, it would’ve been game over, and I’d be alone.

“Yeah, I have Mr. Kim and all but Auntie Soon and you and the guys? Imagining just being gone from you guys hurts my chest to think about, and even just thinking about it hurts my head more than any concussion I’ve ever had these past few months. But I’m okay right now. I’m here with you. I don’t need to think about that what-if, if I can help it.”

“Not while I’m around,” you tell him, pressing your lips to his cheek. “I’m here, and I’ll say that again and again until that sticks in your head.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just keep coming back, again and again.”

His eyes soon grow heavy, even as you find more things to talk to him about, and despite how hard he fights to stay awake, you let him sleep.

You’re safe, you’re okay, you tell him again, and for once during these past few yet long months, he believes it.

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mingiswow · 5 years ago

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Soulmate!au Series | Hyungwon

Pairing: Hyungwonx female reader

Summary: Soulmates were marked with matching tattoos when born, but you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that yours were something so vague as lips.

Words: + 2.2k

a/n: hey sweet cheeks, here’s another part of the soulmate series. I’m loving to write them so much and, so far, Hyungwon has been one of my faves to write. Hope you like this one and please help auntie Bruna and like, reblog and/or comment. Feedback is always welcomed. Love ya

You liked your job, you really did, it paid your bills after all. But there were days that everything seemed too much for you to handle, especially when the hotel received famous people that’d leave the rooms upside down for you and your partner to clean.

It was 4AM when you left the bus, saying your usual goodbye to the driver, and walking slowly through the street, enjoying the quietness before the storm of cars, bus, people and construction. You walked past the hotel, greeting the security before heading to the back of the building, doing the same path you did every day before getting to the changing room.

“Morning, babe cakes” Martha, your coworker and partner greeted you, her usual smile on her lips. “You heard about who’s coming today?” her voice muffled from her uniform on her head.

“Morning. Yeah, heard that they are some international singers, but not much more than that” you took your clothes off, folding them neatly and storing in your locker.

“Hey! Your tattoo is shining!” the woman spoke, getting closer to you and gently touching the drawing on your chest. “There are even the flowers blooming around! Do you think you’ll meet your soulmate soon?” your eyes trained to the spot, the reddish lips indeed glowing as the cherry blossoms grew around, closing the tattoo inside a heart-shaped frame.

The legend says that every human being in the world was destined to someone and those who two souls would connect through their complementary tattoos, placed on the left side of their chest, right on top of the heart. When your true-one love is close, the marks took a neon coloration, as they seemed to shine, and little flowers would grow around it, signaling the bloom of a new life. You never understood how they worked since they were complementary, not matching marks. Your mark could match with anything minimally related to lips, it could be a lipstick, some food, an instrument, musical notes. It could be so many things.

“It’s what it looks like” you simply said, covering the tattoo with your perfectly-white t-shirt. “Besides, you know I don’t have time to date or whatever right now. I have to work, study and take care of my dog” your coworker laughed.

“Oh, come on! You need to accept that one day you’ll meet them and God knows what you’ll have to do about it” you rolled your eyes to her.

Shaking away those intrusive thoughts about your future, you two finished putting your uniforms before heading to the kitchen to have breakfast with your other coworkers from that shift and start cleaning the rooms.

Being a maid in a hotel wasn’t what you dreamed for your life, whoever, you liked that place and the people who worked with you. You always had a great time with those people, especially Martha, who became like a mother to you since you were so far away from your own. When you left your hometown to go to the capital to try to become a model, everyone was against you but you decided not to listen to them and follow your dreams. It didn’t turn out very well, yes, you did a few photoshoots here and there, but it wasn’t what you imagined. But still was better than nothing.

The morning seemed to crawl as slowly as a slug. A weird pain on your body like someone was pinning your voodoo doll, especially your heart, but you decided to let it aside, it was probably just anxiety since you couldn’t take your conversation with Martha out of your mind and she wouldn’t shut up about your future lover and how they’d look and be.

“What if they are some royalty? Or what if they are some rich CEO?” she kept speculating about as she neatens up the wrinkles in the bed cover. “What if they are the homeless in the street? Would you love them anyway?” you simply rolled your eyes at her hypothesis, letting her speak alone.

It was about midday when your boss called you through your intercom. She seemed a little… exalted. You looked over to the woman as a plead for her to not let you go, but she couldn’t do a thing. You left her and the room you were cleaning behind to meet your boss at her office. You just wished no one complained about you and your services, you had a dog to raise.

You knocked on the door three times before you could hear some laughs and the woman speak with her usual happy and deep voice telling you to enter.

“Excuse me, Miss. Did you c-” your heart stung as you stepped inside the room, making your best effort to not let the pain show.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” the concern in her voice made you look to the floor, embarrassed for some reason.

“Yes, just a little pain but I’ll be good. Do you need me?” you recomposed yourself, your eyes meeting seven gorgeous men. Not any seven random men, but Monsta X members. Your heart started racing, your eyes never leaving them. You probably were making a fool of yourself. Your ultimate group was in front of you and you were all messed up from working, smelling like sanitary water and disinfectant.

“Oh yes, darling” the middle-aged woman clapped her hands. “This is Monsta X, but you young people might know already” she giggled excitedly and nodded to her, bowing to them as a greeting. “They are going to use our master suite for a photoshoot. Is everything clean there, sweetie?”.

“Yes, Martha and I just finished. I believe they can start taking the equipment and props to the room, miss” you answered trying to ignore the growing pain in your chest. You felt like you were about to fall, you couldn’t feel anything but the aching pain in your heart. Trying your best to hide the pain in your face, you bowed before leaving the room.

Your heart felt like leaving your chest, thumping hard, muscle against bones against muscles. Never in your entire life you felt such pain. It wasn’t bad though, it was just a sensation you had never felt. It was almost warm, welcoming. You decided to let it all go and go back to your work, it wasn’t time for you to daydream about those feelings.

You watch warned you and Martha that the morning shift was over and you were free to lunch, your stomach growling inside you.

“What do you have today?” your coworker asked sitting by your side and spying on your packed lunch.

“Just a sandwich, I’m not very hungry” you lied. You didn’t have much food left at home, and the money that you earned this month was already gone with the bills. Your stomach growled again and the woman looked at you, eyebrow raised form your lie. It wasn’t the first time that happened.

“Y/N… You need to stop lying to yourself” you looked over the triangular bread, it barely had some jelly on it. “You didn’t get any modeling work this month?” you denied, stuffing the dry bread on your mouth.

“It’s hard to get some when you have no agency and don’t look fancy and rich like the others” you sighed, looking over to the woman. “Nobody wants to hire me because I’m a nobody, I have nothing left, Martha, no food, no money, no family, it’s just me and Mong” Martha’s arms wrapped you in a tight hug, helping you through your tears.

“I’m so sorry dear, I wish I could help but you know that I have children on my own” you nodded.

“You don’t have to, you’re not my real mom” you kept crying on her embrace as the pain in your chest kept growing.

“Y/N” the voice of your boss startled you and you turned around to meet her and the boys again. “It’s everything fine?” you nodded, wiping the tears away.

“Can I help you with anything?”.

“You’re a model, right darling? The girl hired by the boys called it sick and now they need someone to be their model” your eyes sparkled, was she saying what you were thinking she was saying? “Can you do this? I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you are good at it” you smiled, both from happiness and nervousness.

“Yes, I sure can do” you lifted yourself from the chair and look at your state. “I just need a shower first” your cheeks reddened and, if it was possible, your chest seemed to hurt even more.

You quickly ran to the dressing rooms, taking a shower and making sure to take all that cleaning products’ smell out of your body, put on the clothes you arrived earlier.

You had never seen that suite so full of people and things. And, look, there were rock stars staying there. Cameras, scenarios, backgrounds, props, lights. It all made you more nervous than you already were. You were going to model. With your ultimate group. Smelling like cleaning products.

“Hello” you spoke, calling the people attention to yourself. You were sure that your chest was going to rip it open. “I’m Y/N… The new model” your voice sounded hesitant. Great. They were going to think you were unprepared. A woman came close to you and circled around your body, eyeing you up and down, before stopping in front of you.

“Let’s start with the leader” she simply said, a plain tone in her voice and no facial expression at all. Soon enough there were at least four people around you, putting on the clothes and making the adjustments for them to fit, doing your makeup and hair. “Are you ready, sweetie?” the woman came back, a camera on her neck, as she guided you to the first background, Shownu already positioning himself.

