#did I go on a very long walk yesterday specifically to finish the last several episodes in one go? you can't prove anything!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redhairedwolfwitch · 2 years ago

Text

Secret Sweetheart - Ana-Maria Crnogorčević x Reader

A/n: Because who doesn't love AMC? Also I've basically been dangling this fic in front of @lostinwoso for a while now but I finally finished it and started working on the sequel before the final yesterday... enjoy!

///

No more dating teammates. That was what Ana decided after her last break-up.

Walking towards the door that opened out onto the path to the training pitch, Ana was not expecting to catch one of her teammates in her arms as they stumbled backwards. Her hands on your hips to steady you, Ana couldn’t help but smell a sweet citrus scent as you twisted in her arms, your hands on her shoulders momentarily before you gave the Swiss woman a sweet smile.

Your sweet smile was contradicted by the mischievousness in your eyes however, as you headed away, secretly plotting how to get back at Patri later.

The citrus scent soon faded as Ana was snapped out of her haze by the door opening behind her, revealing a confused Leila who was wondering why Ana was blocking the door.

“What are you doing?” Leila enquired, but you were long gone, so Ana looked like she was just blocking the door for no reason, the Swiss woman shrugging at Leila before the Spaniard hooked an arm around her shoulders, heading towards the training pitch together.

She might sound ridiculous but there was something about the way you smelled like baked goods that had Ana intrigued. Did you live near a bakery? You didn’t, but you kept your secret to yourself.

Even when sweet treats started appearing in the canteen, these specific treats had been cleared by the dietary staff. Your teammates adored the banana bread that was left one day, then a few weeks later, somehow brownies had gotten approved by the staff (they had beetroot in, although nobody could tell).

Then one training after a UWCL group stage game, muffins appeared. Teammates none the wiser, they didn’t even notice how you never tried any of the healthy treats, but the pieces were slowly falling into place for the Swiss national player.

You smelt like ground spices one morning as you arrived at morning training. The aroma immediately catching Ana’s attention, she didn’t mean to let her eyes linger as you went to change into your training gear, but the playfully confused look as you glanced up from tying your laces didn’t go unnoticed by her.

“See something you like?”

“You smell nice today.” Ana could feel the heat on her face, you had caught her.

“Only today? I’m kidding, but you should probably get one of those protein ball things someone brought to the canteen this morning. That hungry look in your eye is quite noticeable.” You teased, grinning at how Ana's face went through several emotions quickly.

“Oh, really?” Ana let out a breath of laughter, her hand reaching out to your arm as you made to walk out to training.

“You might need the energy,” you took a step closer to the Swiss international player, biting your lip for a moment, “I think we’ve got a gym session today.”

Ana’s jaw hung open as you walked away, catching up with Patri to attempt to swipe the speaker from her, the aim being to try to play something other than reggaeton.

Your comment about ‘protein ball things’ as you put it, crept up again in Ana’s mind between training sessions for the day, the team heading inside when a shout from Pere down the corridor caught everyone’s attention.

“These things taste so good!”

You hid your smirk in a very fake sneeze, eventually turning it into a light cough, hiding the truth of the protein balls, and every other baked healthy treat that had appeared the last few months in the canteen.

Ana paused in chewing, the spices eliciting a hum as she enjoyed the taste of the protein ball, before familiarity hit her. She’d smelt these ground spices before somewhere…

///

“Are you going to dinner tonight?” Leila enquired, approaching you after training but you shook your head.

“I’m at a charity conference ball, I don’t know- Ale, what’s the mental health charity thing we’re at tonight supposed to be again?” You replied, turning to try to find your captain, who was talking to Ana and Irene.

“Gala.” Alexia filled in the blanks in your memory.

“Ah, yeah, smart clothes event. Smarter than smart clothes for team dinner anyway…” Your nose crinkled up, wondering if you could wear cleaned up trainers or if you needed to polish your smart shoes that you hadn’t worn since you were in school but still somehow fit.

“You say that like you do not dress up nicely for team dinners.” Ana pointed out, feeling heat in her cheeks as you smirked, making Alexia and Irene smile in amusement.

“Just team dinners?”

“No, no, not just-” Ana scrambled to fix her words, but you had already disappeared across the room to dance with Leila, leaving a smile on the Swiss international’s lips.

“Cheeky little-”

“You two would be good together.” Irene pointed out, whilst Alexia nodded in agreement, her eyes following where you were dancing and how Ana’s eyes still lingered on you.

///

The photos from the gala surfaced on the internet quickly, the photos of you and Alexia attending the charity gala on behalf of Barcelona, and on behalf of the mental health charity you had been involved with even in the early days of your career. Back when you volunteered and participated in bake sales to help raise money. Something you kept doing, anonymously though, even now.

Ana hadn’t meant to be so distracted by Instagram, but the photos of you dressed up for the gala were stuck in her mind, and on her phone as she looked at the smile on your face, the fight in your eyes.

Your work for the mental health charity dated back before you joined Barcelona, having spent two years in the WSL after moving from the Damallsvenskan. You were younger than Rolfö, who had gone from the Damallsvenskan in Sweden to the Frauen-Bundesliga, but you knew Rolfö from the Swedish national team…

“Ey!” Jenni laughed, turning around to find Ana had walked into the back of her. Ana hadn’t even realised she was daydreaming about you until she walked into the back of Jenni, who raised an eyebrow, grinning at her friend and teammate.

Whatever Jenni was saying went unheard as Ana spotted Rolfö with her arm around your shoulder, the two of you talking about something in Swedish but you smiled when you met Ana’s gaze.

“Hey, did you two hear? Someone brought Scandinavian foods in, they look homemade!”

“I think we will be the judges of that.” You whispered to Rolfö, stealing a wink at Ana before the two of you hurried away to find your fellow Scandinavian teammates on the team and get their opinions on your baking. But none of them knew it was your baking…

“Hmm, could be better.” You murmured but Rolfö elbowed you, a knowing look on her face. She’d had this treat once before, but it tasted even better than when you brought some to your first Swedish national camp years ago.

“You have gotten even better at making these.” Your national teammate whispered in Swedish to you, smiling as you bashfully looked down, trying to ignore the weird moans some of your teammates were making to emphasise how much they liked the anonymously donated baked treats.

“I try my best. Plus, better looking and better tasting, more money for charity.” You replied, your use of Swedish getting the attention of more than just Rolfö, but Caro and Ingrid shrugged it off, choosing to chat to Marta and Mapi, respectively, about the baked treats.

Ana watched from the corner of her eye, holding one of the baked goods in her hands, away from Leila who was about to swipe it.

“What do you think? Do you feel tempted by Scandinavian sweet treats now?” You teased Ana later on after practice, not expecting to see her smirk.

“I was feeling tempted by a Scandinavian sweet treat before now.” Ana’s boldness made your spine tingle with goosebumps, her hand drifting up to remove an eyelash from your cheek.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” Biting your lip nervously, you waited for Ana’s answer, but her smile was enough.

“What do you have in mind?”

///

What you had in mind was Ana coming around to your place, especially when the restaurant you wanted to originally go to was closed for the evening for a deep clean or something. Or that’s what your friend (who had attended one of the bake sales you gave baked goods to in order to raise money for charity) said anyway.

One of which was coming up and you wanted to make something for it. The sweet aroma in the air had you cracking open a window, but you kept an eye on the timer, then the clock to check when Ana was arriving.

Glancing through the window of your oven, you observed the rising muffins carefully, taking another glance at the timer before hearing the buzzer go off.

Hurrying over to press the button to let whoever it was into the building, you checked through the peephole as Ana arrived at the door, opening it after taking another glance at the timer in your kitchen.

“Hey. I hope it’s okay we eat in…” chewing your lip, you were glad you requested a quiet but cosy and fun night instead of something fancy. The gala wiped out your motivation for fancy fancy right now.

“Well, this place smells amazing, what are you making?” Ana enquired, tilting her head to the side as she heard a timer go off.

“Muffins.”

“A lot of muffins?” Ana raised an eyebrow, but you didn’t see how her face lit up with realisation, and intrigue, because you were throwing on your oven gloves and removing the trays of muffins from the oven.

“These can’t be for the team…” Ana trailed off, having not figured out everything as you smirked slightly.

“Nope. My dear Sherlock, you have only figured out half of the puzzle. These are not for the team, these are for a charity bake sale. The team is only allowed the super healthy stuff that has to be approved by the dietitians.” You explained, amused by the look on Ana’s face.

“You act all tough on the pitch, but you are secretly a sweetheart.”

“Secretly? I mean… I keep the baking a secret, I used to volunteer for bake sales for charity before football. When football took off, I changed to doanting the baking anonymously. It means more than just being a face at a gala to me, dressed up in fancy clothing that you’re terrified you’ll somehow stain… plus my baking doesn’t entirely suck. Parents let their children get something from the bake sale… and the staff let the team eat what I anonymously donate to the canteen too. My baking isn’t poisonous.”

“Did you just compare the team to children?”

“Leila tried to steal your snack out of your hand because you were taking too long to eat it.” You deadpanned, making Ana grin at you in a way that left your cheeks feeling warm.

“So, what did you have planned for this evening? Besides revealing you’re a sweetheart who likes to bake for charity bake sales in your off time.”

“Um… order some takeaway, watch a movie and enjoy the evening with my favourite Swiss national player?” You chewed your lip, draping clean tea towels over the muffins for them to cool down undisturbed.

“Wow. Your favourite Swiss national player?” Ana replied, watching you squirm on the spot for a minute, “so what did you want to order? I don’t think there are any places that do Swedish desserts though.”

“Wow, let’s have dinner first, you have to take me out on a date before you get any Swedish dessert from me…” You murmured, not seeing how Ana’s cheeks were now aflame, as you turned to grab the local takeaway menus you had gathered from your time living in Barcelona.

///

It wasn’t much for a first date but Ana liked it enough that she decided to take you out next time for the second one. Especially after the two of you ended up snuggling on your couch, watching a movie and enjoying each other’s company a little too much.

You had been too nervous to kiss Ana, your confidence in your kissing ability having taken a nosedive. Lingering in the doorway when Ana went to head off for the night, how you chewed nervously at your lip but your gaze kept drifting from her eyes to hers? Ana figured it out. One hand on your hip and the other under your chin, taking a moment for you to nod. Yes you wanted this. Her lips met yours.

///

“What is that lovestruck smile for?” Rolfö teased as she found you staring into space, the lovestruck smile that she was referring to painted across your lips.

Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you smiled at your national teammate and best friend at the club.

“I had a good time last night.” You replied, spotting Ana arriving at the training pitch with the drinks cooler.

“With Ana? Finally, you two were taking forever!”

“Nobody else knows, we’ve only had two dates, and kissed once… but…” You trailed off, watching Ana in your periphery.

“But I’ve never seen you like this about anyone.” Rolfö teased, pulling you into a celebratory hug before everyone was called over to listen to what the coaches had to say for this training session.

///

Nobody else but Rolfö knew, at first anyway. The two of you were taking it slow after spending the Euros away from each other in England, Ana with the Swiss national team and you with the Swedish team. The two of you were keeping it to yourselves, but with a sprinkle of Rolfö teasing you with knowing looks and smiles when you and Ana stood within metres of each other upon reuniting in pre-season at Barcelona.

It wasn’t until everyone was eating together in the canteen that someone else noticed how close you and Ana had gotten, as Caro went to pick up her fork from the floor.

Climbing under the table to grab it, the Norwegian’s eyes landed on how Ana’s hand rested on your thigh. Obscured by the table from above, you both thought none of your teammates could see, but Caro had already seen enough.

The last member of the Nordics at Barcelona to find out was Ingrid, but it didn’t take long for her to find out either, trying to ask you a question about the movie that you, her, Caro and Rolfö had watched together last night. A question that went entirely unheard by you, because you were completely entranced by Ana, across the room.

“Do you see something you like? You are not subtle.” Ingrid asked, pointing out the obvious as you turned to look at her, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Instead you were caught ogling your girlfriend but nobody else on the team knew you two were dating, besides each other, and Rolfö.

“I- I’m thirsty.” You stammered over your words, hurrying away to find your drinks bottle somewhere.

“Not for water.” Ingrid murmured under her breath, rolling her eyes playfully as Mapi approached, missing the context completely as she smiled in confusion at her girlfriend’s statement.

///

None of your other teammates had questioned the closeness between you and Ana, even when you were holding pinkies in the most obvious of moments around the team.

“Surprised you did not invite Ana to tonight.” Caro broke the quiet as the two of you prepped the snacks for movie night for the Nordic Barcelona teammates.

“She’s busy, and Switzerland and Croatia aren’t classed as Northern Europe?” You frowned in confusion, ignoring how you froze and almost dropped the bag of freshly popped popcorn everywhere but the bowl. You hoped your excuse was enough, because technically significant others were not here anyway.

“Her nationality doesn’t stop her from having her hand on your thigh at each team meal.” Caro chuckled, but you pretended like you didn’t hear her comment, mouthful of the popcorn you took through into the living room.

///

It wasn’t until El Clásico arrived that feelings came to a head. Real Madrid had never been close to a win, their determination, or desperation was showing.

Rolfö had Athenea in her pocket, the younger girl frustrated and almost turning the game into a wrestling match as she struggled.

Your love had managed to get the first goal of the match, not seeing how much her sliding on her knees in celebration had flustered you as Pina had beaten you in the race of being the first to hug her. (You got the photo printed after the match.)

Ana scored 4 minutes in, but the match was dragging out. Real Madrid’s desperation was beginning to irritate you as you had your jersey tugged more than once, hands trying to throw you off of balance but it wasn’t enough to bring you to your knees, (only Ana could do that) let alone take you down to the ground.

Rolfö crossed the ball in, but one of Real Madrid’s defenders got involved, leading to another corner for Barcelona and Mapi to take. It was a scramble as the ball fell down, reaching Patri’s feet but it was caught on a Real Madrid player, whose attempt to get the ball away led the ball to reach you, sending the ball flying in.

You barely had time to react as Ana sweeped you up into her arms, your fingers clinging to her jersey out of instinct as you rested your forehead against hers. Luckily Rolfö managed to reach the two of you in time to break the little moment, Irene moments later pulling you into a hug. But Irene’s hug didn’t have the same meaning that Ana’s did.

Your first goal came at the 43rd minute, but nothing else significant happened before half-time. You could almost taste the intensity of the match, especially the frustration from the Real Madrid team after their centre back, Rocío Gálvez caught the ball on the back of her heel, resulting in an own goal.

The grabbing and pushing was getting worse after that, looking back on it, you would call the battle you had with your marker more like a deadly tango of sorts, deadly because you were far more bruised than you had been when playing against Levante Las Planas three days prior.

Zornoza’s left footed attempt hit the post in the 58th minute, with the game turning to rough and tumble quickly after. It was during the chaos leading up to Rolfö’s goal in the 81st minute that you saw red.

Rocío Gálvez had sent Ana tumbling to the ground within the penalty area, the referee acting as the whistle was blown, but you took the whistle as one to lunge at Gálvez, only stopping in your tracks as Ana caught you, pulling you into her arms. Holding you close, the referee took time to declare a penalty to Barcelona would be given, the team looking between them for who would be the one to take it.

“Take the penalty for me?” Ana’s voice was all you heard through the ringing in your ears, pulling away from where you had buried your face in Ana’s jersey to look at her and nod. Her fingers reached up to wipe gently under your eyes, cupping your face as you met her gaze. Nodding with determination in your eyes, the two of you had to hurry before you were accused of time wasting.

You didn’t see Lucy trying to throw Misa off by doing the same warm-up as the goalkeeper usually did for penalties, standing in wait with a glare on your face.

The memory of you actually kicking the ball was blurry, but you remembered the ball in the net, Misa diving the wrong way and the look of despair on her face before Ana was spinning you around in celebration of your goal.

The memory of the 5-0 victory against Real Madrid was lodged in your mind, but your teammates recalled the game slightly differently compared to you and Ana. Because up until that match, your teammates (minus Rolfö, Caro and Ingrid) had no idea you and Ana were together.

“Since when have you two been a thing?”

“Finally!”

“You two can’t keep secrets from us!”

“They don’t know all our secrets.” You whispered to Ana, gesturing to the mystery that had resulted in you and Ana getting together in the first place. Your baking hobby that had inadvertently led to you catching Ana’s attention after she swore off dating teammates.

Your secret baking hobby had led to you becoming Ana’s sweetheart in all aspects of life. Whilst for you, in addition to all of that, Ana had become your partner in crime helping you prepare for the bake sales you donated your baking to, and becoming your plus one for some of the events you attended as you worked to support mental health charities.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #ana-maria crnogorcevic x reader #ana-maria crnogorcevic imagine #AMC x reader #AMC imagine #ana-maria crnogorcevic imagines #woso imagines #barcelona femeni imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni imagine #ana maria crnogorcevic x reader #ana maria crnogorcevic imagine #ana maria crnogorcevic imagines

560 notes · View notes

helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

Scientia Potentia Est (Adrenaline Junkie Part 10)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: slight PTSD, mentions of death/dying, some description of injury/scars, slight panic attack

Word count: 2,734

(A/N): how are yall liking the story so far?

You were woken up by the obnoxious chirping of various songbirds right outside your window. Cracking open your heavy eyes, you glanced at the clock on your wall. 7 AM. You only got about an hour of sleep. Great.

Groaning, you reluctantly left the beckoning warmth of your comfortable blanket cocoon and stretched out your limbs. You stood up and trudged towards your luggage that laid haphazardly in the corner of your childhood room. Awkwardly twisting your body around to take off the sensors attached to your back and sliding off the prosthetic, you put it on your bed. Pulling out a random shirt and pants without giving them any real thought, you shambled off to the bathroom to shower and preen your wing.

You stood under the warm running water for a while just doing nothing but trying to wake yourself up. The steam drifted idly throughout the room as you stepped out of the shower and finished your morning routine. You still felt dead inside even after your refreshing shower. Is this what Philza felt like in the mornings? Is this what death feels like? Oh wait. You already knew what dying felt like, you’ve died twice already and you had the scars to prove it.

The scar on the right side of your back remained prominent and very noticable, but it faded slightly around the edges. The other scar that stretched across your cheek and stretched down to your stomach was new. They were red and raised. You remembered how you got them like it was yesterday. You, your brothers, your nephew, and Tubbo were following Eret still celebrating your win. You all completely trusted him, he was your teammate after all. Trusting him was a mistake. It was foolish. That power hungry bastard blew up everything you and your brothers built and worked for. He was a traitor to L’manberg. Everyone present lost a life in the explosion.

You shuddered, remembering the explosion. You remembered the feeling of extreme heat on your skin and the deafening boom that left a ringing in your ears. You remembered laying on the ground several feet away from your brothers’ corpses. You were the last to die that day. Everything hurt as you laid there slowly bleeding out from the deep gash running from under your eye to your midsection. The plumes of smoke floated up towards the sunny sky as everything burned around you. You hoped you would suffocate from smoke inhalation before you would bleed out again. The flames licked at your skin, almost taunting you with your oncoming death. Why couldn’t you have died instantly like everyone else? Why did you always have to die painfully?

A soft knock snapped you out of your thoughts. Looking down, you realized that you were clutching the side of the sink so hard that your knuckles were turning white.

“(Y/n), are you in there?” It was Arthur. What was he doing up so early?

You wiped at the tears that had gathered in your eyes and cleared your throat. “Y-yeah buddy. I’ll be out in a second.”

You turned on the water faucet and splashed some cold water in your face. It somewhat worked for the blotchiness and redness, but your eyes were still puffy. You were just going to have to get out of the bathroom and pray that Arthur and Philza won’t notice. You took a deep breath and opened the door. There Arthur stood looking at you happily.

“What’re ya doing up so early bud?”

“My brother said that I’m a morning person.”

Brother?

Despite your confusion, you did your best to grin at him. “Well, early bird, do you wanna help me make breakfast?”

His eyes lit up with excitement and he jumped up and down slightly. “Yes please! I love cooking, Mama and Papa would always let me help!”

Oh, you absolutely hated not knowing something. You needed to have that chat with him as soon as you could.

You smirked. “C’mon then, lets go get started!”

He sprinted down the hallway and towards the stairs. You felt a slight panic flare up inside of you. “Arthur, please don’t run down the stairs!”

To your great relief, he listened and slowed down to a brisk walking speed. You speedwalked over to him. For someone so little, he was surprisingly fast. By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, he was already in the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Philza was sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. As per usual, he looked like he’d rather go back to sleep. You walked over to the coffee maker and poured yourself a cup, you were going to need it. Philza’s tired eyes followed you as you poured the steaming liquid into your mug.

“Tired?” His voice was raspier and deeper than usual.

“Yeah, didn’t get much sleep last night.” You sipped at the bitter drink before wrinkling your nose and stirring in an ungodly amount of sugar. Sipping it again, you sighed in content. That was much better.

You walked to the chest and pulled out some bacon strips, eggs, and bread. Setting them on the counter, you turned to Arthur. He was standing on his tiptoes trying to clearly see over the counter. You chuckled, pulling a chair out from the table and dragging it over to him so he could stand on it.

“Don’t get too excited kid, we have to wash our hands first. Then we can get to the fun part.”

Arthur scrambled over to the sink, pulling his chair along with him. Though he was extremely excited, he actually took the time to properly wash his hands. Once you both were clean, you both got to cooking. You let him scramble the eggs and butter the toast while you did the rest of the work. You didn’t want him to get burned, especially by the bacon grease.

Cooking was quickly done with Arthur’s help and before you knew it, breakfast was already halfway done. Over the course of eating, Philza was slowly waking up and adding his own input into the conversation. You were hardly paying attention when Arthur asked you a question.

“Hey, (y/n), where’s your wing?”

“Hm?”

“The fake one.”

Your eyes widened. Shit, you forgot to put it back on after your shower. You suddenly felt every single little touch on your amputated wing. The chair, a light breeze from the open window, the brush of feathers from your complete wing, everything. You felt vulnerable and naked without it on. You felt powerless.

“Oh, I- must’ve forgot to put it back on again. Excuse me.”

You stood up from your chair, a screech resounding from the legs scratching against the floor. Taking care of your half-eaten breakfast, you tried to hurry up to your room as fast as you could scolding yourself the entire way for being so forgetful. So stupid.

You locked the door behind you and saw your silver wing laying on your bed staring at you, as if taunting you for leaving it behind. You rushed to put it back on. Though you felt your muscles tense up because of the sudden cool, it felt incredibly relieving to have your wing back on. You felt whole.

You awkwardly twisted around to fasten the leather belts around the base of your amputated wing and attach the sensors back onto specific spots on your back where your flight muscles were. You put one on your deltoid, one on your trapezius, one on both teres muscles, one on your infraspinatus, and lastly two on your latissimus dorsi muscle. It usually took you at least thirty minutes of testing the prosthetic’s movements and moving the sensors around slightly to get the placement of the sensors exactly correct, so you assumed that breakfast was over and done with ten minutes ago.

Your wing was finally connected and fully functional, so you left your room in search for Arthur. You eventually found him in the basement in your old workshop looking through your filing cabinet of blueprints. He mustn't have heard you come down the stairs because he didn’t react. He just kept looking through your old papers, pulling a few out and putting them on a nearby crafting table.

“Arthur?”

He jumped, the paper he was in the middle of pulling out slipped back into its place inside the filing cabinet. He didn’t turn around to face you at first, so you thought that he was just trying to catch his breath from your little scare. Feeling bad, you walked closer and put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. What’re ya doin?”

“I-I’m looking at your old inventions, Philza let me come down here to look at them while he tried to find me more clothes I could wear that fit.”

“Buddy, you should’ve waited until I put my wing back on, I could’ve shown you my prized inventions.”

He looked down to his feet. “I’m sorry (y/n), I just really wanted to see them and you were taking so long. I couldn’t wait.”

You frowned, putting a finger under his chin and making him look at you. You saw guilt darkening his eyes. “Arthur, never say sorry for wanting knowledge. Knowledge is perhaps our greatest weapon against the unknown in the universe. I want you to remember the phrase ‘scientia potentia est’.”

He sniffled. “Scientia… potentia est?”

“Yes, it means ‘knowledge is power’. Knowledge and power are two very… wide subjects, which is why I like the phrase. In a way, it means that you could pull off anything with knowledge. A lot of inventors live by that motto. Personally, it’s a motto that I swear by. Having knowledge gets me out of a lot of sticky situations,” you kindly smiled at him. “Now, do you want me to show you how my prosthetic works? I could even show you the first prototype if you’d like.”

To your delight, the smile that you often saw him wearing quickly returned and he nodded vigorously. You could get used to people wanting to know how your inventions work and why they worked the way that they did. You spent the next two hours explaining and answering questions about your prosthetic. You let him hold and examine your old leather wing. You showed him how the sensors were placed and warned him that if they were even very very slightly off, the wing wouldn’t work right. You even let him craft a sensor with you.

“So, do you have any interest in being an inventor when you grow up?”

“Yes, I wanna be just like you! You’re like, the bestest inventor ever!”

You took a deep breath, kneeling in front of him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “Arthur, would you like to become my protégé?”

He scrunched up his face and squinted his eyes in confusion. “Your what?”

You lightly laughed. “Do you know what an apprentice is?” He shook his head. “Well, I want to take you under my wing. Teach you everything I know.”

His eyes comically stretched and his mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water. If it were possible, you’d imagine stars shining in his eyes. “You’d do that?”

“Naturally. You’re perhaps the most ambitious person I’ve ever met in terms of your goals, and at such a young age too. I’ve never met anybody besides fellow innovators that actually wants to know how my inventions are made. It’s refreshing in a sense. Would you accept me being your mentor?”

“I- yes! Yes, yes! A million, no, a billion times yes! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He cheered, squealing with delight and jumping up and down.

You laughed. “Woah there bud, cool your jets. We have work to do, but first…” you sighed. You really didn’t want to ruin his moment, but you needed to talk to him about this if he were to become your apprentice.

He cocked his head to the side, eyes still wide with excitement. “First what?” “First… we need to talk. About your story, I mean.”

“What do you mean? We are talking.”

“No, not like that. We need to talk about your family. And how you want me to help you with The Warden.”

He visibly deflated, you didn’t think it was possible for someone to change moods so quickly. It was almost unnatural how fast he switched emotions. “Oh… Do we have to?”

“Yes, Arthur. We have to trust each other if we’re gonna work together.”

He shifted on the balls of his feet and fiddled with his thumbs. He looked very anxious to talk about his family.

“If you want, I can show you where I go to relax and think. Would you like that?”

He nodded and wiped at his eyes. You grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. Since Philza was out, you wrote him a little note and put it on the table where he should see it right away if he came back before you two. You grabbed your satchel and filled it with two glass vials of water, a few snacks, and a blanket. Arthur just stared at you confusedly.

You led him outside and hesitated. Should you ask him if he wanted to fly? It would be a lot faster to get there. “Arthur, would you like to fly there? I know it’s scary, but once you get used to it it’s so much fun!”

He reluctantly nodded, so you bent over and wrapped your arms around him to pick him up. You felt him tense up as you prepped for take off. “Hold on tight, I promise I won’t drop you.”

You pushed yourself off from the ground with a powerful flap of your wings causing Arthur to shriek in surprise. You and Arthur shot into the sky at a moderate speed. When you steadied yourself high above the treeline, you looked down at the boy in your arms. He had his eyes tightly closed and he was shaking slightly. “Arthur, you can open your eyes now.”

You watched as he peeked one of his eyes open and looked at you, you smiled encouragingly at him. “Go ahead, look around.” He observed his surroundings with caution before he opened his other eye. He was looking around in amazement, taking in every single detail from a bird’s eye view. You snorted before redirecting your attention back to flying. You needed to pay attention, especially when you had a passenger that would carry on your legacy after you die.

The flight went by with Arthur giggling at various mobs below and sometimes pointing out something he thought was interesting to you. Your destination was now several meters ahead of you. Landing, you set Arthur down steadying him when he stumbled a little.

You took out the blanket and spread it across the grassy ground, smoothing it out. You beckoned Arthur to sit down next to you on it and you two overlooked the boundless expanse of the grassy plains.

“This is where I came up with most of my inventions. It’s where I first tested my prosthetic. There’s where I jumped off.”

“How’d you know it worked?”

“I didn’t before I tested it. Looking back, it was stupid of me to do. Never, ever, do what I did.”

“What if-”

“No what if��s. Consult me before you test out anything dangerous in the future. I mean it, Arthur.”

“But I want to be like you.”

“Trust me kid, you don’t wanna be exactly like me. Besides, you’re you. You’re not (y/n) Minecraft. You’re Arthur Fox. You’re your own person and it’s important for you to understand that. Never let anyone take that away from you.”

