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karanna1 · 4 years ago

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AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for.

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder.

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it.

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.”

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...”

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone...

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words.

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely.

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away.

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.”

At last she admits it.

In the quietest whisper.

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her.

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

#supergirl #supercorp #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fic #supercorp fanfiction #dont read this #im sorry #it was a rambling stream of conscious moment

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leiawritesstories · 3 years ago

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Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair.

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job.

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth.

As if she knew anything her staff actually did.

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together.

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation.

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself.

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order.

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English.

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple.

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved.

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure.

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved.

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve.

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind.

“You broke both of your hearts”

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart.

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice.

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds.

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city.

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner.

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed.

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction.

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth.

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love. We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath.

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages.

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan.

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof.

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech.

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying.

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan.

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing.

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow.

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything.

She was worthy of him.

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified.

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

Present day.

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked.

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch.

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.”

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

#my writing #rowaelin month #aaaaaangst

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sooibian · 3 years ago

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So Let's Runaway - Costa Brava

Prologue >> Costa Brava >> Seville >> Cuéllar

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Fem!Reader ft. bff!Chanyeol

Genre/Themes: Fluff, angst, humour, travel AU, road trip through Spain, travel buddies Chansoo

Warnings: Grief, loss, heartache, toxic relationships, mildly explicit language

Description: A bachelors trip turns into a soul-searching journey when an unlikely group of three travels through the scenic landscapes of Spain. Their experiences present them with opportunities to mend bridges, face their fears and fall back in love with the true essence of life.

Word Count: ~ 5.3k

A/N: this story is a part of @supermwritersnet ‘Around the world in 31 days’ event. event masterlist.

Tag list: @sooadorable @rosetvler @changshapatrol @his-mochi-cheeks @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt @j-pping @kysoobydoobydoo @exoxobsession @camillapad @reekyungsoo let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged.

@smolgirlbigthoughts thank you so much for the description!!! ;~~~~~;

After having stayed the night (or whatever was left of it after a red-eye flight) in an Airbnb in Barcelona, the three of you hired a Lyft to Europcar to pick up the SUV that Chanyeol had pre-booked for the Costa Brava - Seville - Cuéllar itinerary. What you’d gathered from your several conversations with Chanyeol after that serendipitous coffee date was that each of the three friends had handpicked an adventure sport to try out in these places.

Chanyeol had chosen scuba diving in the rugged coast of Costa Brava with its spectacular cliffs and countless coves. Kyungsoo had appositely picked out an adventure sport involving throwing oneself out of an airplane thousands of feet above ground a.k.a. skydiving in Seville, the capital of Andalusia, resting, wise and old, upon the Guadalquivir river. And Yixing, bless his heart, had wanted to take part in a bull run in Cuéllar that takes place on the last Sunday of August each year.

Twirling the car key on his finger, Chanyeol, dressed in baggy black shorts, a loose fitting purple tee, super dark oversized shades and a snapback cap worn backwards, strongly resembled that ‘smiling face with the sunglasses’ emoji as he walked out of the booking office with Kyungsoo following closely behind. All set to catch a few winks in the rear seat comfort of the SUV, you pulled down the brim of your sunhat but suddenly, a blur of turquoise swooped past you, capturing your attention. Your drowsy eyes wrestled the summer sun to land upon a gorgeous turquoise Buick convertible swerving around the parking area before coming to a fashionable halt. A portly, bespectacled man stepped out of the vehicle and deposited its key with the booking office.

This was it.

This was the car ideal for a road trip, not some mafia boss’ kidnapping vehicle.

The essence of time dawned upon you so you trotted to where the Buick was parked and went down on your knees, hands folded in an implicit plea. The two men, startled at first, were quick to realize what was up.

Kyungsoo fixed you with a judgemental gaze that wasn’t any different from a mother’s fed-up of her child’s tantrums while Chanyeol broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Shoulders hunched under the weight of his tan leather backpack, Kyungsoo crammed his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants and sighed, “The SUV’s more practical.”

With a twinkle in your eye, you exclaimed, “Screw practical! Just look at it! It’s a convertible and we’re on a road trip!”

Grinning from ear to ear, Chanyeol advanced towards you gingerly. “Shifu, my love-”

Jutting out your lower lip, you crossed your arms over your chest and whined, “Don’t call me that after you’ve ditched me for Miss Perfect Hair!” causing Kyungsoo to roll his eyes which distracted you from Chanyeol’s stealth attack.

All of a sudden, the beanpole leapt at you, maneuvered you like he would a balloon sculpture, tucked his arms under your knees, picked you up and shoved you in the backseat of the dreary black vehicle with sun shades on windows darker than Kyungsoo’s soul. With Chanyeol’s finger pressing down on the ridge between your eyebrows, you laid down on your back, sulking, “Some road trip this is. Can I atleast drive?”

Before slamming the car door shut, he teased, “Take a nap.”

And...you tried.

Forty five minutes into the drive, you tried so hard to make up for the red-eye flight but Kyungsoo’s phone Just. Wouldn’t. Stop. Ringing. To make matters worse, he sounded like a broken record parroting the words ‘margin call’, ‘shorting’, ‘S’, ‘B’, ‘stop loss’ over and over again. The same damn thing, every single time.

“Enough Kyungsoo! We’re on a vacation, dude,” Chanyeol chided, the almost indiscernible crack in his voice indicative of his annoyance.

Leaning back into his seat, Kyungsoo bragged, “The last thirty seconds earned me enough commission to be able to buy at least five bags of the kind I bought Aera yesterday.”

“Now, why would you buy Aera a bag?” Chanyeol asked, a hint of suspicion evident in his tone. The sounds of their voices had been mercilessly thwarting your attempts at a peaceful slumber but, this was different. The lack of response from Kyungsoo seemed to have piqued your interest. Your eyes fluttered open to a one eighty shift in Chanyeol’s mood. Brows knit together, his fingers impatiently drummed on the steering wheel as you both waited for Kyungsoo’s answer with a bated breath. But in his stead, it was his stupid phone that broke the silence.

Wide eyes fixated on the screen, Kyungsoo suddenly cried out, “Stop the car!”.

“What?!”

“Stop the car, Chanyeol!”

Letting out an exasperated groan, Chanyeol rashly veered the car to the right before hitting the brakes, causing you to nearly roll off your seat. Kyungsoo darted out of the vehicle and the next thing you knew, he stood facing the hood of the vehicle, his laptop perched atop the bonnet and his life support cellphone clutched in one hand.

Bowing to the screen, he greeted, “Moshi Moshi!”

“Is he taking a work call right now?” you mused.

Chanyeol snorted, “That’s Doh Kyungsoo for you.”

Chuckling softly, you squished your face against the back of Chanyeol’s seat and groused, “Well, along with loony, your friend seems to be fluent in Japanese.”

“Yah! Cut him some slack. He’s had a rough couple of weeks,” explained Chanyeol, wrestling with a bag of chips in his hands.

“Yeollie -”

It was on the tip of your tongue.

You wanted to tell Chanyeol about your encounter with Kyungsoo on the rooftop but there was no way you could explain your own presence in the first place. To make matters worse, you were the worst liar you knew. So, you decided it was a story that best remained untold for your own sake, your mother’s and inadvertently, Kyungsoo’s.

“Yeah?”

“Can I have a chip?” you asked instead.

“All yours!”

“I’ll have just one, thanks.”

“You alright, Shifu?” Chanyeol slurred around a mouthful of chips, “Is there anything you need?”

“A nap would be nice,” you jested while nibbling at the edges of the deep fried snack.

“Aww, sleepyhead, we’ll be there in an hour.”

Humming in agreement, you reached for another chip and cooed, “Are you alright, Yeol? What’s with the whole ‘bag for Aera’ situation?”

Chanyeol’s head spun around to give you a warm, dimpled smile. “Don’t worry. It’s not what you’re thinking.”

You couldn’t help but notice how he had wolfed down an entire packet of chips in a matter of minutes along with a can of some neon and black fizzy drink. A distant memory of Chanyeol guzzling an entire bottle of water in three seconds for shits and giggles back in Uni stretched your lips in a wistful smile.

By then, Kyungsoo was done with his twenty minute long call against the quaint cerulean and stone backdrop of fishing villages by the coast. Who needs a virtual background when you’re surrounded by coves of deep blue sea and beaches of golden sand? As he reached for the car door, you whispered in Chanyeol’s ear, “One more call and I’m chucking his phone out the window.”

Grinning mischievously as he fastened his seatbelt, Chanyeol sang, “Oh, Shifu, I’ve missed youuuu!”

The moment Kyungsoo stepped inside, a tangible gloom proliferated in the enclosed space. Chanyeol started the car and you quietly curled up in the backseat. Kyungsoo’s head spun around, round eyes blazing with conviction. Pointing towards the trunk, he said, “Do you see that cloth bag on top of Chanyeol’s trolley?”

“This one?” you asked, hoisting yourself up on one elbow, your arm carelessly flapping all over the luggage before landing on said cloth bag with a dull thump.

“Hand it over, please,” winced Kyungsoo, “Be gentle, it’s a gift.”

Passing him his precious ‘gift’, you let out an annoyed huff and laid down again, facing the backrest. But curiosity got the better of you. You immediately turned back around to see what this ‘gift’ looked like.

Kyungsoo loosened the strings of the canvas tote to reveal a black Birkin Cargo. Soft and lightweight, it was supposed to be Hermès first off-road bag. Your droopy eyes flew open in awe of its high-brow craftsmanship and it was certainly a thoughtful gift for a bride-to-be. If this gift was meant for you, you were sure to forgive any and all of his crimes but the bag didn’t seem to have the same kind of effect on Chanyeol.

The air was still thick with tension.

Gaze fixed on Chanyeol’s profile, Kyungsoo murmured, “I didn’t want to do this now.”

Eyes on the road, “Spill,” grunted Chanyeol, as if expecting the obvious.

“This is an ‘I’m sorry’ gift for Aera,” started Kyungsoo before lowering his voice to a whisper, “I picked it up from duty free last night...it’s fifteen times Yixing’s annual agricultural income.”

Chanyeol clicked his tongue in disapproval at Kyungsoo’s snide remark.

“What do you want to apologize to her for?” he then asked with a deep sigh.

“I- I can’t make it to the wedding,” said Kyungsoo, faltering in his otherwise steadfast speech.

“Why?” quizzed Chanyeol in a terrifyingly cool tone while anger started to rise within you. Why he allowed this midget to walk all over him was beyond you. Didn’t he have better friends?

“I pushed back an important appointment for this trip. It was either Spain or the wedding. And since you insisted on Spain...”

Furious, Chanyeol struck the steering wheel with his palm. With the rattle of the metal strap of his Rolex reverberating in the car, he bellowed, “The actual fuck, Doh Kyungsoo?!”

“What?! I said I’m sorry!”

“No, you didn’t! Besides, ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix anything! You’re supposed to be my best man - are- are you listening to yourself right now?!”

Chewing on the insides of his cheeks, Kyungsoo patiently waited for his friend to simmer down. After a pregnant pause, Chanyeol resumed reasoning with him, his tone evidently milder this time, “Okay, okay, talk to me. Does this appointment have to be on the exact same day as the ceremony?”

“No, it doesn’t and...it isn’t,” Kyungsoo explained before hurriedly requesting, “Can we do this later?”

Chanyeol took a sharp right turn along the tapering road and brought the car to a screeching halt. Brows furrowed, lips quirked in an angry smirk, he looked Kyungsoo straight in the eyes and you felt as if the air conditioner had suddenly started meting out the chilliest of blows.

“No, I want to talk about it right now! So, tell me. What’s more important than your best friend’s wedding?”

Kyungsoo took off his glasses, threw his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Chanyeol, please -”

“No, I need to know!”

“Then remember it was you who wanted to have this conversation on the first day of our trip,” he stated curtly.

“Enough with the drama Kyungsoo!” Chanyeol’s roar rang through the car.

“FINE!” Kyungsoo grumbled, “I got a job offer from the London office and...I accepted. I leave a week after we’re back in Seoul….since it’s a new position I cannot fly back for the wedding. And I would’ve...I- I was going to fly back for the wedding had it not been for this trip.”

“So you decided to leave. Forever. Just like that. Without even talking to me about it first.” Chanyeol thought out loud, his tone tellingly casual.

Looking out the window, Kyungsoo whispered audibly, “There’s nothing left for me in Seoul.”

Without another word, Chanyeol started the car.

Putting his glasses back on, Kyungsoo threw his hands up and argued, “So you’re not going to say anything?!”

Chanyeol cranked up the volume on the car’s stereo in response, leaving Kyungsoo tongue-tied.

***

Ten minutes into the drive, Kyungsoo’s phone blew up for, conservatively, the fifteenth time. But before he could even swipe to answer, Chanyeol lowered the car window, plucked his phone out of his hand and chucked it into the shrubbery by the roadside and continued to drive at an accelerated speed.

Kyungsoo’s mouth fell open but no words came out and unbeknownst to you, you were mirroring the dazed look on his face.

Chanyeol stuck his thumb out to where you were seated and justified indifferently, “It was her idea.”

It wasn’t a house. It was a warzone.

The spacious three bedroom apartment had invisible borders drawn out and nobody dared to encroach upon the other’s territory.

After arriving in Costa Brava, the three of you settled in and freshened up before heading out for a scheduled theoretical lesson on scuba diving conducted by your PADI certified instructor. The lesson had ended sometime around sunset and through the entire thing, you acted like complete strangers, making it more awkward than necessary for the twenty something instructor.

After the lesson, Kyungsoo offered to drive the trio to a boutique hotel, Hostal Sa Rascassa’s restaurant, which was supposed to be located on the edges of a tranquil, secluded cove and served traditional sea-food centric dishes like -

“- grilled sardines, cod fishcakes and octopus stewed with onion and pepper,” Kyungsoo counted on his fingers, making your stomach growl and your mouth water.

Chanyeol brushed him aside with a bitter, “I’m not hungry.”

Turning to you, Kyungsoo asked politely, “Wanna come?”

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Chanyeol shooting you a death glare so you decided to wriggle out of the situation by citing tiredness.

Kyungsoo lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug and took off in a taxi, leaving the car to the two of you.

“Where do you wanna eat?” Chanyeol asked as you got into the passenger’s seat.

Slack jawed, you chastised a giggling Chanyeol, “Yeollie, you’re absolutely horrible!”

It had been months.

Months since Natasha had walked out of their shared apartment.