“Hi” you greeted him, bowing a little bit to the huge man standing in front of you. He smiled, greeting you back.

You two took enough pictures for a lifetime and it was just Shownu. As time was passing by and you were getting more confident on your poses, interacting with the leader, taking more intimate pictures.

“Ok, who’s next?” the photographer asked, seeing a very handsome Hyungwon lift his hand. You thought you’d never see him getting more perfect. But at that moment, with him in flesh and bones in front of you, wearing those flowy clothes that made him look with nothing but an angel, you were sure that you’re entire life was a lie. Hyungwon could get more perfect. “Great. Guys, dress Y/N up for Hyungwon concept” and soon again the stylists were around you again.

If for Shownu you were looking fearless and sexy, for Hyungwon you were ethereal. Your hair was curled to perfection, falling down your shoulders, they even put on some clip-on extensions to make it look longer and fuller. Your makeup was glittery, shades of light blue and pink perfectly mixing together. But nothing compared to your two-piece dress. The top was shoulderless, making your collarbones and soulmate tattoo show up, the sleeves were as flowy as the boy’s own shirt, a beautiful shade of off-white. The skirt was long, a long tail following behind. You looked like a princess angel. You were feeling gorgeous.

As you took your steps closer to Hyungwon, the chest pain started to increase, causing you to almost fall, your vision getting blurry.

“Ahn… What is going on?” Changkyun asked, looking over to both you and Hyungwon. “It’s what I’m thinking?” you didn’t have time to ask what he was thinking when a strong body grabbed yours and dragged somewhere.

Your pain started to warm up your whole body, and suddenly it wasn’t pain anymore. It became a soothing sensation like you were home in front of a fireplace and wrapped in a warm blanket.

You slowly opened your eyes to finally see what was going on. The sight got you by surprise. Your hands were wrapped around Hyungwon ones, a tiny red string tattooed around your ring finger as well on his, Your soulmate tattoo shining as bright as ever, a new design added to it: a green straw between the lips. Your eyes trailed from your chest to the boy’s one. Under his shirt, you could see the silhouette of the same tattoo glowing.

You blinked several times, not believing that. Destiny was motherfucking crazy.

“They’re soulmates” Wonho stated the obvious, his mouth hanging open, as well as everyone else.

“I…” the words didn’t leave his mouth, he was as surprised as you. “Hm… Hi… I’m Hyungwon” he shook your intertwined hands, his eyes fitting yours.

“I’m Y/N and I think I’m your soulmate” Martha squealed behind everyone and you all turned to her.

“OH MY GOD, Y/N! YOUR SOULMATE IS YOUR BIAS!” she screamed genuinely happy for you, your cheeks and ears burning red when he turned his eyes back to you.

“No words about that right now” you said. “I need to first digest the idea that I just met my soulmate and Gosh! You’re gorgeous” he chuckled at your sudden confession.

“If I can say so myself, you as gorgeous as me… soulmate” the words felt beautifully from his lips and it all felt like a dream.

You two lifted from the ground and his arms instantly hugged you, your chests touching your tattoos, the warmth radiating from it felt like home and the phrase “home is where the heart is” never felt more right in your life.

He left the embrace, his hands gently touching your cheeks, caressing them before bringing his face close to yours to finally kiss you and seal your future together.

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zonamievents · 5 years ago

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ZoNami Summer Festival #5-6

Themes: Sleeping Under the Stars and Summer Rain Rating: K / G Word Count: 2,825 words Note: Due to a scheduling conflict, I wasn’t able to post a story for day five. Therefore, themes 5 and 6 have been combined for this chapter. Enjoy!

Hiking was something Zoro enjoyed because it broke the up his repetitive training regiment. He thought about going off on his own the moment he saw the mountainous range of the island they were going to be stopping at next. The New World was large but Luffy’s gut was larger, and restocking so soon after their last stop over made the swordsman realize that he hadn’t taken full advantage to stretch his legs last time they were docked.

Apparently, neither had their navigator.

“It’s this way,” her judgemental tone of voice caught up to him faster than her scrawny legs could carry her. “Idiot.”

Growling after enduring her lobbing insults at him all afternoon, Zoro spun around to bite back at her. “I’m not even going anywhere specifically! How can I be going the wrong way!?”

“Because if you take ten more steps through these trees, you’ll reach the edge of the island and fall into the ocean. Can’t you feel the sea breeze?” Nami wondered, sounding honestly suspicious of his capabilities if he was really about to plummet into the sea.

He could feel a vein in his forehead throbbing due to the frustration boiling up inside of him. His so-called hike through the lush jungle was more of a stroll than a hike due to his nagging guide. The entire crew voted that he bring her with him and he was forced to do so. Now, while climbing over roots and trying to find the ground through the overwhelming amount of foliage around him, all Zoro wanted to do was return to the Sunny and head straight to his gym.

Away from her.

Intentionally, hopefully unnoticeably, he had been avoiding Nami ever since their...naked swim. He didn’t know why - he wasn’t afraid of her or anything - but it was easier for him to pretend that he was paying her as little attention as possible when she...had nearly made him stand to attention the other night.

“If you have no destination, what’s the point of wandering around here? We’re lucky we haven’t been eaten alive by bugs by this point.” Said the woman in short shorts that were laced up along the sides and a stretched out band around her breasts.

Compared to her, his simple faded t-shirt and cargo shorts must have seemed much too modest. If any bugs were going to target either of them, she must have looked like a damn buffet.

“Not everyone has to walk with a destination in mind, you know. Shouldn’t a navigator like exploring?” Zoro snidely asked. Just as he surely pushed her buttons, there was a large tree branch blocking their path. It irritated him to no end that the polite thing to do was to hold the massive branch above both of their heads so they could pass through easily, and he wore his frustration plainly on his face.

As Nami walked by him, she retorted, “I do, but we’ve been ‘exploring’ for a while now and the sun is going to go down soon.” “So?” Was his answer to her concerns.

Nami eyed him, clearly miffed. “Following you placed us on the other side of the island from the Sunny and it’s--!” What he thought was going to be a lecture suddenly ended with a sharp gasp. “What?” Zoro inquired, scanning the encroaching trees and bushes to the best of his ability.

“It’s about to pour.” Nami whispered.

“Huh?”

“There’s a huge amount of rain coming. I can feel it - we only have a few minutes before it touches down. We need to find some shelter!” She shouted with a hint of worry in her tone.

Zoro shrugged off her concern easily enough. “It’s just some rain. Just because your hair’s going to get wet doesn’t mean we have to duck and cover.”

Suddenly, two fists had grabbed hold of his collar and dragged him downward a few inches until his body was hunched over. Brown eyes sat directly in front of his face, burning while she explained. “When I say it’s going to pour, I mean there’s going to be a torrential downpour. We have to find shelter right now!”

“All right!” Zoro yelled in her face. The proximity to her set him on edge more so than it ever had before, which angered him thoroughly. In the past, if she had cautioned him so strongly, he would have picked her up in his arms and ran until they found a place to wait out the storm. However, it now felt like he was encroaching on her personal space and, in doing so, forcing himself to confront something he wasn’t prepared to handle.

“C’mon!” Nami demanded when he didn’t say or do anything else. She let go of his shirt as she took the lead. Racing off, Nami chose to stop entertaining him and she took over the role of navigator once again. He was expected to follow after her until they found a shelter of some kind. It wasn’t until he heard the warning of a booming rumble of thunder overhead that Zoro realized how credible her warning was. Swiping away leaves and kicking up dirt as they ran, the two of them darted through the jungle in the hopes of finding anything remotely resembling a type of shelter.

Right when the path began to clear out somewhat, Zoro watched from behind as Nami steered herself to the right and bolted. Her sharp change in direction caused him to skid but he could only assume that the direction they were traveling in was unsafe, and she somehow knew that. The silence of their search somehow made the impending storm feel more ominous. They’d never been so awkward around each other before. Perhaps if he had simply ignored his nerves, if he had picked her up despite the urge not to, they’d at least be able to move faster on foot--

“There!” Zoro declared when he spotted something: a single layer of branches laying across a long piece of lumber, fastened to two trees that had been previously chopped down. It looked makeshift and dingy, but it was the best thing that they’d most likely find on such short notice.

“Are you crazy!?” Of course, Nami found something to complain about. “If that thing gets hit by lightning, we’ll be dead!”

“What if we don’t find anything better!?” Zoro pointed out.