He fell silent as he contemplated your words. You assumed that nobody’s ever told him that before, both due to his young age and potential lack of adult figures in his life.

“Artie, you can tell me about your life when you’re ready. Take as much time as you need, we still have half the day left before we have to start heading back.”

He wordlessly nodded, turning his gaze to stare blankly past the cliff. In the meantime, you would wait patiently until he felt comfortable telling you.

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws @goldenstarofthunderclan @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @sparkling-gayyyy @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @laura--444 @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter

419 notes · View notes

teawaffles · 3 years ago

Text

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 3, Part 2

The next morning.

After yesterday’s incident, Moran was keen to know what Louis would do next — and so he headed to the hall with Fred, who presently had some time to spare. Perhaps it was because he’d been working late into the night, for Fred kept yawning as he rubbed his bleary eyes.

But the moment Moran pushed open the hall door, the startling sight before them banished all of Fred’s sleepiness in a flash.

“This is……”

“What the heck is this?” Moran exclaimed.

Dumbfounded, the two men stood where they were.

One corner of the hall—— had been turned into a dense jungle.

Numerous South American trees, planted in giant pots, were now surrounding the angelfish tank. At the same time, the two men were struck by the feeling that somehow, the room’s humidity had risen since yesterday.

Hearing Moran’s shout, Louis poked his head out from behind an ivy-wrapped tree.

“You’re being much too loud in the morning, Mr Moran. It’ll stress out the fish, so please refrain from shouting; but what on earth’s the matter?”

“That’s my line: what have you done here?!”

A flash of light gleamed off Louis’s spectacles.

“I was seeking a more conducive environment for my bro—…… no, the fish, so I have recreated a South American rainforest here. They were ordered a few days earlier, and arrived last night; I’ve just finished arranging them.”

Apparently, the luxurious water plants had just been the beginning for Louis. Even so, Moran had not expected this much progress in one night.

The situation raised so many questions that he had no idea where to begin. But for now, Moran refused to back down, and raised one of the problems at hand.

“First off, you were obviously going to say ‘my brothers’, but still: don’t talk about such grand feats as ‘recreating South America’ so lightly! No, I had a feeling about this. A normal person would reflect on what happened yesterday, and restrain themselves after that — but for you, you’re the type who ends up going amok instead. And yet, I didn’t think you’d do something as drastic as this!”

Moran had launched into a heated tirade, but Louis kept his cool as he replied.

“Thank you for taking the time to point out each and every one of those things. However, I believe I’m treating all of the fish equally; and in my view, it’s unfair to say that I’m favouring some of them just because some plants have been placed at specific areas.”

“What kinda nerve is that, to not even admit it after going this far…….. I mean, you are actually a little aware of it, aren’t you?”

“Also, it’s actually quite amazing that you’ve managed to remain calm all this while, Mr Louis……”

Even after weathering that torrent of questions, Louis was unmoved — and if anything, that had inspired a sense of awe within Fred.

“Well, it was us who said you were free to do as you liked. In any case, your love towards your brothers is certainly terrifying.”

To Moran, it seemed meaningless to continue arguing with the youngest son of the Moriartys, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge his biased rearing of the fish. He gave up trying to persuade Louis, and went on to watch the fish as he normally did.

“…………”

He tried to focus on the vibrant fish before him. And yet, Moran couldn’t help but notice the trees standing at the edge of his sight.

Tormented by that conflict, he finally succumbed to temptation. With sure steps, Moran made his way toward the vegetation, and Fred followed cautiously behind him.

“……Well, if they’re already here, we may as well enjoy them to the fullest.”

Mumbling to no one in particular, Moran walked up to the row of trees. Using one arm to push away the leaves in his path, he moved through the greenery; then, his gaze landed on an aquarium placed on a nearby table. Inside, were some animals with incredibly striking colourations.

“What’re these?”

“They’re indeed very colourful,” Fred remarked.

Within the tank were several tiny frogs. They were a deep blue, and mottled with red.

The two men were full of questions about the presence of these unfamiliar creatures. Nevertheless, out of sheer curiosity, they moved their faces near the tank and peered in.

Louis, who was feeding the other fish, called out to them in a loud voice.

“Please don’t open the tank lid: they may look beautiful, but they secrete a lethal poison so deadly that some indigenous tribes of South America use it to coat the tips of their blowdarts.”

In an instant, Moran and Fred leapt away from the tank. Due to their natural athleticism, the distance they’d retreated was further than that of the average person.

As it were, they had narrowly escaped the jaws of death. But even as the sudden appearance of these poisonous frogs gave them chills, Moran stilled his pounding heart, and shot Louis a look of anger.

“Why are such dangerous things here?! Even recreating a South American environment has its limits, doesn't it?!”

“My apologies. One of my motivations was indeed to recreate the fishes’ native habitat. But more than that, I wanted to prepare for a scenario where Stapleton expresses an interest in other creatures besides fish. Hence, I began rearing these frogs just in case.”

As he said that, Louis made his way beside the tank. Opening the lid just a crack, he tossed in some tiny insects: food for the frogs.

“…………”

Seeing his practiced hand, at this point, the other two men had nothing else to say. In this extraordinary space created within the mansion they lived in on a daily basis, their ability to process information had long since hit its limit.

After confirming that the frogs had eaten their fill, Louis proceeded on an efficient path around the room to check on the rest of the tanks.

Moran gazed into the distance.

“It sure is amazing, what people can do in such a short time……”

But excessive zeal, once taken in the wrong direction, can lead to outcomes no one would’ve expected.

Even as various points had deeply impressed upon them just how amazing Louis was, at the same time, Moran and Fred also grew conscious of a certain truth in life. Once again, they stepped through the row of trees.

The two men parted the curtain of leaves, some part of them nervously wondering if those dangerous frogs had escaped, and walked up to the aquarium they had in mind.

“Oh, there they are.”

Seeing that the tank itself hadn’t changed, Moran finally breathed a sense of relief, and went on to admire the three “Moriarty brothers” swimming within.

The one at the head of the group was ‘William’. Right behind him was ‘Albert’, then ‘Louis’. Within the jungle Louis had created, the three angelfish shone in a way that lived up to their angelic names.

However, in contrast to the joyful Moran, Fred’s expression was serious. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Don’t you think…… its movements are a bit awkward?”

“Ah?”

Moran stared at the focus of Fred’s attention. Immediately, he perceived a subtle change in that fish.

Although it seemed perfectly fine at first glance, if one were to observe all three of them carefully, it was clear that the one at the head of the group was swimming a little differently from the other two.

“Is there something wrong?”

Louis came over, sensing something was off. But even before Fred explained the situation, he noticed the abnormality with ‘William’.

He put his face close to the tank, observing the fish for a few moments; but gradually, his expression turned grave.

“Oi, Louis: what on earth’s going on? Could it be that he’s sick?” Moran asked.

Louis placed a hand under his chin, thought for a split second, then quickly made a decision.

“——First, let’s move it to a separate tank. There’s a smaller one near the hall entrance: Mr Moran, please bring it here. Fred: please read the measurements from the devices installed on this tank and report them.”

Hearing those instructions, the two men assumed their roles at once.

Meanwhile, Louis took a notepad from his breast pocket, and checked the emergency response measures he’d studied on his own. Though he had already memorised all of them, he wanted to avoid any potential for error.

Moran returned with a small tank.

“Oi, is this one alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

First, Louis transferred some water from the angelfishes’ tank into the one Moran brought over, such that it was deep enough for one fish. Then, he set up some equipment to confirm the water temperature and quality once more, then added a bit of salt to the water.

Watching him, Moran cocked his head.

“Why’re you adding salt?”

“Saltwater is an effective treatment for diseases in fish. Though it certainly isn’t all-powerful.” [1]

Saying that, Louis used a net to gently scoop up ‘William’ and move it to the tank they’d prepared. Although there were drawbacks to isolating sick fish, his priority was to stop the disease from spreading, as well as limit any damage that could be caused by the other fish.

As he worked, Louis listened to the measurements Fred read out, but his puzzlement only deepened.

“The water quality and temperature are both normal. As far as I can see, there isn’t any obvious debris or dirt in the tank, and the equipment doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. In that case, perhaps some foreign substance had entered its food, or maybe it got stressed from its surroundings……”

“Maybe it got bullied by the other fish?” Moran asked.

Louis immediately dismissed that idea. “From what I’ve observed, there were no such quarrels between them. In that case, another possibility I can think of is the change in its environment.”

He cast a sideways glance at the trees surrounding them. And Fred picked up the implication behind that casual gesture.

“By ‘stress’, do you mean these trees? But it’s not like they came into contact with the water, so they probably didn’t impact the water quality, at least not directly. Also, weren’t they only added a while ago? To affect the fish so rapidly……”

“We can’t dismiss that possibility. Perhaps the changes to the view outside the tank had caused some visual stress…… Well, regardless of the reason, the blame for its ill health rests with me: the one in charge of its care.”

“…………”

After isolating the fish, the three of them remained standing where they were.

They gazed at the sick angelfish, swimming alone in its tank, with a sense of misery and frustration growing within them.

Footnotes:

[1] There is some truth to this: Practical Fishkeeping UK

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

75 notes · View notes

gallickingun · 5 years ago

Note

so i saw the post about kissing that you reblogged and that made me think... imagine reader retweeting that on twitter and bakugou sees it, then proceeds to kiss her at random times the next day which really flusters her and she wonders why he's doing this because they normally don't advertise the fact that they're dating

a/n: this is a lot of all over the place randomness but... i kind of love it??? short little blurby about bakubaby treating you right!!!

ps, i can’t do anything short, can i? couple hundred words ahead lol

Bakugou had always been possessive over what he deemed as his.

So, it’s somewhat strange, when he doesn’t necessarily lay claim to you in front of all his friends.

Sure, Kirishima and Mina know that the two of you are secretly attached at the hip, and Denki may or may not raise a brow when you get too close to one another, but overall it’s not necessarily well known that you have been exclusive to one another for the past few months.

Bakugou is genuinely secure in your relationship; the one constant in his life now that the Pro Hero Sidekick gigs are taking off. He knows that when he calls, you’ll answer, and that there is never too much of him for you to handle. Honestly, he never thought much about the fact that you didn’t really show much affection in public because you were on his mind every moment not premeditated on training exercises and patrols and skirmishes in the streets.

No, your affection comes in small doses, here and there and always in private. And you know that the Pro Hero life will be a lonely one at times, but you can’t help the insatiable need for physical affection. It’s something instilled in you, bred in you maybe. The unbreakable desire to feel the pads of his bare fingers, his knee slotting between your thighs as he lays closer to tell you about his day. You even wish you could just feel his hands on the crown of your head, maybe a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

At this point, after a couple of weeks of non-stop action in the streets, you start to grow restless. Your publicist says you need to show more attention to social media, so you take to Tweeter when you have a second to breathe in the agency locker room.

It doesn’t take long for you to find a relationship-based account that posts sappy quotes and cute photos; it makes your heart ache and long for something a little more concrete than what you have now - something just a smidge more open.

In a moment of haste, you post a response to a specific original comment: I was extremely kissable today and do you know how many kisses I received???? Zero!!!

It’s something harmless; a gentle joke with your growing audience. You need to prove to them that you’re relatable, which is all that you’re doing. It couldn’t have come from the darkness of your mind that clouds your vision at night, begging you to crawl into Katsuki’s bed at ungodly hours of the night even if he’s not there; even if the two of you aren’t there yet.

It is another night spent alone, cold ramen on the coffee table as you fall asleep on the couch to old training tapes of yourself replaying on the television. You were trying to pick apart your every misstep, but all you could focus on was the way your body aches for your lover. Your blood beats heavy in your chest, the sound deafening to your ears when the pulse throbs at your temples and in your jugular. The edges of you crave something solid to fall against, to fall into.

You want Katsuki.

Instead, you step into your hero shoes and get ready to conquer another day at the agency.

When you step out of your car, you’re surprised to find Bakugou’s vehicle parked next to your usual spot. Even though he’s an early riser, he’s usually patrolling or attending appointments during the morning hours, so it’s a bit out of sorts to see his car already in it’s place.

The front door is pulled open for you by a familiar face - ashen blonde hair framing crimson irises, a small smile tugging on his full lips. You tilt your had in silent questioning as you step over the threshhold and into your persona for the day.

You let out a strangled sound when those very lips find yours, right in the middle of everything, the hallway full of people turning to look at the two of you.

“Good morning,” he murmurs as he steps away from you, vermillion irises trailing over your frame, “sorry I didn’t make it over last night. Patrol was a bitch.”

You shake your head but you can’t reply because your mind is foggy, dizzy in its haze to attempt and figure out why he’s done what he’s done. There are several people staring at you now, mouths slightly agape at the obvious display of affection that is rather unusual for the pair of you. Most of those that you’ve now given full access to the validity of your relationship only hinted and gossiped about it prior, unsure if the lingering gazes you might send one another are truly that of longing rather than carelessness.

“S’okay,” you manage, “no big.”

He’s smiling, squeezing your arm before turning to walk his own way. You’re left breathless in the front entryway, hand covering your mouth as you watch him fade further into the hallway until he’s boarding the elevator.

You blink once, squeezing your eyelids tightly so you see stars. And then you take the first step forward to start your day, desperately trying to ignore the effervescent champagne bubbles in your belly but failing miserably with each passing moment.

The tap on your door at lunchtime brings your attention back to the present, eyes finding the bulky frame of one Pro Hero: Ground Zero at your door. Your jaw goes slack but you stand to your feet anyway, “H-Hey, what’s up?”

“Can’t I take my girlfriend to lunch and it not be a whole thing?” Bakugou clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “C’mon, dummy, let’s go.”

Bakugou actually takes you by the hand - a gesture he hardly does even in the confines of your personal home - and walks you towards the food court near the center of the agency. When you stand in line, he kisses the back of your head and pulls you closer to him. The people around you stop and stare and you know it’s because the big, bad Ground Zero finally appears to have shown that he has a heart.

The pair of you eat in relative silence, focused on scarfing down the food in front of you before you turn to speech. Bakugou is finished first, kicking his feet up on the chair next to yours. He smiles across the table at you and offhandedly asks you about your day.

Through a mouthful of noodles you mutter something along the lines of a whole lotta paperwork, which makes him laugh. You tilt your head, marveling at this new version of your significant other. You aren’t sure if you should enjoy it or be worried, but the revelry you’re sharing in the way people look at the two of you now that he is being openly affectionate makes you keep your mouth shut for the time being.

It is only when he drops you back off at your doorstep and asks you to consider taking the rest of the day off with a kiss to your cheek that you finally broach the burning topic. The words are like acid on your tongue, “What is going on with you?”

Bakugou brushes his thumb over your jaw, leaning back enough to look in your eyes. Something falters in him and you step closer, palms finding his chest, “Katsuki, did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he snaps immediately. Bakugou turns his face away from you so he can compose himself, “I did something wrong.”

Your mind wants to flood with the horrible things he could be talking about, but Bakugou is already interjecting with another sentence before your imagination can wander too far off of a cliff.

“I saw what you posted yesterday and I feel like I’m being a really shitty boyfriend by not just fucking telling people that we’re together.” He runs his hands over your arms, tucking his thumbs into your gloves, “This is my way of trying to make up for it.”

The tips of your cheeks are painted pink and you can’t help it when you surge up to kiss him square on the lips. The action leaves him breathless, eyes half-lidded as he tries to work himself down from the adrenaline rush.

You bite your lip, “I just decided that I’m taking the rest of today off.”

Bakugou cups your face, fingertips tickling the nape of your neck, “Sounds like a plan to me.”

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x oc #bakugou katsuki fanfic #bakugou katsuki fanfiction #bakugou katsuki one shot #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki blurb #bnha one for all #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #bnha imagine #bnha blurb #morgan writes bnha #my writing

1K notes · View notes

secretpajamas · 5 years ago

Text

a different kind of rush;

an ezra x reader fic

pairing: ezra (prospect) x female reader

rating: explicit

genre: romance/smut/and they were roommates (oh my god they were roommates)

words: 5.6k

part 2 of 2 (read part one HERE)

please scroll to the end to “content” if you would like to know specific smut-related content before reading!

When you emerged from the shower, you changed into your long sleep shirt (the thing was far too old and ratty at this point to be considered a “nightgown”). Even though it wasn’t dark out yet, you figured you might as well go to bed at the rate this day was going.

As you slowly crept through the tent partition, you noticed that Ezra was gone—and so was his gear.

You found a note in Ezra’s barely-legible scrawl placed at the foot of your bed.

“Starstone quality check,” you mumbled, reading the note aloud.

Starstone was so finicky that it was necessary to check up on it in storage to make sure it maintained its stability. But you knew in your gut he was avoiding you. While he was out, you cleaned the filters and checked the tanks like you always did—minus the filter and tank that Ezra was currently using—the methodical work helping soothe your nerves a little.

When Ezra came back in, you were sitting up in bed, reading the book Ezra’s kid Cee had hand-written (“She didn’t come up with the story, but she basically rewrote the whole damn thing herself. Smarter than she knows, that kid.”). It wasn’t your usual kind of story, and not even your usual medium of consumption (you preferred late-night radio dramas, but they broadcast from the Ephrate—the signal was spotty at best in the Fringes and nonexistent here in the Reach), but it was captivating nonetheless.

You didn’t look up from the book as Ezra walked in. Neither of you said a word.

Part of you was relieved that you didn’t talk about it.

The other part of you was desperate to talk about it.

The next morning, you woke to Ezra sitting at his makeshift desk—a chair set in front of an old wooden shipping crate—swirling together the starstone enzyme bath. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a gray t-shirt, his hair already matted with perspiration from the heat.

You grumbled and slowly sat up.

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Ezra said, not lifting his eyes from his work.

“Mmph,” was your sleepy response.

“Oats are ready if you have a hankering,” he continued, gesturing with his head towards the “kitchen”—another wooden shipping crate, this one with a battery-operated stove placed on top.

You were suddenly very awake at the promise of food. “Please tell me there’s coffee, too.”

“Haven’t made it yet,” he replied. “Go easy on the stuff, you’ve drunk near all my supply.”

“I believe food and board is included in my contract.” You yawned before shuffling your way over to the stove.

“Food and board, sweetheart, not drink.” Ezra held the canister of freshly mixed enzyme solution between his knees as he twisted on the cap with his hand.

Your stomach rumbled and you eagerly grabbed your bowl of oatmeal. After wolfing down your breakfast, you filled Ezra’s rickety kettle with water and set it on the stove, turning the power up to high. You pawed around the mismatched collection of canteens piled next to the stove until you found two clean ones and set them out, along with four packets of powdered coffee (three for you, one for Ezra). It was the instant stuff anyone could grab for cheap at a shuttle station, and it tasted wretched, but it did its job.

As you waited for the water to boil—not long when the water in storage was already warm thanks to this planet’s heat—You heard Ezra stand up and approach you. When you felt his hand brush the small of your back, you shivered.

Ezra huffed. “Are you cold? For cryin’ out loud, woman, it’s hotter’n two channel-rats fuckin’ in a wool sock.”

“Must be caffeine withdrawal,” you lied, knowing full well it was Ezra’s touch.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth and you nearly shivered again. “I suppose it’s high time I replenish our supplies,” he said, “lest you pillage the remainder of my coffee.”

When the kettle began to whistle, you switched off the stove and poured equal amounts of hot water into the cups—and unequal amounts of coffee packets. All the while, Ezra’s hand stayed on your back.

“Speaking of supplies, we could use another full O2 tank,” you said, trying your best to ignore how your stomach did somersaults every time Ezra absentmindedly rubbed his thumb against the material of your sleep shirt, “and coolant for the air circulators.”

“I’m well aware,” Ezra said, “but thank you kindly for the reminder.”

You offered Ezra his canteen of coffee. You mourned the loss of his hand on your back, but feeling the brush of his fingers against yours as you handed him his cup was nearly as electrifying.

“S’posin’ we pull a good haul of starstone today, I can ready the pod for the shuttle station tomorrow,” he said between sips. “Be back within a couple days’ time.”

You swallowed down a lump in your throat along with your coffee. You did need supplies, but it was hardly urgent��was he really that keen on avoiding you? But the way he just touched your back—he’d never been more intimate than friendly pats on the shoulder before—

“The shuttle station gets a clearer radio signal to the Ephrate,” Ezra continued, “I can have a good an’ proper talk with Cee.”

Oh. He wants to talk to his kid, you moron. Why did you make this about yourself and your ill-timed masturbatory ventures?

“I’ll hold down the fort, then,” you said between gulps of your coffee.

“I’m countin’ on it,” Ezra said. “Now let’s score some stone afore this bitch of a planet bakes us alive.”

–

Ezra was gone before you woke, but you had expected it. He told you as much last night. But you still couldn’t shake the notion that he was avoiding you. You sighed deeply before untangling yourself from the bedsheets and crawling over to make your morning coffee.

On the table, the kettle was already set out on the stovetop, along with three coffee packets, a clean canteen, and a note from Ezra.

“Radio at 21:00,” you mumbled. That was tonight—so he was planning to call you as soon as he got in. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your coffee.

You didn’t have to mine today or tomorrow, thanks to working double-time yesterday (and your aching muscles certainly reminded you of that), but there was still plenty to do around the tent. After gulping down your coffee, you started with the pile of laundry in the corner. It was the most urgent order of business, based on how it was beginning to climb up the wall—and how much it stunk. You filled a basin with water and soap and got to work.

While hanging the garments to dry, you noticed a pair of Ezra’s compression pants had a tear in the thigh—thankfully, it was on a side seam, so you could easily sew it shut. You noted to fix it as soon as it was finished drying. You wondered if you could mend anything else, noting Ezra’s ratty assortment of boxers and briefs. If he made any cash in the aurelac rush, he certainly didn’t spend any of it on underwear. You could mend holes, but you couldn’t work miracles.

As you waited for the clothes to dry, you snacked on a ration bar and read more of Cee’s book. You were invested in the characters now, despite your initial skepticism of the subject matter. You had to admit, it was a bit of a page-turner. After a while, you didn’t want to put it down. You moved from sitting at Ezra’s desk to leaning against one of the tent supports to laying on your bed mat, your eyes glued to the page.

When you finally came to a satisfying enough chapter to pause your reading, you looked around for a piece of scrap paper to mark your place. You picked up Ezra’s note and tucked it inside the pages before shutting the book. You noticed the laundry hanging up was dry—had you really been reading that long? Oh well. Time to get mending.

–

You had mended Ezra’s pants, a pair of his socks, and were about to sew a button back on the pocket of your suit when you heard your name crackle from the radio headset in the corner. Startled, you dropped your work, the button skittering across the floor.

“Gimme a minute!” You shouted, hoping your headset would pick it up from across the tent. You quickly found the runaway button and placed it on Ezra’s desk before scrambling to your side of the tent to put on your headset.

“Sorry about that,” you said, “I’m here. You get in okay?”

“All in one piece,” came Ezra’s voice in your ear, “give or take an arm.”

You rolled your eyes at Ezra’s wisecrack. “Talk to Cee yet?”

“Not yet,” Ezra said, “with the time difference between here and the Ephrate, she’s still in class. I shan’t interrupt her studies.”

You looked at the book where it lay on Ezra’s desk and smiled. “Well, when you call her, tell her I said hello.”

“Will do.”

“So, what station did you end up at?” You asked.

“Trinity,” Ezra replied.

“Trinity,” you said, “don’t think I’ve been on Trinity since the rush.”

“Ain’t any different,” Ezra said, “still got egregious docking fees and an abundance of unpleasant company.”

“Already shooed away a pick-pocket busker, haven’t you?”

“Several,” Ezra grumbled, “Damn this stump, they think I’m an easy target.”

“Were any of them good players, at least?” You asked.

“Truthfully, the boy on the panpipes was a talented little devil,” he said, “both in playing his instrument and his victims. I let him pilfer a coin from my pocket—I fancy myself a patron of the arts.”

You snorted. “You keep coin in your pocket? On Trinity?”

“Sweetheart, it’s the decoy cash,” Ezra explained. “You keep a couple low-credit coin in your pocket for the vandals so that they don’t go scroungin’ for the heavy-hittin’ gems in your suit lining.”

“Speaking of your suit lining,” you said, “I’ve been doing some mending.”

You heard Ezra’s raspy laugh through your headset. “Don’t suppose you’ve been sewin’ up my underthings.”

“Those are hopeless,” you remarked, “I meant your spare compression pants.”

“Ah!” Ezra said. “I do recall those had a rip in ’em. I was fixin’ to fix those.”

“Well, I figured I’d do it as long as I had the time,” you said. “Also darned a pair of your socks.”

“Are you anglin’ for a raise?” You could hear the smile in Ezra’s voice.

“Your listing did say ‘compensation negotiable,’” you replied.

“Hmm. That it did,” Ezra said. “Perhaps we shall negotiate upon my return.”

The radio line lay silent for a moment, and you felt a nervous pang in your stomach. Enough small talk. You needed to say something about what happened the other day—even if it was just to apologize.

“Ezra?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” He replied.

“Is everything... Okay? With us?” You asked, trying to suppress the anxiety in your voice.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Ezra replied, before quickly adding in lowered tone, “Did somethin’... rub you the wrong way?”

“Kevva help me,” you grumbled, feeling the wave embarrassment crawl up your spine. “I’m so sorry, Ezra. It won’t happen again.”

“Stop apologizin’. There ain’t a thing wrong indulgin’ in a little well-earned self-pleasure.”

The way he said pleasure made your breath hitch. You hoped like hell it didn’t pick up on the radio.

“If there’s one thing I’ve come to realize in my years,” he said, “is that there’s no use feelin’ shame in feelin’ good.”

His voice was smooth and deliberate now. That bastard knew exactly what he was doing to you. “So don’t you stop yourself because of me—truthfully, I don’t mind. Not one bit.”

Hesitantly, you reached down to press the heel of your hand against your clit, choking back a moan threatening to escape your throat—but not entirely succeeding.

You heard Ezra’s breath coming loud and heavy through the radio. “Are you touchin’ yourself right now, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you gasped out, your previous inhibitions completely shattered.

“Fuck,” Ezra replied. “Thank Kevva this radio headset is hands-free.”

You heard what might have been Ezra undoing his zipper—and your suspicions were confirmed when you heard a low moan through the radio.

“Ezra—”

“Do you have the faintest idea what you do to me, woman?” The line swelled with static and the throaty rasp of Ezra’s voice. “Told myself not to—made myself not think of you like that. It ain’t proper. But when you—you let me watch—”

You whined and slid your hand beneath your underwear. “I was thinking of you,” you confessed, “always thinking of you—”

“It’s a cryin’ shame,” Ezra said, “all I’ve got is spit-slick and a weak hand wishin’ like hell it was you.”

You sped up the pace of your fingers as he continued.

“If you were here,” he said, “I’d bury myself inside you so deep—ah, fuck—’til you were the only thing I could feel.”

At his words, you slid two fingers inside yourself up to the knuckle, arching your hips, trying to get them as deep as they could go, thumb tirelessly working at your clit.

“I want that,” you panted, “I want you.”

“—Make you come on my cock again and again ’til you’re dizzy with it,” he said, “fuck you so hard you feel it the next day.”

Ezra’s words were pushing you close to the edge. “Ezra, I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he groaned, “let me hear you, sweetheart.”

You came to the overwhelming sound of Ezra’s broken moans and your own desperate cries and the static of the radio and the beating of your heart—

a discordant symphony of absolute ecstasy.

–

Ezra returned the following night with a full pod of supplies. You worked together like a well-oiled machine, moving various goods from the pod to the tent in an orderly fashion. You both made small talk—Cee was doing well at the Academy, the shuttle station shop was stocked enough with what they needed, no, they didn’t have real coffee, just the shit stuff in packets.

Despite the friendly conversation, the air was thick with unspoken words.

It was hot out—as it always was on this planet—so you breathed a huge sigh of relief when you had both moved all the supplies to the tent and you could leave the sweaty pod. You both discarded your helmets and stood in front of the air circulator on Ezra’s side of the tent, sifting through the supplies and placing them where they belonged throughout the tent.

When you reached at the same time as Ezra for a can of coolant, your hands collided, sending a shockwave up your arm and stopping your breath.

You both froze, staring at your hands where they met.

Slowly, carefully, Ezra intertwined your fingers with his.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered, those beautiful brown eyes of his gazing at you tenderly.

You couldn’t take it anymore—you climbed over the pile of supplies between you and pressed your lips to his.

He let out a surprised little noise against your mouth before returning the kiss with fervor, wrapping his arm tightly around you and pressing you close to his chest.