And ever since then, every night, the moment Kyungsoo’s head would hit the pillow, a sense of hopelessness would erupt right in the middle of his chest. Spreading its wings far and wide, this despair would engulf him entirely and render him sleepless.

Nothing he tried helped his disposition so he’d started working on accepting this feeling as an inextricable part of his being. Something he’d have to learn to live with for the rest of his life.

Overcome by exhaustion, Kyungsoo drifted off only to be jolted awake by a jarring memory.

Hands balled into fists, Natasha yelled, ‘HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?’

‘This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Natasha! This deal could help us!’ Kyungsoo thundered in the face of her dogged determination to not let this slide.

‘Can’t you see that I don’t care?’ She met his bloodshot eyes with tears welling in hers.

Brows knit together, Kyungsoo ruminated on his thoughts before firing back, ‘Are you saying that you don’t care about my life?’

Exasperated, Natasha ran a hand through her hair to ground herself and argued, ‘Stop it, Kyungsoo! Don’t confuse your work with your life! Your work isn’t your life. It’s just a part of it. WHAT ABOUT US?’

‘Us?’ Kyungsoo deliberated, ‘I bought this apartment so that we could live together.’

Natasha retracted with every step Kyungsoo took towards her, expression coloured in unpleasant shades of anger and disgust. Letting out a mirthless laugh, she taunted, ‘Oh, please! You bought this apartment to impress people with your upmarket address.’

Aghast, Kyungsoo sank into the couch, his mind flitting between despair and hope. Head in his hands, breathing jagged and raspy, he reasoned, ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this to me! I’m planning a future with you.’

‘The future is yet to come, Kyungsoo. WHAT ABOUT OUR PRESENT?’

‘STOP YELLING!’

‘THEN LISTEN TO ME!’

Hands on his knees, Kyungsoo’s gaze shot up to rest upon Natasha’s flushed face. ‘What do you want?’ He demanded in a terrifyingly low tone.

A silent tear slid down her cheek as she explained with a quiver in her voice, ‘I want your time, Kyungsoo. I want a relationship not a retirement plan.’

Helpless, Kyungsoo toyed with the words in his mind before blurting, ‘If the chairman of Nakamura Corporation wants to meet me then I have- to- go! If he likes the presentation, he’ll give us the entire account. Don’t you see how big this is for me?’

‘But what about us, Kyungsoo? What about our dinner plan?’

‘We can postpone it to next month, can’t we?!’

‘It’s my birthday, Soo. I can’t postpone my birthday. You’d promised me this dinner...no matter what! You cancelled the reservation without even asking me first.’

Cupping her face in his hands, he pressed his lips to hers and whispered, ‘Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...but I have to go.’

When you padded into the living room, sleep befuddled at 5 a.m., you caught Chanyeol and Kyungsoo locked in an embrace, both of their eyes squeezed shut, as if wordlessly conveying an incredible degree of warmth and affection towards each other.

All of it….in “bro code”.

You imagined the conversation in your head, in two deep, distinct male voices:

‘I’m sorry I threw your phone out the window, bro!’

‘It’s what I deserved, bro!’

Rubbing away the drowsiness from your eyes, you tiptoed back into your room so as to not disrupt this….whatever this was supposed to be.

***

Underneath the purple-pink skies, enveloped in the cool early morning breeze, Kyungsoo, Chanyeol, and you, dressed in spandex scuba suits, huddled together in solidarity on the boat’s bulwark.

The diving site that Chanyeol had picked was called ‘Boreas Wreck’. The Boreas was a high sea tugboat that served for the German Navy during World War II. It was deliberately sunk in 1989 for the purpose of creating an artificial reef and thus, a scuba diving attraction.

“Any non-swimmers?” the trainer asked and Kyungsoo’s hand shot up in the air.

Her full lips curled up in a dazzling smile. “You’re brave,” she remarked and you heard Kyungsoo swallow hard, inviting a snigger from Chanyeol.

Hands on hips, her perfect figure accentuated by the spandex, she instructed, “You will be diving deep into this sea now, do you remember the theoretical part I taught you on the shore?”

Chanyeol and you were confident (and loud) in your affirmation.

Kyungsoo, not so much.

With the bulky dive equipment on, the instructor created a circle with her thumb and forefinger, gesturing, “All okay?”

The three of you responded by following suit.

First dive, twelve metres depth.

You’d become the proverbial fish out of water except you were not the fish and you were under water and your whole world had been turned upside down….quite literally.

You spun around to find the instructor assisting Chanyeol with his breathing rhythm and Kyungsoo curled up like a shrimp, hugging his knees. Arm extended, he gave you a “thumbs up” which meant an entirely different thing under water from what it did on land.

Thumbs up, in diving lingo, spelled trouble. It meant that, for whatever reason, the diver wished to ascend. But, by then, you’d known Kyungsoo long enough to understand that there was no real cause for concern.

The look in his eyes told you that he was simply struggling to adapt.

You swam towards him, with your legs and not your arms, in order to maintain good buoyancy control. Clasping your hands together in a mitten grasp, you signalled him to hold onto you. Kyungsoo created a circle with his thumb and forefinger to signal “okay” before putting his hand on your forearm, the soft ripples caused by his gentle movements gleaming in the artificial light from your gear.

You then raised your other arm and flattened your hand, palm down, to “pat” the water in front of you as you would the head of a dog. Wearing a comforting eye smile, you essentially asked Kyungsoo to take it easy and relax. You then levelled your hand with his eyes, palm facing up before drawing a deep breath, wordlessly asking Kyungsoo to breathe slow, deep and long.

Another nod. Another “okay”.

He then pointed his index finger to his ear, the gesture indicating that he couldn’t clear his ears and had trouble equalizing. So you locked your eyes with his and took his elbows in your hands to pull him up to ascend slightly before quickly pushing him down again while wondering whether he’d paid attention to the theoretical lessons at all.

He squeezed his eyes shut before giving you another nod which meant that the equalization was a success.

Kyungsoo’s thumb and forefinger met in another “okay” but this time with an eye smile which you reciprocated with an “okay” before snapping your fingers into a teasing finger heart.

All traces of agreeableness instantly vanished from his visible features.

***

The deeper you went, your fluo green spectrum widened, whelming you with the underwater world’s tranquil beauty which neutralized the shooting pain in your ears and the violent thumping of your heart. Corals in the shape of giant mushrooms floated around you and sea urchins greeted you with their bright purple-brown spikes glowing under the ocean’s natural light. At your feet, a shy goby fish with its large head and tapered body tunneled its way into the sand upon sensing the arrival of strangers.

While you were immersed in this exquisite scenery, a wide eyed Kyungsoo grabbed your attention by waving at you, his hand holding a pink fin.

‘That fin looks familiar,’ you thought before realizing it was your fin that had released itself from your right foot. You almost choked from laughing with the regulator on and the mask attached to your face as Kyungsoo helped you stick it back on.

Having been privy to breathtaking videos and countless stories of the mysteries and magic of the underwater world, a first-hand experience felt surreal. You were quick to adapt to the environment and didn’t try to fight it or control it and your first breath under water had been an experience like no other.

The Boreas Wreck was home to a number of incredible marine species such as Mediterranean sponges and blue gorgonians, scorpionfish, sea urchins, starfish, goatfish, mullets, bream, lobsters, groupers, and barracuda. While you couldn’t pindown all the enticing, drop dead gorgeous palettes of reds, blues, and yellows that crossed paths with you, shoaling, schooling...or even solitary, it didn’t take away from the sheer awe you were overcome with at every second of your time several azure and viridian metres below the surface of land.

The instructor then guided the three of you inside the boat’s wreck, which was safe to enter since all hazardous items had been removed before Boreas was scuttled. With an excited Chanyeol in the lead per usual, you visited some of its confined rooms, and went further in to explore the kitchen, the engine room, the bridge and even the captain’s cabin. The dilapidated metal and wood body of the civil boat, covered almost entirely in sea fauna, was nothing short of a beautiful nightmare.

Traversing, you reached one corner of the boat basked in a blinding white light, enveloping you in a gentle embrace. Emotions so carefully locked away came flooding through the dam of your forced stoic indifference. Giving in, you stretched your arms out, allowing yourself to freefall into a distant memory.

Haphazardly flapping your arms and legs, you struggled to keep your head up but no matter how hard you tried, the pool water made its way into your mouth, nose, and eyes, even.

‘Appa!’ you managed loudly as you felt yourself drowning again.

Your Appa was the one who always came to your rescue.

No matter where you were, no matter how bad things got. He was always there. So when he just stood there, a smile on his face, watching you grapple with a force that mercilessly dragged you down while you kicked and punched and floundered to stay afloat...a mysterious emotion rose within you.

You felt betrayed by the man who was supposed to have your back.

Seething, ‘Appa!’ you bawled, but to no avail.

Until...magically...you didn’t need his help anymore.

After days of relentless torture, you’d finally found yourself moving forward, cutting through the water with synchronized movements of your arms and legs.

But the exhilaration hadn’t lasted long.

A couple of minutes in and you realized that that force was winning again but this time, you didn’t drown.

This time a familiar pair of hands grabbed you before you went under and threw you up in the air as your misty eyes took in the biggest smile on your father’s face with an equally big one gracing your bright features.

Circling his arms around your tiny torso, he nestled you into himself.

‘My champion!’ he whispered into your swim cap covered ear.

***

Back on the boat, with your diving gear off and fresh towels wrapped around your shoulders, you sank to your knees, completely wracked with sobs.

You felt a million emotions, all at once, the reigning one being embarrassment at this sudden outburst. With his arms around you and his chin resting on the top of your head, Chanyeol whispered, ‘It’s okay, it’s alright,’ to ground you while gently rocking you back and forth until you’d let it all out. Turning around, you buried your face into the crook of his neck as if to hide away from the inquisitive eyes of Kyungsoo and the instructor. Chanyeol held you closer, his hand stroking the back of your neck in silent support.

Even after a sumptuous lunch of salmon canapes, baked scallops, rice with spiny spider crab, mixed seafood finger foods complete with a chocolate semi sphere, Chanyeol was uncharacteristically quiet and Kyungsoo, uncharacteristically amiable.

“Feels a little morbid to be eating all this seafood after a dive,” you jested with a serious expression, nibbling on a piece of dark chocolate. And it was only then that the boys went back to being their true selves. Amused, Chanyeol guffawed, “Good to have you back!” while Kyungsoo choked on his sparkling white wine.

Shortly after, Chanyeol excused himself to make a call to Aera.

Kyungsoo ordered two coffees for the both of you and you noticed how he kicked about a conversation starter in his head as opened his mouth only to clamp it shut several times, before finally mustering, “I just want to say -”

“No,” you interrupted him in a mortified haste, “no, please don’t say anything I don’t wanna talk about it except, I’m really sorry for making it so awkward for you guys back there.”

“Oh, no,” he gave you a dismissive wave of hand, “it was just Chanyeol, me, and...erm...the pretty instructor who we’ll never see again. Chanyeol makes a complete ass out of himself every waking hour and as for me, please don’t worry about me. Especially not after you found me blind drunk on a rooftop in the dead of night. We all have our moments. I’m sorry,” he suddenly stopped short, expression solemn, “you said you didn’t wanna talk about it.”

You chuckled, teasing, “Pretty instructor, huh?”

This was the longest conversation you’d had with Kyungsoo so far and truth be told, you were caught off guard by... his smile. His resting face was a natural frown, mostly due to his poor eyesight. And in your experience, if he had his glasses on, it was Chanyeol who was the primary reason for his scowl, with you being a close second.

It took you a moment to take in that dazzling, heart shaped smile of his before you could speak again but it was Kyungsoo who lugged the conversation forward.

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did for me back there. I think I felt a little overwhelmed by the,” he pondered his thoughts before concluding, “the vastness of the ocean. Sorry, I’m no poet.”

“Don’t mention it,” you smiled, “How did you feel by the end of it?”

“Umm,” Kyungsoo ruminated on your question, “I felt like I was in the moment...like, reaching a stage of subtle awareness from surface awareness.”

“And you say you’re not a poet,” you quipped, “So, like, meditation?”

“Maybe. It felt as if I was letting go of...of all the emotional baggage -” he trailed off rather plaintively.

Voice laced with hesitance, you sang, “So….maybe…you’ll sleep better tonight?”

Clearly taken aback by your question, Kyungsoo exclaimed, “What?!”

“I’m sorry but, it’s very obvious that you haven’t been sleeping too well.”

Thick eyebrows scrunched together, he let out a confused ‘Oh!’

“Did Chanyeol -” he continued, only to be interrupted by a booming, cheerful voice, “Think of the angel and the angel appears!”

Kyungsoo looked up at a beaming Chanyeol and deadpanned, “That’s not how the saying goes. Anyway, what took you so long?”

Eyes holding a glint of humour, Chanyeol placed a neatly wrapped iPhone box in front of Kyungsoo and took the dramatics up a notch with a stage performer-esque curtsey thus inviting amused stares from the nearby tables in the courtyard style restaurant. Kyungsoo unwrapped the packaging with the eagerness of a five year old on Christmas Eve and to his disappointment, instead of the high end handphone, he opened the case to a hot pink flip phone.

Kyungsoo let out a low growl, “The fuck is this?”

Standing at a safe distance from his fuming friend, Chanyeol quipped, “A phone,” while making no effort to suppress his laughter.

“Thank you, Mr. State The Obvious, but I’m an adult male, not a Japanese schoolgirl!”

Tickled by his own little prank, Chanyeol threw you under the bus by triumphantly howling, “It was Shifu’s idea!” before darting out of the premises.

Dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “WHAT?! NO!” as Kyungsoo fixed you with a death glare.

‘When were you going to tell me about this?’

Maybe this was one of your endless nightmares.

Maybe this wasn’t happening at all.

Your mother deflected your question by putting things away. Dirty dishes in the washer, clothes in the dryer, leftovers in the fridge, while you followed her around like a lost puppy, a crumpled, time stained letter held delicately in your hand.

The throbbing in your head now bordering on numbness, bile rising up your throat, your legs threatening to give away, you reiterated your question, vociferously this time, surprised at your own power of will. A quality that forever eluded you. The inability to voice your needs, your opinions, masked under a not so thinly veiled sense of self deprecating humour was...you, in a nutshell. This sudden surge of fighting spirit consuming you whole felt alien but at the same time, very natural and, at the same time, it was taking a toll on every nerve, every muscle, every bone.

Every second felt like your last.

‘Would she be able to handle it all over again?’ crestfallen, you mused, ‘The grief. The sympathy. The cumulation of my life -- all these decades condensed into a tiny vessel of ever fading memories. The sands of time trickling through her wrinkled fingers.’