“What if the person who made that comes back to find out we’re borrowing it, and they kick us out into the rain!?” Nami bellowed.

She wasn’t wrong. That was a possibility. Nevertheless, a storm was coming that put her on edge, meaning there wasn’t time for a petty squabble and calculating possibilities. “Then that’s their problem! If this thing is as bad as you think it’ll be, we can’t run around this entire jungle looking for a better option, Nami.”

She knew he was right. He saw the recognition in those incredibly expressive eyes of hers. Though it alarmed him to think that he was suddenly paying attention to her in such a vigilant way, Nami decided to accept his reasonings and dove under the plank of strapped branches. Once she was seated, Zoro felt a rather heavy splash of water smack down on the back of his neck. He ended up imitating her by diving into the shelter too.

Then, that torrential downpour she mentioned crashed down upon the jungle like it had a bone to pick with it.

Pelting the shelter with a barrage of rain drops, the constantly drumming against the wooden surface drowned out the sounds of the rest of the world.

Again, silence between them made Roronoa Zoro feel more awkward than he ever had in his entire life.

The air between their crouched bodies was thick, sizzling as if it was an attempt to convert itself into steam. The smell of the Earth being washed by the storm was usually so soothing to him that it made him wish he had entered the jungle alone, if only so he could drown at the thoughts and feelings he’d be tempering down for the past few days. Drops of rain water splashed onto his exposed toes through his sandals but he barely noticed them in comparison to the discomfort that consumed him when he was alone with Nami in the middle of nowhere for an undetermined amount of time.

Even though he wasn’t socially apt at creating small talk, he was shocked that Nami released a fake yawn, putting on a facade to manufacture a situation where talking would be impossible. “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me up when the rain has stopped.”

All Zoro had to do was glance at the ground they were sitting on to realize, “There’s no way that’ll be comfortable.” She was a prissy woman, she needed a pillow beneath her head if she was going to sleep soundly.

The look she shot him said something to the contrary though. Her inner thoughts reached him in that moment, where he heard her think to herself, ‘Nothing is more uncomfortable than this.’

By this, she meant...them.

Him.

Bashful over his inability to conquer whatever he was feeling, Zoro looked away from her as she prepared herself for her nap. It was so unnerving that a woman he’d known for so long was suddenly some sort of pariah to him. He went from placing his Wadou Ichimonji in her capable hands to resting his swords on his lap as he waited for the rain to stop. He went from being uninterested in her Happiness Punch to acting like he was frightened over her body more than he ever was scared of the monstrous Pica!

He scoffed before he realized that she might not be asleep yet. It would have been easy to be spiteful and choose not to care, however, Zoro was aware that she only came with him because she cared about his safety. For some reason, acknowledging that made his heart constrict in his chest. Even though she had badgered him the entire way, screaming at him about how inept his directional sense was, knowing that she wanted to waste her day tailing him triggered a response in him.

One that he doubt it would have triggered before.

Reacting to her naked body like this made no sense to him! He had never reacted to anyone like that before, not ever! Being apart of the Mugiwara crew had put him in some precarious situations and yet nothing lingered in his system the way that one intimate moment with Nami had. Maybe the key to it was the intimacy - a concept that was entirely foreign to him.

Would he define their promise to travel together even after his dream was achieved as intimate too? On the night of her birthday, he had promised to let her hire him when she continued to make her completed map of the entire world. She would definitely need the protection, based on the terrifying places they’d visited already in the New World. Committing however many more years to her was just a natural response. It wasn’t meant to be a marriage proposal or anything! They were all chasing their dreams, so Zoro had committed to sticking with her until she completed hers. They’d have their own separate lives after that, wouldn’t they?

A looming sensation of prophetic dread found its way into his gut and warned him that it might spend some time there.

It baffled Zoro wholeheartedly that he was reacting so strongly to the possibility that the two of them might drift apart someday. For a man who had no interest in the future that night at the Wedge, he was suddenly engrossed by the odd sensation that there could come a time when they were no longer together. Maybe it was because he always assumed that if he wasn’t with the Mugiwara crew anymore, it was because he died in battle. However, if that happened, then Nami would have no one to travel the world with.

Nami would have no one to protect her.

Now, the dread in his stomach was slowly crawling up into his chest, looking to squeeze that troubled heart of his.

Zoro couldn’t understand what on Earth was happening to him. With an unfounded amount of courage summoned, he turned to look at the woman who had been vexing him since the day he met her. Her shoulders rising and falling the way they were proved to him that she was indeed asleep, which almost impressed him. Still, when he regarded her the way he did in that moment, all he could think about was whether or not he could get a handle on what she had done to him. Would he be able to find his equilibrium and straighten it out, returning it to its former glory?

...Was there any way to do that aside from accepting that he couldn’t look at her the same way as he did before the night in the ocean?

When she wasn’t putting him down or screeching like a bat out of hell, Nami was a remarkable woman. That was something he had understood even when he only saw her as a friend. Now that the tectonic plates of his stone cold heart had shifted, Zoro couldn’t help but think of her as something greater than a crew member or a partner in crime. It was scary to recognize that. If he had been standing, he might have wobbled the same way that his self-control was.

But instead, he was sitting underneath some random shelter in the middle of a jungle, watching over Nami like it was a task he would happily take on forever.

“Hmph.” He grunted instead of laughing at himself, worried he could wake her. Maybe his crush was hyperbole that he invented because he was nearly at his breaking point of self-control when he felt her curvaceous form pressed so close to his. Perhaps he was delusional in hoping that she’d feel the same way, that she would want to explore what intimacy would be like between them. Zoro had no clue what the future meant for him now and, ironically, he suddenly couldn’t see beyond the very instant in time that he was in.

So, he watched over her with appreciation rather than the disdain he first sat down with. He waited out the storm like it was nothing more than a drizzle that passed them by. In reality, the sun went down behind the storm clouds by the time the downpour ended. Carefully, he reached through the darkness of the night and ended up patting the back of Nami’s thigh. “Hey.” “Hm?” She grumbled in her huddled form on the ground.

“Come here.” Was all he intended to say to her.

But the sleep-ridden Nami was confused by his order. Her shadowy form sat up in order to rest on her elbows just so she could vaguely see him as she whimpered a distraught, “What?”

“I said, come here. We’ won’t be heading back tonight.”

“B-But I was sleeping--”

“Just come here, dammit.” That fear he thought he vanquished reemerged when he had to face her once again. Sighing, Zoro knew he had a long way to go before he could tell her anything remotely related to how he truly felt.

As a compromise - for the sake of his pride and for her evident confusion - Zoro moved his hand over her leg until her found her hand near it on the jungle floor. He took it softly and guided her over to him. Slowly, cautiously on both of their ends, he led Nami into his lap. The clutter of their limbs made things rather awkward at first, but what else was new for them as of late? Eventually, she folded herself up in between her legs and found a comfortable place to rest her head on his chest. Right over his thundering heart.

“Mm, thank you.” Nami murmured genuinely to him. Zoro would have responded, but he could tell by the way her voice faded out that she had fallen back asleep rather quickly in his presence. Gratefully, almost too eagerly, he wrapped his arms around her body to provide her with some warmth throughout the night. Then, with nothing else to do, he leaned back against the trunk of the dismantled tree.

“Huh.” He said to no one in particular when he caught sight of some stars blinking at him through the trees that littered the jungle. With their leaves so full, it was shocking that he could spot anything beyond the branches overhead.

If they were on the Thousand Sunny, they could have had a better view.

If they were on the Thousand Sunny, he wouldn’t have had this moment.

That realization alone was enough to put a smile on his face as he finally drifted off to sleep too.

#ZoNaSummerFestival #ZoNa #ZoNami #ZoroXNami #SwordGust

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under-atomic-skies · 6 years ago

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The Crooked Kind. Ch. 3

Sleep Walking

Summary: Fiddleford is a student at Backupsmore University. He meets a stranger at a payphone and makes an unlikely friend who, unbeknownst to him, has a long, complicated relationship with his roommate. The pair become close and eventually, a romance buds between them. What could possibly go wrong? (Tags will be updated as fic is updated)

NOTE: Please check out the warnings for this chapter. It might spoil some of it, but be safe! Also, there’s some mention of prices in this chapter, and considering it’s around 1970 in this fic, I converted the price to match how much it might have been in the 70’s. I’m not entirely knowledgeable on how stuff like this works or is priced for that matter, so keep that in mind. Happy reading!