“Couldn’t—stop—thinkin’ of you,” he said between kisses.

“Do you want to—can we—” You gasped against his mouth.

“Yes,” he breathed, scrambling to work at the zips and fasteners on his suit. He didn’t object when you reached out to help remove the suit—and honestly, you weren’t thinking of it as helping him, more like getting all your clothes off as fast as possible because holy shit this was happening. Ezra had already removed his boots when he took his helmet off earlier, and you were only dressed in your undershirt and shorts, so this blasted contraption of a suit was the main obstacle.

You both managed to get the damn thing off and Ezra kicked it aside. He reached back, grabbing his sweaty t-shirt behind the collar to tug it over his head. You grasped the hem of your top and pulled it up and off, throwing it to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

You were about to strip off your shorts when Ezra reached for you again, kissing your mouth, your jaw, your neck, down to the tops of your breasts along the edge of your bra. You scrambled to unclasp it, letting it fall to the floor. Ezra wasted no time, cupping a breast in his hand and lavishing kisses on the other. When you felt the wet heat of his tongue against your nipple, you cried out, grabbing his hair and giving it a tug. He moaned against your breast before pulling away to look at you.

“Let’s take this to a bed,” you urged.

Ezra nodded vigorously in agreement and you both stumbled over to his bed mat, falling atop the sheets in a tangle of limbs.

Ezra sat up and you situated yourself on his lap, wrapping your legs around him. You could kiss him like this for hours, his tongue in your mouth, your fingers in his hair, his hand steady and warm on your back.

When you both took a moment to catch your breath, Ezra cleared his throat and looked you in the eye, his expression almost timid.

“I must confess, I have not had the chance to... partake, since I lost my arm,” he said. “I may not be as formidable a sparrin’ partner as I once was.”

“Ezra, I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” you said, leaning in to kiss him again. He stopped you with a press of a finger to your lips.

“Allow me to enlighten you.” He shrugged with his stump. “Nothin’s as it once was. I can’t even take a piss the same way. Ever try to hold a dick with a hand that ain’t there?”

“Can’t say I have,” you said.

“Oh, hush, birdie, you can understand the sentiment,” Ezra grumbled. “Everything is at the behest of my damned weak hand. I can’t read my own handwriting anymore. Can’t shoot like I used to—my grip’s shit on the left. Even gettin’ dressed is harder than minin’ aurelac.”

He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair before continuing. “And as long as we’re on the subject of minin’, I can no longer mine most things on my lonesome. Each harvest is hardly half of my previous yields, and I got the kid to support on top of everything. Now, Cee deserves every bit of that support, do not misunderstand my words—I would move Kevva and earth for that girl. But such meager wages do tend to make one feel... inadequate. A man’s work is no petty thing.”

You listened to Ezra attentively, not knowing how you could get it across to him that he was no less of a man in your eyes than if he had two arms. You wanted to reassure him, but he pressed on.

“So please, allow me to posit this caveat,” he said, “that I intend to make love to you, and to do so to the fullest of my capabilities—but even my best efforts may prove... unsatisfactory.”

Make love. Ezra wanted to make love to you. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You were so stunned by Ezra’s choice of vocabulary that it took you a moment to process what he said.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t think you can make me come.”

Ezra ducked his head; you could have sworn he was blushing. “You always cut right to the quick.”

You cupped his cheek, running your thumb along the little white scar there.

“Ezra, I don’t care. I just want this. With you.” You glanced down to where you straddled his lap, rolling your hips a little against his growing arousal. “And forgive me if I’m assuming things, but it seems like you want it, too.”

Ezra moaned quietly at your movements. “My desire was never in question, I assure you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

You leaned in and kissed him softly. He returned the kiss before gently moving you off his lap.

“Lie down, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you eagerly obliged, reclining on the mattress. He settled on top of you, propping himself up on his elbow, kissing you passionately. Eager to get your hands on him, you hooked a finger under his waistband and gave a tug.

“Whoa there,” Ezra said, “slow down, spitfire.”

You moved your hand away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, believe me. But those clever hands of yours will have to wait, because I’ve been starvin’ for you,” he said with a sly grin, kissing a path down your breasts to your stomach, “and I can no longer deny myself a taste.”

It took a moment for your Ezra Translator to kick in. “Oh.” You scrambled to shimmy your shorts and underwear down. Ezra took over, pulling them all the way off and tossing them over his shoulder before leaning down to continue his trail of kisses.

He nudged at your thigh with his head and you eagerly opened your legs for him. Rough stubble tickled your thighs as he kissed his way to your cunt. At the first feeling of his hot breath against your clit, your hips jumped up out of their own volition, knocking Ezra off his left elbow and face-planting him onto the bed beneath you.

“Sorry!” You squeaked. You reached out to steady him but stopped yourself—you knew he hated being helped.

“Hell’s bells,” Ezra grunted. He gripped at the sheets with his hand as he slowly pushed himself to sit upright.

“Left arm ain’t worth shit,” he grumbled under his breath, “can’t even hold me up.”

“It’s alright, Ezra,” you said, “we can try again.”

“Indeed we can,” Ezra said. He lay down on his back next to you and motioned to his chin. “Take a seat, sweetheart.”

“Um,” you started. You’d done this before, but not like that. “I don’t want to—hurt you.”

“Kevva’s sake, woman, I ain’t gonna break,” Ezra said, then added with a grin, “if I suffocate on account of your cunt, I will embrace death with open arms. Well, one of ’em, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said with a groan.

“Here lies Ezra, drowned in pussy,” he continued teasing, eyeing you with a wicked grin.

You hesitantly shuffled toward him. Drumming up some courage, you knelt above him, one knee on either side of his head. You were so nervous that you could hear your pulse roaring in your ears.

Whether impatient or just eager, Ezra grabbed you by the hip, then, and urged you down onto his mouth.

You gasped, bracing yourself as you felt the white-hot warmth of his tongue against your cunt. You choked back a moan, your hips stuttering forward, trying not to grind down too hard on his face. Ezra was having none of that. He urged you to move, his hand gripping your hip and firmly pulling you forward. With a little more certainty, you rocked your hips forward and back, making his tongue slide against your clit in long strokes. You moaned again, louder this time, and Ezra hummed his desperate response, burying his face in your pussy like a man starving.

You rutted against him urgently, your thighs beginning to burn from holding yourself up over him. Your movements became less graceful, more desperate—you slid forward too far, causing your slit to grind against the bridge of his nose, and you’d be embarrassed if didn’t feel so damn good. You were right on the precipice, moments away from shaking apart, when Ezra stilled your hips with his hand and brought you back to his tongue. He latched his mouth over your clit and sucked on it, wet and sloppy and fucking perfect.

“Fuck, Ezra,” you gasped, the heat coiling inside you tighter and tighter, “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna—”

Ezra growled, his teeth grazing your clit for a moment, and the jolt of sensation just on the right edge of pain had you coming so hard you thought you might black out. You stumbled forward, reaching out to break your fall, your cunt pulling away from his mouth. Somehow, Ezra knew you needed more, reaching behind his head for you and guiding you back in place with his hand. He began to lap at you again, working you through another shaking shockwave of pleasure.

You had to pull away before it was too much. You collapsed next to Ezra on the too-small mattress, trying to catch your breath, feeling your thighs burn and your cunt twitch and your heart sing.

“Give me a minute,” you gasped.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart,” Ezra said, equally breathless.

You turned to look at Ezra. His face was flushed red, beads of sweat dripping down to mix with your slick that had ended up all over his mouth and chin—and his nose. He looked absolutely filthy and you’d be mortified if he didn’t look so damn pleased with himself.

You reached for your discarded t-shirt and gently wiped at his face, cleaning up the most offensive wet patches before tossing it aside again. “Sorry,” you said.

Ezra chuckled. “I do not accept your apology, ma’am,” he teased. “That was sexier than hittin’ a motherlode of aurelac.”

“Now that’s high praise,” you teased back.

“C’mere and kiss me,” he all but whispered, reaching out to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. You closed the distance and pressed your lips against his. It was almost chaste—if not for the knowledge of where that mouth had just been.

He pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed deeply, absentmindedly playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

You looked down at the straining bulge in his pants, snaking your hand down to stroke at him through the fabric. A little choked moan tumbled from his throat at your touch.

“Let’s take this off,” you said, thumbing the waistband. He nodded in agreement, laying on his back and lifting his hips so you could pull his pants down and off in short order. His cock sprang free, hard and aching.

You licked your lips. “No underwear?”

“Too fuckin’ hot for underwear,” he said, gasping when you gently rested your hand on the crease where his thigh met his hip.

You moved your hand up and down his thigh, making him squirm and thrust up against nothing but air. He practically whined, his hand clawing at the sheets.

“Touch me,” he begged, voice cracking.

“I am touching you,” you said with a wolfish grin.

“Damn it, woman,” he groaned, “if the heat don’t kill me, you sure as shit will have the pleasure yourself.”

“Patience,” you chided, not sure how long you could keep this up—you wanted him inside you, and you wanted him now—but you loved seeing him spread out and desperate for you.

Finally, you wrapped your hand around him and gave a long, firm stroke. He threw his head back and moaned, arching into your touch. You licked your lips as you studied his cock, the thick length of it twitching ever so slightly in your hand. You rubbed at the underside of the head with your thumb and your mouth watered when a bead of precome welled up at the tip. On instinct, you moved down to lick it off.

Ezra cursed, bucking up to meet your mouth. You held him down by the hip before taking him into your mouth as far as you could.

“Fuck, sweetheart—I—fuck!” Ezra cried out, clawing at the sheets with his hand, writhing against your hand where it held him down. When you tentatively reached down to gently squeeze his balls, he nearly sobbed.

“I’m gonna—” Ezra gasped.

You pulled your mouth off of him, then, replacing it with your hand, not moving, just holding him at the base.

“Hold on, I didn’t say stop,” he said with a breathless chuckle. “Everything alright?”

“I want you inside me,” you whispered, barely audible.

Ezra reached out to still your movements. “I don’t have protection, sweetheart,” he said, voice strained.

You bit your bottom lip, averting Ezra’s gaze for a moment. “I have the implant,” you said, looking him in the eye again.

Ezra’s eyebrow shot up. “Well, shit, woman,” he said. “Thought they only had those fancy contraptions in the Ephrate.”

“They do,” you said. “I did have some decent money, once. In the rush. Before my crew took it all and left.”

“You and I have trod similar paths, so it would seem,” Ezra said.

“The rush left a lot of us in the dust,” you said.

Ezra nodded. “The deadliest dust there is.”

After a long moment, he sat up to kiss you, just a gentle press of lips. You put your arms around him and closed your eyes, breathing with him for a moment.

“How do you want to—which way should we—” you stumbled over your words.

“You may have me whichever way you desire,” Ezra said, voice low in your ear, “and I will do my darnedest to provide.”

“Can—can you be on top?” You started, “I mean—I will if it’s easier, but my thighs are kind of killing me.”

Ezra chuckled, and you thrilled at the vibration of it against your chest. “Lay back,” he said.

You complied, laying down on the bed mat. He reached behind you to grab the pillow.

“Lift up that pretty ass of yours for me,” he said, and you did. Kneeling before you, he placed the pillow under your hips.

“Reckon my knees will hold me up longer than my arm,” he said, gripping your hip to tug you towards him.

“Guess both our thighs will be burning tonight,” you said with a sly smile.

“Worth every ache,” he replied, taking himself in hand.

He slowly rubbed at your slit with the head of his cock. You moaned, your cunt clenching against thin air as you felt wetness dribble down. Ezra dragged his cockhead through the slick, gathering it before rubbing at your clit directly. You gasped at the jolt of pleasure lighting up your body—it felt so good you could cry. You could hardly stand the teasing anymore, wanting him inside you now more than ever.

“Ezra, please,” you begged.

At your urging, he lined himself up and slid inside you with one deliberate movement. The sensation of his thick cock filling you up, the almost-aching stretch of it—it was better than you ever imagined. He grabbed you by the hip again to pull you even closer as he began to thrust into you at a steady pace.

“Look at you,” Ezra said, his voice gravelly and low, “takin’ my cock like it was made for you. Shoulda known you’d feel this good, sweetheart.”

“Ezra,” you panted, “Ezra.”

You looked up at Ezra as he filled you completely—from his pupils blown wide and his lips slightly parted, to the broad expanse of his shoulders, to the torso adorned with freckles and scars, to—fuck, where his cock was seated deep in your cunt—he was more beautiful than any gemstone.

You could tell Ezra was trying to control the pace of his thrusts, biting his lip in concentration. You didn’t want him to hold back.

“Harder,” you breathed.

“I ain’t gonna last,” Ezra said through gritted teeth.

“I don’t care!” You cried out, clenching down on him.

“Fuck!” Ezra leaned forward and braced himself against the bed, arm trembling with the effort as he set a brutal pace, fucking into you hard and deep and unrelenting. You nearly screamed.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Ezra’s voice was frantic and loud, “come for me, please, please, fuck!”

You rubbed your clit for hardly a moment before you shook apart, your cunt spasming around his cock, your body consumed in flames of pleasure so intense you could hardly breathe.

Ezra managed a few more thrusts before he came with a shout, his cock inside you as deep as it could go.

–

In the aftermath, Ezra collapsed beside you, absolutely exhausted. You turned your head to kiss him, lazy and slow.

“If it’s alright with you,” he said, his breath warm and close, “I’m inclined to take the day off tomorrow.”

“We’re sure going to be sore,” you sighed.

“Well, yes,” he agreed, “but I’m keen on more...sparrin’ practice.”

“You can say sex, you know,” you laughed, “not everything has to be a metaphor.”

Ezra smiled. “I do have an inclination to run my mouth, don’t I.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Ezra just rolled his eyes before taking your hand in his, your fingers twining together.

“I just realized,” you said, looking over at Ezra’s desk, “I could’ve sat on that chair instead of your face. Would’ve made things easier.”

Ezra’s eyes widened a fraction, looking over at the chair, then back to you.

“Why didn’t I think of that? I am dumber than a box of rocks,” he said with a chuckle. “But I do believe my method is superior.”

“We’ll have to test your theory,” you said. “Do some serious research.”

Ezra nodded eagerly before setting a steely expression with a furrowed brow. “Of course.”

content: phone sex (well, radio sex if you wanna get technical), cunnilingus, face-sitting, blowjob, vaginal sex

a/n: listen. all the scifi sex I write will conveniently make use of “the implant” purely so they can raw-dog it. also like where tf is ezra gonna go buy space condoms. this is set in the fringes of the galaxy. it’s not like he can pop over to space cvs and get some cosmic cock wrappers for his magnum dong. they don’t carry them at the shuttle station, okay?

and yes I DO go back and forth in my fics deciding whether “come” or “cum” is hotter/more grammatically correct/etc and this is a come fic, apologies to the cum crowd

special thanks to taylor (@damerondjarin) for the exchange of messages that inspired this fic, and for all the moral support thereafter. believe it or not this entire fic was supposed to be JUST the face-sitting sex scene and uh it expanded from there. Oops.

#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra prospect x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

586 notes · View notes

hisunshiine · 4 years ago

Text

—trade secrets |myg|

⟢ pairing: CEO!Yoongi x Assistant!Reader

⟢ word count: 3.4k

⟢ genre + warnings: coworkers to lovers au || nsfw 18+ some angast, smut, & fluff: 𝘴𝘮𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧™️; explicit sex: kissing, oral f. receiving, fingering, spanking, unprotected vaginal penetration, creampie, semi-public sex (office, bathroom)

⟢ summary: you’ve been pining over your boss forever, but when you and he finally cross that line, it’s not exactly all hearts and rainbows.

⟢ authors note: originally posted to twitter, i hope you enjoy!

Sat at your desk, you shuffled the papers neatly in order to staple them at the top left hand corner. The finished report was for the 2:30 PM meeting, and your boss would be needing it by 1 PM to review it for his presentation. Out of all of the assistants for the department, he trusted you the most. After several years of working for the company, you were basically Min Yoongi’s personal assistant, despite there being 3 of you to serve the 3 project managers.

This had been a foreign concept when you had first joined the company, used to being assigned to a specific manager at your old job, but you enjoyed this set up so much more. It allowed you to help each other handle all of the tasks as a group, being more efficient. It also helped with having days off, without it impacting work since there were still 2 assistants who knew what was going on no matter what projects were being handled. But for Min Yoongi, you were his favorite.

Of course, out of the other 2 project managers, Park Jimin and Jung Hoseok, you felt like Yoongi was your favorite too. Ever since starting, you had just gravitated towards him. He was the complete opposite of his coworkers, who were both loud and rambunctious. This didn’t mean Yoongi didn’t also get loud, on the contrary, he could definitely raise his voice, but he was typically calm and quiet, often sitting back and listening before speaking.

You on the other hand, were definitely more like Jimin and Hoseok. You supposed this was why you liked Yoongi so much. He balanced out your wild nature, the calming flower to settle your fluttering butterfly wings on and just… rest. Not that he knew any of this. Yoongi was blind to the way that you pined after him.

“Y/N, do you have that report ready?” Yoongi’s voice, a honeyed, low sound reverberated in the space above your head, and you looked up, startled. So caught up in the daydream that always took over when you were fresh from the carbload of lunch, you felt yourself heat up as the star of the very daydream held his calloused hand out to you.

“Oh, y-yes, Yoongi-ssi, right here.”

You gathered up the report you had recently stapled and placed it in his waiting hand as he cleared his throat, nimble fingers straightening his tie. How one subtle movement could send your body into overdrive made no sense to you, but his eye contact conveyed so much more than just a look. It filled you with a heat that had nothing to do with the summer temperatures.

“Thank you… I’ll get you when it’s time for the meeting.” His free hand lightly brushed your forearm, lingering, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his touch, a fire spreading across your body.

The meeting went off without a hitch, as you knew it would, and slowly you packed up the conference room of the equipment that had been used for the presentation. As the assistant to the project managers, you were privy to all the plans, and knew that you would be working non-stop the next few weeks to help get everything done for the managers. Their project was approved by their CEO, and you knew starting tomorrow, it would be all engines go.

Pushing the cart with the projector and company laptop back out into the hallway, you watched as the managers walked off ahead of you, headed to their separate offices—located next to each other—as you wheeled the tech cart back to the IT wing.

“Thank you so much Jungkook!” You smiled at your best friend of 8 years, who had helped you and one of the other assistants, set up the presentation slides on the new system Jimin had wanted to utilize. A tall, muscular nerd, (who also happened to be dating the other said assistant) your best friend pushed his glasses a little higher up his nose as he took the cart from you.

“Not a problem, babe. Hey.. what did Yoongi think of your skirt?” He whispered, winking at you.

“He didn’t even bat an eye. It’s pointless, Kook. He’s never gonna notice me.” You sigh, bending at the waist to lean against his desk. Your elbows braced your weight as you wiggled your hips.

“Well maybe if you did this little dance for him, he would.”

You laugh.

“No way, so I can get sent to HR for sexual harassment training? Please. That retraining video is a snooze fest.” You continue swaying side to side, more so to stretch out the kink in your lower back from sitting so long working on the presentation than anything, when Jungkook’s eyes grow impossibly bigger. He said nothing though; you assumed he’s reacting to your words about the harassment video. That is, until a voice cut through the silence.

“Y/N, u-uhm.. When you’re done with IT, can you—actually, I can, uhm, I can handle it myself.”

You had just managed to take in the sight of a shocked Min Yoongi, eyes focused on your ass as you put it on display, before he was whirling from the room, his pale porcelain skin a blotchy red.

Jungkook’s laughter cut through the embarrassed silence as you stand up, hands covering your face as you cringe internally at what had just happened. Leaving Jungkook’s office a few minutes later, you couldn’t help but smile a little bit through the mortification at the way Yoongi stuttered as he stared at your ass.

“Y/N, can you email me over the notes from the meeting yesterday?”

Yoongi paused on his way out of the office at your desk, several days after the mishap in Jungkook’s IT department. He hadn’t appeared to be affected when you had seen him back on your side of the building not even 10 minutes after the incident, and had seemed rather nonplussed once you had made it back to your desk and began sorting through your tasks. Now that several days had passed, you had also gone back to acting normal. If normal consisted of the secret pining over your boss and complaining to your best friend and his girlfriend at happy hour that yet again another ploy to catch Yoongi’s eye had failed.

“I’ll have the info emailed over to you now.”

“Thanks; I’m headed out to grab lunch, do you want anything?”

You smiled at him, shaking your head no.

“I brought something to eat, but thank you Yoongi-ssi.”

Yoongi began to walk away towards the elevators when he stopped and turned to face you.

“Can you stay late tonight? We have our first deadline for the project and the other two girls can’t stay.”

You felt your heart—the very one in your chest that had just started to beat faster—slow it’s rate. He had asked the other girls first, and you felt disappointment at being a last minute ask. You were confused at first as to why the other girls couldn’t stay, until you remembered that there were only two of you today anyways; the third being Jungkook’s girlfriend, and they were gone on a “baecation” to Jeju Island for the weekend.

“No problem, boss. Um, actually, can I change my mind about lunch then? I can save this for dinner.”

He nodded and you texted him your order as he walked off.

Time seemed to be moving so slowly, but it was already close to 11 PM. The finishing touches on the first assignment were nearly completed, and if anyone were to walk into his office, they would be able to see that it indeed appeared as if work had been happening. Your lunch turned dinner had been eaten around 6, and Yoongi had ordered takeout around 9, of which empty containers now lay abandoned on surfaces, wooden chopsticks haphazardly positioned in them.

Papers were strewn along the mahogany desk, laid on the floor as well, and you were ready to be done with this task. Leaning over Yoongi’s shoulder, your eyes were narrow as you scanned the final document for mistakes. You braced yourself with your right forearm, left hand on the back of his computer chair.

This close to him, you could smell his cologne, a deep musk scent with hints of a sweet vanilla like essence. His hair, ruffled by his hands so many times, looked fucked out with sprouts sticking each way. Your eyes drifted to those hands, handling the mouse and resting on the keyboard, and you licked your lips slowly.

Everything about him was arousing you at this hour, and you wished that he would take notice of the way your blouse had appeared to unbutton more and more as time had crept by tonight. If he would just turn his head slightly to you... the way you were leaning had your breasts dangerously close to making an appearance. Your thoughts of how hot it would be for him to take you on this desk had your arousal leaking, your panties embarrassingly wet as they clung to your skin.

Letting out an intentionally soft sigh, you adjust your hand on the edge of his desk and form your lips to ask a random made up question, anything to get him to look at you, when he does exactly as you had hoped. His face, close to yours, turns to speak, but the words die in his throat as he takes you in.

“Yoongi?” Your voice is soft, and you end his name with a bite to your bottom lip, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. You take a deep breath, knowing how your chest must look from his angle, hoping that the rise and fall would push them forward just the right amount.

“You..” he clears his throat, eyes on your cleavage shamelessly, “—do you know what you do to me when you tease me like this?”

His eyes snap to yours, pulling a startled gasp from your throat and you stutter a response.

“T-Tease you? I—” Yoongi turned in his chair and his fingers gripped your waist as you stood abruptly.

“Yes.”

That one word was uttered with a growl before he pulled your lips to his. The kiss was sloppy, a mess of lips fervently moving as tongues sought out the taste of each other. You were on fire, his grip pulling you down onto his lap so that you straddled him. His length strained against his pants, the feel of it twitching in time to your moans against your core. You grinded against him as your lips traveled to his neck, and he tilted his head to give you better access.

“Do you know—fuck—just how badly you drive me crazy. These skirts, unbuttoned shirts, that fucking display in IT the other day..” his low voice panting out that you had successfully gotten to him. You pulled back, lips glossy and pupils dilated, taking in the red across his cheeks.

“That was an accident, I wasn’t trying to tease you then.”

“Just all the other times.” His eyes glinted.

“I..”

“If you wanted me to fuck you, you should’ve just asked.”

He leaned in again, arms wrapped around you as he connected your lips again. You knew you had to be messing up his pants, but neither of you seemed to care. He groaned, lifting you to stand.

“I need to be inside of you..” He flipped you, so you faced the desk and folded you at the waist. Chest to the desk, he lifted your skirt up. “I’m over you teasing me, babe. Your turn.”

Yoongi eyed your clothed core, taking note of the wetness that clung to it, running his index finger along your slit until he found your swollen nub. Pressing on it, he traced circles, causing you to squirm. He loved seeing you like this, finally, after all the wet dreams of you, he had you like this: a sopping mess on his desk, whining for more.

He kneels, fingers gripping the edge of your panties and in a swift motion he exposes you.

“Fuck, babe, I can’t wait to fill this cunt...”

You flinch as his warm tongue glides from clit to opening, tasting you, leaving you with an unsuspecting smack to your asscheek. You wiggle, more turned on then you imagined you could be and when he groans in appreciation, you clench, needy.

“Please Yoongi, p-please fuck me.”

You hear him stand and undo his pants, whine when he dips two fingers into you and begins to fuck you with them.

“Not what I want,” you complain like the brat you are, and he chuckles darkly.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be glad I prepped you.” He scissors his fingers, stretching you as your natural lubricant slickens his fingers. The sound of finger fucking would usually make you blush, but you’re too aroused by the naughtiness of it. Your boss, knuckle deep into your throbbing cunt, his handprint on your ass.

He spits, and you hear his left hand slide up and down his hardened shaft, the sound intertwined with the squelching between your legs.

“Fuck me, p-please,” you’re begging now, hands gripping the edge of the desk, and you push back into him when you feel the head of his cock line up with your opening.

“Patience, baby.” Yoongi dips just the tip in, shallow fucking you until you’re practically crying from the taunting stimulation.

“Yoongi, I swear to G—oh!”

Yoongi thrusts into you, and your walls suck him in, sliding him in until he bottoms out, his pelvis snug to your ass, and he groans loudly. His hands knead at your ass, pulling your cheeks apart so he can inch deeper, watching the way you wrap around him so nicely, like you were made to take his cock. He pulls out slowly before slamming his hips back into you, enjoying the way you mewl from his cock kissing your cervix.

It’s like Yoongi transforms into a feral animal, one stroke inside of you and he’s laying on your back, arms wrapping around you to clutch at your breasts as he pistons his hips, fucking into you with all of the strength his ex-basketball playing thighs carry. You feel him bite your back, your shirt softening the blow, but you clench regardless.

“D-Do that again, sweetheart, fuck that felt so good..”

You clench repeatedly, tightening your grip on him, and he feels so good inside of you, your toes are curling, loud exhalations with every thrust; you’re so close.

“Where, uh, where can I—I’m gonna—”

“Inside me, Yoongi, fuck, fill me up, please Daddy, I want to be full of you..”

He can feel your legs trembling, but Yoongi wants you to break first.

“Cum on my cock, baby.” Yoongi’s hand drops from your chest and it takes only a few figure eights of his finger on your cllit and you’re bursting, white behind your eyelids as you squeeze them shut. Your body tremors, euphoric sensations traveling to every inch of your body as your muscles spaz, and he’s filling you, his thick seed spurting out and overflowing from your swollen core, running down both of your thighs.

You and Yoongi ended up back at his place that night, fucking until Saturday afternoon. Sunday night, you checked your phone and saw a text from Yoongi.

[Yoongi-ssi]

Y/N, please don’t think I didn’t enjoy myself… but it can’t happen again. I’m sorry.

You sat there, staring at your phone rereading the message over and over. He was… rejecting you? You hadn’t even voiced to him your feelings. It wasn’t just sexual attraction to him, but after these years with him, you couldn’t help but to have fallen for him. And now that you’d had him, you were head over heels in love with him, all of him. But clearly he didn’t feel the same.

Monday at work, you were quiet, so unlike your usual self. Listening to Jungkook’s girlfriend talk about their trip to Jeju Island, you felt yourself ruminating on the text Yoongi had sent you. Like you had been all night.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

You turn quickly, eyes meeting the worried look of your coworker, nodding as you schooled your facial expressions into something more neutral.

“Yea, I just have a migraine. I’m gonna go talk to Yoongi, see if I can go home early.”

You made your way to Yoongi’s office. Knocking gently, his quiet voice beckoned you into the room.

“Hey, um… I think I need to go home early.”

Yoongi, who had his eyes trained on the computer monitor, looked up at you abruptly.

“Are you.. Is everything okay?” his voice was tinged with concern.

“I just.. I think I need a few days off… away from here.” Away from you.

“Look, Y/N..” Yoongi stood up, coming over to you. He stood there, quiet, eyes taking you in. “Fuck.”

Yoongi kissed you, and you melted into his hold. His hands grasped your forearms, pulling you closer in to him.

‘This can’t happen again’, happened again. And again, and again.