‘Eomma, please -’ you cried out, only for your plea to fall upon deaf ears.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she spoke to you again.

Bloodshot eyes framed by the weight of living, she handed you a warm cup of tea and let out a deep sigh.

‘He never wanted you. It was your Appa who accepted me...he accepted us… It’s been three days since your Appa -,’ wracked with sobs, it took her a while to compose herself to be able to speak again, ‘don’t dishonour his memory.’

‘Why should I believe a word you say? Why should I believe that- that my own father never wanted me?’

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yurtletheturtlehenderson · 4 years ago

Text

COSMIC - S3:E2; Chapter Two, The Mall Rats - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

Baffled with Mike's sudden behavior, El seeks out Y/n and Max for advice while Will struggles to get through to Mike and Lucas. Billy takes his co-worker on a field trip, and Steve and Dustin enlist a helpful ally in their top-secret mission.

||𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"And then he said he— he missed me. And then he just hung up."

Max, who had been pacing for as long as El had been telling the story from her bed, pauses briefly.

"He's a piece of shit." She says, resuming her angry pacing.

"What?"

"Mike doesn't have jackshit to do today, and his Nana obviously isn't sick," she stops again, a strained grin growing on her face. "And I guarantee him and Lucas are playing Atari right now,"

A sigh comes from Y/n, who sits up against Max's headboard, one leg dangling off the bed and the other propped up next to El. A similar expression to Max works its way onto her features as she looks between the two girls.

"She's right," she shakes her head, cupping her glass of f/d in her left hand even tighter. "I was with Will earlier and he told me he and Lucas were meeting at Mike's house,"

Growing visibly confused, a wounded expression comes over El's face as she looks between them.

"But... friends don't lie."

"Yeah, well boyfriends lie." Max fires back. "All. The. Time."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"She knows I'm lying. She knows I'm lying!"

Mike paces his basement floor, his heart hammering in his chest just at the thought of how deep he was into trouble. Lucas sits on the recliner, just feet away from Will who was setting up the campaign Y/n had helped him to plan.

"I don't even understand," Lucas says. "Why lie?"

Will looks up from the D&D board he was setting up.

"Hopper," Mike answers. "He threatened me,"

"Did he say he'd kill you?"

Mike stops, looking at Lucas baffled. "What? No!"

"So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that if I don't do what he says, he's gonna stop me from seeing El. Like, permanently,"

"Did you try telling her the truth?" Will asks. "You, know tell her what Hopper wants?"

Mike shakes his head, seeming eager to dismiss the thought. "No, she—" He sighs, running a hand over his face. "She wouldn't understand. She wouldn't take it the right way,"

Will makes a face. "I think you're underestimating her,"

"It wouldn't matter anyway," Mike says, clearing beginning to get worked up again. "You don't understand," he looks again between his two friends with a frantic look in his eye. "Neither of you understand. Hopper's crazy. He's lost his mind. I had no choice. I really had no choice,"

"You could have told her the truth," Will tries again. "That was an option,"

"So was consulting me first," Lucas chimed in, causing Will to roll his eyes and return to his game. "Because, the way you handled this..." he shrugs. "You're in deep shit,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"You're gonna stop calling him," Max says, growing stern. "You're going to ignore his calls. As far as you're concerned, he doesn't exist."

"Doesn't exist?" El gaped.

"Or you could call him out," Y/n adds. "Confront him. Work it out?"

"Bullshit! He treated her like garbage," Max says, turning back to El. "Now you're gonna treat him like garbage. Give him a taste of his own medicine."

El nods stoically as the works soak in.

"Give him the medicine,"

Y/n smiled to herself down into her drink at that before taking another sip.

"Mm-hmm," Max nods, proudly. "And if he doesn't fix this? If he doesn't explain himself? Dump his ass."

Both El and Y/n's eyes go wide.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Arhhgg!!!"

Mike slaps his hands against his forehead after collapsing into the couch with an aggravated groan.

Lucas winced beside him.

"I'm not gonna lie. It's gonna be bad,"

"ARGHH!"

Lucas draws in a deep, thoughtful breath. "But, you can fix this." He jumps to his feet. "It's just one little mistake. I've made hundreds. Thousands!"

Will looks up from the D&D board again with a frown.

"Are you guys really this bad at relationships?"

Lucas looks over at him and scoffs. "I wouldn't call Me Winning Max Back Five Times being bad at relationships," he boasts, turning back to Mike.

It's Will's turn to scoff. And he does so while placing another character on the gameboard as he mutters to himself. "I would,"

"That's right," Lucas continues, not having heard Will's little remark. "Max has dumped me five times. But what I have done? Huh? Have I despaired? No. I've marched back into battle and I've won her back every freaking time."

"I don't think that's a good thing, Lucas," Will tries again, but is again, ignored.

"How?" Mike asks.

A grin stretches across Lucas's lips. "I'll show you." Lucas makes a break for the stairs, gesturing for Mike. "Come on,"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"Come on," Max says, pulling El and Y/n up to their feet.

"Where are we going?" El asks.

"To have some fun," she answers, pulling them both to the door. "There's more to life than stupid boys, you know."

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Mike jumps from the couch and follows Lucas closely on his heels, leaving Will without warning and no time to follow.

"Wait, guys!" He calls, peering over the table and up the stairs where they have already disappeared. "I'm still here!"

The only answer he receives is the muffled sound of the garage door opening and closing upstairs.

"Guys?"

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Another plastic spoon dives into the sea of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, scooping up a taste for Erica Sinclair. Robin reluctantly hands the spoon over to the young girl who waits eagerly with her posse of friends. She gives the taste a moment of thought before licking her lips and discarding the spoon.

"Hmm, can I try the Peppermint Stick?"

"Haven't you already tried the Peppermint Stick?" Robin asks tiredly.

"Yes, and I'd like to try it again,"

Fighting a losing battle with a sigh, Robin turns to the closed window behind her and gives an exasperated cry.

"Steve?"

On the other side of the window, Dustin is seated at the break table with an open copy of Russian to English translation while Steve paces the floor and eating a banana.

"Поездка в Китай звучит хорошо, если действовать осторожно... Неделя длинная."

"So what do you think?" Dustin asks, pausing the tape he had gotten of the broadcast the previous night.

Steve nodded, shoving another piece of banana in his mouth. "It sounded familiar."

"What?"

"The music," he answers through stuffed cheeks. "That music right there at the end,"

"Why are you listening to the music, Steve?" The boy asks, growing aggravated. "Listen to the Russian! We're translating Russian!"

"I'm TRYing to listen to the Russian—"

-"Alright!—" Robin comes lumbering through the door she had just thrown open.

-"but there's music—"

"—babysitting time is over." She orders, her sudden appearance sending Steve stumbling back in shock. "You need to get out there. Hey, my board!"

Robin gestures angrily to the YOU WIN | YOU SUCK whiteboard that had now been wiped clean and replaced with the Russian to English Alphabet from the book.

"That was important data, shitbirds,"

"I guarantee you what we're doing is way more important than your data," Dustin says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, and how do you know these Russians are up to no good, anyways?"

Dustin gapes up at Steve, looking dangerously close to livid. His voice lowers in a not-so-quiet whisper that only entertains Robin more.

"How does she know about the Russians?"

"I don't know!" Steve whines, once again through a mouthful of banana.

"Did you tell her about the Russians?"

"It wasn't me," he says, through puckered lips.

"Hello, I can hear you," Robin says, pulling their shared gaze over to her. "Actually, I can hear everything. You are both extremely loud. You think you have evil Russians plotting against our country on tape, and you're trying to translate but you haven't figured out a single word because you didn't realize the Russians use an entirely different alphabet than we do."

She looks between the two gaping boys and quirked a brow.

"Sound about right?"

Robin knows to take their silence for a yes and grabs for the tape. But Steve is just a bit quicker and swipes it out of her reach.

"Woah, what are you doing?"

"I wanna hear it,"

"-Why?"

"Cause maybe I can help," Robin shrugs. "I'm fluent in four languages, you know,"

"Russian?" Dustin asks hopefully.

"Ou-yay are-ay umb-day,"

"Whoa-ho-ho-ho!"

"Holy shit!"

"That was Pig Latin, dingus,"

Steve whacks Dustin on the arm, "Idiot!" He hisses.

Robin takes a seat across from the Dingus Duo, lounging back.

"But I can speak Spanish, and French and Italian and I've been in band for twelve years. My ears are little geniuses, trust me,"

Steve gives a nervous laugh, the beginnings of 'I don't know...' dying on his tongue. The shrill cry of the customer bell ringing loudly from out front and Robin jumps in.

"Come on, it's your turn to sling ice cream, my turn to translate. I don't even want credit," She flops over the table, reaching for the tape in Steve's hand. "I'm just bored."

Steve has only a moment to think on it before the sound of the bell returns. Erica wanted more samples. Steve didn't want to go out and work, but he couldn't deny Robin's credentials. And so with a begrudging look, Steve hangs up the tape for a scooper.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The bus doors swing open with a squeak and out spills a small group of mall-goers. In that bunch, is Max, Y/n, and El.

El's jaw goes slack when she takes in the sight of Starcourt Mall.

"So, what do you think?"

It was wonderful. And wonderfully terrifying. It was exciting and new but it was also extremely intimidating. El hadn't seen a building this huge since the lab—apart from Chicago—and as she stood here now under the gaping mouth of the archway she couldn't help but feel like it was ready to swallow her whole, never to be seen again.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Max asks.

"Too many people," El answers sadly. "Not safe,"

Max chuckled. "Seriously?"

"You have superpowers," she whispered excitedly, giving her a nudge. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"I think you just answered your own question," Y/n laughed.

But truthfully, every possibility of disaster popcorning in her brain was lulled to sleep by the idea of sharing a day showing El a well-deserved day out.

And seeing the yearning growing in El's eyes as she gazed upon Starcourt's walls—a look she hadn't seen on the girl since the snowball—was all the persuasion she needed. It was time to make new memories.

The three of them.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Starcourt Mall was brimming with activity that day, most like it had any other since its grand opening. The entrance swallowed whole gaggles of citizens at a time, the outer rims of its halls pumping life all throughout, but none more so than the heart. It was here the neon azure sign bearing its name shone brightly even in the waterfall of sunlight pouring in from the roof of skylights. The yellow and blue hands of the clock telling everyone the warm morning had leaked into a toasty afternoon.

There is joy and plenty of unbridled fun being had by all who attend, and yet they all seem to pale in comparison to the new trio bounding in.

A grinning Max and Y/n have hold of either of El's hands, only releasing when the three of them have reached the very center of the mall. Joy fills their lungs as they watch El, silent and slackjawed as her wide eyes drink up everything around her.

"So," Y/n gave her friend a light nudge, unable to wipe the painful smile off her sore cheeks. "what do you want to do first?"

Max gave another chuckle. "You've never been shopping before, have you?"

El's still shocked face comes to look between her friends, and she shakes her head.

Max and Y/n share an elated look and turn back to El, knowing they were thinking the same thing.

"Well then I guess we're just gonna have to try everything," Max says, spreading their infectious smile to El.

Y/n's eyes widened with delight. "I think I know where to go first,"

Seizing the hands of her best friends, the three of them took off, disappearing into The Gap, unknowingly missing their respective significant others only just.

"I just... I don't understand what we're looking for," Mike sighs, two of his best friends in tow.

"Something pretty and shiny that says 'I'm sorry.'" Lucas said, eyes already scanning the mall for outlets that might cater to their needs.

"What, just something that literally says 'I'm sorry?'"

Will laughed and Lucas threw his hands to his face in agitation.

This wouldn't be easy.

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qqueenofhades · 3 years ago

Note

i noticed that you like to write a lot of heartrender husbands from fedyor’s side of things (which makes sense cause fedyor is fun!) but i have to ask in the modern au, what was ivan thinking the whole first two months 😂??

like was he carrying the joke the whole time? did his brain short circuit around fedyor?? was he worried about what fedyor was thinking or did he just think he was shy? Did he think the first date went well ☠️?

This was supposed to be lighthearted, but then there came Feels. So here is Ivan's backstory in Phantomverse. Content warning for mentions of an abusive relationship, familial homophobia, implied sexual manipulation, and dark themes. Nothing graphic, but duly noted.

Also on AO3.

Brighton Beach, 2015

It’s safe to say that Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov Kaminsky did not ever, not in a thousand years, not in a million, imagine himself ending up here. At one point, even Moscow would have been a stretch, and that was obviously still Russia. The fact that he would be walking down a sidewalk in Brooklyn, under the elevated tracks of the Q train that rattles and bangs overhead, on a cool spring morning to do his shopping at the Brighton Bazaar – in, should this somehow not be clear, America – and then returning to his apartment and his husband is, quite frankly, something out of an alternate-Ivan timeline. One from the Twilight Zone, or whatever they are calling that kind of thing these days. Sometimes when he thinks about it too much, he gets afraid that it is in fact a dream. That no matter how long it has gone on and how good it has been, it will suddenly and inevitably end. After all, he is Russian. Sunny optimism has never been accused of forming a notable facet of the national character, and Ivan himself would never be described as the hopeful type. But God, for this, he does.

He reaches the bazaar – a bustling blue-awninged international supermarket with three-quarters of its signs written in Cyrillic – and steps inside, grabbing a basket and pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket to double-check his list. He knows what he needs, but he likes the tidiness of writing it down, and he proceeds into the crammed aisles, passing customers speaking English, Russian, Ukrainian, Uzbek, Yiddish, and several other languages he can’t identify by ear. Brighton Bazaar stocks all the Russian products necessary to satisfy even a homesick expat like Ivan, and he enjoys being able to navigate the store with ease and read all the labels at first glance. He can get by in English, if he’s pressed, but it’s easier to leave it to Fedyor, who is fluent, and in here, he can conjure the illusion that he will walk out on the street and be back where he truly belongs. He likes Brighton Beach a great deal more than he ever expected to, but it’s no replacement for the real thing.