Warnings: [ sex work Negative views of sex work Explicit sexual acts

Word count: 3,756

AO3

Ch. 1 || Ch. 2 || Ch. 3 (HERE) || Ch. 4

I got a picture on the mantle piece Of the way that I thought that we’d end up But this shows no resemblance to that

When night finally fell, the students emerged from their dorms and apartments, donned in their best bar clothes. Stan envied them in a way. He wished he could be so carefree and able to put his worries out of his head in favor of having a good time with friends. But life had not dealt that hand to him, and instead of finding himself joining them, Stan would take advantage of them.

It was around 9:30 as Stan approached one of the bars he had picked out that previous morning. As he anticipated, there was a bouncer by the window. For years, he had needed a fake ID to get in, and while he still used a fake ID to keep his real name concealed, he had turned 21 last summer and was technically legally allowed into the bars now.

As he approached the large, intimidating bouncer, he flashed his ID and a grin and the man merely nodded and stoically stepped aside to allow him entry. This man was used to college kids who wanted to drink, dance, and find someone to work out their stress with. However, this was not Stan’s first time, and he wasn’t the bars average patron. He stepped closer to the bouncer and whispered under his breath, wanting to work out a deal with him. The bouncer glanced down at him, as if scrutinizing him. Luckily, with Fiddleford’s new coat on, he didn’t look nearly as seedy as he had with only a warn t-shirt and stained jacket. He gruffly nodded and motioned to another man standing just inside by the door to come over. The initial man whispered something to this new man, who also took a look at Stan before nodding and motioning for Stan to follow him.

He hadn’t noticed the tension in his shoulders until he breathed a sigh of relief, glad that this first bar was so far working out well. The man led him through the mostly empty dance floor, though the music was still loud and the lights flashed in beat with the music. It was dark in there and apart from a few people by the bars getting drinks, it was empty.

Stan understood college bars well by this point. It wasn’t until around 10 that people really started to fill the place, and by 11 it was packed, sweaty bodies rubbing and brushing against others as they danced their cares away. Stan usually preferred to get before the crowd so that he could have time to set up shop, get comfortable (i.e. prepare himself) and wait for the first customers.

The man led him past the dance floor and down a thin hallway to where the bathrooms were located. He opened the door and wordlessly pointed inside. Stan had to practically squeeze past the man to get inside, seeing as the large man didn’t leave much space for him to get through.

Once inside the bathroom, Stan turned towards the bouncer again, waiting to hear the terms of the agreement. “You can charge whatever you want, but at the end of the night, the bar gets 40% of your earnings.”

The man said it as a matter of fact and Stan understood that there was no room for negotiations. 40% was a steep price, but considering he usually made a fair amount of money, he’d let it slide. Not to mention he had his ways of pocketing more than what he was technically ‘supposed’ to.

At Stan’s nod, the man merely eyed him one more time before letting the door close. Now alone in the bathroom, Stan looked in the mirror. Luckily, most of the ‘customers’ wouldn’t see his face seeing as most of the people coming to him were just wanting to get off quickly after an unsuccessful night of chasing ladies. However, there usually were a few that weren’t shy. They wanted the full deal, so with this in mind, he made sure he at least didn’t look like complete shit (luckily, he had already shaved and washed his hair that morning for Fid-- nope, he wasn’t going to think of him here.)

It wasn’t hard to find the stall that was meant for him. It had a mark on the door and the wall that bordered another stall had a spherical hole cut into it. He let himself in and after shrugging off his coat and hanging it on the knob on the door, he turned back around. Resigning himself to wait for the first person, he closed the lid and sat on the toilet, idly twiddling his thumbs.

This part was always the worse. When the night picked up in pace, he didn’t have time to think. He just had to focus on the money he was going to make, but now that it was still early, he had plenty of time for his mind to race, wondering how he had come to this.

Making millions hadn’t seemed so hard at first. He’d been practically bursting with ideas after he had been kicked out, not to mention he’d still had the hopes and ignorance of a man who hadn’t been beaten down and trodden upon. Now nearly four years later, all of his prior ideas had one by one turned out to be dead ends. He had learned that the world wasn’t a kind place to people like him, and the hope that one day he’d earn millions so he could go back home was still stubbornly kicking, but he knew realistically that he was never going to achieve it.

Still, what else was he supposed to do? Having that goal was one of the few things that kept him going, no matter how much life threw at him. As more of his plans turned out to be busts, he steadily got more and more involved with seedy people with dangerous offers. He was a desperate man with a hopeless dream so he couldn’t turn down the offers for long.

Those offers soon found him in all sorts of dangerous situations. Colombian jungles, smuggling, selling guns, gangs, you name it, Stan’s done it. Selling himself had, oddly enough, come as a last resort. He had grown weary of always being on the run from people he owed debts to, tired of always looking over his shoulder. Selling himself had turned out to be easier than he had thought. He had lost his sense of modesty and pride a long time ago, and once that was out of the way, he had no qualms making a quick buck by offering services to desperate losers. Of course, this was true most of the time. He tried not to think of it in the daylight hours. He had cash in his pocket for gas and occasionally food, so he just blocked out how he got that money. But as he sits on the toilet seat, waiting for the first john, his mind couldn’t help but travel down the same self-deprecating path every time.

No, this was not his first time. It was far from it, but that didn’t mean it got easier.

Knowing how the night would inevitably end up, he took a moment to prepare himself. He had brought some lube in a tiny container from his car, and only needed a few moments to work himself open before sliding his pants back on.

Finally, the door creaked as someone came in. Stan watched the bottom of the door as footsteps entered into the small bathroom. He couldn’t decipher whether or not he wanted the feet to stop by his door or keep going, so when the footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked on the stall, he was indifferent.

“How much?” the man asked, voice quivering. Stan couldn’t help but feel a mixture of sympathy and relief, the later being the dominant of the two. The guy was a newbie. They had a tendency to over pay, as well as be more gentle.

“$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me,” Stan replied back, matter of fact. Hearing the person behind the door sputter, he didn’t have to see him to know what expression he had.

“Uh---I’ll just,” He must not have been able to get himself to voice his desires but instead offered a ten dollar bill under the door. Stan took it, folded it and stashed it away in his shoe.

“Alright, in this stall.” Stan replied, reaching his hand over the wall blocking off his stall from the next and pointed into the neighboring stall. He heard the man shuffle his feet before closing and locking the door behind him.

“What do I d-- oh.” the man replied, apparently just noticing the hole between the stalls. Letting out an exhale, Stan could hear the sound of a zipper and the soft ruffle of clothing before the john inserted his cock into the hole. It took all of his self-restraight to not sigh. The one downside of newbies was that they had a tendency to be loud and come fast. That made the job easier on him, but could also be frustrating after a while.

Stan turned on the toilet seat, finally looking at the poor john. He could see his shoes under the wall and knew from their slight tremble that he was nervous. He wasn’t hard, not that Stan expected him to be, but Stan would fix that.

Hands cupping as close to the base as the wall would allow, he guided the man's cock into his open mouth. After that initial movement, he moved as if on autopilot. He barely thought of what he was doing anymore, now way more practiced then he would like to admit. Soon the sound of Stan’s slurps (hearing them always made himself feel even worse about selling himself) was chorused by the other man's loud, poorly constrained moans. He knew that the other movement he was hearing was the man moving against the wall, maybe gripping the roof of it desperately, and that thought at least gave Stan some small sense of pride that he could at least do this well.

The man was hard now, which made Stan’s job easier. At this point, he lost himself again, focusing on his task. In moments like these, time seemed to stretch on, making the task more arduous. Luckily for him, the man was obviously not used to this kind of sensation, and the sound of his strangled moan broke Stan’s train of thought, warning him not a moment too soon as the man came, spurting cum into Stan’s mouth. Milking the man through his orgasm, his breathy gasps only increased until Stan retracted his mouth with a ‘pop’. When it came to his first ‘customer’, he always made sure to do especially well, seeing as the man might possibly spread the word to other potential customers. Stan shuttered silently as he swallowed. The guy on the other side was still panting, but was already tucking himself back into his pants.

“Uh.. thanks.” The john replied hesitantly, obviously not knowing what or if there was protocol for this kind of thing.

“Sure thing,” Stan grunted out, voice harsher now from the abrasions against the walls of his throat.