Secret sex with your boss every so often became an almost everyday occurrence, in his office, in his car, in the morning before work when you woke up in his bed, and now, currently pushed up against the wall of the stall in the men’s bathroom.

Yoongi had your legs around his waist, fucking his cock up into you, one hand over your mouth to stifle the sounds escaping your mouth. He had pulled you in here after the last meeting for the project, a celebratory fuck to commence the end of this very time consuming project. Yoongi walked you towards the stall, wanting to brace you against something so he could chase his high.

As you came, velvety walls pulsing as you rode out your high, the door to the men’s room swung open, and Yoongi disappeared into the stall just in time. He turned and sat on the lid of the toilet, still holding you tightly to him. Shuddering, the orgasm wracked your body as you could hear two guys talking faintly through the hazy post climax glow.

“God, she’s so hot, maybe I’ll ask her out..” a voice declared, the sound of pissing filling the room.

“Y/N would never date you,” the other voice laughed, “she’s way out of your league.” Yoongi’s arms tightened imperceptibly around you as you rested your head on his shoulder. He grips your thighs and continues to thrust into you, close to erupting.

“You know that SooHyun is thinking of asking her out. He’s way more her type than you are.” The sound of zippers quickly sounded before the rush of water as the two men washed their hands.

“Fuck, he totally has a better chance than me. Damn, he’s gonna be clapping her cheeks in no time. Guess I’ll stick to jerking it to pics of her from the Christmas party last year.” The door shut and Yoongi sped up his movements until he came, cock emptying his sticky cum inside of you.

You melt your lips with his, lazily kissing him as you settled from your orgasm.

“You and Soohyun hyung?” Yoongi asked, a twinge of jealousy coming through in his moment of weakness.

“Hmm, I heard some of the girls saying he was thinking of asking me on a date.” You nuzzled into his neck, kissing soft pecks as he softened inside of you.

“I don’t want you to go.” His voice was barely a whisper, a gravely plea.

You sat up, facing him with a serious look on your face.

“I mean, is there something holding me back? A reason to say no?”

“Do you, uh, do you want there to be?”

His deep Americano eyes meet yours, and you nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Then let me be the reason. Go out with me.”

You smile softly threading your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver.

“Okay.”

You walk back to your office area, fingers intertwined with Yoongi’s, no longer a secret between the two of you as the office gawks at their very quiet and calm boss with the office babe, Soohyun looking a little put out that you were no longer available.

#hisunshiine #yoongi #suga #yoongles #meowmeow #hisunshiinewritings #hisunshiine writing #min yoongi #yoongi smut #bts fic #bts au #suga smut #min yoongi smut #bts story #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #min yoongi ceo #yoongi ceo

153 notes · View notes

andraaste · 4 years ago

Text

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction Part 4

I have a question for you guys. In French, we say "une oreille à qui parler" literally "an ear to talk to". Do you say that expression, too ? I really don't know, but that's the title of my chapter aha.

So, here's chapter 4 !

(Link for Chapter 5 here)

Chapter 4 : Someone to talk to

Lance walked in front of me with a sure and confident walk, while my stomach twitched slightly at the thought of what Huang Hua wanted to talk to us about. Why hadn't the leader of the Sparkling come to me in the first place, when it was clearly necessary ? Why leave it to Lance, supposedly the person I should have the least interaction with, to do it for her ? I didn't understand her intentions.

I observed the broad shoulders of my companion. He had changed a lot in seven years. His hair had grown and his body looked even better built. But beyond the physical, the dragon had a much calmer temperament. It was probably due to age or ... to everything he surely had to go through as a result of the battle. How did all this happen for him ? For my part, I couldn't yet think about all that. The battle, the death of Valkyon and many Eldaryans ... I couldn't. Something in my head seemed to be blocking these thoughts and maybe that was why I was able to tolerate the presence of this man by my side. Because I hated him, I couldn't deny that we had compatible characters.

How can we manage such a situation ? How do we accept the fact that we appreciate the presence of the person who has hurt us the most ?

My thoughts were halted as Lance branched off in the direction of the HQ's huge meeting room, which immediately intensified my burgeoning stress. Before opening the door, he gave me one last indecipherable look. I let him know I was ready and he let me in before stepping back. Puzzled, I questioned him.

- Aren't you coming in ?

- It seems to me that Huang Hua wishes to address us separately.

Upon hearing my arrival, Huang Hua stood up and offered me one of her bright smiles to which I could only respond weakly.

- Andraste, here you are at last ! I am glad to see you. How are you, my beautiful ? Eweleïn told me about your worrying wound yesterday.

I could already imagine Lance's disapproval of me keeping these facts to myself, but I wasn't going to give her that pleasure. I just wasn't ready to tell anyone what was happening in me.

- I'm better, thank you. More fear than harm, I guess.

- Good. This is precisely what prompted me to bring you both here. As Lance must have told you, I put him in charge of keeping you safe for a while. At least until your condition improves and you are at the peak of your senses.

I then cut it unceremoniously.

- Huang Hua, about this story, should you not have told me first, before handing this mission to Lance ? Why am I the last to know ? It's me that concerns, all the same !

- Because, whether you like it or not, he's the only one here who can take on this role. I didn't find it necessary to consult you beforehand because I knew that you would be against this idea, and I wanted to let you rest as long as possible.

- Obviously I was going to be against it ! Do I remind you that for me, this was all just a few days ago ?

- Andraste, my decision is made and as long as you do not prove to me that you are able to defend yourself, it will be so. We can't allow something to happen to you.

I ticked off that answer. Keeping me safe obviously didn't seem to be in my sole interest to her. What was she hiding from me ?

- I also have a question for you. Have you felt your aengel powers manifest since you woke up ?

Hesitantly, I tell her the truth all the same.

- No not right now.

- That is what I thought. I don't know if this has to do with your physical state of health or if something more psychological is blocking you, but it is still a point that we must emphasize.

- What are my powers of aengel doing in there?

Huang Hua looked at me for a long time.

- You do not realize the extent of your powers, my dear Andraste. Know that it is not trivial if it is you that the Oracle has chosen, and that your presence in this Crystal has most likely granted you new abilities. You are a very valuable asset of the Guard. But this power, as good as it is, is not necessarily viewed favorably by everyone. This is where the boys come in. In addition to your protection, I would like Lance and Leiftan to intervene in your training.

- My training ?

- Your powers seem to have fallen asleep for the moment, moreover, the leader of The Obsidian made me understand that your physical capacities in combat seemed much lower than at the time.

Lance, what a swelling.

- And what kind of training is it ? I inquired.

- Nothing too intense or complicated, don't worry. They will relegate only to help you train for combat and try to awaken your powers. As aengel too, Leiftan will surely be able to guide you for this last point and as for Lance, despite your completely understandable reluctance, he remains the most qualified to get you back in shape.

- And in that it's about my "security" ? I agree to train with him, but I don't need a bodyguard !

- It will be so as long as I deem it necessary, my orders will not change as to its subject.

Realizing that my word would have no weight in the balance, I capitulated bitterly.

- Alright, I guess if that's what you decided, it must probably be the best thing to do.

A thin smile appeared on the lips of the young Phoenix.

- I'm glad to see you accept my decision. If you have nothing more to add, I'll let you go.

Tired of this interview in which, I was not going to hide it from myself, I had not had my say, I crossed the door to leave the great room. I came across the dragon who looked at me silently for a moment. Seeming to want to say something to me, he opened his mouth when Huang Hua's voice sounded to tell him to come in too. No words finally crossed his lips before he left me alone in the hallway.

Hearing the door slam behind my back, I froze for a moment, staring into space.

Was it just me, or did Huang Hua not tell me everything ? Not understanding anything any more, I decided to go out for the air to put my ideas back in place.

HQ had changed dramatically since I remembered recently. It was clearly seen that prosperity had returned and that life had become easier here. Feeling my stomach growl, I finally visited Karuto in the hope that there was still something to eat despite the lunch hour well past. Fortunately for me, I was able to help myself abundantly and went to sit in a quiet corner of the room.

The room was still quite lively. Several groups of people chatted happily around their empty plates, which made me realize a fact that I had tried to ignore.

I didn't really have any entourage here anymore.

Certainly, Chrome, Karenn or even Jamon were still here, but when I was talking to them, I felt that many years had passed. Our relationships seemed different. I had missed too many things and that weight was crushing me a little more every time I interacted with them. But it was the right arm of Sparkling that hurt me the most. I didn't think I'd find a Nevra so distant and it broke my heart a little more each time.

I was also ashamed of this truth, but to be quite honest with myself, the only person I had felt with in the last few days was the one I should have despised the most. Lance was until now the only one who had not made me feel that I was a foreigner.

What was wrong with me...

Thinkingly nibbling on a piece of bread, thoughts light years away from what surrounded me, I was surprised to see a young man sitting in front of me. A smile to the ears overhanging with big brown eyes, his jovial air made me feel immediately.

- Hi !

I observed him, astonished. I was intrigued by something about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I answered him in the same tone.

- We haven't been introduced to you and me yet, but I've been dreaming of meeting you for a long time ! By the way, my name is Mathieu.

- Enchanted Mathieu, I'm Andraste.

I gave him a smile that was meant to be encouraging.

- You're cute. You introduce yourself when you are certainly the most famous person here, perhaps even as much as Huang Hua, that is to say.

I was scowling slightly.

- Oh, really ? You're exaggerating a little bit.

- No, no, really ! Finally, I wanted to meet you so I could finally talk with another human, I sometimes feel a little lost here.

I stared at him for several long seconds without saying anything. Did he really just say "another human", or had I dreamed ? My brain tilted so much that I wasn't surprised he heard himself.

- Wait, are you human ?!

Ok, maybe I said that sentence a little too loudly. And probably with a little too much gusto.

My interlocutor burst into a frank laugh at my reaction.

- We could not be more human !

- But how did you get here ? Has it been a while since you arrived in Eldarya ? Don't you miss Earth ?

- Oone question at a time please ! he asked me with a big smile. It's been about a year since I landed on Eldarya, probably the same way you did. So, there are some aspects of our world that I miss a bit, but to be quite frank, I've always dreamed of fantasy. At first it was complicated, but I don't leave much behind me. I always thought I wasn't cut out for such a bland life.

The more he spoke, the more my bewilderment widened. My god, it was a human !

- You can't imagine how amazing it is for me to talk to another human, I thought that would never happen again !

Mathieu's laugh and jovial jokes had finished relaxing me entirely. His presence totally invigorated me and I felt, for the first time in a long time, that I had found someone to talk to.

The days finally passed without being punctuated by a specific goal, which began to seriously hit me on the system. And to my surprise, Lance had shown so little after his interview with the young Phoenix that I thought he had changed his mind.

Until he showed up one fine morning in my room without any invitation.

With a sword I never knew in his hand, he casually threw it at my quilt as he opened my curtains energetically. Sitting on the end of my bed, he rested his arms on his knees while giving me a challenging look, his expression slightly cheerful.

- Come on, we have training ahead of us today.

(Chapter 5)

#eldarya #eldarya new era #eldarya lance #ashkore #lance #eldarya writing #writing #eldarya fanfiction #eldarya fanfic #fanfiction #i am not your enemy

42 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

Text

The Hard Things

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC.

I cried once writing this. 7.4k words. Angst. Just angst and sarcasm.

@notinthesameguey is personally responsible for this. So blame her.

The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Masterlist (on semi hiatus)

___________________________________

If Freya were going to be honest, she would admit that the second she saw Calum and his friends walk into the building she knew things were going to be bad. But Freya’s not being honest. Because being honest would almost include admitting just how too easy it was that day. How if those particular sequences of events hadn’t happened that specifically, then she wouldn’t be here--trying not to watch the quiver in his chin or the way he blinks rapidly. Then she wouldn’t be trying to forget the way his voice quakes.

But they did happen in that particular order. On a Thursday afternoon, he and his friends walked through the door. And here, here at this part, it’s easy to be honest.

Honestly, she is staring--way too hard and way too long at the rag-tag gaggle of people, but especially the man pulling up the rear of the group with a bright red hat snug on his head and covering his eyes, though not even the brim can hide the plump full lips pulled up into a tiny grin at something that must’ve been said. Because another guy, this one fairer-skinned in a hat too and a baggy t-shirt is also laughing. And of course, this group would enter just as Tre stepped away to check on the lanes already throwing. Vanessa wasn’t too far from the desk, but she was trying to help some parents figure out when they could schedule an event for someone’s birthday in the coming weeks.

This only leaves Freya as the only person available right now until rounds were completed to handle any new patrons. With a glance down to the clock on the computer, she could see that a couple more folks would be coming back to the front at any point. But clearly, that point wouldn’t come quick enough.

“Hi,” Freya greets flicking her gaze back up to the group with a quick smile. It’s the training. The fact that more than once she’d been told that customers liked her, especially the way she gave instructions but she needed to smile more. And if this weren’t the job keeping her afloat during her time of getting her degree, in addition to the administrative desk work she did at the university, she would leave here in a heartbeat. Possibly even in the blink of an eye. Whichever was faster.

“Hey! We were hoping you had a couple of lanes for us.”

Freya counts the head. “Just you seven?”

The guy that spoke initially turns the man in the back with the bright red hat on. “Still no word from her?”

The guy shrugs. “Don’t sweat it.” And Freya clings to every syllable. The almost sleepy drawl to his voice lined with a twinge of an accent. She can’t place it at first. But all of them share slight variations in it. The man in the red hat’s voice is low but smooth.

“Yeah just the seven of us,” a taller man pipes in.

“Okay, we can only have two people throwing on a lane at a time. I can put you on neighboring ones but we’ve got very strict rules about how many people can throw at a time.”

There’s a murmur amongst the group but eventually, it comes back to Freya that they’re okay with it. She runs down the safety rules, the forms they have to form out, and checks their IDs. She notices the man with the red hat’s name is Calum and though she knows she shouldn’t, she tries to commit it to memory. It won’t last long. She forgets names all too fast, but she never forgets a face.

“Nessa, watch the desk for me!” Freya calls out as she collects the cases with the axes and directs the party to their lanes. There’s a table for convening and a separate for the axes to rest. “Alright,” she starts with a quick whistle to settle the group. They get chatty but are quick to turn their attention back to her. “I don’t want to kick anyone out, but I will. So one last recap of the rules.”

When Freya finishes, she has the entire group repeat the rules back to her. When they return it to her all correctly, she smiles. “I appreciate y’all already. There are several range officers. They monitor carefully from several posts,” and she points them out as she speaks. “The shift rotates out in an hour. Meaning you’ll have to pause let the old shift go and let the new shift jump in. You’ll hear beeps to signal you to stop and start. If you have any other questions or concerns, you can find me at the front or a range officer. And we’ll be happy to help. Let’s keep all fingers, toes, extremities, and eyeballs intact and we can have a great day together. Enjoy.”

Usually, in her safety spills and best way to throw, Freya makes sure to keep eye contact with everyone in the group. However, she places a purposeful gaze on Calum when she tells them to enjoy. It’s reckless--she knows that. A little flirting hasn’t hurt her. Besides, she knows the moment she walks away, he’ll forget about her. They always did and she likes it like that. Flirty enough to keep good reviews, but never too flirty to insinuate anything more.

In her departure, Freya feels eyes on her, lasting longer than usual. And maybe she put more emphasis behind the swish of her hips and maybe she hoped it was Calum watching her walk away. But she doesn’t dare turn around. No matter how much she hopes in a fleeting second that maybe she had flirted just a little too much, Freya does not turn around to confirm or deny anything.

Back at the front desk, Freya takes a look at the cameras. Anyone at the front can see the lanes too--it’s for safety when you have live blades. Her gaze travels over each one though just out of the corner of her eye she catches the bright red hat. A few guys clasp him on the back but she can’t hear whatever else is said. The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. As people leave, few come in to replace them. The weekend will be busier--it always in. And Freya knows that soon too, once the afternoon becomes evening things will pick up just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Everything okay?”

Freya barely sees who it is talking before they’re out of the door. Calum, phone pressed to his ear. She watches him for a beat as he paces near the front windows of the establishment. Her gaze doesn’t linger long before something on the floor catches her eye. She sees it’s black and square. When she gets closer it looks like a wallet. Clearly used and loved by the creases in it. She glances back up to Calum to see him still on the phone and peeks at the ID just to make sure who it belongs to.

With the blank stare of Calum’s ID photo looking up at her, Freya takes it back behind the desk. She’ll wait until he gets off the phone. A minute or two later, the door chimes again with Calum reentering.

“Hey, you dropped this,” she calls out, stepping out from the desk to hold out the wallet.

Calum pats his pockets and a split second panic causes his eyes to go wide. “Oh shit, thanks. I-I didn’t even realize it fell out of my pocket.”

“No worries. Just glad to get it back to you.” Calum takes it and slips it into his pocket, hands patting the outside to make doubly sure it’s secure. “You guys doing okay back there?

“Yeah, we’re good. Though I think somehow the girls are kicking our asses.”

Freya smiles with a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “It’s power and finesse. You can tear down brick buildings but if you don’t get the release right so it’s not twirling over the axis too many times, you’ll come up with nothing.”

“So says the expert?”

Her cheeks heat for a second at the raised eyebrow Calum gives her. Running her tongue over her teeth to hide the smile, Freya nods. “Yeah, I’ve thrown an axe or two in my lifetime. So I guess that counts as me being an expert.”

Calum laughs. Whether it’s at her or not, Freya’s not sure. But she likes the sound of it. “Tell me what else the expert suggests.”

A moment passes where Freya’s watching his gaze. Wondering if an anime glint will twinkle over his brown eyes because it’s a smooth delivery. Smoother than some of the stuff she’s done. There’s no way he’s fucking real.

Freya takes a half step back, slipping through the threshold that separates the front desk from the main lobby and the hallway to the back where the lanes are set up. “This expert suggests that you try her advice and impress all your friends.”

“More finesse. In the wrist, right?”

“In the wrist.”

A shy smile is shared between the two of them. It borders telling everything and saying nothing at all, borders on giving away on how much Calum might’ve considered concocting a ruse just to get her attention and how much he did backtrack on his plan because it was his sister calling and that shocked him. The smile borders on Freya twirling the Havana twists around her finger and her rolling her eyes at Calum’s thinly veiled attempts at flirting.

Both of them are saved by the front door chiming and Freya gives a nod to Calum before turning her attention to the person now entering. But Calum watches the way she leans into the counter and smiles down at the small child standing next to their parent. “Oh my god, you’re getting so big,” Freya comments and then walks back around to settle next to them.

“No, Fre, I’m not bigger dan yesterday,” the kid responds.

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Your dad will be out in just a second. Shift change had to wait for one more person. Anything cool happen at school today?”

Calum leaves then, though he can catch the small boy gush about the races he won at recess. It’s probably crazy of him to try and find some sort of way to come back here again soon, but Calum’s already trying to put together an excuse.

When Calum heads back to the front with the group, laughing at Michael’s utter disgust at the way the last few throws went, he does look for Freya. A girl with red hair is sitting at the desk instead. And though a little bit of disappoints settles into his stomach because he wanted to tell her how well her advice worked, he finds himself resolved and it wouldn’t be broken.

******

Calum told himself whatever Freya had to say during this talk wouldn’t break him. Hell, if he were honest, he didn’t think it would go like this. “You know, I used to say I was no good for people all the time,” Calum laughs. He sniffs hard and wipes his noses on the back of his nose. “It was a clean get-away line.”

“I’m not giving you a get-away line. I’m giving you the truth,” Freya returns.

“No, I’m-I’m not saying you’re giving me bullshit. You’re setting a boundary and a good one at that. I respect it. I’m just saying the irony. The same thing I used to tell others is coming back my way.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t regret it.” Calum shakes his head, not because he’s lying. But to emphasize his point.

*****

Calum doesn’t regret going to the Yelp, Facebook, or Instagram page of the business to see if she had liked it or appeared anywhere on their social media. And luck would have it, he manages to find her. The owners like to show off their employees. Their preferred form of employee appreciation appears, in Calum’s investigation, to be a quick bio of new employees along with a video of them throwing. He nearly misses Freya’s post because of his quick scrolls. The bottom of the page comes up quicker than the app could handle and just as the new page loads that he notices it. The thick twists and black lipstick sitting on her cool dark brown skin.

He doesn’t regret it when he followed the account that was tagged, or the message he sent her from his finsta, or the messages they exchanged for a few days. And he for damn sure can’t find himself to regret it when he came back to the place a couple of weeks later to see if Freya was working.

There’s no regret when she smiles at him and laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to test your theory yet again. It worked last time. But I want to make sure that it wasn’t beginner’s luck.”

“You doubt me. You dare doubt me? I’m offended.”

Calum laughs briefly as he leans into the counter of the front desk. “It’s more like I’m testing a theory. Making sure the results can be recreated.”

“Oh, I promise you my results are valid.” She reaches out for his ID and every so gently their fingers brush. Calum can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t the slight shiver that runs down his spine. “So just you today, huh?” Freya continues on, grabbing a clipboard, some forms, and a pen.

“Just me.”

“Rest of your friends scared.” Her gaze falls to the stack she’s gathering, checking something off on the top page and then sliding the ID back to Calum.

“They’d probably laugh at me if they knew I was here.”

“Laugh at you?”

“Tell me--why do you think I’m here?”

A moment passes between them. Though it takes up more like several seconds, time feels froze as Freya studies his face. Calum wants to reach up and readjust his hat out of a nervous habit. He wants to take it back. But more than anything, he wants to know if he has a shot. If it’s worth really pursuing.

“I think you’re here to test a theory. Maybe, just maybe you’re here because of Vanessa too,” she smiles as it says. Like she knows that isn’t the truth but she doesn’t want to give into Calum.

And while it’s not the answer he was hoping for, Calum takes it. She wants to play a game and he can be down for that.

*****

She wants to reach out for his hands. They sit next to each other in the lounge chairs Calum keeps lined around his pool. But Freya thinks twice about it. The bulbs dangle above them casting an amber hue onto the water, a stark contrast to the twilight pressing evening closer to night’s full darkness. Freya does regret it. She regrets not leaving her teasing response just to testing a theory. She knew what Calum was fishing for, what he was hoping to confirm when he came back by himself.

Maybe it was just where she was then. Then she thought she could give more. Now she realizes she can’t. She likes it when she’s dating someone and they can decide on a random Sunday for errand runs. She likes having them around. And not that Calum wouldn’t be around. Tours didn’t happen all the time. But they did run long. And who the hell knows where she’d be in eight months after she graduated. Her life wasn’t stable--she wasn’t tied to the West Coast like Calum was.

Her life was full of variables. Ones that she didn’t really plan on trying to solve until closer to Christmas in the spring right before graduation. And she didn’t want to give Calum any more false hope. It wasn’t set in stone that she’d be staying in LA and it wasn’t set in stone that she could handle the long departures. Calum deserved someone that was more sure of themselves.

“I think having regrets is no good anyway,” Freya says, finally breaking the long silence between them. “Having them doesn’t change what happened anyway.” But that doesn’t change the fact that you still regret this, Freya thinks to herself.

“I used to believe love could overcome any obstacle.”

Freya turns to look to Calum and catches thhe way the stubble on his chin from the few weeks he’s gone without shaving halos just a little in the lights. “Used to? The right person, the right love--”

Calum shakes his head. “Now I think people loving me means that they love themselves and they can tell me what they want or need. No guessing. No games.”

“Still sounds a lot of a hell lot like overcoming obstacles.”

“But it’s not a dream. It’s tangible. It’s not me daydreaming up in the clouds. It’s me--right here. Right now. Knowing seeing what it means more than anything else that all the shit I was thinking of as a kid really needed just to be put on the ground level for me.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean as much as it fucking sucks that you’re telling me no, I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. I-there’s like this thing with me. I watch people. I don’t walk into a room of strangers and become the center of attention. I don’t like people all that much, but I care. You know? I care about the people I put into my life and I want them to do well and succeed. I want what’s best for them. It’s not always easy to want that, but innately, I do, I think. Deep down I want what’s good for people. And maybe love is doing the hard things, you know.”

He pauses. Freya watches the way he drops his head, fingers threading through the curls. She keeps quiet. There’s something more, something deeper to the words. “And you’re doing the hard thing. Whether it’s for me or not is debatable,” Calum continues. “But I think love is doing the hard things.”

“You said that having some space was important to you. And while I understand that, like you do need to be your own person in a relationship--”

“Your reasons or how you want to justify it to yourself for me isn’t something I need. You already said that you know what you expect and like out a relationship and that the touring would be too hard for you. Set boundaries for you. What good does it do to justify it to me?”

“So you know I’m not being an asshole, Calum. For fuck sake.”

“No, no, I-shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--who are boundaries really for? What do they do?”

“I guess they do protect the person making them. But I’m not trying to be an asshole to you. I swear.”

Calum looks up from the cement of his background lining the pool to the glossy sheen coating Freya’s eyes. They’re black in the settling night. But Calum knows they’re more like a medium brown--dark enough to get lost in them, but when they catch the light just right, they can feel like an enchanting spell sucking him in.

“Freya, you are a sarcastic son of a bitch. But an asshole to those that don’t deserve it, never.”

She sucks on her teeth, swatting at his bicep. “Take that back.”

Calum leans onto his left elbow, closing the gap between them just a little. A smile lifts his lips gently. “Never.”

“We’ve both been burned. Is it bad I didn’t want that again?”

“No. I used to say love is a scam. So I don’t think I’m necessarily the poster boy for relationships.”

“But admit it, you hoped this was the one so you wouldn’t be the odd man out.” His brows furrow at her comment. Freya gives him a soft smile. “Two of the guys are engaged. But all three of them are in a relationship.”

He sighs, gazing dropping from her face. “Maybe I was hoping so. Is it bad of me to want to be in love?”

“No. I told some kids that my boyfriend was Shermar Moore,” Freya admits with a laugh. “I was working at a summer camp and one girl saw his picture on my phone. It was my lockscreen for the longest time. So I just went with it. Well, I was spurred in part because of Drew who was a fucking creep and wouldn’t leave me alone. But I did fantasize about it. Dream of being in love with some famous and the limelight. Shit at that point, I hadn’t even dated anyone either. So another part of it was a desire too.”

“Is that part of it too? Worried about what trolls and whatever will say?”

“Oh, no one who doesn’t know shit about it can make me get outside myself.” Freya laughs but reclines into the cushions of the chair. “But maybe it’s a little bit of it. That’s too many voices talking all about you. It’s a lot of noise and some of it has to bleed through you know. Even if you’re careful and you work not to take it in, some does, right?”

“I don’t think humans were created to be able to handle that much criticism or even love and adoration. Our brains can’t handle it. So yeah, a little bit seeps in. But you keep that door closed as much as you can. You talk to people that also get it. Fuck, you even get a therapist.”

“Or a dog,” Freya says before turning her head to watch Duke laying inside next to the back door.

“And a dog,” Calum corrects.

“Excuse me, you get a therapist and a dog.”

“Tell me something.”

“I’m listening,” Freya returns, looking back to Calum.

“Before you go tonight, tell me the thing you’re going to cherish between us.”

“Will you do the same?” Calum nods at the question but doesn’t respond verbally as he gazes at her.

“Do you want to answer now?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. And then when you leave, the parting thing we have is the good, the best of us.”

“What if I stay until dawn?”

“Then you stay until dawn. Though, I think it’s safe to say both of us will pass out by 3 AM.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever done,” Freya laughs. Remembering the same she spent a Friday night after a shift at Calum’s place. He had a birthday party on Saturday along with a vet appointment with Duke. And then Sunday, Freya had we weekly lunch with her friends that she couldn’t miss. So Calum asked her if she wanted dinner Friday night at his place. Which she said yes to, but then it turned into them doing a movie marathon. Which then turned into Calum betting her that he could stay up longer than her. But they ultimately passed out around 3 in the morning on Calum’s couch.

“Thankfully, I did not miss Duke’s vet appointment that time,” Calum tacks on.

“Yeah, no thanks to me waking you up half an hour before it.”

“That darlin’ is what I call details.”

“No, I call that a very important fact,” Freya defends sitting up. “Duke would’ve been late twice if not for me.”

Calum giggles at her incredulous look. She always got heated fast, though she knew when it was serious things and when it wasn’t. “It wasn’t him paying for the visit.”

“So you ought to kiss the ground I’m standing on right now because you didn’t have to pay anything like a cancellation fee.”

“You’re not standing on any ground right-” the sentence doesn’t get the wind to complete itself when Calum watches her stand up. “Or maybe you are standing up.”

Freya hears him, but she gazes up to the sky. Trying to look past the twinkle of his backyard lights. There’s not much to see due to the light pollution. But the sounds capture her attention next. His neighborhood’s almost been mostly quiet. But with the twinge of the summer’s heat fading, Freya can hear the last bit of people outside. A dog barks into the night and there’s the crunch only tires on gravel and asphalt can give. There’s a hum in the night that Freya can feel in her bones.