Ivan collects his purchases, along with a few special extras, and takes them to the counter. He is greeted in Russian by the checkout clerk, who knows him well for always turning up at the same time every Saturday morning with military precision. As Semyon Pavlovich Kuznetsov (who is called Syoma by his friends, but he has not clearly stated that Ivan can use the diminutive and therefore Ivan does not) scans his items, Ivan consents to exchange a few gruff words of small talk on the weather (nice) how the Mets did last night (badly) and the old guy who apparently died of a heart attack two days ago in the Russian bathhouse on Neck Road (making Ivan glad he did not choose said day to attend). It’s this weird Russian-American hybrid of things, since Semyon is the teenage grandson of a Red Army veteran who fought at Stalingrad, but he was born and raised in Brooklyn, loves American video games, and is fully fluent in American pop culture. It startles Ivan to realize that while this kid speaks Russian perfectly, he has probably never done so in Russia outside of a few visits back to the old country when his family can afford it. That is a very personal question to ask one’s grocery clerk, however, and he does not.

And then there’s that other thing, which he would definitely never be asked in Russia, especially not these days. Semyon hits the button to tally up Ivan’s bill, informs him that he owes $56.77, and then says cheerily, “How is Fedyor?”

Ivan concentrates on digging the exact amount out of his wallet in cash, since he never had a credit card when he lived in Russia and is still somewhat leery of them. “Fedyor is fine,” he says curtly, in the tone that makes it clear that he understands this question is an expected part of an American social interaction, but that is all the information he is willing to venture. “Here is the money.”

Semyon accepts it, counts it into the till, and rings the transaction through, handing Ivan his bags and his receipt. “Have a nice day, Mr. Kaminsky!”

“Thank you, Semyon Pavlovich.” Ivan accepts his purchases and leaves the store, taking a deep breath of the salty, sunny air and the wind whipping off the seafront. It’s still a little too early in the year for there to be many bathers on the beach, though there are always people strolling on the boardwalk. It’s only a few minutes to the apartment, which is just off Brighton Beach Avenue and overlooks the Atlantic Ocean. Ivan buzzes into the old brownstone, takes the stairs to the third floor, and as he unlocks his front door and lets himself in, wonders, yet again, at the sheer impossibility that his life has led him here.

Ivan is the third of five boys, but he was the one who was named after his father. It was not, of course, because they had some special hope for him to be the great inheritor of paternal pride, but a simple matter of logistics. His oldest brother, Roman, was named after their paternal grandfather. His second-oldest brother, Oleg, was named after their maternal grandfather. When Ivan arrived, only then was it proper to name him after Ivan Romanovich, Ivan Sakharov senior, since rushing too fast to glorify yourself as an individual, rather than your community and your ancestors, could be seen as running contrary to the collectivist ideals of the great Soviet Union. By the time his two younger brothers arrived, his parents were hard pressed for ideas; Yuri (for Gagarin) and Vladimir (originally for Lenin, though that has obviously acquired a different connotation those days) were clearly obtained by putting the names of national heroes into a hat and picking.

Five children was quite a lot for a Soviet-generation family, and Ivan doesn’t know anyone else his age with that number of siblings. After all, more children meant more time standing in line at Municipal Grocery Store #5 for food that has to be shared among more mouths, more worries about how to clothe and educate and accommodate them, more chances for one of them to go terminally astray and betray the family honor. Ivan wonders sometimes if his parents only really wanted Roman and Oleg, but decided to keep going as a matter of gaming the system, so much as it was able to be gamed.

By the early 1980s, the aging, decrepit, dying USSR, run by aging, decrepit, dying men, was in the grip of a demographic crisis so extreme that it was a contest between worrying about which one would end them faster: crazy President Reagan with his finger on the nuclear button, or the whole country just keeling over of old age. The idea of what a family even meant had been under constant challenge since the heady days of the Bolsheviks, who denounced marriage as a construct of bourgeoisie oppression and preached for free love and sexual liberation. Then it went hard back in the other direction during Stalin and the Great Patriotic War, holding up the traditional nuclear family as the highest ideal and offering rewards to mothers who had multiple children. Then it lurched away again. Abortion and contraception had been legal and freely available since the days of the revolution and most Soviet women made good use of them. Plus, of course, the obvious difficulties of maintaining a sizeable family when it was increasingly impossible to obtain even basic supplies and foodstuffs. It just made no sense.

Desperately trying to counter this slide toward self-inflicted obsolescence, the late-stage USSR came up with a number of incentives to boost the birth rate by any means necessary. They allowed mothers to refuse to list fathers on the birth certificate, to avoid social shame if he was married, foreign, a drunkard, or otherwise unsuitable, and beefed up programs to support single women with children. They also went back to the old-school plan of granting extra stipends, housing privileges, and state recognition to families that had more than two children, and Ivan himself was the third of his. It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that he was almost surely conceived for the tax benefits.

Not, that is, that it didn’t work. When Ivan was born in 1984, the family lived in a tiny apartment on the tenth floor of a building with no elevator (or rather it did have an elevator, but it was always broken), crowded in with three single young men who were at the very bottom of the list for being assigned housing. By the time his youngest brother, Vladimir, was born in 1987, they had been moved to a small house of their own on the outskirts of Krasnoyarsk, not far from the bus that his father took two hours a day out to the mine. The cynical old joke in the USSR was that the people pretended to work and the government pretended to pay them, though in Ivan Romanovich’s case, the work was backbreakingly real, even if the money wasn’t. He would come home exhausted and filthy after a sixteen-hour shift and yell at Galina Sakharova to feed him, bark at his sons, and then fall asleep in front of the television, only to get up the next morning and shuffle off again.

Ivan Ivanovich has spent a lot of time after he left home trying to understand what that kind of life would do to a man, mostly because he didn’t do it while he was there. Of course he didn’t. He was a child, and it was simply what he was used to, the only way the world could possibly be. On the night of December 26, 1991, as Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev signed the United Soviet Socialist Republics out of existence with a single stroke of the pen, Ivan remembers his father crying and swearing and throwing things at the wall, the heavy yellow-glass ashtray that always seemed unbreakable, perched on the kitchen table to collect the detritus of his constant cigarettes, smashed to bits just like their country, their sense of self, their security. It wasn’t as if life in the USSR was so wonderful. It was just the only thing they knew. Beyond that, there was nothing but the terror of the utterly unknown.

At any rate, the world didn’t end. The oligarchs moved in and began snapping up Russia’s newly privatized economy. Ivan Ivanovich, of course, had no goddamn clue about this either, aside from overhearing his father curse about it some more. He trudged through secondary school and left at eighteen, without even trying to proceed onto university. Those weren’t for someone like him, he knew that. Instead he got a job at the ever-troubled Krasnoyarsk Aluminum Plant, and went straight to work on the factory floor.

It was around this time that the one disruption in his otherwise humdrum life, the one thing that stopped him from just settling into the same miserable existence as his father and going on like that forever, became too impossible to ignore. And that was the fact that no matter how much Ivan tried to squash it down, push it aside, or otherwise pretend it didn’t exist, he could no longer deny the fact that he was attracted to men, and only to men. He bought some of the cheap porn magazines from the tabak, tried to flip through them and get something out of the girls in heavy eyeliner and bleached-blonde hair, spilling out of their scanty lingerie, and just… didn’t. He wasn’t even interested enough to try a conversation with a real flesh-and-blood woman (not that Ivan had ever gotten through a conversation with another human being, especially a woman, without disaster) and see if it was different in the flesh. Nothing about the experience, even imagining it, appealed to him at all. But men…

He knew it wasn’t right, just because – well, you knew that sort of thing, you didn’t have to ask about it, you didn’t let on. But nonetheless, something, somehow, must have given him away, because one evening after the end of his shift, one of his coworkers cornered him in the back. His name was Konstantin and he was a few years older, big and bluff and constantly smelling like machine oil. He stood there, folded his arms, and said, “I will give you five hundred rubles if you suck my dick, Ivan Ivanovich.”

Ivan didn’t know how to answer. He had never spoken to Konstantin about anything aside from the job. He didn’t like him, he wasn’t attracted to him, and he didn’t want his filthy fucking rubles. He wanted to go home and take a shower.

And yet. He wanted to know. So when he went home, it was with five hundred rubles in his pocket, and a strange, indefinable feeling of something both excitement and shame. He looked it up later and found that it was barely seven American dollars, barely enough to buy a sandwich in this place he now lives. Then after that it became – not a relationship, not exactly. But he had done it once and Konstantin knew that he was at least theoretically willing, and there was no getting away from it now. Soon enough it became something of a regular thing, and then Konstantin wanted to try other stuff and not always pay, and if Ivan ever protested, Konstantin would threaten to get him fired from the factory or tell his family what they were doing. Ivan knew that he couldn’t let this happen, and besides, this was a relationship, or so he would tell himself. It was rough and it wasn’t very enjoyable and he didn’t like the way it made him feel, but it was probably the best he was going to get, here in this place, so he had no choice but to put up with it.

Until one night when his older brother came to pick him up from work, which he didn’t usually do. Something about it set off Ivan’s alarm bells, but he got into Roman’s battered old Zhiguli anyway. They didn’t head back toward the house. Instead they headed for the country, the narrow, crumbling road that led into the vast forests of Krasnoyarsk Krai. The city was often voted one of the most beautiful in Siberia, surviving even its long periods of grim industrialization with something of its soul intact. It wasn’t as cold as Yakutsk or Oymyakon, the places where it stayed at sixty below zero all winter long and boiling water froze when you tossed it out the window. Winters only got down to a few degrees below, and in Russia, that was par for the course. Ivan loved his hometown, and he was used to the outdoors. He was a sportsman, a natural athlete. He played hockey, bandy, football, rugby, and basketball (surprisingly popular in Russia). He swam and boxed. He was tall and tough and muscled and most people never bothered him. But when the car coasted to a halt in the middle of nowhere and Roman turned off the headlights, he was still terrified.

His brother said, “I hear you’re doing things, Vanya.”

Ivan didn’t answer.

“I hear you’re doing things with men.” Roman reached over and grabbed him violently by the shoulders, pinning him against the seat. “Disgusting things. I will not have one of those in the family, do you hear me? Do you hear me? If I find out that you have done it ever again, even once, I will make sure that you pay the price. Are you listening? Say that you understand.”

“Yes,” Ivan said. “I understand.”

What he really understood was that he was going to leave, when he had barely been out of Krasnoyarsk Krai in his life. Going as far as Novosibirsk for a shopping trip was unusual, and once, in school, he went to Georgia, which was the first time he had left the country (though of course, it used to be the country). But he knew that he could not stay here anymore, and in a moment of welcome serendipity, that was also when his conscription notice arrived. At the time, every Russian man over the age of eighteen had to serve two obligatory years in the armed forces (though it has since been lowered to one, of which Ivan does not necessarily approve), and his number had come up. So he quit his job, did not say goodbye to Konstantin or tell him where he was going, packed his few boxes of things, and moved four thousand kilometers and four time zones west to Moscow.

Ivan arrived in the capital trying not to present himself as a wet-behind-the-ears country boy, to act like he knew what he was doing, to show he was much tougher and meaner than any of these spoiled, pampered little children whining about how hard it was when they trudged into headquarters and presented their army notices. In that, he had a genuine advantage; he had worked hard for his whole life, he had already been through whatever could possibly endured with a father and four brothers, and he found the strict routines, harsh discipline, and predictable tasks of the army comforting. Everyone was scared of him, he didn’t need to try (though he did), and that was also gratifying. He worked hard and pleased his commanders, who tried to entice him to stay on as a full-time professional serviceman. There were many opportunities for a man of his talents, and more money than Ivan had ever dreamed of. As for his personal life, as long as he was scrupulously discreet and kept turning in good results, they would not trouble to enquire too closely. That was already better than from what he had expected with Konstantin. Once again, he thought it would be the best he got.

That was where, therefore, he met Aleksander Ilyich Morozov.

Morozov was his opposite in many ways – rich, well-spoken, well-educated, the son of a legendary KGB commander and the inheritor of comfort and privilege even in the lean last days of the USSR. He was about Ivan’s own age, but he had a self-possession and a gravitas that made him seem older. He had started training for a career in the Russian security services practically from childhood, and he had pegged Ivan as a particularly promising recruit. “You should come with me,” he said. “We would find an excellent career for you.”

Ivan was never sure how to respond when Morozov started talking like this. He admired the man and was admittedly attracted to him – not just the dark, elegant handsomeness, but the manifest air of being a person who mattered, who made the rest of the world sit up and take notice and play by his rules – and while he knew that Morozov was ruthless, he wasn’t bothered by that and was willing to do the same when it was called for. Ivan didn’t see the world as some nice candy fairy place where good deeds were always rewarded and violence was always wrong, not least since he knew full well that it didn’t work like that. He didn’t have time for these idiots who thought they would get out there and hold hands and change the world with the power of sunshine and kisses or whatever it was. He didn’t.

Then there was one night when Morozov was at Ivan’s apartment, and they had been drinking and making big plans for ruling the world behind the scenes, and Ivan forgot himself entirely and leaned over the table and kissed him. He tried to pull back almost at once, but Morozov didn’t resist. In fact, he leaned in and put a hand behind Ivan’s head and kept him there, and in that moment, Ivan knew that while this might not be personally objectionable for Sasha (his sexuality was undiscussed but evidently fluid), that wasn’t the reason he was going along with it. It was because he knew instinctively that it was a perfect way to control Ivan, to harness his attraction and his weakness and his willingness to go along with whatever Sasha wanted, and in that, despite all the big plans they had put together and the way Ivan had dreamed of his life changing, it was just Konstantin all over again, and Ivan was straight back at the factory on his knees, small and cornered and powerless. It was visceral and it was wrong and it wasn’t the best he would ever do and he wasn’t, he wasn’t taking that.

They pulled back and Sasha made an enquiring noise, like he wanted to know if Ivan was interested in sealing the deal, and instead Ivan ordered him to leave right now, get out. That was the end of their friendship; they never spoke to each other again, and when his third year in the army ran out, which he had already taken voluntarily, he left. He got a job at some Moscow industrial plant and it was there, through the friend of a friend, he met Nadia Zhabina. And it turned out that she was queer (the first time he had ever heard the word spoken in a good way, something he wanted to be, something he didn’t mind accepting, rather than as an attack), and it turned out after that that she had a friend she wanted him to meet, only it clearly meant that she thought they should go out. Like. On a date.

Ivan flatly shut her down. He did not date, he did not want to date, he did not think he would be good at dating, he did not want to meet some pansy city boy from Nizhny Novgorod who he would immediately dislike, and he was not going to do it, the end. Only Nadia really seemed disappointed, and maybe it was not the worst thing to try a little. This would backfire terribly, he would get over it, and move on with his life.

In Ivan’s opinion, the first date with Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky was, at least on his own behalf, a modest success. He was unavoidably late, thanks to the bus running behind schedule, but he introduced himself, his hobbies, and made it clear what sort of person he was and what he was interested in. He even sent a polite follow-up text with an invitation to meet again. There. No questions, no confusion, everything very straightforward and clear. Nothing to complain about. That was how you did a date, yes?