The man left and soon enough the stream of customers increased. Stan’s night followed pretty much in the same way that first man had. College kids were green. Many of them just wanted to get off, and the alcohol in their system allowed them to make the bad decision to fork over their money to some faceless man on the other side of the bathroom stall. Stan’s jaw got more and more sore as the night went on, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He reminded himself of the steadily growing wad of cash he was stuffing into his shoes and he forgot about the jaw pain.

A few hours later, the night was finally winding down. Customers were still coming in, but the amount had decreased. Stan wiped his sleeve across his jaw, wiping away what was left of his saliva and his latest customers cum when he heard a heavier set of footsteps come into the room.

There was another knock at the door, “How much?” the voice asked, voice much deeper than any of the others so far. Somehow it made Stan’s gut coil in apprehension. He had been able to get off mostly lucky; newbys only wanted to have their cock sucked. This guy didn’t sound like no newby.

He repeated his mantra, “$10 for a blow job, $30 to fuck me.”

Waiting with bated breath, his gut sunk as the man offered a twenty dollar bill under the stall door. Gulping, Stan silently took a deep inhale to steady himself. He took the bill, pocketed and unlocked the door, revealing a tall, burly man. He certainly wasn’t no college kid. Word that he was there must have gotten around town. The man's lips curled into a smirk.

“Well aren’t you just a cute little bitch.” he replied, closing the door behind him. Thank God he was practiced enough to not let his apprehension show through. Instead, his eyes lowered, looking up at the man with lustful, lidded eyes.

The mans hands moved up, grasping his jaw tightly and angling it up towards his face more as his other hand moved to undo his fly. “Drop em, whore.”

His hands around his jaw dropped in favor of tugging his pants down enough so his dick could be pulled out. His expressionless gaze continued to watch as Stan dropped his pants, meanwhile his hand curled around his cock, pumping himself until he was erect. Stan’s gaze dropped to the man's dick and gulped. He was going to be sore after this.

“Turn around,” The man demanded. Stan mentally was glad that he had taken the time to prepare himself whilst waiting for customers earlier in the night. He could only help that he was still ready. He did as the man said and turned around. Before he had time to bend down, the man’s hand tangled in his hair and thrust him forward until he was practically gripping the toilet. Stan’s hands came to grip the sides of the bowl, trying not to think about how dirty this bars bathroom was.

The man’s cock brushed up against his hole, and Stan couldn’t help himself as he let out a needy moan. It was times like this where he didn’t entirely hate what he did. He pressed back towards the man ever so slightly, silently begging him. This earned a harsh laugh.

“You desperate already, slut?” he said, guiding his dick to teasingly circle his hole, earning another whine from Stan, “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re yelling by the time I’m done with you.”

With that promise on his lips, he thrusted into Stan, fast and hard, forcing his way into Stan’s hole until he bottomed out. Stan jerked forward, closer to the toilet bowl with a gasp at the strength of the man’s thrust. He scrambled for purchase on the bowl as the man’s hands gripped his hips like vices and began pounding into him, sliding almost all the way out before thrusting back in. Stan gasped loudly, each thrust forcing him to scramble for purchase on the toilet.

The erotic sounds of their coupling filled the empty bathroom, Stan’s needy gasps, and the man's own gruff grunts. He grabbed a fistful of Stan’s long hair and tugged it, forcing Stan’s head to angle backwards, exposing his neck as the man continued to pound into his hole. By this point, Stan was also hard himself, and his neglected dick was dripping with need.

“Let me hear you, whore.” The man whispered as he leaned close. His breath ghosted over Stan’s earlobe and he couldn’t hold back any more. Each thrust was punctuated by a loud moan. Stan’s hand moved towards his cock, but the man stilled his hand.

“You gotta beg for it.” he growled back. Stan wasted no time. He begged and pleaded with the stranger, begging for him to be able to touch himself, he needed it so bad. Deciding he was pleased by this, he released his hand. Stan instantly curled his hand around his cock, stroking in time to the man’s thrusts, his moans growing louder. As the man continued to fuck into his hole, Stan’s thoughts drifted, imagining someone else behind him, someone a lot smaller and whos voice had a southern twang to it. He imagined this man would be more sensual, whispering words of how good he was, how hot he was into his ears. As if he could hear those words, he let out a particularly loud moan.

Within a few moments, the mans thrusts sped up, losing its normal rhythm. Stan knew he was going to cum soon, so the hand on his cock sped up.

With one, final deep thrust, the man came deep within Stan with a loud grunt. He continued to move though, subtly milking himself as he rode out his orgasm. Stan could feel the sensation of the warm cum filling him and with a few more strokes, came as well, shooting ropes of cum across the closed toilet seat.

The two were still for a moment, just merely panting from the task. Finally, the man pulled out with a wet sound and grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself up. He tucked himself into his pants, and without a final word, turned and left, leaving Stan bent over the toilet, cum dripping from his hole.

After a few moments, he straightened up on shaky legs and retrieved some toilet paper to wipe up his own mess. He could tell he was going to be sore by the next day, but now that he was alone to himself, he thought back to just a few moments before.

Had he… had he really imagined that it was Fiddleford who had been fucking him? That imagining the sweet southern man fucking into him had made him moan louder than the actual man who had done so? He didn’t know what to make of the whole situation, his thoughts merely traveling around in circles wondering when did he start thinking of his new friend-- not even that, acquaintance-- in such a way? Surely if Fiddleford knew the truth about him, he wouldn’t want to even be associated with him.

His thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, until finally, the door opened. He half feared it would be another customer to add to his inner turmoil, but instead he heard the bouncers voice. “Bar’s closed.”

Stan sighed thankfully and stood up, wincing as he did so. He shrugged the jacket back on and unlocked the door. He came out to greet the bouncer, who looked at him with a face of disgust. Silently, he extended a hand, obviously expecting him to fork over the bars share of his profits. He pulled out his wad of cash, thankful that he had hidden a few bills in his coat pocket. He counted out the money before forking over the 40% (though in actuality, it was more like 25-30%) he owed the bar. The bouncer pocketed the cash and motioned to the door.

“Scram.”

Stan didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled out the door and back to the street, yet again thankful that he actually had a real winter coat to wear. It was even colder than it had been the following night. He quickly retreated to his car, parked in the familiar parking lot, to count his earnings. After pulling out all the cash from his jacket and shoes, he had close to around $300. It wasn’t a bad night, especially considering he only was fucked once. This should hopefully be able to buy him gas, food, and maybe even a motel room whilst he was here. Hell, maybe tomorrow, he’d treat Fiddleford to a cup of coffee if he was feeling generous enough.

He tucked the money into a safe place and leaned his car seat back, wincing as he leaned back down against the seat. Hopefully he wouldn’t still be too sore when he saw Fiddleford tomorrow.

He tried to ignore that he had been thinking about the kind man in such a way. He felt dirty. What he did was already dirty by most people's standards, but thinking about the man who had shown him more kindness in a day then he had received in the past four years? It made him feel lower than low.

Unable to help himself, and having masochistic tendencies when down, he pulled down the sun visor from the roof of his car, revealing the photo he had taped to it. Fingers gently traced the shapes of the worn images, looking at the smiling faces of two boys. They had been so innocent back then. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for breaking that damn machine, even if it hadn’t been intentional. If he hadn’t been such a fuck up, Ford would have never missed his shot to go to his dream school, and Stan would have never been kicked out of the house.

Distantly, Stan wondered what Ford was up to now. No doubt, he probably had been able to get into another school. His Ma tried to tell him about Ford sometimes on the phone, but Stan always tuned her out, not wanting to think about how he wasn’t apart of his brothers life anymore. He told himself that one day, he would make millions of dollars so he could make it up to his family and come home. He just-- he just needed to wait for a break.

He closed the visor with one last look at his twin and sighed. It was a good thing Stanford couldn’t see how low his brother had gotten. He doubted Stanford would even want to look at him if he knew what Stan had to do in order to survive. But luckily, Stanford would never find out. Once he made his millions and apologized to Ford, he’d never have to think about what he had to do ever again.

He could leave this all in the past; he just had to be patient and keep working towards his goal.

#the crooked kind #ch. 3 #gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fan fic #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #stan pines #stanley pines #stanford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #fiddlestan #ford pines

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studpuffin · 6 years ago

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The World As We Know It: Chapter 4

Read on AO3

Eddie stared at his hands, looking at the blood flaking off. He curled his fingers, watching it crack against his skin.

“Eddie…”

Bev’s voice sounded far away like he was hearing her under water.