It’s hard not to fall in love with the sounds of the night. It’s hard not to romanticize this, how possibly if things were different she could find herself at some point always standing in the middle of this backyard listening to the sounds of the night, having Calum beside her or maybe Duke when he’s gone and just letting herself go to the buzz. In all honesty, Freya craved stability. Always having something to come back was her dream. But in that dream it was a partner who would be there for every dinner. A shared space that was full with both of their presences.

“When you think about coming home what’s there?” Freya asks. “Like, in ten years, what’s in your home when you walk inside?”

Calum closes his eyes, bringing the picture to his mind’s eye. “Like, the truth of what I see?”

“The truth,” Freya confirms.

“Two kids, a dog for sure. Maybe two. A wife. A lot of laughs. Being knocked over with hugs. Maybe a movie that hasn’t quite been paused catches my ears. Maybe it’s summer and my mum’s over too. Because she wants to be around the kids as much as possible. And my sister--she comes over when she can too. So we have to figure out what to cook because it’s a family dinner night. I’m mostly likely in Australia. But I could be somewhere else. Just not LA. I don’t think I could have kids here.”

“That sounds lovely, Calum.”

“But I am scared. My parents divorced. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“That wasn’t your fault. And if we heal from our trauma before having kids then maybe some of our fears won’t come to reality.”

“And if it does.”

“Then we know the boogeyman is real and sometimes we can do our best but things that are meant to happen will still happen.”

“Your parents are divorced too, right?” Calum remembers her mentioning a distinction between her mother’s house and her father’s house. But she hadn’t outright stated that her parents were divorced, just alluded to it.

��Yeah. My dad remarried. He seems happy.”

“What about you? If you closed your eyes and thought about yourself in 10 years, where are you?”

“I technically asked what do you see in your home when you walk inside 10 years from now.”

“Oh, come off it,” Calum laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way.

“But,” she giggles and then closes her eyes. The breeze blows across her face and she lifts her chin up to catch as much of it as she can. Then she speaks, “I don’t know. Home’s full of the people I love. And I feel stable. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do weeks from now when something inevitably has to change. Because nothing’s going to change. Or at least, I’m not anticipating change. I think that’s what I’m sick of. I’m sick of dealing with change and constantly moving around and not knowing what the next year is going to look like. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and planning. I just want to be still.”

“You did the whole back and forth between houses, huh?”

“Yeah. I always felt like I was playing two versions of myself when I was younger. I had to be one way around my mother and one way around my father and according to my therapist, the constant games of charade fucked me up a little.”

“How often did you go between their houses?”

“Every weekend.”

Calum sucks in air through his teeth, “Yikes. Yeah, no wonder you want stability.”

“Oh, thank you Dr. Hood. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well this is a question so it’s not something you don’t know, but is the thought of me being gone for months at a time remind you of that? Like, you’d have to be one way while I was here and then another way when I was gone?”

Freya shrugs. But it’s right on the nose. “I’d have to learn to be with you and then be without you. And all I have are switches. No dimmers. I’m either on or I’m off. And I-I’m working on it. But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Calum scoffs, whispering mostly to himself. “All I have are switches. No dimmers.” It’s not a taunt to her. It’s not him blowing her concern off. It’s recognition that colors his tone. It’s the sigh when hearing something that connects so deeply it takes all the oxygen from lungs with it.

“And I swear to Christ, Calum, if you make a Lowe’s or Home Depot joke, I will extract your ankles from you right here right now.”

“Extract? What the hell?” Calum laughs.

“Broken ankles heal,” Freya returns with a smirk. Her face is lit mostly from above due to continued standing position but Calum catches the way her lips move.

“Remind me to really never piss you off. Between your ability to throw axes and the time you told me about putting ham on a girl’s car, I don’t think I want that kind of trouble in my life.”

“I only put the ham on the car because my friend was heartbroken and she was a cunt for cheating.”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean,” Calum points out, his index finger swirling in a circle in front of her.

“I could’ve slashed her tires too.”

“I think ruining her paint job was more than enough.”

Freya places her hands on her hips, looking down at Calum. “I’ve got some anger issues too. Did I mention that?”

They laugh but Calum recovers first to speak. “I hadn’t noticed it before. Thank you for telling me that. But in all seriousness, Freya, the boundaries you have make sense. I hope you continue with therapy as well,” he states with a giggle. “But it’s not easy to look back at yourself and realize ‘Oh shit, maybe I don’t want that thing again because that actually fucking hurt’. And do something about it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Thanks, Calum. And I will continue with this therapist for the rest of the school year because it’s free. Shoutout to some universities for having really accessible mental health resources.”

Freya finally sits, facing Calum. He keeps his gaze averted. But it doesn’t bother her. “What’s the intention behind telling me I can stay as long as I want? Is it to get me to change my mind? Just earlier both of us were near tears and now we’re walking down memory lane. Sharing things we hadn’t shared yet.”

“I want as much of you as I can get before you’re gone. Selfish, right?” The tears are back, she can hear them in his voice.

“No. A bit of your masochism showing, certainly.”

“You ever know something’s bad for you, but you want it anyway? You want the pain anyway?”

“I mean considering both of us are littered tattoos, pain’s not something we’re too worried about.”

Calum wishes he didn’t laugh, not even the short burst of laughter. “Someone’s coping with humor.”

“Someone’s self flagellating.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either.”

“Maybe love is doing the hard things. You said that yourself.”

Calum swallows hard and his voice only comes out in a whisper. “I know I did.”

Freya blinks away the blur of tears. But as soon as they clear, more replace them. Her voice is tight as she speaks. “Doing the hard things suck though. Don’t think this is easy.”

“It’s because it’s the hard thing,” Calum returns. He wants to smile and manages to get a small one but he knows. Freya’s going to leave. She won’t stay.

“My favorite thing,” she starts and Calum exhales hard. There it is--the confirmation. The sentence gets caught in her throat so she pauses to clear it, work the tears down to at least speak. God, why couldn’t it have been easy. “My favorite thing between us, about us, whatever you want to label it as, is that we could also be honest. And even if it was burning waffles or ducking paps to watch a movie for an anime that you had no idea anything about because I wanted to go desperately and you had to Google a summary during the previews, we were always honest with each other.”

“I want to put it out there that you only told me that it was for an anime as I was buying the tickets. So I had zero time to prepare beforehand.”

“I told you the name of it the Monday before we saw it.”

“And admittedly, I forget it the second after you said it.”

“Fair enough, Calum. Fair enough.”

Calum spins in the chair and takes her hand. The first time they’ve touched today. Normally, Freya was more than happy to give out hugs but when Calum opened the front door, she have a half smile and stepped inside. If he could go back to earlier, he’d tell himself that was the first sign.

His thumb passes gently over the butterfly on her left hand. “The thing I’m going to cherish is that you made me feel sixteen again. My entire life changed at sixteen and I felt pretty invincible. I was also scared and excited. I was going to be in a band, like a one with lots of records and I don’t know--I only had that dream to believe in because I damn sure did not have a back up. It was before the downs. And I don’t regret the hard times either. But you’re the first person in a long time that gave me those butterflies. Assumed I was just never going to feel them again and I wasn’t a good person before, not as good as I could’ve been. But you gave me something to be good for again. Getting your text made my whole fucking day. And you-god, you cared about so many things. I bought books you recommended and couldn’t wait to talk about them with you. I remembered the kind of person I want to be. So thank you. For making me feel sixteen again in the cheesiest way possible but also in the best way possible too. That things are worth giving a shit for and that we can let people in and it won’t always burn.”

“Just a little sting.”

Calum nods. “Just a little sting.”

Freya brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the right one. Her sniffle is loud amongst the hum of the night. “If it weren’t for the fact that my eyeliner is tattooed to my face it would probably be running. I’m sorry it has to hurt at all. But-but I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Hopeful that we’ll get what we need out of life.”

He nods again, watching the tears track down her cheek. “We will.”

Her hands gently slip back out of his grasp and she uses the back of her wrist to press under her nose. The tremors shake her hands, so she shakes them before standing. Calum cranes his neck up, words about to fall from his lips. But she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “Don’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

It happens just as he blinks. He sighs, eyes closing to steel himself. Because there’s always so much else to say. And then her lips are pressing to his forehead. It last long enough for Calum to take hold of her thighs instinctively want to pull her in closer to him.

Then she’s gone. His hand slides down the rough denim and Freya’s walking to the edge of the backdoor. Duke picks up his head but doesn’t move much else. “Oh yeah, you don’t need to move. You know everyone comes to you, huh?” She gives him a few pats and scratches. “I’ll send you something for your adoption day, okay, love? And you might hate wearing it or you might love eating it. But be on the lookout for the mailman. He’ll have something from me.”

Calum doesn’t say anything as she says her goodbyes to Duke. She kisses the top of his head too and he thinks she might’ve whispered something else but he’s not certain from his spot on the chair. The swish of the tassels on Freya’s jeans signal her and the click of her heeled boots tell Calum she’s walking farther from him. The latch in the fence clicks and the wood around the hinges creak as she presses into the door. There’s a soft thud as the door shuts and then Calum can’t hear anything over the cough he uses to try and cover the tightness in his chest, can’t see anything in the blurry vision of his tears

She’s just gone.

******

When the front door bell sounds, Calum doesn’t think much of it. It could be a package or someone selling something. So he pushes up from the kitchen table and heads to the door. There on his porch is a light blue box with white bones on it. The subscription box that Calum gets already came. But then he notices an index card with a handwritten address on it. He picks it up. Right there in the return address is Freya’s name. He sucks in a breath and then looks to see who it’s addressed to: Duke Hood + Calum.

“Duke,” Calum calls out, stepping back inside to the house. He closes the door with his foot. The click of paws let him know the old man’s heard his call. “A little early birthday present has arrived just for you.”

He walks deeper into the living room and sets the box on the coffee table. Inside holds an olive green harness, treats, and a card. Calum laughs as Duke presses his snout against the bag of treats. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

Duke happily munches on one of the chews from the bag and Calum opens the card. A different letter slips out into his lap. He can see the ink and lettering pressing through to the other side. His heart hammers, but he forces himself to turn back to the card. “Dear Duke,” Calum pauses to see if Duke responds but his investigation continues on the treat. “I mean, fair enough.” Calum continues to read the card written by Freya, “Even though only the universe knows your true birthday, this card, harness, and bag of treats is meant to mark you sticking it out with your pops for yet another year. To spare you the grumps about a very cute hawaiin shirt I, instead, got a badass harness. Now you’ll be the coolest guy on the block. Happy Birthday/Adoption Day. With Love, Fre.”

Duke, done with the treat, looks to Calum and settles next in front of his folded legs. “Oh, so much work eating a treat.”

But Calum reaches down to gently pats at his tummy. The front of the car is cute, Calum finally recognizes. A cartoon white dog is drawn on it with large pink glasses against a yellow background. There’s no telling where she found it at. Calum looks down to the handwritten letter on printer paper. What would Freya possibly have to say?

Calum hadn’t had the guts to press send on any of the texts he drafted in the three months since they last talked. He wasn’t sure if he could. He is sure that if Freya hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve said so, and she wouln’t have sent this box for Duke. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the letter.

Calum,

I figured you heard me tell Duke he was going to get a gift. And I knew I couldn’t not deliver on my promise to him. But I do apologize if it crosses any line. Please let me know too--if it crossed any boundaries.

I hope you’re well. Congrats on the latest album too.

With Love,

Freya.

P.S. I saw you a couple times drafting a text to me but never seeing one go through. And if you’re asking why I hadn’t sent a text either, know it was fear too. And me not being sure if keeping it open like that between us would only do more harm than good. So I’m sorry. But I am here, in the sense that to the best of my capacities, I can try to be here.

*****

Her bag’s slipping off her shoulders but she finally gets the key into the lock and gets her front door open. She sighs as she falls into the ugly blue apartment door and all but flings herself into her place. The stack of mail in her hands barely makes it to the edge of the kitchen counter too. It was just one of those days and Freya couldn’t be mad at herself. Everyone had days like this.

Putting her keys up and getting her backpack next to the couch, she settles into the stools at the kitchen counter to sort through the mail. One’s a bill from the dentist she visited a few weeks back. The one thing her student health insurance didn’t cover. But she couldn’t complain.

There are few junk flyers that she immediately tosses. And it’s her name scrawled in a almost all caps that catches her eyes before she even gets finished with the rest of the pile. In the top corner for the return address she catches the name: Calum Hood + Duke

“Mail from Duke, what a surprise.”

But the real surprise is Calum’s name. It’s just a plain white envelope with a stamp and the city mark it was mailed from. Freya pops it open and sees a sheet of legal pad paper folded up.

Freya,

Thank you for Duke’s gift. The chews are a hit. The harness is much appreciated for our walks. Though, I think they’re more like walks for me. And Duke gets a little exercise in before he tuckers out. But I don’t fault him. No lines were crossed. So no need to worry about that.

I think I like the idea of mailing letters more than I do like texting. But I understand. Doing the hard thing sucks. It always has and always will. Do what you need to for yourself.

Thank you. I wouldn’t normally do this. But there’s a couple songs--they’re about you. I wanted to give you a warning before you listen to it. If you listen to it, I guess I should say.

Best of luck with your last year of school. You’ll have that Master’s in no time and then maybe soon you can take over the Library of Congress like all your evil plans have laid out. (I know, I know. Not what your Library Studies degree does. But I still think you should.)

With Love,

Cal

Freya chuckles at the Library of Congress comment. She picks up her phone and finds Calum’s thread. It’s easy to want to tell him that she can’t take over the Library of Congress and that she’s glad the treats went over well and that the harness was really more of an accessory to make sure Duke looks like a badass.

But she knows--she knows the ease got her into a pickle before. It’s why she stopped things before they got more serious. But was fear going to always predict what she was going to do in her life? Maybe the ease of things was a sign to continue. But if what if things got too far? WOuld be able to handle Calum being gone? Would she inevitably get her heart broken? And sure no amount of contemplation can predict things like this, but she did want to play with that risk no matter how fucking easy it was in the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Freya drops her face into the forearms. Her phone is still in her grip with the movement. “It’s never fucking easy is it!” she shouts into her apartment.

There’s silence that engulfs her but it gives no response.

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #5sos #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer blurb #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood x black oc #calum hood x oc #calum hood x fem oc #h writes

24 notes · View notes

grimrester · 3 years ago

Text

The Heat

The fall semester of my last year of art school had barely started when the air conditioning in the senior art studios broke. If I lived further north that might not have been a problem, but I lived in Georgia, where the summer heat didn't quite break until September or October. And it was still August.

To make matters worse, the studios were in an old building with high ceilings and big glass panels built into the steep, sloped roof. All the natural lighting normally would've been a blessing. But with the air conditioning broken, it instead turned the studios into an oven. Heat seeped in all day long and remained trapped there indefinitely.

The studios themselves were two rows of cubicles with high, 8ft walls, built right in the center of the building after the college had purchased it. The open ceilings of each cell and the large gap between the cubicle wall and the sloped windows above allowed the light - and the heat - to reach anyone who might be working inside them. Each graduating senior was assigned a specific cubicle as their personal, 24/7 studio space.

There was a big hallway around the perimeter of the building. One section of the hallway widened to make space for a sink to wash brushes in and a table and chairs for critique sessions. The bathroom was there, too - a unisex one with a derelict little door, nearly hanging off its hinges.

Initially I'd worried that having just one toilet in the building wouldn't be enough, but it ended up not being an issue. Most of the students didn't last long. The heat during the day was too oppressive. At times, the air in the building was so suffocating that the heat almost felt like a physical presence, like a large creature weighing down on our shoulders, crushing us under its weight.

---

I caught the student assigned to the cell next to mine moving out all his paintings just a couple weeks into the semester.

"Hey," I said, pausing outside the door to my own cubicle to gawk. The student - I never bothered to learn his name - looked entirely morose as he stacked a few canvases by the door. "Moving out already?"

"Yeah," he said, solemnly, heavily dropping another canvas on the pile. "I have no idea how you can work in here. My oils keep melting."

"What?" I said, confused. I shuffled over to get a look at the top painting on the stack, and sure enough, the half-finished landscape he'd made with oil paint was completely distorted. Strangely, the melted paint seemed to be in round sections, about as large as my head, scattered all over the canvas.

"It's fucking weird, right?" he said, following my gaze.

"Wouldn't it melt all over?" I asked. "Why is it just in some parts?"

"Beats the hell out of me," he replied. "My best guess is it was cloudy or something so it melted unevenly where the sun got to it."

"Guess it's lucky I work with ink," I said. "It dries fast so it'd sooner burst into flames than melt, and it's too humid in here for a fire."

The student clucked his tongue. "I shoulda used acrylic. Might've held up better." He sighed and picked up the stack. "Too late now, I guess. I'm going to see if I can salvage them at home."

"Good luck," I said, watching him go. At least he had the option of working at home. My apartment was too small for the large paintings I wanted to make, so I was forced to bear the heat.

---

I and the few other students who had to work in the little plaster cells complained to the administration about the heat many times, but I guess our small group just wasn't a priority because the air conditioner remained broken. The heat remained an issue into September, even when the outside air had cooled off a little. I began to think there was something wrong with the building, that perhaps the AC was spitting out hot air or the large windows had been specifically designed to turn the place into an oven.

I eventually started coming into the studios later and later, hoping that the space would at least cool down at nighttime. I preferred working in crappy, dim synthetic lighting over standing there with the sun bearing down on me through the open top of my cubicle. But even at night, the heat was terrible. It felt muggy, smothering. I felt the weight of it on me from the moment I entered the studios.

To add to the uncomfortable conditions, the building was pretty old and made creaking and moaning noises as it marginally cooled down overnight. The exposed pipes near the ceiling were especially noisy, making all sorts of awful, creepy groans. I'd mostly gotten used to them after a while.

Then one night it got worse.

I was in my cubicle, in the final stages of one of my larger ink drawings. I was painstakingly cleaning up some lines with a fine brush when suddenly there was a huge slamming noise, loud enough that I could hear it through my music and earbuds. I jolted, screwing up my line in the process, and hissed through my teeth.

"What was that?" I called out, taking out one earbud. I thought maybe one of the artists who worked in the far end cubicles had dropped something or fallen over, but there was no reply.

I cracked the door of my cubicle and peeked out, looking around either end of the hallway. Nothing seemed amiss, so I just closed my door again and went back to work. I assumed it was just a new pipe noise or something.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, I was trying to decide on a new playlist when it happened again. My music wasn't playing, so I heard it clearer this time - a loud BAM noise from the back building wall, several cubicles away from me. It almost sounded like some huge beast was outside, hurling its body against the side of the building, trying to get inside.

But that would be silly. This was the first time I'd stayed past midnight and these noises were probably normal at this time of night. I just hadn't heard them before.

I tried to focus on picking a playlist. The noise happened again. But this time, the brushes on my work table rattled in their mason jar from the force.

I stared at them. I'd never heard a building settle so hard that it made things move.

I suddenly had the feeling that something was very wrong. I felt queasy - my stomach tightened and churned. Maybe I was just not feeling well and the heat was exasperating it? I'd been working long hours and late nights in the studio, so it was possible I'd made myself sick. I felt the need to vomit, and I hoped it would make my nausea subside.

I pulled my earbuds out and left my studio, walking quickly to the bathroom. The slamming noise echoed out again, on the other side of the building. I locked the rickety bathroom door behind me, my moist palms sliding against the metal handle as I did so. The back of my neck felt wet, too, that sort of gross, warm moistness that comes with the Georgia heat.

I knelt by the toilet, face hovering over the bowl. I still felt sick but nothing was coming up. I pressed my fist into my stomach hard and tried to retch, but still nothing happened. The nausea was starting to make me dizzy. Did I get heat stroke or something?

The door rattled behind me.

"Someone's in here!" I called out, my voice warbling a little. Weird, I thought, since the studios had been quiet all night. I thought I was the only one there.

The door rattled harder, the whole thing shaking with the effort.

"Jesus," I muttered. Then, louder, "I said, it's occupied!"

The rattling increased and there was a loud BANG as something hit the door hard. I twisted around and stared, gripping the toilet seat, shocked. Who the fuck needed the bathroom that badly? Whoever was outside smacked the door hard again and I worried that the shitty, old wood would simply splinter under the force.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped. The rattling and banging just ceased. I stared at the door a little longer, wondering if the person outside had left yet. I didn't particularly want to run into them if a locked bathroom door was enough to make them throw a fit outside. I waited and waited, to be sure they left, so long that my nausea had subsided.

Put off by the whole experience, I quickly gathered my things from my studio and left for the night.

---

When I returned the next night, the heat was inexplicably worse than before. I couldn't even listen to music to distract myself this time. I was a little worried that whoever had given me a hard time in the bathroom would come back, and I didn't want to miss hearing them coming if for some reason they were on a warpath.

The relative silence of the studio was decidedly eerie. There was a faint buzz from the lights and the occasional groaning and moaning of old pipes, but otherwise you could hear a pin drop. I began to rethink my decision on the music because the silence was spooky and setting me on edge. I thought maybe I could play it on my phone's speaker so I could still hear someone coming. But then, if they were there and so quiet I couldn't hear them, playing music out loud might've pissed them off…

My train of thought was interrupted by that awful, thundering slamming noise from the far wall of the building. The great, hulking beast I had imagined was back.

Sweat began to gather on my palms and neck again and I put my brush down to wipe my hands on my pants. The air in the studio became so muggy that breathing suddenly felt like inhaling swamp water.

Hardly a moment later, there it was again - BAM. My paintbrushes rattled in the little jar. My first thought that maybe whoever had needed the bathroom yesterday was throwing another fit, but it really sounded like something massive hitting the wall. Something too massive for one person to hurl.

I once again had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. What would have the kind of force to make everything move like that? Was the old building going to collapse?

BAM - louder this time.

Maybe this was some bizzare, localized earthquake, I told myself. It didn't matter that I'd never heard of an earthquake that behaved this way. It seemed more likely than the alternative I imagined, that some huge beast was hurling its hairy, grotesque body against the walls.

I sat motionless, listening closely.

BAM. My door rattled.

There was no mistaking it that time. The sound wasn't getting louder - the source of it was just getting closer.

The monster I had imagined wasn't outside and trying to get in. It was already inside the building.

I stared, frozen in place, at my studio door. I felt ridiculous. How would some kind of monster large enough to shake the walls even get through the building's doors?

BAM. Even closer now.

BAM. It sounded like it was right outside my door. I could see the handle shake with the force. Something was definitely wrong. This wasn't an earthquake and it wasn't some deranged art student. There was something out there and it wanted to be in here, with me. I tried to take deep breaths to remain calm, but sucking in big gulps of warm, humid air just made me feel queasy again. I looked around, trying to find somewhere to hide, but my cubicle was bare - just a folding table and a stool. There was nowhere to go. I pressed myself against the corner of my cell, as far away from my door as possible.

There was a long moment where there was no sound - not the slamming, not the usual groaning of the pipes. I slid down to the hard concrete floor and waited. Perhaps it was over?

The door handle rattled, this time unaccompanied by any slamming noise.

My breath caught. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I stared, watching as the handle jiggled. Whatever was making it move seemed unable to turn it properly, just fumbling it around without getting it to unlatch.

I waited. The handle stopped moving.

There was another moment of dead silence. Then another new sound - fast, heavy, stomping footsteps, heading towards the section of hallway with the bathroom, table, and sink.

I got up and grabbed my phone and bag. I didn't know what the fuck was going on, but I couldn't stay there any longer.

There was a creaking noise, and then a terrible thumping sound, like something had just hit the ground hard. Then crashing, over in one of the cubicles on the far end, as though whatever had been in the hall had used the table in the critique area to hop the cubicle wall and was now making a mess inside. Another creak, another thump, more crashing, closer, just a few cubicles away.

I threw my cubicle door open. I just had to make it to the main door, but it was all the way on the other side of the building. I'd have to run around half the perimeter hallway to get there.

So I ran.

The beast, whatever it was, continued into another cubicle - creak, thump, crash. Then it paused as I rounded the first corner, my sneakers squeaking on the concrete. A terrible dread settled in my stomach. It was listening and it knew I was trying to leave. It didn't make any noise - no breathing, no wailing, no roaring - but I somehow still got the sense that it was pissed off by my attempted escape.

I rounded the second corner. I could see the door just ahead.

A creak. I looked at the tops of the cubicles as I ran for the door, but there was nothing there. No hairy beast hovering over the wall and dropping into the next studio. I slowed my running.

A thump. A crash. A creak.

I paused, my hand on the front door, my mouth gaping as I looked at the tops of the cubicles. I felt I had to see it, had to know I wasn't just crazy, but it seemed there was no beast to see.

Then I finally saw it, lurching over the wall, headed right for me. Warped air, shimmering, the way streets do on a hot day. A mass of heat made alive, barely visible unless you're looking closely. It was hard to tell the boundaries of it, but I could tell it was huge, fat enough that it nearly didn't fit in the cubicle it was lumbering out of.

It dropped down over the wall, landing in the hallway, with a thunderous thud.

I pushed the door open and ran into the night. I ran and ran and didn't look behind me. I didn't hear its thumping footsteps, but it was so difficult to see that looking might not have helped anyway.

I ran all the way back to my apartment, about a mile from campus. I slammed and locked the door behind me, blasted my air conditioner, and hid in my bed until morning.

---

I was eating a late breakfast, wondering if I'd somehow imagined the whole thing, when a friend called me.

"Were you in the studios last night?" she asked, a touch of panic in her voice, forgoing any pleasantries.

"No." The lie slipped out easily. I had that feeling of inexplicable dread again. "Why?"

"Apparently there was some huge break in," she said. "All the studios were trashed! It sounds like the people who did it didn't even take anything, they just… melted a bunch of stuff. Paintings, metals, anything meltable."

I struggled to think of an adequate response, just stared down at my soggy cereal. "Huh. Weird," I managed.

"Do you think they'll put some extra security on the building?" she asked. "It's weird they leave it unlocked all the time."

"No," I said, thinking of the broken air conditioning. "Knowing them, they'll probably just leave it, since no one got hurt."

---

I never told anyone what I saw that night. What would I even say? Who would believe me? Anyone would just assume I was crazy or suffering from heat exhaustion.

But I wish I'd at least tried.

I waited a week before going back to the studios to clean out my cubicle. I went during the day this time. I wouldn't be there long and I had encountered the creature at night so it seemed safer.

The building seemed empty when I arrived, but as soon as I opened the doors there was a terrible smell. It was sickly-sweet and sour, like trash left out in the sun. I pinched my nose as I rounded the corners to my cubicle, but the smell only got worse. It was so overpowering as I rounded the second corner that I considered cutting my losses and just leaving.

The cubicle door on the end was left wide open. Was someone in here working? I looked inside as I passed, then froze.

There, huddled under the table as though hiding from something, was a body. It was withered as though there for some time, almost mummy-like, the skin leathery and dry like beef jerky. The eyes were wide open, dry little balls pointed right in my direction.

I didn't scream. I just turned around, walked out of the building, and called the police.

---

The autopsy said the student died of dehydration and heat stroke. The news reported it as some sort of freak accident, a student that got so lost in their art that they stopped taking care of themselves and passed out in that hot studio, baking alive until they finally died.

The air conditioning finally got fixed after that.

#this is a short horror story :)#it was made for r/nosleep but i thought id also post it here #short story #creative writing #horror #horror stories #tw death

14 notes · View notes

alwaysmychoices · 4 years ago

Text

The Memorial

Synopsis: On the day of Danny and Bobby’s funeral, Charlie slowly (and unwillingly) begins to feel the impact of her trauma, and Ethan tries to protect her from her own pain.

Chapter 20 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.8k

Rating: T (language)

tw: disassociation, trauma, emotional distress negative self-talk

disclaimer: I used my experiences as inspiration for Charlie’s emotional state. I am not a trained mental health professional and apologize if I misrepresent anything in this chapter.

That morning, Ethan had no choice but to discharge Charlie from the hospital.

There was no reason to keep her, even after an unusually thorough final exam. Her vitals were normal, and she hadn’t exhibited any concerning side effects from her treatment in days.

Charlotte Greene had survived. She was in the clear now.

For the first few days, Ethan didn’t let himself dream of such a thing. He didn’t want to be disappointed if she took a turn, and he didn’t want to blind himself in his diagnosis and treatment of her. It was only in the last 48 hours that her discharge had become a real and impending event. Truthfully, he could have released her yesterday. The only reason he didn’t was that she experienced a few headaches he wanted to keep an eye on.