It turned out, however, that Fedyor Mikhailovich was either very reticent, or perhaps confused, or maybe he did not even know that they had been on a date and Nadia had not clearly explained to him. Burned by his experiences at home, knowing how easily word could get out to the wrong people, Ivan did not want to bring up the subject explicitly, but he had to admit to a considerable confusion. Maybe Fedyor actually liked to just mince around Moscow city parks together, like something out of a Tolstoy novel, or to sit on his couch and watch bad American action movies together. (Later, Ivan learned that Die Hard is actually something of a cult classic, but it’s still slightly lost on him.) That wasn’t bad, because Ivan – to his great bafflement and wariness – liked spending time with him. Fedyor wasn’t like him at all, but they clicked nonetheless. He was the exact kind of idealistic activist that Ivan had long disdained, but it was different with him. When Fedya talked, he liked to listen, to dream about a world that really did work that way. It didn’t, but it felt closer.

Besides that, he was cute. He was well-put together. He was charming and vivacious and could talk to people that they met, while Ivan stood scowling with his hands in his pockets and wondered how long this was going to take. He really desperately wanted to kiss Fedya (and for that matter, do other things to him), and he found himself thinking about it a lot. But what if it was like with Sasha again, and it was either Ivan opportunistically taking it for himself, or Fedya selfishly trying to keep him there, to use him for his own purposes? Maybe Fedya was the idiot. He had to know they were together, right? Or were they together? Ivan suddenly wasn’t sure. Damn it! Why didn’t Fedyor subscribe to the school of just being clear about things? Ivan himself had nothing to do with the problem.

But then there came that night, and Fedya cooking dinner and stumbling through trying to ask him if they were maybe something, and in that moment, Ivan found it all so hilarious that the only thing he could do was sit there and let the whole thing play out. Then it turned out, of course, that they were together, and that Fedyor kissed him just as deliciously as Ivan had imagined, and maybe Nadia Zhabina was not so wrong after all.

Maybe she was not wrong in the least.

Ivan takes his supermarket bags to the sunny kitchen of the mostly-remodeled apartment and sets them down. Fedya has picked out all the colors and wallpapers and furniture and paint, and Ivan has done most of the work, since he is gainfully employed as a handyman and repair-person and he doesn’t want to pay some American to half-ass a job that he can do better. The apartment is really quite lovely now. The living room has been done in a pale, springy green, the white plaster moldings washed and repaired, all the junk of the previous owner finally cleared out except for one or two collectibles that they decided to keep. There’s a bookshelf and a desk filled with Fedya’s work things, a couch and a television and a coffee table and new curtains. The bedroom is big and airy, with a ceiling fan and new carpets. Framed pictures and art pieces hang on the wall. It looks like a place where real people live.

Ivan makes breakfast, cooking and stirring and brewing the coffee, and puts it all on a tray. It’s Saturday, so of course Fedya is still asleep, and Ivan pads through the apartment to the closed bedroom door, balancing the tray on his hip long enough to open it and cast a strip of light inside. It takes a moment, but Fedyor rolls over, groggy and tousled and very, very cute with his bed-headed dark hair and squinting eyes. “Vanya? What smells so good?”

“Happy birthday, my love.” Ivan sets the tray on the bedside table and leans down to kiss him, as Fedyor makes a happy humming sound and throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, cuddling against him like a barnacle. “I have made you breakfast.”

(His younger self was wrong, and he has never been so glad of it.)

(This was the best, this is the best, this was waiting for him, this kind of happiness could happen for him, and he is grateful beyond all words that he fought for it and believed it until it did.)

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #ivan kaminsky #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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heauxplesslydevoted · 5 years ago

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Green-Eyed Monster (Ethan x MC)

Summary: During a fundraising event for Edenbrook, Ethan’s jealousy gets the better of him.

Warning: NSFW!! 18+

Author’s Note: I wrote this 3 times. I hope you enjoy

2nd Author’s Note: Ethan is canonically rich. And I like reminding y’all of that fact.

Tags: @fanmantrashcan @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @writinghereandthere @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @akacalliope @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @the-soot-sprite @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @miyakokurono @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @lion-ess24 @contrerascecile @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @kaavyaethanramsey @caseyvalentineramsey

~v~

The ballroom of the Four Seasons is lit beautifully, the Dom Perignon is flowing freely, and he has some sort of fancy crab cake in his hand, but Ethan couldn’t care less about any of it.

He hates parties. That’s not a secret, everyone knows it and he’s always been vocal about it. The board thought getting all of Boston’s elite hoarded into one room was a sure fire way to get them to open their pockets. And by the looks of it, it is working. But Ethan doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about the pomp, the circumstance, the luxury of this ball, or the money that went into it.

He has eyes one one thing, and one thing only. Or, one woman only. Naomi Valentine.

There aren’t enough words in any of the languages he’s fluent in to describe the way she looks. Her normally curly hair is bone straight, falling right down her back, a few strands tucked behind her ears. He likes it like this, his view of her face unobstructed.

And her dress. Scarlet red, downright sinful, the neckline so deep and plunging, it shouldn’t be legal to wear it in public, the material clinging to her like a second skin.

He’s been quietly observing her all evening, watching as various men - and some women - fawned over her, flirted with her, flaunting their wealth, as if she cared about any of it. The only thing Naomi wants is for these people to write checks and save their place of employment.

She danced with politicians, attorneys, trust fund babies, real estate developers, the works. She’s currently swaying on the dance floor with some guy, though he can she’s not into the dance. The mystery man is talking, but he’s not holding her attention, not in the slightest.

But the mystery man makes a mistake. Ethan watches as his hand slides down her back, landing on the swell of her behind. Not wanting to cause a scene, Naomi simply twists out of his grasp.

Naomi has the situation under control. He sees that clearly, but Ethan doesn’t care. He doesn’t like that someone else is touching her, especially so intimately. Anger swells in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t stop him himself, even though he knows he should. He gets up from his seat at the bar, leaving the tiny crab cake, and marches over to where they’re at.

Wanting to make his presence known, Ethan clears his throat. The action garners Naomi’s attention and she stops dancing.

“Ethan!” She exclaims brightly. “How nice to see you.”

“Rookie,” Ethan greets back, purposely ignoring the man she’s standing next to. “Care to dance?”

“She’s a little busy, pal!” Ethan hears the man talking, his shrill voice a nuisance in Ethan’s ear, but still he pays it no mind.

Naomi is nicer than him though. She smiles at the other gentleman politely. “I’ll save a dance for you, Carl! And you can tell me all about your new yacht.”

That seems to do the trick as the man steps aside and walks off.

Ethan holds out a hand for Naomi, which she eagerly accepts. They begin swaying in time to the music. “You looked like you needed a save. That guy was too handsy.”

“I was managing him just fine, but thank you anyway,” Naomi replies. “He was just so dull. Most of these people are.”

“I’d never know it by looking at you. You have a much better poker face than I do.”

“I grew up around people like this. I know how they operate. Give them a few well-placed compliments, and they’re putty in your hands.”

Ethan doesn’t have a reply for her. He just holds her close, vaguely aware of their surroundings. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Red looks good on you.”

“It happens to be my boyfriend’s favorite color,” Naomi explains, her hand mindlessly stroking the back of Ethan’s tuxedo jacket. “I wanted something to really wow him tonight. Do you think it’s working?”

“Oh you have no idea how well your plan is working, Rookie.”

She pulls back only slightly, looking at Ethan’s face. His blue eyes have grown darker. “I think I have some idea the effect I have on him.”

Three months. It’s been three months since that fateful night at Ethan’s apartment where he kissed her. After that, the doctors decided to see if their mutual attraction towards one another was worth exploring.

And while no one else knows of the relationship, opting to keep it just between them for as long as they could, Naomi and Ethan had never been happier.

“You look so beautiful tonight, and every guy in here is ogling you.”

“Ogling?” Naomi rolls her eyes. Ethan could be so dramatic when he wanted.

“Yes, ogling. I’m not a fan of it.”

“Well, you’re going to absolutely hate what happens later,” Naomi says with a sigh.

“Why, what happens later?”

“The auction.” Naomi swallows hard. “I’m one of the doctors participating in the people auction.”

“What?”

“My friends all volunteered, and they signed me up as well. I couldn’t say no, they all think I’m single and it’d just raise too many questions.”

Ethan frowns. The thought of these rich scumbags fighting over a chance to take his girlfriend out on a date didn’t sit well with him. It was annoying enough not being the only one she danced with throughout the evening.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Naomi continues. “But they sprung it on me yesterday, and I knew you would be upset. Please don’t be mad at me.”

He sighs. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want anyone else getting a chance to wine and dine you.”

“You worried I’m going to leave you for one of these pretentious bores?” Naomi smiles, teasingly. “You know better than anyone that rich and old happens to be my type.”

Ethan’s hand travels down the small of her back, and he feels her shudder under his featherlight touch. “What did I tell you about calling me old, Naomi?”

“I like seeing you jealous,” Naomi continues.

“Is that right? Was that your plan all along, to make me envious of the other people here tonight?”

She shakes her head. “No, it happens to be an unintended outcome of the evening, but I’m happy nonetheless.”

Without warning, Ethan pulls Naomi flush against him. A quiet groan escapes her upon contact with him. She looks around to see if anyone heard anything. Thankfully, everyone else is too wrapped up in their own dancing.

Ethan lowers his head close to her ear, just to make sure no one else is listening. His breath is warm on her neck and he feels her shift her weight from one foot to the other, squirming. “I’m really tired of sharing you.”

“Oh, really?” Ethan can hear the challenge in her tone. “Well, there’s still a few more hours left in the evening. I think you can be a team player until then.”

“But I don’t want to be a team player.” His hand is on her hip, squeezing so fiercely through her dress, Naomi is sure she’s going to bruise. She likes it. “You, in this god forsaken dress, waltzing around here with men that would kill for even 5 minutes alone with you? How ever will I survive?”

“You’re a patient man,” Naomi says. “You’ll manage.”

Ethan spins Naomi away from him, and she twirls back into his arms. The song that’s playing reaches its crescendo, and he can tell it’ll be over soon. “I won’t. I want you all to myself.”

“Yeah?”

“I want you, all alone with me, in our room,” Ethan whispers.

Naomi surprised him earlier, getting them a suite for the evening. She knew that with all the drinking they’d be doing, driving home was going to be impossible. Plus, it’d be a fun little retreat, a romantic night for just the two of them.

“I want you out of this dress,” Ethan continues. “I want you under me, writhing uncontrollably.”

“Ethan…”

“Saying my name, just like that. Or louder, I’m not a picky man.”

Thank God he’s holding her, because her knees are buckling. Liquid heat pools in the pit of her stomach, and she rests her head on Ethan’s shoulder. She pants hard, trying to keep her composure. They’re in a crowded room, full of colleagues and Boston’s most influential residents, and she’s getting dizzy with desire.

“That sounds fun.”

“You think you can make it upstairs in 10 minutes?” Ethan asks. The song ends and he steps back, letting Naomi go. She wobbles slightly, adjusting to standing on her own two feet.

Once she’s steady, Naomi clears her throat and locks eyes with the man in front of her. “I’ll meet you there in 7.”

~v~

Naomi makes it to their suite in 6 minutes, tops. As soon as she saw him swagger out of the ballroom like the smug jackass that he is, she grabbed another champagne flute and quickly downed it, letting the bubbles coat her tongue. Once she’s done with that, she makes her own exit and heads off to meet Ethan.

Their suite is lovely, with a gorgeous view of Boston Common. On any other day, Naomi would be able to appreciate that, but not now.

She pushes open the double doors to their bedroom, and she finds Ethan. He’s staring out the window thoughtfully, but her entrance gains his attention.

He checks his watch with a smirk. “You got here sooner than I anticipated.”

“What can I say? You were down there making some pretty hefty claims. I had to see if you were really going to put your money where your mouth is.”

“I plan on putting my mouth on a lot of different places, Rookie.” Ethan shrugs off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair and he loosens the cuffs of his shirt. Slowly, he walks over to the large king-sized bed and sits casually. Crooking a finger, he summons Naomi over, and she nearly trips over herself in a rush to be near him.

Neither one of them speaks as Ethan silently appraises his girlfriend, figuring out where to start first.

He picks her feet, and he bends down, his fingers reaching her ankle where the shoes are strapped. “How attached are you to these shoes?”

Of all the things he could’ve said, that wasn’t what she was expecting. “W-what?”

“I’m trying to figure out how much care I should exercise with them,” Ethan explains.

“They’re Aquazzura and they cost me $800. If you break the strap or the heel, I can’t be held responsible for whatever harm comes your way.”

“Even if I replace them?”

“Even then.”

“Fair enough.” Ethan carefully unbuckles her heels and she steps out of them. He trails a finger up and down the back of her calf, reveling in the softness of her skin before looking up at her. “Take off your dress.”

“You don’t want to do the honors?”

“Trust me, I do. But if I get my hands on it, I can’t promise that I won’t rip it off of you.”

Naomi’s very tempted to let him do just that, but she reaches around and unzips it herself. It falls to the floor in one fell swoop, and she steps out of it.

The dress didn’t call for a bra, so Ethan is rewarded with an uninterrupted view of her. He sucks in a deep breath at the sight. Naomi in that dress was a vision, but this is her in his favorite form.

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her thong and he slides it down. She does the rest of the work and impatiently kicks it away.

And now she’s just standing here, stark naked, subject to his piercing gaze while he’s still fully dressed. The obviousness of the power dynamic makes her shift uncomfortably.

Ethan grabs her hips and pulls her forward, so she can straddle his lap. His hands find her face and he cradles it. “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth crashes against hers, not allowing her the chance to reply to the compliment.

Naomi grabs hold of his shoulders in order to not fly backwards due to sheer force. Ethan set an undeniable tone. Urgent, hot, demanding. His hands keep her in place, locked in the sensual embrace. Not that she’d ever willingly leave his arms, now or ever.

His tongue invades her mouth, clashing with her own and he groans. He can still taste the champagne on her, something light and bubbly. It’s intoxicating.

All too soon, Ethan breaks the kiss, leaving Naomi breathless and buzzing with energy. His hands leave her face and roam freely, exploring.

“I have a challenge for you,” he says, his lips finding the column of her neck.

He sucks on her pulse, and she finds it hard to concentrate. “Huh?”

“I want you to stay quiet. Absolutely no sounds.”

“I thought you wanted me saying your name.”