“Eddie sweetheart? Hey look at me,” Bev touched his cheek, guiding him to look up at her, “You need to wash it off, Eddie. You don’t know if he could be…” she broke off, biting her lip and looking away.

The word infected hangs in the air between them, but all of them are too scared to say it out loud. None of them wanted to think about it what would happen if one of them were to be infected. None of them even knew how it spread.

Eddie nodded, “I know I need to. I just…” he looked up at Bev, “This is all I have left of him.”

Bev gave him a small smile and shook her head, “No...no. He’s in here,” she lay her hand on his chest, “You know he is.”

Eddie nodded. It had been almost two days since Bill’s death, and Eddie had barely spoken to anyone since lighting the shed on fire. Bev had found them a secluded spot in what use to be an old campsite just outside of Bangor, and had been ecstatic to discover that the showers still worked. Which is how they ended up in the situation they were in now. Eddie laying on a bench with Bev crouched next to him, trying to gently coax him into the shower.

“Come on Eddie. Please? Gotta stay clean to keep out the infections right?” She played with his hair gently.

He nodded again, sitting up and dragging himself off the bench. He shuffled into the bathroom, bumping into Richie, jumping slightly and looking up. Richie looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and his skin looked paler than usual. His nails were bitten down to nubs.

“Eds…”

Eddie looked down again, focusing intensely on his shoes.

“Eddie come on please talk to me…” Richie whispered, laying a hand on his shoulder, “I...Eds please?”

Eddie looked up, eyes raking over Richie’s face. He looked so scared and lonesome and it made Eddie’s heart ache. He missed Richie, even though they had been with each other constantly for the last 72 hours. He missed having time alone with Richie. Slowly, he moved as if to touch Richie’s cheek, but froze, seeing his hand still covered in dried blood hovering next to Richie’s pale cheek. He dropped his hand, and gave Richie a small, but genuine smile.

“Let me shower ok? Gotta wash this off,” He gestured to his hands, “But we’ll talk ok?” he stood on his tip toes and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth, “We’ll talk.”

The look of relief and bliss that Richie gave him lifted some of the weight from Eddie’s chest. Not all of it. Not by a long shot.

But it’s enough. Enough for him to get in the shower. Enough for him to scrub the blood off his hands. Enough for him to start to breathe a little easier.

Eddie dug around in his backpack, pulling out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He slipped into his clothes and pulled on his sneakers before slowly heading out into the dimming evening sun. Richie was sitting there waiting for him, staring out into the woods. He was smoking a cigarette and looked so fucking beautiful that it made Eddie’s heart ache.

“Thought you quit those things,” he whispered, sitting down next to him on the bench.

Richie just shrugged, “Figured what’s the point anymore. It’s not like living a long life is really in my future now.”

“Don’t say that,” Eddie snapped, “Don’t you fucking dare,” he took Richie’s free hand between both of his own and rest his head on his shoulder, “I don’t know what I’d do if you died,” He whispered, “I... l-” he broke off, took a steadying breath and started again, “I love you Rich.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t love me Eds,” his voice still sounded wrecked and raw, “I’m a fucking murderer remember? You should be fucking disgusted by me.”

“You’re not a murder.”

“I killed two people in the last 72 hours. What the fuck else would I be?” he snapped, flicking some of the ash of his cigarette, dark eyes following it’s path to the dirt, “I’m scared Eds,” he looked over at him, “I’m scared that whatever makes these monsters...I’m scared that I’m already one. Doesn’t it scare you? That I’m willing to kill for you?” his voice shook a little.

And that was the thing. It should have scared Eddie shitless to see Richie like that. It should have made him sick to his stomach. He should be angry and scared and terrified.

“No. It doesn’t scare me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m willing to die for you,” Eddie met his gaze and felt his skin tingle, “I love you Richie. So fuck what’s smart or right anymore.”

Richie flicked his cigarette out, and pulled Eddie into his lap, “I love you too Eddie. In case you needed further confirmation of that.”

Even though he really didn’t, it was nice to hear anyway. Eddie curled his fingers loosely into Richie’s curls and pulled him close, kissing him softly, smiling a little as Richie kissed back. Eddie let himself enjoy the moment, memorizing the slide of Richie’s tongue against his own, the feeling of long, callused fingers lacing with his smaller ones. Even though they were fairly out in the open, he felt safe. Their campsite was far off the path. They had food. Running water. They could stay here, at least for a couple days to catch their breath.

And he was kissing Richie.

And then a stab of guilt wormed its way into his chest. It didn’t feel fair. He still had Richie. Both of them had escaped the last few days relatively unscathed while Mike was pretty beat up, Bill was dead and Stan, Bev, and Ben were all dealing the trauma of watching one of their best friends shoot a guy in the stomach.

Eddie pulled back from Richie with a jerk, “It isn’t fair.”

“What isn’t fair Eds?” Richie murmured, leaning in to capture his lips again.

“We can’t be together Rich,” he whispered, “It’s not fair to Stan…”

“Stan has Mike.”

“But Bill was-”

“No they ALL were,” Richie gave him a pointed look and a little nod down the hill to where Mike and Stan were sitting curled together under a tree next to the car. Stan was gripping Mike’s hand, and he looked close to tears again as he said something they couldn’t hear.

“They would be together if I saved him,” Eddie whispered.

“Eddie…” Richie cupped his face so Eddie was looking at him, “Baby come on. Don’t blame yourself for that. There was nothing you could have done.”

“You don’t know that Richie. There’s blood on my hands. My best friend’s blood. My brother’s blood,” he shook his head “I could have done more. I could have found a way…”

“Eddie, you said it yourself, you’re not a fucking surgeon,” Richie pulled him closer, “And just because you were going to be premed next year doesn’t make you qualified, physically or mentally, to start ripping through someone’s body because you had a hunch you could save him if you did something differently. His lungs were ruptured Eds. There’s nothing any of us could have done.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, “I guess so…”

“You did everything you could. No one blames you Eds…”

Eddie nodded, pushing off Richie’s lap, “I need to talk to him. To Stan.” he whispered.

Richie nodded, “And Eds?” he grabbed his hand.

“Yeah?”

“No more breakup talk ok? You’re kinda all I’ve got going for me right now,” he had the familiar teasing tone in his voice, but Eddie could see the fear in his eyes.

Eddie smiled and leaned over to peck his lips softly, “No more break up talk. Promise.”

Eddie settled on the ground next to Stan and squeezed his arm gently, “Hey…”

Stan didn’t look up at him, “Hey.”

“Stan...Stan, I’m so sorry,” Eddie whispered, “I wish I could have saved him. You know I did everything I could. You know that right?”

Stan looked up at him, “I know. I know you did,” he took Eddie’s hand gently, “I know you did everything you could.”

“Are you mad?” Eddie whispered.

“No. I’m sad. Heartbroken. But I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself for not staying and helping. Had I been there...I could have done something if I wasn’t such a goddamn coward,” he whispered.

“Hey no,” Eddie grabbed his hand, “You were scared. It’s natural to be scared…” he hugged him tightly, “It’s not your fault,” he promised, pulling Stan closer, “It’s no one’s fault.”

Stan buried his face in Eddie’s neck, “It’s no one’s fault.” he repeated, curling in closer.

Eddie nodded, “You gonna be ok?” he rubbed Stan’s back gently, smiling a little when he felt him nod, “Good.”

Mike sat down from where he had been leaning against a tree on Stan’s other side and put an arm around him, “Eddie...I wanna say thank you.”

Eddie blinked in surprise, “Thank me? For what?”

Mike squeezed his hand, “When he was...When Bill was dying,” he whispered, taking a shaky breath, “You were the one who jumped into action to try to save him. You were the one who wanted to bury him. You were the one brave enough to do what had to be done in that moment,” he cupped Eddie’s cheek gently, “No one blames you, you got that? No one blames you for what happened to Bill. Least of all Stan and me.”

And finally, Eddie let himself do what he had been too afraid to do for past week.

He started to cry. Body shaking, heaving sobs. For his mother, for Bill, for the countless other innocent people who were dead and dying all around them. For Richie, who’s never-ending optimism and energy was getting weaker and weaker by the day. For Bev and Ben who were holding it together so well for the rest of them even though they both were grieving immensely themselves.

And selfishly, he cried for himself and for the life he was never going to get to live.

Hands covering her mouth. Hands pulling at her clothes and knocking her to the ground. Cold fingers closing around her throat with nails that dug into her skin.