But it wasn’t the headaches, not really.

Ethan kept her in the hospital because, deep down, he doubted she was ready to leave.

Charlie seemed fine – sometimes, on a good day, even normal. But there was a haunting in her gaze, a lingering ghost in every movement. Something unresolved and untouched hid in every interaction.

The truth was that they neglected her psychological healing, placing all of their emphasis on her physical improvement. Each of her loved ones denied this to themselves, of course. They showered her with support and affection, and when she had those moments where she seemed lost in something, they stayed with her until she found her way back.

But they hadn’t touched the root of it.

They hadn’t had the courage, nor the stamina.

They didn’t know if they avoided it for themselves or for her. The free days – the one where she wasn’t thinking about her tragedy – were the best. She was a model victim, full of energy and strength. She made jokes from the confines of her hospital bed and offered warm smiles to comfort her loved ones.

Her parents left Boston confident that their daughter would make it through. Even when her father harbored doubts, he looked to Ethan to protect her.

But Ethan knew.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew.

He observed as if surveying her for cracks in the façade.

Even now, as Charlie collected her things from the hospital room in preparation to leave, he studied her. She seemed happy. She felt happy, but Ethan wasn’t sure if she was.

“You’re pouting,” Charlie commented playfully as she picked up her jeans and started to shimmy into them. Sienna had been kind enough to bring her a fresh set of clothes from the apartment so that Charlie didn’t have to leave in the scrubs she wore when disaster struck. Sienna had been more than happy to do it. It gave her a sense of power, that she could do something for Charlie after feeling powerless during her suffering.

“I don’t pout,” Ethan murmured, taking a seat in the free chair. He was, of course, still pouting.

“Well, I’m happy,” Charlie commented as she continued dressing, “I’m finally free, and I’m counting down the hours until I can finally take a shower in my own shower. I never thought I would miss water pressure this much.”

Charlie had a whole list like this – full of tiny luxuries and familiar habits that she missed. Some of them she already had plans to satisfy, like the shower and her coffee maker. Some were more abstract, like dinners with her friends and hearing Sienna hum during their morning routine. There was one she wouldn’t take a “no” on, which was that she intended to spend the night in Ethan’s bed no matter what happened today.

Right now, the world was full of possibilities, and after so long, she could finally reach for them again.

Ethan felt guilty for what he would say next, but he was also confident it had to be said.

“Will you be attending the memorial today?”

He watched the crack in her sunny day take shape and splinter her soft smile.

Charlie froze, and a cold, cold realization washed over her. It froze everything it touched until it reached her bones. Nothing was safe from its icy grasp.

It was a warm room, Charlie knew it was. And so, she pretended she wasn’t cold, even if her teeth felt like chattering.

“Is that today?”

Charlie knew it was today, but she asked just to be sure.

“Yes, at 3:30 pm.”

Charlie nodded, instinctively rubbing her arm as she tried to channel the warmth and happiness she felt only moments ago. It was coming back – so very, very slowly.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Ethan ventured carefully.

As he expected, Charlie’s eyes shot to him with an expression that could only be described as surprise and disgust. She had to go. Those men died for her!

They…

They died for her.

Charlie felt knocked back, and afraid Ethan would see it, she shook her head and turned her gaze to her jeans as she buttoned the top.

“I have to go, Ethan.”

“No, you don’t.”

They’d had this conversation last night, and even if Ethan knew he would lose, it felt imperative to try.

“Ethan.”

“Rafael Aveiro isn’t going.”

“Because he wasn’t medically cleared to go. That’s not the same.”

“Everyone would understand, Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t understand, Ethan,” Charlie insisted, “I have to go, for me.”

Ethan knew this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure why or specifically what would happen, but he knew Charlotte Greene should never step foot inside that memorial.

But there wasn’t much he could do. He knew Charlie very well, and if she intended to go, there was nothing he could do to stop her. Even if he demanded she avoid it and threw up barriers, she would overcome each obstacle with a vengeance. She was a stubborn woman with conviction, a damning combination.

All he could really do was make sure she didn’t do it alone.

“Alright,” Ethan conceded, earning a look of shock from his girlfriend, “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll come by to pick you up.”

Charlie squirmed, surprised by how easily he’d given up the fight. It gave her a moment of pause, and at that moment, she wondered if she was making the right decision. But then the thought faded, and her certainty returned.

She owed it to Bobby and Danny…

“Do you want a ride home?” Ethan offered, still a bit nervous about letting her out of his sight today, “I have time to take you, if you want.”

He’s scared, she realized quietly.

It was startling to see, though the sight was not unfamiliar.

Seeing fear now felt wrong. This was their happy ending, wasn’t it?

Charlie crossed the room to reach her boyfriend, who watched her in silence. When she studied him, she noted the exhaustion and the concern etched into his handsome face. Between his eyebrows, a firm wrinkle of unease sat. She gently smoothed it with her thumb and hoped that was enough to settle it. Ethan recognized her attempt at assurance and comfort, but he didn’t feel like he deserved them.

He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

But really, they needed it equally.

They were two shattered people fumbling to put themselves back together.

“I’ve missed walking,” Charlie politely refused his offer. Ethan wasn’t terribly surprised she did.

“You have my number if you need me,” Ethan reminded her, and something warm settled in her heart, a break from the bone-chilling sadness.

She loved him so, so much.

“I’ll be fine, Ethan,” Charlie said with the upmost confidence.

Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I will be!” Charlie insisted.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Ethan declined to confirm her assertion. He couldn’t in good conscience assure her when he didn’t believe her.

Charlie wished he would anyway.

She made a show of rolling her eyes like she was amused with his overconcern. Ethan wasn’t impressed with the display.

It didn’t take long for Charlie to finish dressing and collect her things. When she was done, there was nothing left to keep her in this hospital.

They hesitated at the door and watched one another to see who would make the first move to leave.

Instead, Ethan kissed Charlie softly, whispering, “Goodbye, Charlie.”

She smiled into his lips, “I can’t wait to kiss you somewhere outside of this hospital.”

Ethan grinned. He felt a profound sense of relief that she would make it out of this building. His wonderful Charlie could do anything with this independence. She would continue to exist, even out of his line of sight. She was no longer a fixture in this hospital, nor a victim to gawk at during rounds.

She was free.

They were both free.

Ethan wasn’t sure what came over him. It could only be explained as an instinct to run. He was sure they had to. He was convinced that they were up against a tragic, impending disaster and that they needed to leave while they still had time.

“Why don’t we run away?” Ethan asked.

“What?” Charlie laughed, but the severity of his expression made her smile falter.

“I’m serious. Let’s run away, right now.”

“You’re at work,” Charlie cautioned with confusion.

“So? I doubt anyone would begrudge our departure after everything we’ve been through,” Ethan decided, “We’ll just go somewhere – anywhere you want – and come back whenever the hell we want to.”

Ethan wanted Charlie to say yes more than he’d wanted anything. He wanted this more than he wanted her to say yes to his offer at a relationship all those months ago. Really, he didn’t just want it. He needed it. It felt like the only way to quell his growing anxiety and avoid pain and tragedy. It was the only way to protect her.

But Charlie wasn’t the kind to run away.

She was the kind to try, even if it broke her.

It was one of the reasons Ethan loved her, but it was also one of the reasons she scared the hell out of him.

Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, Charlie kissed her nervous boyfriend softly and told him, “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

She never gave an explicit answer to his offer, but her aversion was answer enough to disappoint Ethan.

“Okay,” Ethan conceded weakly, kissing her forehead one last time.

When she walked away, Ethan wondered if he was worrying all for nothing.

She looked strong. She looked healthy. She even looked happy.

But something told him that she wasn’t, and against his best wishes, he trusted it.

Charlie left Edenbrook to a relieved fanfare. Everyone wished her well and showered her in comfort and adoration. A few of the nurses who had stayed with her this week took turns giving her goodbye hugs. When they held her, a quiet thought wondered if they just wished they could hug Danny. A pair of rowdy interns cheered when she walked by, but Zaid silenced them with a glare. Sienna paused her rounds just to give Charlie a big, tight hug.

It was a powerful and cheerful time.

But then she was at the front door of Edenbrook, and Charlie hesitated.

She felt almost contained to Edenbrook, like something would break if she exited.

It was an irrational fear, of course. That’s what she told herself when she finally made that first step on the sidewalk.

They never made it out.

Charlie felt the air get knocked out of her chest at the mere thought.

But that was ridiculous. It was a thought – and an intrusive one at that.

She wouldn’t let it stop her.

What makes you so deserving to get out?

Charlie gritted her teeth and fought the thoughts as she took another step.

They didn’t stop, though. At every block, there was something new – some horrific image in her mind, some intrusive thought, or some terrible memory.

She heard it in the voices of strangers on the street, but every time she looked over at them, they hadn’t really said a thing. They observed her wild, scared expression with a sense of concern and avoidance. More than one stranger took a few steps away when she looked at them.

They weren’t talking to her. Charlie knew that.

Still… little snippets of their conversations twisted into dark, terrible words.

“They deserved life more, you bitch.”

“You only lived because you’re a coward.”

“Would you have even saved them, if you could? Or are you too selfish?”

Even the beep of a cell phone brought her back to the horrible, irregular beep of Raf’s heartbeat monitor that night.

It followed her.

It was everywhere.

The anxiety started in her chest, but it spread through her body like an infection.

Like the infection that should have killed her.

Charlie fought it. She rebelled against the thoughts and battled the improbability of the dreadful words. She went in and out of panic in a series of disorienting flashes.

She didn’t always know where she was.

Once, she looked around the group surrounding her as they walked the crosswalk, and she wondered how she got here. Where had she been? Where was she going?

Then, it came back. She remembered again, and she pretended she never forgot.

Somehow, she made it home.

She was relieved to see her building. Quietly, she recognized that it was a miracle she navigated so well when her grip on reality felt fragile. But she pretended that nothing was wrong. Of course, she got home. She was normal, after all. Those were just bad thoughts and bad moments. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Then she realized she was just staring at her building.

She made no moves to go inside. She didn’t even fish her keys out of her purse.

Something in there was a threat, and she couldn’t go home yet.

She started walking away with no real plan. First, she thought she would just stop at a nearby coffee shop, drink an espresso, and then go back to normal. But she walked past the coffee shop and kept walking. She wasn’t sure where she was going.

A mile later, she finally decided.

Half an hour later, Charlie knocked at Rafael’s front door. Within seconds, Rafael’s grandmother opened the door with overwhelming exuberance. Charlie hardly had a moment to process Juliana at all before she was pulled into a big, tight hug.

The affection, if just for the moment, knocked Charlie out of her fog.

Juliana ushered Charlie inside with offers of drinks and snacks.

“Oh, thank you, but this is all too much,” Charlie insisted.

“Nonsense!” Juliana exclaimed, pushing a plate in Charlie’s direction, “You saved my beautiful boy. Nothing is too much for you!”

“Your beautiful boy saved me,” Charlie asserted with a bit of guilt. She wasn’t a hero. She didn’t deserve all of this.

A gentle creak of a door alerted Charlie to Rafael’s presence, and he sheepishly corrected, “We saved each other.”

When Charlie looked in his direction to greet him, Rafael knew.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in her eyes was amiss, even pained.

Charlie finally caved and accepted a dessert. Juliana, however, wasn’t satisfied and began packing her a tin of goodies to take home.

While she was a few feet away, Rafael took a few tentative steps towards his friend.

“How are you?” Charlie asked when he was close enough.

Rafael shrugged, “I can make it up the stairs without wheezing, which is an improvement.”

Charlie nodded slowly, “And Sora?”

“Definitely over,” Rafael confirmed, “But I think it’s for the best. You and Ethan?”

Charlie thought back to their night in quarantine, when Rafael implored her to tell Ethan how she felt. She was happy to have taken his advice.

“I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. Naturally, I cried,” Charlie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I don’t think he believed me until the next day, though. Something about deathbed confessions not being as meaningful.”

“At least it worked out for one of us,” Rafael smiled playfully.

He was watching Charlie, though. She realized it during a pause in their conversation. She felt studied, and she wondered what he saw.

Whatever he interpreted couldn’t have been good because, after a beat, he asked her to join him on his walk. Just as Ethan had hours before, Rafael regarded Charlie with concern.

Charlie accepted.

They navigated Rafael’s neighborhood largely in silence. The silence invited the fog back, and by the time they reached the park, Charlie felt like she was fighting against wet sand to keep moving. She was almost as exhausted as Rafael as they collapsed into a nearby bench.

Charlie felt like Rafael was the only person in the world who might understand what she couldn’t yet put a name to. But given the opportunity, she was too afraid to ask. If she asked, it would be real, and she wasn’t ready for it to be real.

“I never asked how you were,” Rafael said pointedly.

“Are you asking now?” Charlie asked, looking ahead at the park instead of her friend.

“I am.”

Charlie thought for a moment – maybe too long of a moment, really.

“My reports say I’m perfectly healthy,” Charlie finally answered.

“That’s wasn’t quite what I asked,” Rafael seemed amused like he had expected her to evade him.

Charlie rolled her eyes at his smirk, but it was a show. She just wanted to seem amused, too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

He gave her time, allowing the silence to stretch until she finally had the strength.

“Does it stay like this?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she let the façade slip just enough for him to know what she meant.

Charlie wanted Rafael to tell her that, while he felt what she feels now, it eased over time. Being home helped him become whole again. The thoughts and the panic would subside if she just waited.

But Rafael told her the truth instead.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I feel it every second. Sometimes, I feel like it’s harder at home. I wake up at home with my family and my life. And they… they don’t.”

His words crushed Charlie, and she sank further into the bench.

“Do you feel like it’s everywhere?” her voice was so soft, so scared that it shook Rafael to his core, “Like… if you’re just walking down the street, do you feel like you hear the bad thoughts? The ones that remind you of what happened.”

Rafael looked terrified.

He was, he realized belatedly.

Not just for himself and his trauma but for her and hers.

“Sometimes,” Rafael confirmed, “I feel it mostly in the pain… When my body aches and fails to do easy things, I’m so angry and then… Then, I remember why and what happened – and that Bobby and Danny only felt the pain in the end.”

Charlie grimaced, and she held onto the bench until her fingers turned white, fighting the wave of pain that followed the mental image. She looked pale and on the verge of collapse when she finally opened her eyes again.

“Don’t go today,” Rafael warned.

“I have to,” Charlie swallowed, “I couldn’t save them… I might as well honor them.”

Rafael didn’t have much of a counterargument, so he didn’t give one. He understood. In a lot of ways, he felt the same about the memorial. He, unlike Charlie, had been saved by his precarious health. He didn’t have to make that choice. He was relieved, even if he felt a twinge of cowardice for not even trying to go.

When Rafael didn’t try to stop her, their conversation fell into a lull.

The silence was nice.

Neither of them expected anything from the other.

They didn’t have to pretend to be okay…

Maybe they should have stayed.

But they didn’t.

Charlie, looking at her watch, realized she was running out of time. When she told Rafael that she had to go, she looked normal again – strong, even. Like she was clothed in armor. Like, maybe, if you squinted, you didn’t have to worry about her.

Rafael wished her well, and she started to leave.

“Wait, Charlie,” Rafael called out before she got too far away.

Charlie stopped, turning to him with an expectant expression.

“Thank you for making it out of that room.”

Her heart stopped, and her eyes watered.

They were supposed to be dead, and her heart burst with how happy she was that he was alive.

“Thank you for making it out, too,” Charlie was sure she had never meant a thank you as strongly as she meant that one.

He smiled softly, and then she left.

This time, when she reached her apartment, she had the courage to step inside.

It was… eerily the same.

Like this apartment was magically immune to all of the pain and trauma.

Something echoed in the halls, something she couldn’t yet touch.

The thoughts were distant though, but… so was everything else.

Charlie tried to put her life back together. She unpacked her things, cleaned her room, and started a pot of coffee. The entire time, she struggled to keep moving. She kept finding little moments of lost time. Alone, they were strange, but together, they were terrifying.

She knew her surroundings, yet something about them felt strange. She knew where she was, what she was doing, and what she was supposed to do next. But the haze…

It surrounded her.

It was everywhere but somehow out of sight.

She never saw it coming, but when she snapped out of it, she realized it had enveloped her.

She was empty, but the thoughts were finally quiet.

She felt nothing, but at least she didn’t feel the torture.

Charlie kept going because Charlie was the kind to always keep going.

When she turned on the shower, she was fighting to stay here, to stay aware. She wanted to stay.

The water was hot, obscenely so. The shock to her system burned more than just her skin. Her mind felt like it was ablaze, and finally, Charlie felt herself again. She didn’t know how much she missed her awareness until it was back. She turned the water hotter to keep feeling it.

Then…

She was back in the hospital – in the burning hot shower after she was released from quarantine. She was alone washing off the sweat and grime of that hospital room. She used shower products that weren’t hers, that didn’t smell or feel like her. She was alive. But who else was?

She was a lone survivor. She was the final girl. She was the lucky one.

Charlie screamed.

No. No, Charlie really screamed.

She was back in her apartment, and she was screaming.

She caught her breath, reaching for slippery tiles to find her balance.

She slid. Or maybe she sat down.

But she was on the shower floor, knees pulled to her chest as she begged for fresh air.

She sat on that shower floor, hoping for a miracle. She put faith in everything.

In the water, that it would wash away her pain.

In the air, that it would allow her to exhale her guilt.

In her body, that it would remember how to stand again.

But gasping through the water, she just felt like she was drowning.

Then…

When it was too much, when it was all too much, it stopped.

Like a warm, protective hug, her brain shielded her.

And then it was over.

What felt like seconds later, there were loud knocks at her front door. They were jarring and set her free from wherever she had been.

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to remember where she was.

The shower was still running, through the water was less hot now.

Everything looked the same, but…

But the sun was lower.

Charlie scrambled for a towel and turned off the shower. She fumbled for her phone on the counter, and her heart sank.

An hour.

She had lost an hour.

The knocking started again, and Charlie didn’t have the time to process what her lost hour meant. Still trying to get her bearings right, Charlie went to the front door and swung it open to find out who the fuck was so insistent about getting inside.

It was… Ethan.

And he was dressed in a suit.

Why was he-?

The memorial.

Ethan watched as her eyes widened in understanding and then panic.

He didn’t know what to think or how to interpret her apparent confusion. She was soaking wet still, as if she had just gotten out of the shower, and her skin was bright red, like it had been burned by the water. She looked…

Confused.

And scared.

Ethan immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Charlie, are you okay?” he broached carefully, taking a step toward her. He wanted to hold her, but she looked fragile…

“Yeah, I just, um… I was just…” Charlie stammered, “What time is it?”

“Three,” Ethan answered.

“What?” Charlie felt a wave of nausea. The memorial was at 3:30.

Ethan surveyed her again, taking in every clue like she was a mystery to be solved.

The wet hair. The confusion. The panic. The inability to explain.

What was it?

How did he help her?

“Charlie, why don’t you know what time it is?” Ethan asked cautiously, placing his hands carefully on either shoulder. She was hot to the touch.

“I, um, I was just in the shower,” Charlie answered. She felt like her mind was sludge, and words were nearly impossible to string together, “I must have zoned out and lost track of time.”

“For how long, Charlotte?”

Charlie dropped her eye contact and shrugged.

He leaned closer, pushing her soaking wet curls out of her face, “Rookie, please. How long?”

Her green eyes were full of fear as she finally admitted, “An hour.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, and he let out a horrified, terrified huff of breath. Instinctively, he pulled her in, tucking her safely in his chest where he knew she was okay.

She told herself she didn’t know why he was doing this. It just a little bit of time – only a little scary. More confusing than anything.

But she fell into his arms like she needed it because she did.

Ethan didn’t care that she got his suit wet.

He only cared that he had her.

“We’re not going today, Charlie,” Ethan decided authoritatively, “We’re not.”

“Ethan!”

“You’re not,” Ethan said more firmly.

“I have to be there!”

“No, no, you don’t,” Ethan pulled away just enough to look at her so she would know how intensely he meant this, “You do not need to go, Charlie. You need to make it through today. I’m not letting you do this to yourself just because you feel some obligation. Charlotte Greene, you owe your survival to no one.”

He knew she didn’t believe him by the way she averted her eyes.

“I have to go,” she insisted forcefully.

“No,” Ethan shook his head, reaching for her hand determinedly, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He started to pull her to her bedroom, but she remained firm.

“Please, Ethan,” she pleaded.

Ethan felt a moment of pause.

The way she looked at him… like she needed this, like she needed him to let her have this.

His heart broke.

His beautiful, wonderful Charlie was in so much pain.

And he caved.

He caved because he wanted to make it go away so, so badly that he was willing to make a thousand mistakes.

He grimaced but consented, “Fine. But we still need to get you dressed.”

Getting dressed, like everything else, was hard.

Charlie struggled against her mental fog, and as a result, she moved slowly. She was frustrated as she tried to push through her shortened routine. Even just putting her hair into a braid felt like a monumental task, and she cursed under her breath.

Why couldn’t she just be okay?!

Ethan stepped in before she could get too irritated. He helped her finish the braid and secured it behind her back. He found her dress hanging on the door and helped her step into it. He hesitated after he finished with the zipper, wondering once more if he should stop her before it was too late.

“I’ll be okay,” Charlie whispered, watching his hesitation in the mirror.

Ethan didn’t believe her.

Instead, he kissed the side of her head and whispered, “I love you, Charlie.”

She smiled – a real one. A tired one, but a real one.

Ethan found her shoes on the bed, and he held her hand for stability as she stepped into her high heels.

Then, she was ready…

And he had to take her.

Ethan didn’t leave her side, not for a single second. Not when they parked at the cemetery and were surrounded by friends and coworkers. Not when people tried to call him over to give their condolences. Not when Charlie’s friends surrounded and showered her in support.

Especially not when Danny and Bobby’s families greeted her and thanked her for all she did to try to save them. Not after, when they stepped away, Charlie collapsed into his side, tears running down her face.

He never left her.

Ethan held her hand the entire time. He didn’t give a shit who saw or what they said.

It was a relief when the service began, and everyone stopped crowding her. They stood in the back, where no one cared when Ethan put his arm around Charlie’s waist to hold her up. It was a lovely service – lighthearted but reverent. There were heartwarming stories and cheerful anecdotes. Bright, shining moments of joy were followed by waves of grief and anger.

When the families stepped up to the podium and began to speak, Charlie absently whispered to Ethan, “I think I’m supposed to speak…”

Ethan thought that was a terrible idea.

But out of respect for her grieving process, he asked, “Do you want to?”

Charlie considered it.

In her pocket, she had a piece of paper where she’d scribbled thoughts last night. It was full of platitudes and grief, even an admission that she couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say any of it.

She couldn’t even hear it.

“I think I want to go home,” she replied.

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, squeezing her waist reassuringly, “Okay. I’ll tell Naveen, and then we’ll go.”

Charlie nodded weakly and missed his warmth the second he stepped away. A minute later, Ethan returned to guide her back to the parking lot. They slipped away quietly. Only a few people noticed, and they were respectful enough to not say a word.

In the car, Ethan held her hand.

The fog was back and even stronger.

Charlie was silent. At times, she felt like the only thing keeping her connected to reality was Ethan holding her hand.

Ethan took her back to his apartment, where he knew she would be safe and free from well-meaning mourners and friends. He held her in the elevator and regretted letting her go to unlock his front door. Ethan had never been more relieved by Jenner’s love than when he saw Jenner shower his girlfriend with affection, allowing her to crack a small smile.

Ethan left Charlie and Jenner in the living room to change out of his wet jacket.

Alone for the first time since he found Charlie, he drowned in awareness. His Charlie…

He almost cried. He wanted to cry. He wanted to release this. He wanted to go back to the hospital, where he and Charlie slept quietly and smiled from across rooms.

He didn’t want to grieve.

Neither did she.

He had to protect her. He had to save her. And he didn’t know how.

Ethan sat on the corner of his bed, waiting for an epiphany.

Instead, he found Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked quietly.

Ethan shook his head resolutely, “No. Are you?”

Charlie let out a deep, deep breath.

“Not at all.”

Ethan laughed at the honesty. She had been lying to him all day, and hearing the truth was nearly funny when it was so glaringly obvious.

“You should have made me run away with you,” Charlie grumbled, kicking off her shoes as she walked into his room. She fell into his bed like it was the only place she felt safe.

But really, did she even feel safe there?

Ethan placed a comforting hand on her back and drew a soothing pattern with his fingertips, “We still can.”

Charlie sighed, her eyes closing just a little, “Right now, I just want to stay in this bed.”

“You always liked my bed,” Ethan observed, kissing the top of her head. He kicked off his shoes and then fell back into bed beside her, turning his body to face her.

“It’s because you’re usually in it,” Charlie mused.

Her eyes were closed with Ethan decided to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head safely in his chest. She fit in his arms like he was designed to hold her…

When she looked up at him again, there was something raw hidden in the green of her iris.

“I almost lost you,” she said it like it was a revelation, one she hadn’t let herself think of since that night.

“I think it’s more accurate to say I almost lost you,” Ethan suggested.

“I’m serious, Ethan.”

“So am I.”

Charlie hadn’t allowed those kinds of thoughts or memories to permeate her life. She hadn’t wanted to be sad, but…

They happened.

They were real.

They followed her anyway.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” Charlie said, more to herself than to Ethan, “I was relieved. I missed you, but… I didn’t…”

Something was stabbing her.

Something inside. Something sharp and terrible and scary and it was here.

“I didn’t want you to watch me die,” she said in one breath, just to get it the fuck out of her.

She needed it out. She needed all of it out. It was trapped. It was torturing her. It was going to kill her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Or maybe she could…

She panted, trying to just fucking decide.

The fog was gone. The haze left.

And she was there, and she felt it. She felt all of it.

Nothing came to save her from the feeling.

She wanted to scream again, but it came out as a mighty, aching cry. She devolved into uncontrollable, body-shaking sobs.

The cracks in her perfect, sunny day splintered and shattered the illusion. There was nothing to hold on to now… It was just rain.

No, she was wrong.

There was one thing to hold on to.

And she held onto him just as tightly as he held on to her.

Ethan wasn’t going to let go, so Charlie let herself fall.

That didn’t go where I thought it was going to go, but wow... this may be the saddest chapter I’ve ever written.

permanent tag list:

if you would like to be added/removed/I forgot you, let me know

@schnitzelbutterfingers @curiousconch @starrystarrytrouble @jessirosebud @lucy-268 @aestheticartsx @eramsey28 @macy-ray85 @octobereighth @queencarb @claredal424 @mercury84choices @drariellevalentine @wonderwithrobin @honeyandsunfl0wers @iemcpbchoices @queenbirbs @stateofgracious @kalogh @paulfwesley @canigetanawwjunk @blossomanarchy @lion-ess24 @hopefulmoonobject @caroldxnvxrs @senseofduties @chasingrobbie @rookieoh @delaytheinevitable @mooons-isabelle @rookie-ramsey

@openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart 2 #choices #pixelberry #choices stories you play

120 notes · View notes

bisexual-inuyasha · 3 years ago

Text

The Hook

Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Prompt: “I shouldn’t be here.” “Well you are. Don’t even think about leaving.”

The next morning, Ling woke up alone. Ed had reminded him Al expected him back. And besides, Ling was all talk. He could kiss Edward Elric but anything more would have to wait until he dealt with his suitor situation. It wasn’t cheating, he knew. But that didn’t mean it was right.

Was he a suitor when he never bothered to ask? Ling’s eyes were itchy with lack of sleep. His cheek tingled from where he’d slept on it. God, mornings sucked. Especially early mornings after a late night.

Even still… he smiled. Last night had not been a total waste. He wrapped his fingers around something warm and smooth, something that had rested against his curled stomach through the night.

“Young Lord, I’ve brought you a snack before your meeting. You barely ate yesterday, so I brought extra.” Lan Fan’s voice carried through the doorway, especially loud. “Do you need anything to drink?”

“He’s gone, Lan Fan.” Ling sighed, sitting up. He was decidedly less dressed than when he’d gone to his rooms. By the time Ed left he was too tired to shrug into his sleep clothes. He’d been missing a shirt and his pants had already been half off. He’d just stripped into his undies and fallen asleep under a mountain of blankets.

“What’s that?” Lan Fan sat across from him, her legs crossed and posture careful. “A gift?”

“You could say that.”

It was only a small cat figure, crudely carved from a soft wood Ling had never gotten around to figuring out on his own.

“It’s. Um, cute?”

It wasn’t. It looked awful. Edward wasn’t artistically inclined in that way. Ling couldn’t care less. “Thank you.”