“You will,” Ethan assures her, and the promise makes her stomach clench. “But right now I want you to be quiet.”

“And if I don’t keep quiet?” Naomi challenges. Ethan cups one of her breasts in the palm of his hand and squeezes, the pad of his thumb circling her nipple.

“Then you don’t get to cum. I go back downstairs and I leave you here like this.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

With a raised eyebrow, Ethan pulls at her nipple, twisting it between his thumb and index finger. Naomi gasps. “Are you willing to challenge me on that?”

Naomi’s head is fuzzy but she swallows hard. She nods, not willing to test him on this front. “Fine. I’ll be quiet.”

Ethan smiles. “Good.” He kisses her with a renewed energy and his unoccupied hand travels down to her thigh, his nails scraping against the flesh.

Naomi bucks in his lap. She’s shaking and her fingers are digging into his shoulders. The anticipation of what he’s going to do is killing her and she’s almost afraid to breathe.

His finger slides between her thighs teasingly, and before she gets a chance to respond, Ethan slides a single digit between her folds. It catches her by surprise and she gasps.

Ethan tsks one disapproval. “Silence, Naomi.”

Fuck you, she thinks, but she obeys regardless. Her nails dig deeper into his shoulder blades and she tries her hardest to stay quiet.

He moves at an unnaturally slow pace, not allowing Naomi to settle into a rhythm. Any other time, she’d spur him on. “Harder, deeper, more,” is what she wants to say, but he’s cursed her with silence. Instead she buries her face in the crook of his neck.

Ethan continues his torture, enjoying the view. A hot and bothered Naomi is a sight unrivaled, and he’d keep her like this forever if it was possible. He can feel the tension rolling off of her in waves, all the muscles in her thighs and abdomen tight with the effort it’s taking to keep quiet.

He adds another finger and groans. “Fuck, Rookie. You feel so good. So tight, so wet, and all for me.”

She needs to breathe. Her lungs are tight, her chest heaving against his, but he has her walking a tightrope right now, and one false move can end it all.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Ethan continues, the rough pad of his thumb sliding against once, twice, three times. “And you’re all mine. How did I get so lucky?”

Naomi’s skin flushes furiously. He knows she’s has kink for him talking during sex. On their volition her hips rise and fall, rise and fall, trying to keep pace with him. As soon as she does, his fingers slow down, dragging her from the edge of ecstasy, before speeding up again.

He does this repeatedly, the randomness of his movements making her head spin. Every nerve in her body is on fire, and she can feel the pressure building in the pit of her stomach.

So close, so close, don’t stop, plays in her head on a continuous loop as Ethan keeps working against her. The pressure builds, a heat settling in her veins and before she can stop herself a quiet, “Yes,” slips past her lips.

The energy in the room changed instantly. Ethan stills his fingers, then removes them, and Naomi feels the panic bubbling up and she pulls back to look Ethan in the eye.

“Oh, Naomi,” Ethan frowns.

“Don’t stop.”

“You violated the deal, Rookie. You were supposed to be quiet.”

She could cry in this moment, the frustration too much to bear.

“And you were doing so good,” Ethan adds, kissing the side of her head. “You were so close, weren’t you?” He toys with her, his finger sliding up and down her slit, doing nothing more than teasing her entrance.

When she’s back to herself, and not the ridiculous mess of flesh and lust that he’s reduced her to, she’s going to fucking kill him.

A whimper is pulled from her throat when his fingers plunge into her again.

“Come on, Naomi, I’m allowing you to use your words. Tell me how close you are. Let me know how badly you want to cum. You’re right there.”

Naomi really doesn’t not want to give him the satisfaction of begging, stroking his ridiculous ego, but there’s no room for foolish pride when your boyfriend has his hand between your legs.

She moans, broken and terse. Now that she’s finally allowed to talk again, words escape her.

“Please…” is the only speech she’s finally able to muster up. Groundbreaking.

“Please, what? What do you want me to do to you?” His finger thrusts into her again without warning, slow and languid. “Do you want me to do more of this?”

“Yes! Ethan, please dontfuckingstop!” She’s not sure if the words are coherent, but she doesn’t care. She got them out, and that’s what matters.

Ethan smiles, his mission accomplished. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The teasing doesn’t register because all Naomi can focus on is the pounding of her pulse, the feeling of his hands, the smell of his cologne. She can feel it building again, the fire deep in her core. She’s so close. So cl–

He stops. Again. This time, he wraps an arm around the small of her back and flips them, Naomi’s back hitting the soft down comforter dramatically.

Now she wants to scream at him. “Ethan, I seriously cannot–”

Ethan doesn’t give her a chance to chastise him because in a flash, he’s dropped to his knees, his hands on her ankles pulling her forward on the bed with an unexpected roughness.

“Be as loud as you want now, Naomi. I think you’ve more than earned it.”

His beard scrapes against her inner thigh, and god, she’s glad she convinced him to keep it. Slowly his tongue darts out, flattening against her folds.

Her hips fly off the bed against her will, arching to meet his mouth. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Naomi pulls, keeping him in place. “Fuck!”

The expletive works as encouragement and Ethan continues this work, his tongue alternating between expertly lapping at her folds and flicking against her clit. Naomi grips his hair tighter, earring a deep growl from Ethan. The vibration alone is enough to send her flying.

“Please, right there,” Naomi begs. If he kept it up just a little while longer, she’d finally get to taste the release he’s denied her.

His fingers nudge at her entrance again, sliding in with ease, and lips wrap around her swollen nub and he sucks hard, and that’s all it takes.

Her orgasm is something that’s long and drawn out, a culmination of teasing, anticipation and sheer relief. Her entire body goes tense as the sensation holds her in a vice grip, and then finally, she relaxes, falling back onto the bed.

“You okay?”

She can’t tell if Ethan’s genuinely asking or if he’s being cocky. It doesn’t matter either way. “I’m dead. You killed me. RIP Naomi.”

“Yeah?”

Naomi nods. “Yeah.”

“Good. Because we’re just getting started, Valentine.”

Ethan stands up and quickly unbuttons his shirt, letting it slide to the floor next to her dress. Next are his shoes and pants. Any other time, Naomi would be right there with him, on him liking a second skin, helping him get rid of the clothes, but every bone in her body feels like it’s been replaced with Jell-O. She’s content just watching this time around.

He slides his boxer-briefs off, not intentionally putting on a show, but Naomi can’t help but stare. For all the compliments he pays her, Ethan, naked and painfully hard with arousal for her and her alone, is a masterpiece.

In a flash, he’s all over her, his hands interlocking with hers above her head, pressing her into the mattress. Ethan captures her in a heated kiss the moment he enters her, swallowing whatever guttural sound she was going to make.

His thrusts start out slow and measured, but they quickly grow more frenzied as his control over the situation slips. Naomi arches, desperate to meet his pace, but she’s crushed under him, pretty much immobile.

Needing to do something, Naomi swings her thigh over him, the heel of her foot pressing into his lower back. The pressure forces him deeper, something she didn’t think was possible.

Her head snaps back pressing further into the mattress and Ethan takes advantage, his mouth finding purchase on the exposed skin, planting hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck before sinking his teeth in, biting down hard before soothing the flesh with his tongue.

That’s going to leave a mark, but that’s nothing Naomi can bring herself to care about because the mix of pain and pleasure is heady and all-consuming.

The obnoxious bite is a sign. He wants to claim her, mark his territory. She knows he has a possessive streak, but this is new.7

“Ethan, oh god.”

She can feel him smirking against her, and his thrusts pick up in tempo once more. “Say it again,” he demands, groaning into her skin.

“Ethan,” Naomi repeats, her voice going up an octave. He’s about to make her cum again, she can feel it.

He frees her hands, and while she enjoyed the intimacy of the position, she’s glad to be free. Her hands roam, one gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, the other digging into his shoulder blade. His hands grip her hips, somehow pulling her even closer.

“How close are you?” Ethan asks, his voice gruff.

“V-very.”

The thrusts become sloppier as they both chase the inevitable release. Soon the only sounds that can be heard are their shallow breaths and their slick skin colliding against each other.

Fire floods Ethan’s veins and he reaches between them, pinching at her bundle of nerves once more. A pleasant growl settles in his chest at the way she clenches around him.

“Let go, Naomi,” Ethan demands. “Right now.”

The command is more than enough to send her over the edge again, her body tensing, toes curling. She comes undone with a silent cry, her nails piercing into the skin of his back.

Her release triggers his own. It doesn’t take much, one more deep thrust and he moans, spilling inside of her, hot and urgent.

He rolls off of her and Naomi inhales deeply, not realizing just how crushing his weight was. Neither one of them says anything for a while, just trying to catch their breath and get their heart rates back down.

“Fuck,” Naomi says, still shaky and breathless. She turns her head and looks at Ethan with a smirk. “I should get you jealous more often.”

~v~

The couple takes their time getting dressed again, not yet ready to go back downstairs. They lazed around in bed for a while before taking the world’s quickest shower and searching for their clothes that are scattered around the suite.

“How long have we been gone?” Naomi asks, sliding on her shoes.

“Too long.”

“I know my friends are wondering where the hell I am.”

“I’m sure you’ll find an excuse.”

“Of course. I’m nothing if not quick on my feet.” Naomi turns around and sees Ethan readjusting his bow tie in the mirror. She walks over and leans into his side. “Is it bad that I just want to stay up here with you?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“What if I want to tempt you?”

Ethan groans and drops a kiss onto the side of Naomi’s head. “You little seductress. Don’t you have an auction to be a part of?”

“About that, I wasn’t thinking. If you’re really uncomfortable, I won’t do it.”

Ethan dismisses the statement with a hand wave. “Nonsense. You’re a big girl, I trust you, and if you want to do it, you should. Besides, I have a feeling you’re going to make this hospital a lot of money.”

“Okay.” She spins around and poses dramatically. “How do I look?

“Like you just got thoroughly ravished by your boyfriend. Absolutely perfect.”

Naomi makes it back down to the ballroom by herself. It’s later in the evening, so more people are out on the dance floor, and the drinks are still flowing.

Sienna is the first one to spot her. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. Were you getting any of my texts?”

“Sorry, Si. I haven’t checked my phone all night.”

“Where the heck have you been?” She asks.

Naomi shrugs, noncommittal. “Wandering around mostly. This hotel is huge, I almost got lost.”

“What happened to your hair?”

Naomi touches the crown of her head. While she was getting freshened up, the humidity of the shower made her curls come back, so she decided to throw it in a messy bun.

“I got really warm,” Naomi explains. “It was too much effort to keep it down, and it was making my neck and back hot.”

Sienna seems to believe the excuse because she simply shrugs and nods. “Okay!” She grabs Naomi’s hand and drags her along. “Come one, Dr. Banerji says it’s almost time to start the auction.”

All of the people participating in the people auction line up on stage, as Naveen acts as the emcee.

It wasn’t just people auctioning themselves off for dates. A Celtics player offered up seats in the VIP suite at their arena, restaurants offering certificates to get private dining experiences, Ethan even offered up his box seats at the Citizens Bank Opera House for one evening.

When they got to actually auctioning off dates, Bryce was naturally a hit, with two women bidding back and forth until $1500 was reached.

“And for our next participant of the evening, we have Dr. Naomi Valentine!”

Naomi steps up to the podium next to Naveen and she’s met with polite applause from the audience. She’s never been shy before, but being part of the crowd and looking down on them are two different experiences.

“Let’s start the bidding at $100.”

“$100!”

“$150!”

“$150, do I hear $200?”

“$250!”

“Someone’s eager!” Naveen teases. “How about $275?”

$400!”

“$450!”

This goes on for a while, various men throwing out numbers, vying for Naomi’s hand.

“$2000!” Naomi scans the crowd and sees it's the guy she was dancing with earlier before Ethan cut in Carl Something or Another.

“$2000! $2000 going once, going twice–”

“$15,000!”

The number is so not what Naomi was expecting to hear, she nearly loses her balance. Holy shit, someone wanted to spend that much money? On her?

Murmurs fill the crowd as the guests all turn to one another, gossiping aloud.

“$15,000 going once, going twice, sold!” Naveen scans the audience and chuckles. “Sold to Edenbrooks’ very own Dr. Ethan Ramsey! Step up and come greet your date, son!”

Naomi’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as Ethan saunters onto the stage, a lopsided grin on his face. Naomi can feel the arrogance rolling off of him in waves.

All of the Edenbrook employees in attendance immediately begin talking. Of course there was talk of Ethan and Naomi maybe being a thing, but this confirms it.

“What on earth are you doing?” She asks, looking around. Everyone’s staring at them.

“Bidding.”

“A small down payment on a house?”

“What? I can afford it.” Ethan shrugs. “Besides, you couldn’t have possibly thought I was going to let someone else get this honor.”

Naomi narrows her eyes at him and laughs. “You know, you’re really crazy when you’re acting possessive and jealous.”

“I know.” Ethan steps forward and wraps an arm around Naomi’s waist. “And you love it.”

“I kind of do.”

He kisses her, earning a few whoops and whistles – and one rogue “Get it, Nay!” from Sienna – from the crowd. When he pulls away, the apples of Naomi’s cheeks are a deep red, not used to this level of attention all at once.

“So, now that I’ve proved my point, how about we get out of here? I think I need to take you on a date that’s worth $15,000.”

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ns*fw

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kiras-sunshine · 4 years ago

Text

Home and Heart

Written for day four of Carlos Reyes Week: “you have come so far” + future

Summary: Carlos gets a job offer in a different city

read on ao3

It’s already dark, but their backyard is illuminated by a string of fairy lights TK has managed to hang up on near the chutes of the house.

Carlos has no idea when he had the time to put those up because they definitely were not there in the morning when he left for work, and TK got off from his shift only an hour before him, but he also had picked up food from their favourite Thai restaurant.

They had eaten the food at their backyard, underneath the lights and the bright night sky. The weather is warm, and the gentle breeze doesn’t bother him at all. The yard is so quiet, he can only hear distant noises of cars, a few birds chirping in the nearby Cathedral oak tree, and slight sounds of the grasshoppers. TK’s grunting mixes in with all of that.

Neither one of them had wanted to go back inside, so he is sitting on a garden chair and TK sits on the ground in front of him, in between his knees and he keeps massaging his stiff shoulders. He had pulled a 24-hour shift, and the impromptu dinner date at the backyard definitely was a surprise for Carlos, a good kind of surprise at that and he had enjoyed it immensely, but he had been psyching himself up the whole day to have a certain conversation with him, but now he doesn’t want to break the serenity of the moment.