Bev gasped, sitting up from where she had fallen asleep next to the van. She let her head fall back against the cool metal as she attempted to catch her breath. She shivered slightly, pulling one of Ben’s sweatshirts from her bag and pulling it on. She stood slowly, still desperately trying to push the memories of where she had been before Mike, Bill, and Ben had found her. She sat down next to Richie where he was building a campfire.

“Hey Ditchie,” she smiled a little, bumping her shoulder with his. As much as she tried to sound casual, her voice came out tight and strained, like those cold hands were still clamped down around her throat.

Richie looked up, “Hey Levie,” he rocked back off his feet, landing on his butt next to her, “You look like hell on roller skates.”

“Not like you look any better,” she shot back easily, taking his hand in hers, “You got a smoke?”

“Like you need to ask,” he reached into his jacket pocket, “Stole basically the whole display stand from Keene’s before we booked it,” he passed her one and his zippo, “Not like he’s gonna miss ‘em.”

“Wow theft and murder,” she grinned, “Workin’ your way down the list?”

Richie snorted, “Something like that. Kinda pissed Eds beat me to the punch with arson.”

“Nah you’ll still get your chance at arson for sure. What about grand theft auto? We’ll probably need a car eventually,” She was barely holding back her giggles. She looked up locking eyes with Richie and suddenly they were both doubled up with laughter, laying side by side in the dirt. Richie rolled onto his side and squeezed her hand.

“Hey, Bevs.”

“Hi, Richie.”

He smiled, “Thanks.”

She shrugged, “In the normal world I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Shit, you’re the one who got upset when Bill killed that spider.”

“It wasn’t bothering anyone! He was just being a chicken,”

“The point is,” she cuddled closer to him, “I know that in the real world, in our real lives that we were supposed to get, you would never have done those things. You did it to save someone you love.”

Richie nodded, letting the sounds of the woods settle around them.

“Do you miss him?”

“Of course I miss him,” Bev’s voice was small, “He saved my life you know. When the outbreak started.”

Richie shook his head “I had no idea…”

She nodded, “Pulled two of them off me after he and Ben came looking for me,” she whispered, “I loved him. I loved him so much Rich,” she murmured, “He was one of my best friends. Anything I needed he was there for me. He was always so...when we were kids before I met the rest of you, he was the only guy who treated me like I was just a girl. Not something to fuck.”

Richie nodded, “I miss him too. When Stan and I weren’t in the same class in first grade, he was the one who came to talk to me. He’s the reason I know Eddie,” Richie smiled, “I loved him too. Probably too much when I was a kid.”

They lay there quietly watching the flames from the campfire lick upwards towards the darkened sky, wrapped, momentarily, in the warmth of comfortable silence

The six of them sat curled around the campfire, eating partially warmed canned spaghetti, and they all collectively seemed to be breathing a little easier, although it was impossible not to notice the presence that was missing from their group.

“I have an idea,” Richie suddenly stood and sprinted towards the car.

“That’s dangerous,” Stan mumbled, picking at his food.

“Have faith in me, Stan!” Richie called over his shoulder as he rummaged through the trunk. With a small cheer, he pulled back, holding a glass bottle filled with a dark amber liquid. He plopped down between Bev and Eddie, uncapping it and taking a hearty sip.

“Richie...it isn’t safe,” Stan cautioned, “We have to be ready to move at a moments notice and I don’t think we should be-”

“Stan,” Richie cut in, “One sip is not going to kill you. It’s been a long fucking week. We’re safe here. Deserve it.”

Stan looked like he wanted to argue back but then softened, “Give it here then,” he mumbled, “Where did you even get it?”

“All part of my master criminal image Stan the Man.”

“Richie you’re about as edgy as a butter knife,” Eddie teased, smiling as Richie pulled him into his arms and passed him the bottle.

Once the bottle had made its way around the circle, Richie picked it up and poured as shot out into the fire, making them all jump as the flames leaped upwards, “For Bill,” he whispered somberly.

A chorus of “For Bill echoed around the fire, and as they silence fell, they all could have sworn they heard a familiar voice whisper back to them through the dark.

Tag list: @tinyarmedtrex @dyslexictozier @sunflowertozier @richietoaster @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @totaltozier @richardxtozier @reddie-for-anything @aizeninlefox @reddiepop @oldguybones @its-stranger-than-you-think @yallreddieforthis @richardtoz @alocalsuburbanmom

#reddie #reddie fan fiction #reddie fanfic #readdie fanfiction #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #The World As We Know It

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memorylang · 4 years ago

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February’s Holidays in America | #50 | February 2021

Been feeling great! 2O2I goes well for me. I’m excited to have received more word from the Peace Corps that they’ll be in touch when they have a final timeline for reinstatement. Till then, I’m savoring my weeks still stateside.

February 2O2I encompasses many holidays, including Lunar New Year, U.S. Presidents’ Day, St. Valentine’s Day and Ash Wednesday. Some Americans may consider the Super Bowl a holiday, too! (Ah, if only Kansas City could make lightning strike twice this year.) Anywho, this month’s tales are on how I’ve spent my holidays. I’m ecstatic to have gotten in another national parks trip!

Lunar New Year 2O2I

I begin these tales from Lunar New Year’s. (I’ll double back to recount January adventures toward the end of my tales in this blog story.) This year, my LA sister who was in wanted to celebrate the Lunar New Year with more activity, so she’d returned to Vegas, she decorated, we wore red, and we cooked.

We made dumplings and 包子 /bāozi/, which were tasty. I enjoyed getting to show my sister how Mom had shown me how to pinch them. I remembered too cooking with my Mongol host family two summers ago. This year, our older brother and his girlfriend came over to celebrate, as well as a couple of my sister’s friends.

This year’s Year of the Ox is my zodiac year. It’s the first one I remember, since in that year when I’d turned 12, I’d been still adjusting to life in Vegas after having moved from Indiana with my family the year before. Here in 2O2I, though, at what was midnight in China, I called our relatives over WeChat. We chatted briefly in Chinese and English. Many got confused about which of my sisters was which, which amused me. I felt glad to have gotten to reconnect.

For the rest of my friends and relatives, I shared photos from Tsagaan Sar 2O2O. Last year, I hadn’t posted much amid hastily packing as a Peace Corps Volunteer to evacuate Mongolia. This year’s been calmer.

Later that Lunar New Year’s Day, I and my national parks friends like Victor Del Valle embarked on a new adventure, this time to Utah’s sites. Having my driver’s license felt empowering.

The Mighty Five

By our trip’s end, I’d reach 14 national parks! I look forward to getting to share these experiences with folks abroad who want to visit the States.

On Friday, our first day, my friends and I visited Canyonlands National Park then Dead Horse Point State Park. I enjoyed seeing the canyons within canyons. Since the Wednesday before was a virtual high school reunion, I decided to wear my ol’ student council shirt.

That night we checked into this awesome and affordable place, the “Rustic Inn” in Moab, Utah. I recommend it to anyone coming through the city. It was so fantastic that I wrote a Yelp review.

On Saturday, we reached Arches National Park early, standing below the iconic Delicate Arch before rain picked up. Despite the cold wind and rain, I loved the hike to the Double O Arches. The trek involved rock scrambling what I call the ‘rock vault’ and walking across elevated slabs that I consider the ‘train cars.’ On rock scrambles, I felt like Spider-Man. Across the elevated slabs, I felt like Violet Evergarden or Captain America. We’d taken so many cool photos that day that my recap post for social media contained numerous photos from Arches.

For the Feast of St. Valentine, that Sunday, Feb. 14, my aunt who’d visited last summer had mailed ahead candy. Her gift was a pleasant surprise. Coincidentally on that Sunday, my friends and I saw Capitol Reef, to which she’d taken me last summer. But, my friends and I entered from a different side than when I’d seen with my relative. My friends and I also hiked to Cassidy Arch, along a remarkable trail that I hadn’t seen on our first trip. Though I first overshot the destination by a half-mile, I enjoyed the sights! That arch reminded me of Sedona’s Devil’s Bridge.

"A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one”

On Monday, my friends and I had meant just to see Bryce Canyon but fate had other plans. Winter snow and ice limited our Bryce options such that after experiencing its safe sites we went to Zion. Still, we enjoyed the Dr. Seuss-like sound of “hoodoos” and questions like, “What do the hoodoos do when who doesn’t?”