“Speaking of gifts, you’ve got another. It arrived this morning.” Lan Fan took a bite of Ling’s food. “You should eat.”

“What was the gift?” Ling scooped up a mouthful of rice. “Who was it from?”

“Not Edward Elric.” Lan Fan spoke around her food. “The other man you’re supposed to be involved with.”

Ling’s throat felt dry. He coughed. “We’ve certainly not been meant to be involved yet, Lan Fan. That won’t happen for another month. You know there’s quite a long engagement process in Xing.”

“Yes, Sire. I’m aware.” She closed her eyes. He watched as she considered for a moment. “When you are ready for my opinion I will be sure to give it.”

Irritation flared through Ling but he let it pass. Lan Fan was always free to give her opinion. The only thing putting him off was that he knew what her opinion was. And that she was right. He took a deep breath and pushed a smile onto his face. “I await the day.”

Today was not like the last two. He had so much to do. It was not like his engagement meant the kingdom stopped running. And his hands-on approach to ruling meant he couldn’t shove many duties onto his advisors and court. He was entangled in all of the decisions, from clan relations to trade negotiations. He had all the details and all the paperwork.

So he dragged himself up, splashing cool water on his face. Lan Fan raised an eyebrow at his undress.

“It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t seen before.”

“No, that’s true. I used to kick your ass when you’d wake up half naked after getting mugged in the Hua clans.”

“I wish you wouldn’t remind me of starving days.” Ling put on a pouty face. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to respect me now, Lan Fan? I’m working hard as emperor.”

“I have the utmost respect for you, Sire.” She smiled at him, and it was genuine. She wasn’t too angry at him, then. “I just want you to be careful. You are walking in a thin place. The thin places are difficult to keep you safe in.”

“You don’t have to protect me from everything, Lan Fan.” He gathered up his robes. With a celebration came the expectation of finery. “Though if you want to help me into this ridiculous outfit, I’d appreciate it.”

She did, and by the time his first round of consultation was to start, he was fully dressed. His hair was pulled back today, in the proper style. He arranged his expression into an indifferent coolness.

“Don’t forget, Sire. You’ve got the matter of the gift to deal with.”

His stomach clenched. “Don’t worry. I won’t forget it.”

When she wasn’t looking, Ling snuck the little cat into his pocket.

The mysterious suitor’s gift was on his mind through the whole morning. As his constituents asked about the borders of their fields and the negotiation, he ran his thumb over the figurine in his pocket and tried not to look towards the table where the gift waited for him.

A maze of questions and conflicts and negotiations later, he was being led to the gift. A no stuck in his throat. Refusal built like a physical pressure in his chest. The urge to leave was so strong his hands shook with it.

His advisors were clueless. And of all the days, Lan Fan was busy with other affairs. She wasn’t even in the palace. For the first time since he was inaugurated, a clammy sweat broke over his forehead.

He stood at the box. He didn’t care what was in it. It wouldn’t change his mind, whatever it was.

But accepting the gift was a furthering. For every step into Xingese tradition he took, the expectation he would follow through grew. Maybe this is why he just stood, staring at the box, for several minutes.

The longer he took, the heavier the silence around him grew.

Low rumbling started in the back of the crowd. A few people grumbled and a couple shouted as someone aggressively, and rudely, shoved their way through.

Ed pushed his way near the front, a notebook in his hand, his metal fingers clasped around a pen. Ling heard him shout over the thin wall of people ahead of him. “Well, get on with it. How else are any of us supposed to know what’s in it?”

Ling laughed. He pulled the fabric wrapping from the box. It was a nice enough fabric. From far away, the cloth had just looked like a boring eggwhite, but up close he could see damasked swirls twisting around the corners. The box was equally almost boring--cream, slightly darker, with a line of gold around the opening. His expectations were low.

And good thing.

The gift was a simple, expensive shaving set. Ling felt like this was something Fu would have enjoyed. However, he, with his lack of facial hair and attachment to his other bodily hair, had no use for it. He quirked a brow, put the nice, ivory handled blade back into the oversized box beside the crystal container of what he could only assume was cologne. Maybe?

A single boom of laughter sounded from the general vicinity of Ed, but no one else seemed to think anything of the gift. And then, to his horror, one of his advisors cleared their throat.

“For when he is here, Sire. To shave your husband.”

Ling carefully closed the box. He was trying, and failing, to look nonchalant.

“Sire, should we respond with a gift in kind?”

Ling ground his teeth. “I will be in my room, crafting a response for my… suitor.”

He’d chosen the word specifically for its connotation of uncertainty. A suitor has not been accepted yet. The advisors all glared, and a few of the crowd closest to him gasped. He could feel the burning in his cheeks. Anger, embarrassment, and maybe a smidge of disappointment flooded his thoughts. He needed to be out of here.

Murmuring grew behind him, growing to a small roar as the heavy doors to the court closed behind him.

It was hard to stomp through all his layers but he did his best.

The kitchens were busy when he arrived. Lan Fan was elbow deep in a bowl of dumpling filling. She took one look at his face and picked up the bowl to move towards him.

“We should go, Sire,” she finished kneading the ingredients together and dumped the bowl into the arms of another kitchenhand. “Your face may frighten the staff.”

He shuttered his expression, pushing the emotions and thoughts deep inside until he could be somewhere private. It was not easy, and from Lan Fan’s face he could tell he was not fully successful. He tried, though, and that was the best he could do.

“It was bad?” Lan Fan spoke under her breath while she washed her hands.

He couldn’t speak on it. It was insulting, actually. The kind of gift given to a stranger. But worse so, because it was a gift truly meant for the gifter--a gift of expectation. A note that said one day, he expected Ling to serve him.

He did not become Emperor to serve over-confident old men.

The thought made him bristle. His face contorted into a sneer, despite his best efforts to keep a neutral expression. He turned away, so that only Lan Fan could see him. “It is best discussed somewhere else.”

She didn’t respond, only dried her hands and hurried from the room. Ling followed, though he could only go so fast without tripping over the length of his robes. The hindrance was especially frustrating, and even more so because he wanted to move. To push himself, quicken his steps and his body until he couldn’t hardly breathe.

He already didn’t want to do this.

He had a growing list of reasons to refuse.

Except.

Except there was a reason he accepted in the first place.

It was enough to fuel the fire inside him higher, until he was nearly bursting at the seams in his shuffling pace.

Finally, they were in an empty room. A quick glance around told him it was an empty washroom, and if not for Lan Fan’s very blatant disinterest in men, they may have been in trouble. As it was, she only slammed the door closed (a cathartic sound, though it did nothing for his thrumming body.) When she turned towards him, there was only concern. He hadn’t realized he’d expected anything less. But now, some tightness around his lungs loosened.

He’d been expecting a reprimand.

“What was the gift?” She started pulling his robes off of him.

Briefly, he wondered if this was unusual. The thought left his mind as soon as it crossed. He shifted his shoulders to help her remove the uppermost layer. “It was a shaving set.”

“Hm?” She moved to his front, untying a sash. “But you don’t have any facial hair.”

“It wasn’t for me to use myself.” Ling’s hands shook again. “Hua explained. It was for me to use, on him.”

Lan Fan’s fingers fumbled on the sash. “That doesn’t make sense, Sire.”

“It was meant as exactly what it was.” Ling stepped back and finished undoing the sash to his underrobe himself. “A notification of expectation. A signal that he wants me to be a doting husband.”

“I can see how in some twisted way that makes sense.” Lan Fan frowned. “Though he must be aware it doesn’t give a good impression.”

“He doesn’t think he has to care. He offered his hand in marriage without knowing me, Lan Fan. He wasn’t taking me into account at all. He wants Xing.”

“No.” She sat on an empty countertop. Her expression bothered him. “Not just Xing. He wants you, too. Sire.”

His skin felt raw. Only a few days ago, that may have been a relief. Now it was an irritation digging its way into his blood. “What makes you say that?”

“He’s been keeping tabs on you through the advisors. He has asked specifically after your health and happiness. The reports have been mixed, but he’s asked more than once.”

For a moment, Ling went cold. “Have any of them mentioned--”

“No. No mention of him. But the Amestrian does seem interested in you, specifically, Sire.” She frowned. “Though, I can say from your reaction to the gift that it’s a hopeless cause on his part.”

“What do I do?” He sat on the floor. At least a dozen tailors would be scandalized at his treatment of his clothing, but what did he care? Those same tailors complained every time he wore an outfit a second time.

“I cannot answer you, Ling. I’m sorry.” She smiled. “You should go to breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry.” He was too angry to feel hungry.

“Ed will be there. Surely, he will calm you down.” Lan Fan smiled. “Besides, you should at least try.”

Ling closed his eyes. “I’m not putting the robes back on.”

“You’ll scandalize us all, Sire.” But she was still smiling when she said it. “Please, at least keep your head around the boy.”

Ling blushed. He left, tired and still irritated.

He ignored the stares of the others. Admittedly, his under robe and darkest, loosest pants were not the usual outfit for an emperor. It would take until tomorrow for the rumors to reach outside the kingdom. And when they did, he’d solidify them with his announcement of withdrawal from the marriage.

What had Ed called it?

A soft rebellion.

He sat, heavily, in his seat at the top of the table. Ed and Al sat near him, like they had the night before. Soon, this would become noticeable. Soon, he’d have to deal with all of the fallout from there. Right now though…

“I like your new look.” Ed tapped his fingers on his glass, taking a deep drink. He stared Ling down, questioning. “It’s certainly to stir up some talk around here. Especially with how you stormed out earlier.”

“Surprised you noticed over all your laughter.” Ling stretched in his seat. The dining hall was chilly as the flame of his anger started to wane. “Al, you wouldn’t believe how loud your asshole of a brother laughed at me in my own court.”

“I’m sure he didn’t laugh half as loud as he snored.” Al contemplated, rubbing their chin. “Though I guess he didn’t do much snoring in your room last night.”

Ed and Ling both squawked a protest but Al just snorted.

“I gotta say, though. Your kitchen knows how to make a roast quail that just melts.” Al took a bite, a nibble really, and savored it.

“Al’s a bit of a foodie. In fact, I don’t think they’ve ever enjoyed a place we’ve visited as much. They go on and on about the food here in the room. Do you know how much I had to hear about the sugared sweet potatoes? That was a half hour rant at least.”

“They were good! And one of the cooks said she’d share her recipe with me.” Al’s eyes narrowed, a slow and innocent smile spreading across their face. “Besides, it’s not like I haven’t had to hear--”

“Ha! An-any way.” Ed waved his arm, the shine glinting with the bright lights of the room.

Ling caught the metal fingers in his, and Ed’s face lit up like a cherry sparkler. “Did you polish this?”

“Uh…” Ed’s mouth fell open as Ling openly observed the newly cleaned screws and gleaming plates. “Well, yeah. I mean, if I’m going to be modelling for an emperor, I figured it best be up to emperor’s standards.”

“Silly Edward.” Ling pulled the hand towards his face, checking the wear and tarnish. The scuff was still noticeable at the thumb, bits of unreachable fade peeking out from beneath overlapping metal. “I like your hands either way.”

Al coughed. “People are going to notice if you guys keep all that up.”

Ling dropped Ed’s hand and turned to his food. “So you say the quail is good?”

His appetite did return. He ate steadily through baked quail, quail egg dotted rice, taro starch candies, fried squash blossoms, sweet tomato filled dumplings. Occasionally Al would ask about a dish and he’d explain whatever he knew--not usually very much--and they’d write down a few notes to ask about later. And occasionally, he’d glance over to see Ed, a wide grin on his face, eyes alight, cheeks still tinged pink, and his heart would stutter.

This was the feeling he’d dreamed of as a kid. This excitement buzzing through him whenever he looked at Ed. The easy comradery between himself and the two brothers.

Ling leaned over, keeping his voice quiet and his body language inconspicuous. Al didn’t even look up.

“Let’s meet up where we met the first time, tonight.”

Ed nodded, and they continued through their meal until Ling had to excuse himself.

If Ed’s face turned a deeper shade of red, Al didn’t mention it.

As much as Ling was enjoying his scandalous outfit, he couldn’t justify doing any more official work in it. He changed into a simpler, less heavy version of the outfit he wore that morning. He hadn’t seen Lan Fan at breakfast. He assumed she had a good reason for wherever she was. Still. He wanted to tell her he’d made up his mind.

He toured through the city, overseeing repair projects and brokering deals between bickering businesses. The people weren’t quite sure what to do with him. And he was still learning exactly how to be what they expected of him. His advisors had tried to shepherd him into similes of past emperors. He chafed under their pressures as they tried to fill a shell they’d formed for him. The worst times were when they could cite legitimate reasons for their herding.

For example, he was exposed and in danger while out in the towns. So therefore, they must be able to have him well guarded. This very logical set of observations was followed with therefore every step he made had to be very meticulously timed and prescreened. Theoretically, he would spend only a small allotted time at each job, and no more.

One thing was always true, no matter how meticulously planned his outings. Each job multiplied. If he showed up to discuss the demarcation of a farming plot, the result would mean that already grown crops would have to be divided. Inevitably, a dispute would have to be settled. Then, as is only polite when you’ve just told at least one person they’ve less crops than they thought they did, he’d sit for a tea.

Today he didn’t get to lunch. Or back for another round of celebrations. And this was the way it always went, for any of his days he spent out with the people.

It was his favorite part of the job.

By the time he returned to the palace he was exhausted deep in his very bones. The robes, lighter he’d thought than the earlier ones, weighed him down. And still, he had dinner to go through. And the aftermath of this morning to handle. He wanted to sleep.

Then, he remembered.

He had a meeting. After dinner.

His steps still dragged, but a little less.

He made his way to his room and collapsed in his bed.

Only to jump up a moment later, shouting. “What the hell?”

A body wiggled under his covers. Fighting his way from a mountain of plush blankets, Ed’s head popped up. “Oh, you’re back. You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

A soft smile lit his face despite the heaviness of his limbs. “I can’t half ass a job with the people. They’d never forget and the bitching wouldn’t end for years. Probably until I died.”

“Even during your engagement?”

Ling scoffed. “Don’t play with me. You and I both know that’s a sham.”

“You sure?” Ed hugged the covers to his chest. Ling thought it was awfully cheeky that the Amestrian could sleep in his bed, wake up, and immediately start asking prying questions. Maybe he should have been bothered. Instead he was mildly impressed.

“Am I sure that the supposed suitor of mine who I’ve never met, who has no reason to have any interest in a decades younger new emperor in a country with an assassin problem, is nothing more than a sham of political leverage?” Ling slid his top off. He’d put it back on before dinner. But now, he needed to be lighter.

“Leverage? And what does that mean, for you?”

This conversation was a heavy one. Heavier than the exhaustion in his bones. Heavier than the robe he’d allowed to slide onto the floor. Heavier still than the thoughts that had been running through his head all day. “Do you know how I became Emperor?”

Ed frowned. “You fought your way through the other heirs, made alliances, made deals. That’s how every Xingese emperor ascends, right?”

“No. I’d have never been able to fight my way through 43 heirs.” Ling rubbed his eyes. “Promises. I made promises to those I didn’t need to fight my way through. Promises that their clan wouldn’t starve. Promises that I wouldn’t mercilessly kill those clans whose heirs I did have to fight through.”

“Sounds better.” Ed smiled. Ling didn’t.

“If I promised you, right now, that I would fix Amestris for you. That utilizing my marriage to your ruler, I would root out and destroy the corruption that causes Amestris to spread into neighboring countries like a virus. How would you feel?”

Ed’s face shifted, first to anger then to thoughtfulness, before finally landing on doubt. “How could you, even if you did marry him? Amestrians aren’t trusting. They’ve been in war after war--”

“Exactly. And yet, with the resources of Xing, the possibility arises that I could. And this is the possibility I’m faced with. Right now, I’m new, and my rule is based on promises that are thin until I fulfill them. And some of them will only be fulfilled when I die and haven’t killed off the opposing clans. When people aren’t used to honesty, believing in good things will become impossible.” Ling sat on the bed, pushed aside the covers. Ed was still dressed in this morning's clothes. As any normal person would be, Ling decided. “Having a strong military force behind my decrees would go a long way to making people take me seriously.”

“Sounds cowardly to me.” Ed crossed his arms. Ling was going to have to reign this conversation in, or he’d get no sleep before dinner.

“Yes, cowardly,” Ling wrapped his arms around Ed’s waist. “I’m certainly cowardly enough, but maybe not enough for this.”

Ed fought back his grin, but to no avail. “Well, I can’t believe I was lured all the way to the palace under false pretenses.”

“You mean you don’t want to become my mistress?” Ling placed a kiss against Ed’s throat. He wouldn’t usually be so forward, but he had found Ed in his bed.

“Don’t think I’ve got the legs.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to anyway.” And then Ling pulled Ed down, curled around the small statured boy, and fell asleep.

This way, exactly, was how Lan Fan found them. Ed, lying awake in Ling’s arms, and Ling, deep asleep.

“He seems relaxed.” Lan Fan shut the door quietly behind her. “This is good. I wanted to talk to you privately anyway.”

Ed sputtered. “He’s right here, it’s not like we’re alone.”

Lan Fan gave him a deadpan stare. Then she opened her mouth, talking loudly. “Ling! Oh, Ling, it’s an emergency, Ed is cutting off my leg with his automail arm. He’s going to kill me Ling, watch out!”

Ed gaped, waving his free hand in her direction. “Stop it stop it stop it! What are you doing?”

But Ling didn’t wake up. He only snuggled deeper into Ed’s chest, wrapped his arms tighter around Ed’s waist, and hummed contentedly.

“So, as I was saying.” Lan Fan on Ling’s desk, glancing through some of his pictures. “You came here before he got back. Before lunch. You must be hungry.”

“Starving, actually.”

“Careful, he’s got to be starving too.” She rested her chin on her hand, staring him down. “He’s been known to nibble in his sleep.”

“You two are close, yeah?”

“What are your intentions with the Emperor of Xing?” She uncrossed her leg, hopping down from the work desk. “How can I trust you?”

“We had an interesting conversation about trust earlier.” Ed looked up to the ceiling. “I don’t have any intentions, to be honest. I barely know him.”

Lan Fan was at the edge of the bed now. He could feel her cool touch on his leg, a threat more than a comfort. “That’s not a very comforting answer, considering what’s on the line.”

“You couldn’t very well trust me if I lied to you, could you?” Ed swallowed. “I like him. I have since I saw him half-passed out in the garden. He was so far gone he couldn’t stand, and he thought the flowers were stars.”

“It’s hard to understand why you went out after him.” Lan Fan’s grip on his leg tightened. “I had assumed he wanted to be alone. Why didn’t you?”

“I--” Ed hesitated. How much did he want to tell her? “I’ve had that look on my face before. The one he had when he went outside. I hadn’t wanted to be alone, then.”

“So you just took a chance? Followed a hunch?” She sat on the bed. Ling shifted beside him. “And then stayed out there with him, until we found you.”

“He doesn’t remember that part, I think.” Ed spread his fingers over Ling’s arm. “He asked me to lay with him. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“You really don’t want anything from him, do you?”

“Just a chance.” Ed turned his face into Ling’s hair. “A chance to get to know him.”

“He wants you to.” Lan Fan sighed. “It’s time to get ready for dinner, now.”

“Right.” Ed ran his fingers through Ling’s hair, careful to keep the metal from tangling. “I should probably go. You probably wanted to talk to him, yeah?”

“I think it would be best.” Lan Fan didn’t move. “After all, it wouldn’t do for you two to arrive at dinner together, again.”

Ed moved carefully, lifting Ling’s arm and sliding out from beneath him. “He sleeps like a log.”

“Only after his visits to the people. It drains him but he loves it. He doesn’t do well sitting still.” She stood before Ed could reach the door, hand outstretched. “I think you’ll love him, before too long. I wish you good luck, Edward Elric. It is no easy task loving Ling Yao.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s worth it, every step.” Her hand hung in the air, waiting. “But he is emperor. And he doesn’t understand how important he is.”

“I make no promises.” He shook her hand and left, feeling somehow that he had made a vow, despite his claims.

Maybe he was already a lot deeper in than he thought.

They didn’t sit together at dinner this time. Ling was dressed in the robe he’d worn to town, only slightly rumpled, and smiling at everyone. A few people had attempted to ask him about his show over the gift this morning. He waved off their questions easily and changed the subject.

He’d even had one of the waiters sneak a baked taro bun over to Al, who had greedily devoured the whole thing. But he didn’t look at Ed.

Lan Fan stuck to his side, slyly moving him away from the less pleasant visitors. Ling pretended not to notice, but at one point he grew frustrated with a conversation, grabbed her around the waist, and did a circle around the room with her, ignoring any woh tried to talk to him. She laughed at him, and he ended up laughing with her. It was only a single round but it was enough to stir up the murmuring all over again.

The abrupt change had successfully signaled a change, however. The groups of people chattering needlessly started to break up into smaller groups, and music began playing. Ling watched as people stopped paying attention to him, concerning themselves with their own conversations.

He took a deep breath and sat down, rubbing his hands over his face. “God, that was becoming insufferable. I receive one shaving set and everyone has jokes and questions.”

“I think it’s more than that, Sire.” Lan Fan stretched. “Are you keeping your appointment?”

“A good emperor always does, right Lan Fan?” He grinned at her.

She squeezed his hand. “Just guard yourself, sire. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

He stuck his tongue out. “You’re always so serious. Never want to just have fun.”

“I have all sorts of fun when I’m with you, Sire.”

They both burst into giggles. He stood, brushing at the wrinkles on his top. “I’ve best get going. Ed disappeared quite a few minutes ago. He’ll be worried if I don’t show up soon.”

“Sire?” She tugged on his sleeve. “You do deserve to be happy. Don’t let any of us make you doubt that.”

A lump rose in his throat. “And is that your official opinion, Lan Fan?”

“That is always my opinion, Sire.”

He was still riding the high of knowing he’d be able to rely on Lan Fan, even if he made the selfish decision, even if he allowed his pride to rule just this once, when he made his way to the archway. Ed sat beneath, staring up at the tiny white flowers that dotted overhead.

“They do kind of look like stars, if you cross your eyes a bit.” Ed thumped back, stretching his arms above him.

“You’ll never reach them. They are the stars, after all.” Ling sat down and matched Ed’s pose.

“Do you remember asking to watch the stars with me?”

Ling shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I’d like to get the chance to try for real.”

“Well, that’s all up to you. I could always be your mistress.”

“You wouldn’t, you’re far too moral for that.” Ling hummed. “No, I’m going to call off the engagement. I can’t follow through with it.”

“Is this because of me? Don’t make a decision like that because of me. We just met, after all. What if we like different music or something?”

“Don’t worry. I’d probably have made this decision even if I hadn’t met you.” Probably. Maybe. Ling hoped he would have. “I’ve given up a lot to be Emperor. But I feel like this would be giving up more than I could actually bear.”

“I won’t argue with you.” Ed turned on his side. “I can’t say I wasn’t hoping.”

Ling opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a hand grabbing his arm. Lan Fan was here, and she’d obviously hurried.

“Lord, there’s been a development. We’ve just received word.”

Ling frowned, his brow pulling together. “What is it? Is everything ok?”

Lan Fan looked towards Ed, and then back to him. “Your fiance is heading here, to meet. He cites a misunderstanding as the cause, but I fear he may have learned of,” she made a vague gesture towards Ed. “Your extracurriculars.”

Ed’s face turned red again, a sight that would have usually sent Ling into cheery, warm feelings. But now his stomach felt it was digging its way into the dirt.

He would be meeting his suitor after all.

Ed grabbed his hand, already sitting up. "I shouldn't be here. People are bound to start showing up soon to congratulate you."

Ling didn't let go of Ed's hand as he moved to leave. "Well, you are. Don't even think about leaving me here."

Ed stopped, looking to Ling uncertain. "But--"

"Please."

And so Ed stayed, waiting for Ling as advisors came to tell him he only had two days before the King of Amestris arrived.

#Edling #FMAB #Edward Elric #Ling Yao #Arranged marriage au

12 notes · View notes

poptod · 4 years ago

Text

The Nose Kiss (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: A dinner and offerings to the Gods devolves into something much quieter.

Notes: yesterday was the last day of my fast so today is the feast! i thought it might be fun to write something relating to that and my kemeticism thing, which is definitely there edit: i just realized all my fics lately have been about ahk im sorry lmao WC: 1.3k

The first thing on the list was obvious––you didn't even need to get them, as they were a common staple in your diet, especially around the festival of Opet. Dates, specifically medjool, and though you already had a box at home the thought of pitted dates came to you. If you got a couple nuts and coconut sugar you could stuff them, which was always a nice treat.

Number two and three on the list were a vegetable mix and olives.

Ahk mentioned liking olives.

You paused in the middle of the grocery store, staring at the list on your phone. Ahk would like all of this, actually––why hadn't you thought of that before? How many years have you celebrated this festival in a row and never thought of your friend?

Despite knowing exactly how the museum came to life every night, you'd never met anyone besides him. It was one of those evenings (or midnights, really) where restless wanderlust had you roaming the streets, looking for buildings to scale and the tallest places you could get to. The museum ended up being one of them, and that was where he saw and accosted you, a scared look in his eye that held you petrified.

That was a while ago now, though. It had to be... two? maybe three? years since you first met him, and considering the state of his existence he was a wonderful friend. And a very nice man to dream about.

One time he mentioned being a vegetarian, which happened right around the time he told you Teddy, a man also from the museum, recently became vegetarian as well. You wouldn't mind planning the feast around that. Thus you continued your shopping, a faint smile on your face as you imagined Ahk's upcoming look of surprise.

His hand in yours, you led him down the hallway, watching as he trailed behind you with a vacant but confused smile.

"I, the child of Khonsu," you began as you walked, starting a recitation of a prayer that you and Ahk had long since memorized. It would act as a sort of hint.

"I, the son of Ra," he returned.

"I will live and have power beneath the branches of the tree of Hathor. There Re appears in his horizon, his Ennead following him. Raise yourself, Re who are in your shrine, that you may lap up the breezes. May you swallow the northern wind, may you entrap the day, may you kiss Ma'at, may you sail the Sacred Bark to the Lower Sky, may you reckon up your bones and turn your face to the beautiful West."

In chanting unison you recited the prayer, the image of your shrine flashing behind your eyes. By now you remembered every detail of it, how it looked when you fell to your knees and prayed, soft utterances falling from your lips.

Your shrine at home was much prettier, much better managed than your portable one, but the smaller worked fine for your spot on the museum roof. Ahk never needed a jacket, but you did––for that you brought several thick blankets, wrapping up around the shrine and your pillow seats. Candlight surrounded the mobile shrine, illuminating the small painting of Khonsu in the back. For Ahk you brought an image of Ra, painted in faux gold, and gifted to him a couple months back.

His eyes drew first to the food. Plates of well-seasoned peas, turnips, lettuce, garlic, and onion––stacks of honey cakes and bowls of stuffed dates. In the middle lay the offering dish, one made of carved and stained wood and lined with flowers.

"How did you...?"

"Tied it all up in a big blanket and hauled it up the side," you said with a laugh, eyes set intently upon him, gauging his reaction. Thus far he looked delighted––beyond delighted. Almost... blushy.

"This.. this is –"

"Unwarranted?" You finished for him, raising a single brow.

He nodded.

"Don't worry," you said, once more taking his hand and leading him to sit down on his pillow seat. "It's the festival of Nehebkau today. Perfectly good reason."

"I suppose so," he said softly, attention drifting between the different plates.

"Offerings first?" You asked, and he nodded.

For the proceeding five minutes you stacked a fair amount of food onto the offering plate, lighting an incense whose smoke drifted high into the night sky. Without a roof above you, the scent remained distant, which suited you just perfectly for the meal you began to eat. An interesting yet uninvolved conversation flowed between you two, your attentions divided between the food and one another.

While Ahk finished up the remaining bites on his plate, you dug into your bag in search of your lute. You didn't play it often, more suited to guitar, but on the go it was a much lighter and smaller instrument.

"I lov–"

"Do you want to –"

You spoke at the same time, stammering and chuckling when you both recoiled your statements.

"You go first," you said, hands falling into your lap as you fidgeted.

"No, it's alright. What were you saying?"

"I just – wanted to know if you wanted to make some music," you said as you raised the lute into his line of sight.

"Sounds wonderful," he said with a happy, but dissatisfied, smile.

He taught you this one. The words. Together you translated it into English, though you rarely sung such songs in that language. Still, as you sung, you turned the words into English in your head, following along with the beat of your own voice.

But I, I am excited by your love alone

My heart is in balance with yours

and may I never be far from your beauty.

Yet I have departed from you now,

and when I think of your love,

my heart stands still within me.