Also, he has no idea how to break the news to him.

“You’re thinking too loud,” TK murmurs at one point, startling him from his own thoughts. He had been just absent-mindedly staring at the star patter of his button-down as he worked on a particular muscle knot near his shoulder blade. “Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I have to guess?”

He lets his palms rest against his shoulder as he exhales deeply. He should have guessed he would see straight through him. After being five years together it shouldn’t be a surprise that he knows him, through and through.

“Yeah, I’ll just pick something up,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of his head as he gets up and heads inside. He walks straight to their bedroom, picks up an envelope from his drawers and returns outside with it.

Letting him read the letter feels like the easiest choice.

TK is already standing up when he hands it to him. He had already teared it open in the morning, so he just pulls out the letter and starts to read it. His eyes are moving fast across the page. He looks at him carefully, and the corner of his mouth keeps twitching and when he looks up from the letter, his face is lit up by enthusiastic and bright smile.

Before he knows it, TK is already pulling him into a tight hug. He laughs, sounding genuinely delighted and Carlos just burrows his head into his neck. “I’m so proud of you,” TK tells him, and he hears rustling of the paper and he thinks he might be reading the letter again, “I mean I’m always proud of you, but you know.”

He feels his fingertips stroking along his spine, and in return, he presses a kiss on his neck.

He has been offered a job as a detective. It’s definitely the next logical step on his career path, and he certainly has the experience and qualifications for the job. He likes being an officer, but he also knows if he really wants to make any change in the way police departments work, he has to advance on the career ladder.

“It’s in Dallas,” he points out, sounding almost remorseful to his own ears, too. It’s the only aspect of the offer that keeps bothering him. He obviously is flattered that they want to offer him the position and he knows he is great at his job but uprooting his whole life might not be worth of a job.

“Yeah, I read that bit,” TK says, and surprisingly he has no traces of hesitation or sombre in his voice. He pulls away from the hug, but still rests his hand on his waist and kisses him. It’s a quick and brief kiss, but still full of reassurance. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he whispers.

He is the first person he has told about the offer, and he guesses it is only fair because his decision will affect his life, too, and while he was nervous about telling about it, he never expected him to get cross with him, but it still feels like a relief to hear his words of support and excitement.

“Do you want the job?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, as he studies him with his gaze. Any attempts of finding an answer in his eyes are futile.

“I don’t know.”

It’s as honest answer as he can give. Sure, he has been thinking about promotion for a while and getting promoted to detective is in his plans but moving to another city definitely wasn’t included in his plans for the future.

Maybe if he were still alone moving away would not be such a big deal, but he is not alone. Still, sometimes unexpected things can be the best things in life. He certainly wasn’t looking for a relationship, but he still managed to find the love of his life on a call about a baby stuck in a tree.

TK hums sympathetically. “Is it about Dallas?”

“Yeah.”

He folds the papers carefully back into the envelop and places it on the table next to the abandoned takeout boxes. “I get that. It’s not an easy decision and I guess moving wasn’t in our plans,” he says, glancing at the dim yard that opens in front of them.

“Tell me about it,” he sighs out of frustration and rubs his face with his hands.

A couple years back, he had sold his condo. It was a bit small for two people, and they wanted to buy a house instead of an apartment, and it is exactly what they did. The house is not enormous, but it’s theirs and it has everything they need, and most importantly it’s home in a way that no previous place of his own has been.

He knows it’s only a physical place and lots of other great houses exist, but he has grown fond of it. It is such a combination of both of them, all the little details and marks they have left on it and its decoration. He knows his home is where his heart is and TK still holds his heart, and he can be happy wherever he is with him, but he still believed they would live there longer than a couple of years.

“Hey,” TK whispers, gently and Carlos lets his hands drop. “You’ve come so far with you career, and we have come so far, so I’ve got your back no matter what you choose.”

His voice is soft, but still determined and sincere and he doesn’t doubt for a moment that he wouldn’t mean his words.

He rubs his neck as he tries his best to flash a reassuring smile at him. “Yeah.”

TK gives a lopsided smile as he looks down his left hand and fidgets with the silver band that rests on his ring finger. “Besides, when I said I do I did mean that I’m always going to be in your corner.”

Carlos chuckles, but his gaze darts to his wedding ring, too. It makes his own ring feel heavier, in a good way, and he knows there is truth in his words, and he has proved it countless times already during the years.

They are a team, a great one, and he supposes they have been a team since the night of the solar flares, and while he knew the whole time that a job offer couldn’t derail what they have, he is still a bit overwhelmed how well he is taking it and the amount of support he is offering him unconditionally.

“That,” he says, nodding towards the ring he has put on his finger a little over a year ago, “doesn’t mean you have to potentially blindly follow me across the state.”

It’s about his career, and he knows that ultimately it comes down to him if he wants to accept the offer, but he knows it’s going to have to be a mutual decision. He is not going to force him to move into a different city and leave his family and a place he calls home behind, and especially if he is not completely in on the plan, too.

“Nope,” he agrees, “and I like Austin. Our family and friends are here, and it feels like home, but I also meant my wedding vows, I literally took them as an oath. And I intend to keep my word when it comes to you.”

TK wraps his fingers around his wrist and slides them lower so that he can intertwine their fingers. His hand feels warm against his and it is more comforting that he can even describe.

Their wedding was sort of small. Just their closest friends and family, all their loved ones in one place. It was beautiful ceremony and it felt like them, and they had gone big on the parts they wanted to, and one of those parts had been the vows.

Carlos had spent months trying to perfect his own vows, and TK’s vows still are absolutely one of the most beautiful and touching things anyone has ever said to him. He had teared up because his vows had been so full of love and it had felt a little surreal that he got to be in the receiving part of it.

A short part of the vows were in Spanish. Ever since their relationship got official, TK had gotten in his head that he wanted to learn Spanish, and while he didn’t have to and it hadn’t been necessary in any way, he had attended some online courses and done independent studying. It had been a slow process, and Carlos still wouldn’t call him fluent, but his skills are definitely more than decent.

Still, the idea that he had learned an entire language for him makes his heart flutter. His accent is still bit off, but it’s so incredibly endearing that he hasn’t had the heart to correct him.

Carlos still has the piece of paper TK had written the vows on, and he knows TK has kept his piece of paper safe, too. He can admit that he sometimes reads it through and wonders how in hell he ended up so in love and so lucky.

“So, did I,” he replies, gently caressing his thumb with his own.

He hasn’t read the vows he wrote since the wedding, but he still can recall them word by word, and he had been completely serious about them and meant every single word, and he had vowed that he would cherish his happiness and love as if it was the most precious thing in the world he has ever had.

He still wants to honour those vows and do exactly as he promised to do.

“I know,” he breathes out, “and if you really want to take the job, then you should. And if you decide to do that, then we’ll have a real talk and figure it all out.”

He kisses his forehead and lets his lips linger there for a moment. “I love you,” he whispers.

“So you have said,” TK tells him, with a dazzling grin on his face, and he knows they will be alright no matter what.

***

Carlos has had the rule of keeping his personal and professional lives separate. After TK and befriending the entire crew of 126 had obviously blurred the lines a bit, and suddenly personal life made its way to workplace and scenes, and while he tried to stick to professionalism, he let the rules loosen up a bit.

When he realised that he kept casually running into his father-in-law and bunch of people who considered themselves to be equivalent of siblings of his husband, he had completely given up the distinction of work and personal life.

Let alone the fact that he kept running into his actual husband, who has Strand-Reyes stitched into the place of his last name on his uniforms. It’s definitely cramped there because the space for last name isn’t that big, but the sight of it never fails to make him smile.

So, as he has accepted that he half-works with people who he ends up spending all the holidays and most of his free time with, he longer feels awkward if he looks for TK once they have cleared up a scene.

They are once again on the same call. It’s nothing too messy, a car crash in the middle of the road. His partner is still directing the traffic as 126 is cleaning up the last of the debris and drying up some oil that leaked from another car.

“Hey,” he greets when he walks up to him next to the fire truck.

“Hey. How’s the most handsome first responder in Austin doing?”

Carlos grins as he glances at the ground. He briefly wonders how on earth he changed from making his own rules to separate work and personal life to shamelessly flirting with his husband on scene. “I don’t know, how are you doing?”

“Hah, real funny,” he shoots back, and his smile is bright, and he looks genuinely delighted to see him, even though they only saw each other six hours ago when they both left for their respective shifts.

He knows he could wait until they are both home, but their shifts overlap a bit, and he supposes this is as good moment as any.

“I turned down the job in Dallas,” he says, as he looks at Marjan and Mateo finishing up the cleaning process on the road.

“Oh.”

The uncertainness has now found its way to his face.

“It didn’t feel right to take it,” he explains.

The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to move. His parents and most of his sisters live in Austin or near it. Most of TK’s family lives there, too and he knows that he would have moved with him if he had asked, but leaving 126 behind would have devastated him.

Besides, he knows Austin like the back of his own hand. He knows people there and the communities and he is almost fond of his precinct too, and leaving all that behind felt just fundamentally wrong.

Dallas isn’t that far away, but it still hadn’t felt like the right decision.

“Okay.”

“I spoke to my captain, she said there should be job openings here within a year too, if everyone follows their retirement plans,” he adds.

“That’s great,” he tells him, with a low chuckle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve got everything I need right here,” he replies, pointedly looking only at him with fondness.

TK bites his lower lip as he laughs. “If you’re happy, then that’s all that matters.”

“I am.”

“Good,” he breathes out and grins at him before he reaches to kiss him, quickly and briefly. His work and personal lives are irrevocably intertwined, and he couldn’t care less.

“I’m still proud of you.”

He opens up his mouth to answer, but before he gets anything out, Judd interrupts them. “Hey lovebirds, break it up. We gotta go.”

He hears a collective groaning and exasperated sighs. “How long can their honeymoon phase possibly last?” Matteo complains. “Another five years?”

He laughs, but he sort of hopes he never gets tired or less delighted to see him. He still gets the same thrill as he did when he first saw him and realised that there was something worth pursuing between them.

“Be safe.”

“You too.”

#carlosreyesweek2021 #tarlos #tarlos fic #carlos reyes #tk strand #fluff

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genevievemd · 4 years ago

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Can I ask you some questions about Ethan and Genevieve I discovered your page a week ago just finished all the fics I'm interested in your version of the characters

Oph MC is usually seen as flawless and perfect (like every other MC in choices) what are some bad habits or flaws your MC has and we know Ethan's flaws he is one of the few li's who have actual flaws but still I'd like to know your Ethan's flaws which are personal or you have imagined them. (English is not my first language can't explain my request more clearly than this)

Do you see them married with kids in the future ( ik the marriage part you have a fic about it but here is what I specifically want. both of their opinions on this matter before meeting each other and after spending a year or two dating)

Does Ethan have extended family that you have created like a cousin he is very close to or a best friend (if yes can you make a fic where Genevieve meets this best friend or cousin?)

Any hobbies or skills Genevieve has?(like sketching or piano or something idk why Genevieve gives me piano vibes)

Which med school did you have Genevieve go to?

Are they fresh air kind of people or city air kind of

Do they believe in aliens

Opinions on pineapple on pizza

And last but not the least body language ( signs their body gives off when they are anxious, scared, happy and excited)

Ik they are a lot of questions and you probably hate me for making you answer this question air but either way love your work♥️♥️✨💫

Yes! You can always ask me questions and I LOVE these questions. I’m very attached to Gen lol so I’m always willing to talk about her!

Thank you for reading all my things!

And I don’t hate you for all the questions, I answered every single one, under the read more because they got lengthy. lol

First Question:

I definitely don’t see Gen as perfect. I’ve kind of put a lot of myself in her, which I’ve never done with any other MC I’ve played. I kind of see Gen as as a perfectionist, to the point where she gets in her own way. She also, like Ethan, tends to put everyone’s problems on her shoulders and feels responsible for thing that are way out of her control. And though Gen is patient, sometimes too patient, she can hold a grudge. It’s unhealthy and she knows that, but she has a hard time over coming it. Like with Landry, deep down Gen wants to let it go and move on. But there’s a small part of her that will always feel angry and betrayed. Gen’s also not one to put her own needs ahead of others, it’s rare that she’ll ask for what she needs, unless she 100% trusts the person she’s confiding in. (I have a headcanon where her dad cheated on her mom when she was in high school, they didn’t get a divorce, but Gen was the one who discovered the affair and it left a sort of trust/abandonment issue.) She can be rather clingy in a relationship, at first, something Ethan was annoyed with, he’s rather independent I think, but once he understood where that was coming from it didn’t bother him as much. It was just Gen’s way of reassuring herself that Ethan was hers, that he wasn’t going anywhere. Plus her love language is physical touch/affection and spending time together.

As for Ethan, I think he’s a very closed off person, has a hard time trusting people. He absolutely will push someone away, not because he necessarily wants to, but in order to protect himself. For me, I think one of the main reasons why he didn’t dive 100% into a relationship with MC was his fear that he’d lose them. That they would walk out the same way his mother did. I also think he’s way too stubborn and has a hard time admitting when he’s wrong. He won’t be the first to back down in a fight, even if that means it makes him unhappy.

Second Question:

I absolutely see Ethan and Genevieve married with kids. Gen has always wanted to get married, always wanted to be a mother. She’s had a pinterest board since high school thats dedicated to her dream wedding lol. When she found out Ethan wasn’t 100% on board with marriage, she was bummed. But at the same time, she was/is willing to let that go if it meant she could be with him. As long as she has Ethan, she doesn’t need a ring. Gen’s also always believed in soulmates and fate, she knew after their kiss in Miami that Ethan was her soulmate.

As for Ethan, I think deep down he’s always wanted kids but never saw them as an option because he never thought he’d find the right person to settle down with. I think that also ties into his past with his mom. Same with marriage, when he wasn’t in love, it didn’t make sense to him. But once he was, realized he never wanted to lose Gen, he understood it. Once he recognized how much he loves Gen, he wanted everything with her. Marriage, kids, all of it. With MC/Gen he realized he could be the parent he wanted to be.

I have a scene in chapter 3 or 4, I can’t remember which, in Love You Home where Ethan and Gen have the marriage/kids talk.

Third Question:

I think Ethan has an extended family. We don’t know much about his parents, if they are only children or not, but I think either his mom or dad has a sibling or two. They’re definitely not close at all, he probably doesn’t see them. But they exist. Gen’s influence definitely persuades him to reach out, in the same way she influenced him to give his mom a second chance.