Zion felt like Disney, with its wonders at every turn. I’d never seen rock formations like those of the park. Its overlook path, which my friends insisted wasn’t even one of its best hikes, blew my mind. I wish that we’d had more time to see Zion. Our time was short. I resolved to return someday.

Up next is Redwood National Park in a few months! I’m so excited. Redwood was one of the first national parks of which I’d heard when I was young in Indiana reading about California. I hope that those tall trees are amazing indeed.

From 2O2I’s First Week

Presidents’ Day made my friends’ and my trip possible this month. So, in honor of Presidents’ Day, I want to share some January 2O2I experiences with its major event, Inauguration Day! With all that led to it, this year’s was one to remember.

I kick off my Inauguration Day stories with Wed., Jan. 6, an especially tense day for Americans. That morning, I’d been still in Reno, having arrived to ring in the New Year. That Wednesday, my folks and I were following results from the Georgia run-off election. Georgian friends said not to hold my breath. Well, I felt amazed to see that the two Democrats won.

But later that day, when I and my D.C. friend were to begin our usual 3 p.m. EST video call on my week’s Bible readings, we began with a different conversation. She asked me if I’d heard about what was happening at the Capitol Building. I hadn’t. She said that police were trying to protect Congresspeople from rioters who’d broken in—American rioters.

I hadn’t imagined that day that I’d be praying for the safety of our leaders, but I felt moved to do so. I tried not to let the news get to me, too much. I hoped that things would sort themselves out. I’d underestimated.

“What a year this month has been”

The next Monday, Week 45 (Jan. 8–15), I felt a bit ashamed to try explaining to my group of Mongols learning English about the U.S. Capitol events. I wasn’t certain about the facts, beyond that rioters opposed the certification of our November election’s results. Ultimately, I suspected that the media had overplayed the drama of the events. Still, I felt ashamed that not outsiders but American citizens had attacked our own Capitol.

That week’s Sunday, I also attended and later spoke at a Zoom service in remembrance of my late supervisor, Rich Siegel, co-chair of the Honors Community Advisory Board for which I’m secretary. Many on the call wondered what that man, a champion of the American Civil Liberties Union, would have thought about the violence at the Capitol. He would surely have condemned it. After our service, I spoke briefly in gratitude for Rich’s mentorship. A woman at the service contacted me with thanks for sharing my experiences with him.

On a later week, my English-language learners in Mongolia asked me to weigh in about my trust in the election results. I explained my usual position that I tend to believe whatever our courts conclude about the security of our processes. Our courts declared the election secure, so I trusted our results. Regarding America’s Capitol riots, to my amazement, my Mongol friends compared them to moments in Mongolia’s young democratic history of riots outside of their parliament building and leaders resigning. I felt strangely comforted by similarities.

Inauguration Day

At last came Wednesday, Jan. 2O. I was back in Vegas, glued to the telly from dawn till dusk. This was the first Inauguration Day I could recall when I wasn’t in school, so I decided that I’d watch the whole thing. By that day, I’d also finished much of the yard work and had even gotten halfway through the “Kafka on the Shore” book to which I’d been listening.

On Inauguration Day, I kept downstairs with a Snuggie, sitting in a soft rocking chair with a space heater between me and the TV. I set the telly to a channel showing four stations at once—this time showing CNN, FOX, MSNBC and the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies (JCCIC). I liked most the JCCIC broadcast since its hosts sounded passionate about our inaugural setting, having usually given tours of the Capitol. Commentators felt delighted that despite the violence just two weeks earlier, the area was safe and secure now.

I felt a little disappointed to learn that President Trump had decided not to attend the inauguration, instead taking off quietly from Washington. I’d loved seeing U.S. Presidents Clinton, Bush and Obama gathered. I hope that in the future, Trump stands among them as a fellow past leader of our great nation.

Inauguration

As President-elect Biden and VP-elect Harris arrived, I felt moved. I remembered my time as a young journalist reporting live during Election Night, November 2OI6. Seeing our new administration arrive in January 2O2I, I remembered the faces of people, many of color, who had felt saddened half a decade prior.

Though I live in Vegas, I wasn’t expecting to enjoy much Lady Gaga’s performance of the national anthem. Generally, I’m not that interested in her music. Well, I felt awed. I found her rendition of our anthem among the most moving versions that I’ve heard. She performed in ways like a guide on our nation’s musical journey.

In terms of speeches, I enjoyed hearing Rev. Dr. Sylvester Beaman bring to light important issues of diverse communities and felt blown away by the poet Amanda Gorman. Her words resonated powerfully. Her references to “Hamilton” were wonderful, too. That the Biden-Harris administration had given the green light to this magnificent speaker of my generation gave great hope.

Inauguration Night

I spent the rest of Inauguration Day texting friends as I watched the feeds on traditional Day 1 activities of new U.S. presidents. I especially loved watching that afternoon the Biden-Harris administration’s first press conference. We’re returning to transparency.

That evening, I saw the virtual concert commemorating our day. I enjoyed seeing talks and performances by Bon Jovi, Foo Fighters, Yo-Yo Ma, Broadway stars and John Legend. New to me yet delightful still were “Better Days (feat. Justin Timberlake)” by Ant Clemons and “Colors” by Black Pumas. Our sun set on what felt for many a renewed nation.

I didn’t see much other inauguration coverage besides a James Corden treat. He’d made a parody of “One Day More,” which I showed many. I found its lines, “What a year this month has been,” and, “Politics are dull again,” so comical.

As days went on, I felt delighted to see Dr. Fauci on TV looking far more chipper than during preceding weeks. I felt amused by Stephen Colbert’s return to jesting about political norms instead of contested facts. Thus our world turns.

Back to Reno

After my Week 49 (Feb. 11–16) Mighty Five Utah parks trip with my friends, I returned from Vegas to Reno. That Tues., Feb. 16, I got to drive the hundred miles from Tonopah, Nev., to Hawthorne, Nev.! I felt delighted. Seeing the sunset while listening to my friend’s party music evoked joy in possibilities of where I can go and what I can do in life.

The next day, Feb. 17, was Ash Wednesday. That day I returned to my college parish since I’ve been singing for this year’s virtual “Living Stations of the Cross” production. Revisiting the parish and chatting with our staff returned to mind among my favorite undergrad experiences. Meanwhile, our student coordinators have worked so hard to make their office into a recording studio. I look forward to sharing our performance video when it goes live this Lenten season.

With Ash Wednesday as the first day of the season’s fasting, I had a bagel and tea for breakfast then water throughout the day. That evening, after a series of delightful meetings, I saw a long-time friend when he had a moment free. The homie was Darren Dang, one I’d met when we’d lived in the same residence hall, fall 2OI5.

That afternoon, Darren and I visited Roberto’s Taco Shop down the street, where we caught up like we’d done a couple years ago, before I’d graduated the University. COVID causes weird circumstances, but we make the most of them. Coincidentally, I’d reconnected too with a mutual friend, through a Pokémon GO group chat when I’d asked what I’d need to do to complete the week’s challenge.

My friend wished me Happy Lunar New Year in a traditional Vietnamese greeting! I enjoyed that greatly. I knew informal New Year’s greetings in Mandarin and Mongolian, so I said those in exchange. Seeing long-time friends warms my soul.

Lent 2O2I

Later this February marks the first anniversary since I learned that I’d evacuated from Mongolia. So by the time I next blog, I’ll have been back in America for a year. Expect March tales to feature my reflections. I’m coming back to Vegas in March to see off my LA sister before she moves for work in Seattle!

The rest of February, I mean to focus on singing for the church production and revising my research for resubmission by early March. I’ve enjoyed seeing WandaVision while not working. My language and outreach projects continue.

This Lent I've also resumed my habit of praying a rosary a day in addition to daily walks and stretches. I've added, too, Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer. Let me know if you'd like to pray with me! For now, I leave you with this copy of the text that I’d found cited on Wikipedia (195I):

God, give me grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed, Courage to change the things which should be changed, and the Wisdom to distinguish the one from the other.

Living one day at a time, Enjoying one moment at a time, Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace, Taking, as Jesus did, This sinful world as it is, Not as I would have it, Trusting that You will make all things right, If I surrender to Your will, So that I may be reasonably happy in this life, And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

Amen.

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

#Peace Corps #Mongolia #nationalparks #memorial #WithMe #COVID-19 #Zion #Nevada #Coronavirus #lunarnewyear #news #winter #inauguration #Utah #USA #memoryLang #God #Catholic #story #memoir

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