The taste of sweetcake

Turns bitter on my tongue

The scent of your nose

is what revives my heart.

I have obtained,

forever and ever

What Amun has granted me.

"You sing that song well," he commented as you finished, quiet so as to not break the spell of music. "It becomes you."

Before you could answer he leant forward, eyes concentrated deeply into yours as his fingers raised to brush the hair off your face. Your heart skipped a beat as his skin touched yours. The two of you had never been all that touchy with each other––the furthest thing you'd done was a quick hug, leaving you clueless as to the sudden affection.

"You asked me about that one line in there, the one about the noses. When was that?" He asked, his head quirking to the side.

"Um.. a couple months ago maybe? You never gave me a direct answer. Why do you ask?"

He paused before opening his mouth, eyes straying to the side as a blush overtook him.

"It's called a nose kiss," he said, though apparently still couldn't bear to meet your gaze. "When a couple rubs their noses together and take in each others' scent."

You leaned forward the two inches it took to reach his face, closing your eyes as you bumped his nose with yours. At last his eyes turned to you, wide as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. Once he did so he laughed––blushed a deeper red, and looked bashfully to the floor.

"Not quite that short," he mumbled through the soft laughter wracking his shoulders.

So you tried again; leaned forward with a gentler touch, brushing your noses together instead of bonking. Still your eyelids fluttered shut, focusing on the scent of him, the feel of his warmth, the rush of your heart at every grace. He sucked in a sharp breath, shoulders tensing until your hand came up to cup his jaw. Then he relaxed, moved into you, slotted his nose beside yours and landed the softest kiss right above your lips.

"Better?" You asked.

He kissed you again, this time on your lips.

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

121 notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 4 years ago

Text

【未定事件簿】Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-16 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️ 6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

NXX Base

On Wednesday morning, Lu Jinghe pushed open the main door to the base’s meeting room.

Lu Jinghe: Hah, I haven’t seen wrong, right? You’re surprisingly here, Mo Yi.

Lu Jinghe lifted his hand and looked at his watch, his meaning self-evident.

Mo Yi: If I said that I have not slept all night, would you also run outside to see where the sun has risen from?

Lu Jinghe: That wouldn’t be necessary. No matter how the sun rises and sets, it all won’t affect me.

Xia Yan: Sure enough, the transmission of data on this wristband has problems.

As if he hadn’t heard Lu Jinghe’s and Mo Yi’s dialogue, only after Xia Yan had finished with the work in his hands did he greet Lu Jinghe.

Xia Yan: You came pretty early.

Xia Yan: Why are you dressed so formally? NXX doesn’t have formalwear work requirements, right.

Lu Jinghe: I’m about to go hold a board meeting at the company – just taking the time to come to the base first to check some materials.

Mo Yi: There are results on the wristband inspection?

Xia Yan: Mhmm. Based on the hardware, the wristband we got from Wang Han doesn’t have any differences from typical health wristbands.

Xia Yan: But looking at the direction of data transmission, it doesn’t only collect in the Heirson examination centre’s cloud health system.

Xia Yan: I’m still tracking the exact recipient address, and I’ve already set up a program to crack it.

Xia Yan: Although it’s hard to estimate how much more time needs to be spent for now.

Xia Yan: If the data flows outside of borders, the time spent on inspection will increase by several times.

Mo Yi: I’ve already done comparative screening through the night on the examination centre’s examination report you gave me yesterday.

Last night, Xia Yan cracked the Heirson examination centre’s encrypted database, getting an examination report that had been partially specifically encrypted.

Mo Yi: From just the chemical experiment indicators, I can preliminarily estimate that the portion of participants with abnormal mental states is very high.

Mo Yi: But there is a very large discrepancy with the severity of their symptoms and their exact illness.

Mo Yi: I did a simple comparison to the cases of abnormal mental states already listed in “X-Note” and was able to find some coinciding people.

Lu Jinghe: So for the next step, you intend to directly contact the people in the cases and investigate their relationship to Heirson?

Mo Yi: That’s right. If we consider Mu Ziyou as a single piece of evidence, we might be able to find more illness cases.

Xia Yan: Lu Jinghe, you… ss…

Xia Yan stood up from in front of the computer, and was about to walk towards Lu Jinghe when he suddenly clutched at his left waist and sucked in a breath.

Lu Jinghe: What happened to you?

Mo Yi: …

Xia Yan: I’m fine, I’m fine. I pulled a muscle from suddenly standing after sitting for a long time.

As he spoke, Xia Yan took out a subdivided medicine container, held up a cup, and ate two pills.

Mo Yi: I saw you eating this medicine last night. What does it treat?

Xia Yan: Medicine? Oh, you’re talking about this?

Xia Yan waved the medicine container.

Xia Yan: This isn’t medicine to treat illnesses. It’s used to wake me up – a Ministry of Security secret formula.

Xia Yan: Agents are also normal people; we’ll also get tired if we haven’t slept all night.

Mo Yi: …

Lu Jinghe: Could you give me two pills? I slept late yesterday, and if I fall asleep at the board meeting later, I’m afraid I’ll get on the news again.

Xia Yan: I can let you eat some, but I can’t let you take the medicine away.

Xia Yan: Who knows if you’ll take it to Pax Pharmaceuticals to analyze the formula and mass produce it? Then I’ll have leaked its secrets.

Lu Jinghe: Aiya, you saw through me. Then I won’t randomly eat those medicines.

Lu Jinghe’s words were said meaningfully, and he also specifically shot a glance at Xia Yan’s medicine container at the end.

Xia Yan: How about you talk about the investigation progress on your side of things.

Lu Jinghe: With Heirson manufacturing illegal medications, Qin Shan wouldn’t be the only person in the know in the entire company.

Lu Jinghe: The backbones of the company, his aides, would probably know.

Lu Jinghe: It’s very hard for Qin Shan to regain consciousness now. I plan to start by checking on the people around him.

Lu Jinghe: And I also have an initial direction regarding exactly how Qin Shan was “poisoned”.

Lu Jinghe took out his phone and displayed a news article on its screen.

Mo Yi: The incident of Heirson staff members jumping from a building?

Lu Jinghe: Correct. A few years ago, news on Heirson factory staff committing suicide due to unbearable work pressure were revealed, one after another, online.

Lu Jinghe: But it seems like it was all heavy thunder with little rainfall. After the news passed its peak, no one ever mentioned it again.

Lu Jinghe: Zuo Ran’s been tracking the Xu Ping case this whole time. Xu Ping was also a Heirson staff member, and he also committed suicide.

Lu Jinghe: Then could there also be something strange about Heirson’s suicide cases from before?

Lu Jinghe: I came to the base because I wanted to check if I could find a list of names on related staff members.

Xia Yan: Speaking of which, we don’t know how the investigation on Zuo Ran’s side is going.

Just as the sound of Xia Yan’s voice fell, the three people took their phones with unplanned, identical timing and opened the chat screen…

City Police Station

Today morning, I came with Zuo Ran to the city police station. Yan Wei was still dealing with official business, so he had us wait a bit for him in the office.

MC: I looked through the briefing that Leader Yan sent on my way here.

MC: Xunye’s boss, Zhang Zhian, collaborated with others to rob armored vehicles in non-local areas 15 years ago.

MC: It was also 15 years ago that he fled to Stellis City. After that, the name “Zhang Zhian” disappeared, and it was replaced with “Qing Zhian”.

MC: The person who created a fake identity was called Gu Wei.

Zuo Ran: This Gu Wei is the deceased husband of Chen Hanzhang, and the founder of Wiley Financial.

MC: Deceased husband?

I had never paid attention to Chen Hanzhang’s marriage status, so it was somewhat surprising when being brought up now. I was just about to ask Zuo Ran when my phone suddenly vibrated several times in succession.

MC: What’s the matter…

I turned on my phone and took a look – Xia Yan, Mo Yi, and Lu Jinghe had sent messages to me individually.

Zuo Ran: What is it, have you encountered an issue?

MC: No, it’s just that the three of them all sent messages, asking me how the investigation process was going.

Zuo Ran: …

MC: Weird, they could’ve just directly asked in the group chat, so why’d they send messages individually.

I held up my phone and directly responded to the three of them in the NXX group chat.

[MC]: Morning everyone.

[Xia Yan]: Morning, have you eaten breakfast?

[Mo Yi]: Good morning. Are you already working?

[Lu Jinghe]: Morning, jiejie, where are you right now?

>I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: Of course I’ve eaten breakfast – Lawyer Zuo specially made it for me.

[Xia Yan]: So it looks like you ate breakfast on the way? That’s not too good.

[Mo Yi]: Mhmm, I agree about that.

[Lu Jinghe]: If you said earlier that you would be eating on the way, I could’ve had the chef at my place make some and sent it over to you.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

>I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: Mhmm! I’ve already started work. Lawyer Zuo and I came to meet an important witness.

[Mo Yi]: Witness? Looks like Xu Ping’s package isn’t that easy to get.

[Xia Yan]: Do side issues keep coming up?

[Lu Jinghe]: Can you confirm that package is in Xu Ping’s hands? Don’t get deceived.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

>I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: I’m with Lawyer Zuo at the city station – there’s an important witness we need to meet.

[Lu Jinghe]: Going to the police station this early? You’re working way too hard.

[Xia Yan]: Is your work schedule really reasonable? You got back that late yesterday, and you’re running around so early today.

[Mo Yi]: If you stayed at the base to organize data, you might have been able to relax more.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

>Case progress

[MC]: Since you were all asking about the case progress, I’ll just tell you all together rather than responding to you all one by one.

[MC]: Xu Ping’s package really is with that person called Zhao Fei, but he refuses to directly give it to us.

[MC]: We’re investigating a case related to illegal drugs. After we figure it out, we should be able to get the package.

[Zuo Ran]: There is an account record of Heirson raw materials in the package – it’s very important evidence.

>Ask about everyone’s progress

[MC]: Has everyone’s investigations been smooth?

[Xia Yan]: Of course it’s been smooth. I’ll tell you about the battle results after you return!

[Mo Yi]: It has been very productive, but the upcoming investigation will require your assistance.

[Lu Jinghe]: I’ve noticed something new. I’ll update you on the info after you’re done working.

>Leader Yan has come >NXX is lacking in manpower

[MC]: Ah, Leader Yan is here, let’s chat later.

[MC]: Lawyer Zuo and I will head off first to meet the witness.

[Mo Yi]: I hope it goes smoothly.

[Xia Yan]: You absolutely must not work too hard – pay attention to your health.

[Lu Jinghe]: Jiejie, remember to give me a call if you need me to help anywhere.

[Zuo Ran]: We’ll head off first. Leave a message if you all have something to say.

>Leader Yan has come >NXX is lacking in manpower

[MC]: Everyone’s work is quite saturated. I seriously think we need new people.

[Mo Yi]: It’s not just anyone who has the qualifications to join NXX. I’d rather we lack than have shoddy options.

[Xia Yan]: I think it’s fine. We can absolutely deal with the work amount we have now.

[Lu Jinghe]: As long as we schedule it reasonably, the people we have now is sufficient. Jiejie, don’t worry.

[Zuo Ran]: Leader Yan is here, so we’re going to go meet the witness. Leave a message if you all have something to say.

MC: Morning, Leader Yan.

Yan Wei: You two have arrived – you’ve worked hard.

Yan Wei, who had arrived at the office, had an expression full of weariness – he’d probably been dealing with cases the whole night at the police station without resting.

Zuo Ran: You just finished a surprise interrogation?

Yan Wei: We’d finished interrogating the person a long while ago, but while suspects can sleep, the police cannot.

Yan Wei: Time’s tight. I’ll tell you both about Qing Zhian’s situation first.

Yan Wei: Beyond our expectations, he was cooperative. Too bad that he doesn’t know much – he’s likely just a peripheral person in Chen Hanzhang’s gang.

Yan Wei: Plus… Zuo Ran, have you heard of the “Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost”?

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #未定事件簿 #weiding shijian bu #lu jinghe #mo yi #xia yan #zuo ran #tot translation #the rest of the parts might take longer because i'm pretty busy for the next while #but the story is really good #i can't believe they're already showing XY's illness in main plot #my poor boy #as soon as i read that i had to translate it asap #MY and LJH are def suspecting something is up

25 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect.

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him.

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him.

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed.

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching.

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head.

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes.

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.”

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket.

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

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen.

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands.

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way.

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground.

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous.

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back.

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night.

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

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister.

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river.

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping.

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend.

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position.

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink.

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it.

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore.

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt.

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

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

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face.

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.”

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago.

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

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

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters.

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late.

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them.

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position.

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur.

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #centaur boyfriend #reader request

19 notes · View notes

cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Original Intention Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date (and Season 2) which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Knowing the basics of Season 2 is necessary to understand what’s going on in this date. Do read this post if you don’t know anything about it!

Parallel World Dates Collection: Gavin // Shaw // Victor

Check out @skyholders‘ translation of Lucien’s date here!

“When popular star Kiro returned to the country yesterday, there were hints of a new collaboration?”

The name “Kiro” has taken over several hot topics. Kiro received a short and sudden interview at the airport, attracting countless discussions and guesses.

Reporter: I heard you signed a contract with a well-known music company in the period before this. Is your return to the country due to any special plans?

Kiro: There’s nothing special. I could be returning just to take my guitar?

Reporter: ...we know you’ve taken on the role of a lead singer and are about to embark on a world tour. There must be some special reason for you to return to the country, right?

Kiro: For this, it’s better to ask my agent.

Kiro smiles and pushes a bespectacled uncle in front of the camera. He playfully sticks out his head from behind the uncle, and pats his shoulder.

Kiro: I’m leaving it to you.

Once the words are out of his mouth, he runs off.

My phone screen displays a photo of Kiro’s smiling face as he turns back. His golden hair plates his entire body in a generously brilliant and blazing splendour.

I brush his face gently with my fingertips, my heart feeling heavy.

Like a raging wave, unspeakable longing and sadness knead together, fiercely slapping onto the shore.

Kiro has returned to Loveland City.

However, this meeting doesn’t give me much time to feel low.

Dad is standing in front of the projector in the conference room, orderly explaining the upcoming work arrangement for the company.

Dad: ...these are all the materials on Kiro. Everyone, please confirm the content on hand, and ensure that we are all on the same page. We’ve recently signed a contract with Kiro’s company. Kiro has received his Admission Letter and will continue pursuing his studies in the music academy. After he finishes his world tour, he will officially sign the contract to return to the country and develop. The contract this time is the very beginning of the collaboration, to work with Kiro’s upcoming tour. All departments have to make preparations. That’s all.

After the meeting is dismissed, Dad sits at my side.

Dad: Suddenly calling you back from school - am I giving you too much stress?

MC: I’m just a little surprised. I never thought the company... that Dad would make such an arrangement.

Dad: This isn’t just Dad’s arrangement. You’ll know the specifics next time.

Dad pauses. When he speaks again, his tone seems to have a certain depth to it. I blink, making secret guesses in my heart.

This means... it could be Black Swan’s arrangement.

Dad: You once told Dad you wanted to be an outstanding producer. Of course, I’ll support my daughter in doing what she wants. This time, I’m just letting you get used to the tasks. Don’t be too nervous. Dad can’t bear to let you to dive into work so quickly!

MC: Hahaha, thank you Dad! I’ll learn seriously! I definitely wouldn’t cause trouble for everyone.

Dad: The contract for the collaboration will happen three days later, so we can do some preparations before that.

After greeting my father, I walk out of the building and turn back to look at it. With complex emotions, I head towards the convenience store.

The world proceeds forward slowly, but there are some differences from back then.

In my memory, Black Swan used B.S. Entertainment to lead public opinion. In an accident arising from multiple causes, it was replaced by my company.

As a similar media body, Dad has been expanding the company’s scope of influence since several years ago.

In a way, we’ve already met Black Swan’s requirements and purposes.

From some imperceptible moment, the entire world has moved towards a familiar yet unknown future.

However, there are coincidences that are either heaven’s tricks, or destiny.

This time, my father’s sufficiently powerful company has replaced B.S. Entertainment, and has become Kiro’s future home.

Without realising it, I’ve walked into that small convenience store.

I stand in front of the shelves, staring dazedly at the final bag of chips.

I think about that person’s “warning” --

“Your unintentional actions may lead to irretrievable consequences.”

As though I’m deep in a black swamp, I’m trapped in place. My lips are sealed, and I sink into the darkness.

After a long time, I pat my face fiercely with both hands, letting out a hard breath.

MC: This time, I’ll be the one searching for you...

When I reach out for the bag of chips, a beautiful and slender hand appears in front of me - we’ve grabbed the same bag of potato chips.

I turn my head, and the person beside me turns to look at me as well.

He is standing against the light, and a smile brims in his eyes. He gives the bag of chips a gentle tug, pulling me a step closer to him in the process.

It’s as though he’s pulling me, who’s continuously sinking.

A heavy feeling rising up from my chest and up my throat. I blink hard and clench my teeth. Even then, I can’t stop the redness in my eyes.

MC: Kiiii... mmph!

Kiro suddenly covers my mouth with his hand and glances around.

His smiling eyes tell me that he’s not angry at all about my rudeness.

Kiro: Shhh... I don’t want to get noticed.

I nod.

Our little scene seems to have drawn attention, so we squat down in hiding.

We crouch together next to the shelf, shoulders nearly touching. Looking at the bag of chips in my hands, I suddenly laugh.

Kiro: You’ve smiled.

MC: Hm?

Kiro: You looked like you were going to cry just now. I even thought I frightened you!

MC: How can that be? I... I was just too excited. I didn’t think the big celebrity I saw on the screen would appear in front of me. Now, we’re squatting here like little kids in kindergarten.

Everything is too similar to how we once met. The words involuntarily leave my lips. It’s as though in front of him, no matter how many times the scene repeats, I’m still the me of back then.

Kiro: If I were still in kindergarten, I definitely wouldn’t let you have the last bag of chips.

I turn around and find Kiro looking at the chips in my hand, seemingly not willing to give up.

A breeze enters the convenience store, lifting strands of his golden hair. Eighteen-year-old Kiro is beside me, looking as though he’s emitting light.

MC: The Kiro now is already a mature Kiro!

Kiro: You’re right.

Even though I said that, Kiro still looks unwilling. His eyes are crinkled, and his mouth slants to a side.

I look at him and think of a time long ago. Making a silent prayer that this bag of chips contains the Batman AR card, I tear the bag open slowly.

MC: It’s a Batman AR card!!

Kiro: Eh, how are you even more excited than I am.

MC: Haha.

There’s a twinge in my heart, and I'm unsure if it’s longing or sadness. I try to shoot Kiro a smile, though it probably doesn't look good.

MC: This is for you.

Kiro takes the card and smiles, his eyes becoming even brighter.

Kiro: How did you know that I'm collecting these?

MC: ...I-I guessed it! Because...

Kiro: Because I look like the type who would collect these?

MC: Yes yes yes, that’s it.

Kiro: And I also look like I’m just missing this card?

MC: ...y-yes, I guess?

Kiro: Mm! I think so too!

Those blue eyes are filled with smiles, not containing a shred of impurity or suspicion. I release a relieved sigh in my heart.

Kiro: But... I think we’ve forgotten to pay.

MC: Ah, you’re right. So sorry, ma’am. I’ll buy ten bags later! Sorry!

Kiro: Sorry!

We look at each other and burst out laughing.

This time, our eighteen-year-old selves still share this tiny secret.

After walking out of the convenience store, I suddenly wonder why Kiro has appeared here and at this point of time.

Kiro looks towards my father’s company and starts whistling playfully.

Kiro: So this is [-MC’s company name-].

His tone is light, not carrying the same anticipation he has on his face.

Kiro: Are you an employee of this company too?

MC: ...

The light of spring is in his bright eyes. Kiro looks at me quietly. This simple question seems to have a meaning behind it.

MC: I am. I just learnt that you’d be coming to the company after three days to sign the contract. But I came here to buy some things for myself...

Kiro: I see.

His eyes crinkle, as though accepting my explanation.

MC: You’re here to take a look beforehand?

Kiro: Actually...

Just as Kiro starts speaking, my phone suddenly rings. Kiro smiles and signals for me to answer the phone first, then takes a few steps away.

MC: Hello? Dad?

Dad: It’s a little sudden, but come to the conference room in 15 minutes to prepare. The collaboration contract with Kiro has been brought forward to today.

On the other end of the line, I can hear faint sounds of various departments busily preparing for the various contract-related issues.

Their conversations reveal the importance of the contract which is about to commence.

Once this collaboration succeeds, it will herald a new phase of the company’s future development in the aspect of acting.

??: Kiro hasn’t reached the office...

Father: Savin, don’t worry. MC, I’ll hang up now. Hurry back soon.

MC: All right.

MC: [to Kiro] You brought the contract signing forward to today?

Seeing that I’ve put down the phone, Kiro stuffs both hands into his pocket and bounces over to me.

Kiro: Something cropped up, so I communicated it to the company. I hope I didn’t cause trouble for everyone.

He retrieves a pair of sunglasses from his pocket, putting them on confidently.

Thinking about something, he tugs his sunglasses downwards lightly, revealing his smiling blue eyes.

Kiro: I tend to get lost easily. Could you show me the way?

MC: Isn’t it just in front?!

Kiro: A person who lacks a sense of direction wouldn’t be able to find the entrance even if the building is right in front of him.

He squints. Tickled by his odd logic, I burst into laughter, then give him a mock bow.

MC: Follow me then, big celebrity.

Kiro puts his sunglasses on properly, then does a thumbs-up gesture contentedly.

They reach the office, and Kiro apologises for the trouble caused

He looks over the contract meticulously and voices his opinions on certain terms, providing suggestions on how they can be mutually beneficial

He signs the contract and the employees leave the conference room

MC is surprised at how anti-climatic the whole thing was, and in her distracted state, forgets to change the settings on the photocopier (which is set to printing small cards)

As a result, the photocopying machine only prints Kiro’s signature on an A4 sheet

Kiro: Is that gentleman your father?

MC: Mm.

Kiro: I see... doesn’t that make you my future boss?

MC: Eh?!

I’m momentarily startled by his words, my brain slowing down and my eyes blinking continuously.

Tickled by my expression, Kiro smiles and crinkles his eyes.

Kiro: Am I wrong?

His tone is sincere, and embeds within it a sort of curiosity and probing.

I lower my head, looking at that sheet of invalid A4 paper, and lift my head with a deep sigh.

MC: You’re not wrong. It’s just that... I’m still very lacking right now. I’m not outstanding enough, and there are many things I can’t do. But I won’t stop here. I’ll make you believe that joining this company is something to be proud of.

I’ll continue running along this path that you’re shining on, and be like you, to become the light.

Kiro’s eyes slowly grow darker. I instinctively tighten my grip on my pen, but am unable to avert my eyes from his.

These seconds of silence feel like I’m being examined. Gradually, he lifts the corners of his lips.

Kiro: Will you be participating in my upcoming world tour?

MC: Probably not... I’m a newbie, so Savin should be going with you.

Kiro: Shall we practice then?

MC: Practice?

Saying this, Kiro leans forward. With a blink, he places his hand on the back of mine.

Kiro: Practice for when you become my future boss.

The sweet scent of the young man brushes the tip of my nose, reminiscent of a person secretly pouring melted hot chocolate into the cup of someone he likes.

He grins and tightens his grip on my hand. On the right side of the invalid A4 sheet, he writes his name crookedly.

Kiro: Your turn.

MC: ...I can really do that?

Kiro: I already said that this is a rehearsal for our future.

MC: But your hand...

Kiro: Hm?

My ears feel warm. Kiro’s eyes flash with the light of a prankster, waiting for me to finish.

His hand remains on the back of mine. He doesn’t exert any force. It feels like a catkin fluttering gently in my heart - ticklish, and can be flicked away with a light touch.

But I can’t bear to.

MC: Nothing!

My face is flushed. With his hand over mine, I leave a crooked “MC” on the left side.

These two names are left on the invalid A4 paper - like a starting point of a certain dream.

Kiro takes up the A4 sheet. Turning his palm, he entwines my fingers with his.

Kiro: We’ve made an agreement. I’ll definitely stand on a higher platform, and let even more people see Kiro, and hear Kiro’s songs. I’ll make the name “Kiro” appear in every corner of the world.

Gorgeous spots of light appear behind the young man, like the most brilliant and pure parts of youth. Still, they can’t compare to the brilliant light in his eyes.

My heart is beating rapidly, and it feels as though a piping heat is coursing through my bloodstream. A faint heat grows where our fingertips meet.

MC: Mm, we have an agreement. I’ll also keep learn learning, and will use my strength and abilities to better develop this company. In the future, this company will be one that’s worthy to collaborate with the “International Superstar” Kiro.

Kiro: Can I do it?

Kiro tilts his head, the glinting light in his eyes wavering slightly. It’s as though a tiny bit of doubt has appeared from its depths.

MC: Do you think I can do it?

Kiro: I think you can.

MC: Then you’ll naturally have no problem either!

I feel his shallow breaths on my fingertips. He leans his head lightly on our entwined hands.

Kiro: Our agreement is complete. If one of us doesn’t reach our goal, there’ll be a punishment.

MC: I won’t give you that chance!

Light soaks in through the window and covers our fingers. Kiro hops down from the table and gently lifts me to my feet, pulling me into the sunlit area.

Just as he did countless times before.

Kiro: Before the future arrives, please guide me. Miss Chips.

While MC is driving Kiro home, he suddenly asks:

Kiro: Is Miss Chips also from Black Swan?

Kiro pipes up, his eyes not leaving the screen of his laptop. There is a smile on his lips, but it looks like a natural-looking mask.

His casual-sounding question startles me. Although it’s a surprise that he would be so upfront about this, my fingers on the steering wheel tighten.

The green light makes its countdown, and I slow down, stopping before the zebra crossing.

MC: I’m not. Although... I might be in the future. I don’t want to lie to you.

Kiro: Is that so.

His tone is light, as though he isn’t paying attention. As though it could be swallowed up by a flower blowing in the spring breeze.

MC: Also, do you... remember what happened when you were young?

Kiro: Bits and pieces. I don’t remember much.

My heart grows heavy. Does Kiro not remember what happened in the orphanage?

MC: I... have something that I definitely have to do. No matter how difficult it is, I have to accomplish it. There’s also someone I want to meet. I’ve waited a very, very long time. It’s been so long that I’m about to give up. But once I think about how he’s working hard in some corner of the world, I’m filled with motivation.

I turn my head and meet Kiro’s eyes. His eyes are filled with an incomprehensible emotion.

MC: I want to protect him, and want... to meet him again. No matter what misunderstandings this path would bring, I’ll continue walking bravely.

Kiro blinks his eyes slowly, and finally reveals an unobstructed smile.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you’ll definitely have no problem.

After Kiro returns home, the smile he kept up in front of the girl finally collapses in a second.

In the pitch black living room, the sunlight outside the window has been kept outside by a thick and heavy curtain.

He clenches his teeth and sits in front of the laptop, the continuously dancing search results on the screen making him cast his eyes downwards.

Kiro: ...still no results.

In the end, he drags himself to the sofa, his pale face almost transparent under the glow of the screen.

A stubbornness appears on his lips, and dots of sweat appear on his forehead, as though he’s enduring a great agony.

Kiro: At least... it’s only acting up now.

At this moment, a call from a foreign number appears on his phone.

Kiro: It’s me.

??: You finally picked up.

Kiro: Tell me the results directly.

??: The test results and your predictions are almost the same.

Kiro: Mm.

Darkness has swallowed his face, but his eyes are flashing with light. Even though the world has plunged into a deep darkness, there’s still a scorching, blooming light.

Kiro: Let’s meet then.

He throws his phone aside, a look of self-deprecation on his face. Even though he’s curled up, he can’t suppress his trembling. The colour of an abyss is in his eyes.

Kiro: [groaning]

The young man’s painful groans resound in the dark, and black markings appear on his arm.

The hands supporting the young man’s body allow him to look at the other corner, into the mirror in the darkness.

The hair of the person in the mirror has gradually faded into a silvery grey, and there is a dazzling golden light in his originally blue eyes--

Overlapping with the image in his mind.

Kiro: ...I, command you--

The young man’s soft voice lingers in the dark.

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Is it the fastest contract you’ve signed in your life?

Kiro: It’s also the most important contract in my life ^_^

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Written in black and white - behave and call me boss~

Kiro: As compared to “boss”, I’ve always preferred “Miss Chips” as a form of address.

Kiro’s Post: Now that I think about it, did I sign an unfair contract back then?

MC: Did I treat you badly?!

Kiro: Does this mean you’re going to treat me to potato chips next time?

Phone call: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc kiro

121 notes · View notes