As for a best friend? I don’t think he has one, I think Naveen is his closest friend at the moment. But I would love for him to get back in touch with maybe a childhood friend or friends from collage. Maybe even become friends with some fellow attendings at Edenbrook. Again, I think have Gen/MC around has really opened his eyes to different things and realizing how important friendships and relationships really are.

And at some point I may write something for that.

Fourth Question:

I love that you see Gen as a piano person because I also see Gen as a piano person. She doesn’t play much now, lack of access to a piano and too busy with work but she does know how to play. She also speaks a baby bit of french, not enough to be fluent but enough to understand her maternal grandparents (they’re first language is french, so they speak it interchangeably with english). I also think she’s a pretty decent singer, she did choir in middle/high school.

As for hobbies, Gen is super into photography. She’s not the greatest, but she loves it. It ties into her being a super sentimental person, she likes to have tangible memories. She also loves journaling, she definitely has a bullet journal that she does herself. It’s relaxing for her, after a stressful day. And I don’t know if you’d count make up as a hobby, but Gen is super into it. On the daily, she really only wears eyeliner, mascara and a light lipstick, but on her days off she experiments and does more intricate looks. I have a headcanon where Ethan comes home and sees Gen in like a super dark lip with a kickass winged liner, very femme fatale, and he’s shookith.

Fifth Question:

I go back and fourth on what med school Gen went too, I googled top 100 med schools when I started open heart so I could pick a good one for her lmao Its a toss up between University of California or University of Pennsylvania. Gen is from New England, she grew up on the coast of Maine - not too far from Providence actually. So I sometimes think UPenn because Gen would want to be close to her family. But then sometimes I say Cali because she wanted the adventure of going off on her own. At some point I’m going to have to choose obviously but where not there yet lol Still a toss up.

Sixth Question:

Genevieve is absolutely a fresh air girl. She loves the beach and being outdoors. Boston is a bit of a change for her, being a city but it doesn’t take long to find some country air here in New England so she gets both. lol

Seventh Question:

LMAO I love this question. I never thought of this but you know what Gen absolutely believes in aliens. Not in a weird conspiracy kind of way, more in a scientific kind of way. There’s no way Earth is the only planet in the galaxy to have life. The galaxy is freakin huge, scientifically there is no way we’re the only planet with life.

Eighth Question:

Pineapple on pizza is a crime. End of story. No one should ever have pineapple on pizza. No just...no.

Ninth/ Last Question:

I’m going to answer this for each of the things you listed in your question.

Anxious: It’s very easy to see when Gen is feeling this way, at least to Ethan and her friends. She retreats inward and does this like twisting motion with her fingers. Like cracking your knuckles but not actually cracking your knuckles. She’ll also bite the corner of her lip.

Scared: Gen doesn’t scare easy, but when she does she kind of hugs herself, makes herself smaller. Will hide behind things or run away. She’s a flight not a fight when scared. Especially if its like a spider, bug or snake - she’s terrified of those. That’s a freeze or run and scream situation.

Happy: Super easy to tell when Gen is happy. She gets really smiley, a little bouncy. One of those people that does that little happy dance of swaying back and forth.

Excited: Same as happy, big smiles. Jumps around. a little dancing. Lots of giggling.

I’m gonna add one more here, for shipping purposes lol

In Love: Gen is affectionate af, very touchy. She’ll show you how much she loves her way before she ever says it. Ethan realized she was in love with him months before she said it. Just by how much more open she was with physical affection. Always gently touching his arm, or kissing his cheek, always willing to hug him or snuggle in close.

Thank you so so so much for the questions, these were so fun to answer! Feel free to drop in any time. I love Gen and Ethan so much, I will always answer any questions you want to ask me about them.

#asked and answered #ethan x gen #ethan ramsey x mc #genevieve mcclure #open heart #open heart mc #fireycookie

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

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So I guess I should mention my anxiety and depression, they go up and down, so it’s not always bad. But when it gets bad, it’s pretty bad. I haven’t really had anyone to help me before. I have reoccurring nightmares and paralysis about my past relationship so I’d probably want him to know. Protective hyena over her man eater for sure 💚 but also I want to be protected, so depends on the situation really. Horny as fuck for him lmao very touchy and lovey. I’m already pierced meat so...

I haven’t written for Hannibal in the longest time (almost a year; barring the exception of that piece I wrote you about a month ago), so I might be a bit rusty, but I really wanted to gift @jokerslilhyena with a matchup for you and for Hannibal. I hope that you enjoy this, darling! Hanni and I both love you so much and we’re so so proud of you!💖

NSFW within.

Word count: 1, 924.

So I just want to start off by saying that Hannibal adores you. He is immediately intrigued by you; those intense chocolate eyes, your hair and the way it gently moves in the breeze, and upon deeper inspection, Hannibal realises that you are more than what you seem to be. Your fate is sealed with this realisation, though you don’t know it yet. Hannibal decides that he wants to get to know you on a more personal level and it's only too easy for him to tell that you have multiple demons, all of whom he wants to discover, too, and he thusly decides to introduce himself to you as a psychiatrist. In giving you this opening to be one of his patients, Hannibal is able to set into motion the plan to make you wholly dependent on him. Your life begins to change for the the better with Hannibal's presence and he quickly realises that you are someone who wants to be taken care of. You are strong and brave, and you can look after your own self, but, oh, how you have suffered, and for this reason he wants to take care of you. You are so young but exquisitely damaged, he thinks, he can smell the terrors in your past on you, and he longs to uncover the as yet incomplete tapestry which is Lilith. He savours every uncovered piece and in return does he reveal to you one of his.

Hannibal makes it so that you don't think that you can ever survive without him again. It isn't that he doesn't care for you, but it's in his own way. His love language is a complex one, but once you’re fluent, you come to understand just how loud it is. It’s in the smallest of things; the way he cooks you your favourite meals wordlessly when you have had a bad day, the way he allows you to cling to him in the middle of the day... Hannibal would truly be devastated if he ever lost you, though he also knows that nothing will ever come between the two of you because he will do anything to keep that from happening. You are his and he looks after you. It increases your dependence on him, which is what he wants, and the moment you stop loving him is the moment he no longer has a need for you. He doesn't worry about that, though, because he knows that what you have together is real and true. You haven't ever had anyone help you with your anxiety, BPD and depression, and you manage yourself well. Anyone who doesn't know what to look for will miss it, but he is a professional psychiatrist and Hannibal sees you. He sees all of you and he finds himself wanting to help you with no ulterior motive. You may be wounded and you may limp, but you are a Hyena and they have a nasty bite. Hannibal teaches you to find yourself, he nurtures you and helps you to bare your teeth without fear of being punished, and he takes the best care of you that he possibly can every single day. Why, he knows not, but Hannibal doesn't much care for reasoning. He cares only for the action and its consequence: a slow relationship which blossoms beautifully with his nurturing, your desire for him, and the love which comes to grow between you remains evergreen.

He takes time to get to know you, knowing that if he moves too fast you may run off; a wild animal are you. At first, you are merely psychiatrist and patient, but then one late afternoon, Hannibal asks you if you have eaten yet and you say no. Hannibal thus remarks that it is important to eat three meals a day, and he invites you to dinner. There is no escape now but even if it was presented to you on the silver platters which Hannibal so favours at his dinner parties, you wouldn't take it. Why would you, when everything you have ever needed or wanted is right there if you simply ask for it? You find yourself entangled in his web before you know it... by the time you realise it, it’ll be too late, but you don’t care. You love him and Hannibal comes to love you, too. During one session with Hannibal, you revealed to him the terrors of your past. You cried and you shook but that didn't stop you, and for that, Hannibal admired your strength. It was unusual in one so young, but so telling was it. He was angry, and rightly so, but Hannibal resolved to do all that he could to help you. Of everyone he had ever met, you were the one most worthy and the most deserving of kindness and of goodness, which told him that you were also the one who would want to receive his rare gift. By the time that you were wholly in love with him, he had already started to fall.

It was only a few months before Hannibal invited you to stay for the night, and within just a few hours did he come to learn of your nightmares and sleep paralysis. "What has the world done to you, my love?", he murmured in an attempt to soothe you. He relied on his training and what he knew of you to help you that night, and within a few nights had he fully mastered all the ways to help you. He was everything that you needed him to be even before you knew what you needed, so well does he know you. "It was not your fault, Lilith, and you did not deserve such abhorrent treatment. Were he not dead, I would kill him myself as an anniversary present." You laughed, but your heart wasn't in it. Not really, but all the same did you appreciate the sentiment. Your protective nature and your want to be protected are both circumstantial and Hannibal fulfills both. He always knows what you need before you need it and he knows how you need it, and in this way does he make sure that you do not stray from his side. Depending on the situation, you are strong but you are also capable of voicing when you want to be helped. You have gone through so much more than anyone should ever have to goes through but you carry yourself with dignity. Even people close to you are not fully aware of your struggles, but one look and Hannibal knows.

When people get too close to you or to Hannibal, the other person is quick to angle their body in a protective manner. You often go out together, to see the Opera or simply to take in the sights of the city, and you are always touching in one way or another. Hannibal likes to keep his hand on the small of your back, so that he can touch as much of you as he can all at the same time, and the heat of his hand seeps through the baggy clothes which you favour. He grounds you and makes you feel safe, always. You are always his greatest priority and a matter of life and death. It is his loudest love confession but only you have ever stopped to listen. Your protective nature is amusing to Hannibal but he wouldn't want you any other way, for it is proof that you care as deeply as you say that you do. Words are cheap but actions are reliable and in this way does Hannibal understand that you are the perfect recipient for his rare gift, which no other has ever wanted. He appreciates it and he appreciates you and he does what he can to repay the favour in small ways. This includes cooking your favourite breakfast meal without being asked, buying you clothes which fit you perfectly and are your preferred style and aesthetic, and protecting you just as fiercely as you protect him. To Hannibal's thinking, you deserve the world and he wants to give it to you. For someone who has so deeply been hurt in her life, for someone who has so deeply gotten to know this rare gift bestowed upon them and wanted it, Hannibal is forever loyal and he will protect you until the day he dies.

You are unashamed when it comes to physically expressing yourself. There is nothing that you wouldn't allow Hannibal to do to you, and with everything that you have ever gone through, Hannibal takes it as a true mark of devotion and trust. He will not break it, he will not break you, but instead does he replace your marks of violence and your horrific scars, your traumas and your pains with love. He is tender and compassionate, impassioned, and if anyone can keep up with your sexual appetite, it's Hannibal. On the nights when you cannot or will not sleep, kept awake are you by nightmares, sleep paralysis, or stress, Hannibal will use his body to put your own to the test. Physical exhaustion most often wins out over these things, especially after three to four rounds of the same. Always will he coax multiple orgasms out of you. "You taste positively divine, dearest." and he laps at you like you are the first and only meal of the day. If you are not into that, then Hannibal will be able to derive the way that you taste from the way that you smell; for all five senses are engaged when one eats. You’re also very loving and very affectionate, and Hannibal can read you like a book. He knows when you want cuddles, he knows when and how you want to be kissed, and he always knows what you want even before you do; you are his open book, his Lilith, his Hyena, his One, and there is nothing he wouldn’t do for you. Many a crime scene stands as testament to that unspoken vow.

You are extremely creative, skilled both with words and artistically, and Hannibal supports you in this as in everything. He is an artist too, and one of the ways in which he tells you that he loves you is to leave sketches of you in places that he knows you will find. You work hard academically, and you are under more stress than someone your age should be. As such, Hannibal does what he can to help you, to guide your way, and he handles your finances; he lets you pay for nothing, not that he tells you that. You know, of course you do, but it is yet another unspoken thing between you. You do many things for the other without saying a word, such is the nature of your relationship, and it isn't unusual for one of you to suddenly whisper a "thank you" to the other, but no "you're welcome" comes; it's all in the way you're tightly gripped onto, the way you both nuzzle into each other, the way you become each other as naturally does Hannibal slip both within your psyche and within your body; so completely do you love him that he brings all of your trashed and scattered pieces back together as naturally as he breathes. You give him ample reason to not be caught, to keep his freedom, and in return, he lives for you. You are meant to be, dearheart, and only a fool would question it.

#hannibal lecter

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thebiasrekkers · 5 years ago

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Touch In The Dark — MYG

For the @btswriterscorner - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Min Yoongi comes from the prestigious family of Blue Blood lineage. However, to appear philanthropic in the eyes of the public, they volunteered their son to marry someone from “humble” origins. Two years have passed since he’s been married to his poor, orphan wife. But for the first time in two years, he’s starting to take note of things about her that are causing shifts in his views of her, shaking his heart.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female OC (Kiara Townsend)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of suicide, extreme angst, interracial/intercultural relationship, arranged marriage

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,936

AN: I never thought I would write a story like this. I think this is the softest I’ve ever written for the boys. I know I only have one piece of lit for the fandom, but I have to say that this project caught me a little off guard. I never thought I would write Yoongi this soft, but it’s a very non-conventional soft. So I hope you all enjoy the world I was able to build from this, hug your loved ones a little close, and know that you are always loved. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ k.t. ~

On the day she was told that she’d been chosen as the “Charity Selection” for The Lottery, Kiara tried to kill herself.

The heavy knocks sounded like thunder inside her tiny, rundown studio apartment. She stared back at her reflection in the bathroom, a handful of sleeping pills clutched in her palm over the porcelain. She’d purchased a full bottle of the prescription strength medication off the black market. It took her months to save up enough money to buy them.

Attempted suicide was a serious offense, punishable by large fines and incarceration for three months, followed by six months of psychiatric evaluation. The global population was already off-kilter with how many people suffered losses from wars, hunger and poverty. Decreasing the numbers in any amount was detrimental to society’s ability to rebuild and stabilize its structure.

The knocking continued incessantly. Kiara knew if she didn’t answer the door, they would just kick it in and find out what she was up to. Sighing, she put the pills back into the bottle and placed it in the medicine chest behind the smudged mirror.

Twelve paces. That’s how long it took for her to make it from the bathroom to the front door. The ratty sofa doubled as her bed and the thin, pale blue blanket could hardly be considered covers. While Kiara did not get sick often, she could not stay warm during the winter months. Central heating was a luxury she couldn’t afford and space heaters were few and far between. The yellowing paint peeled off the walls and the stainless steel door knobs, once shiny and new, were now dull and gray from years of neglect.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a man in a three-piece suit and two armed soldiers. He was an official from The Lottery office and he handed her a letter. He congratulated her, telling her how fortunate she was to have been chosen for the “Charity” portion of the Lottery. He explained that everything she needed to know about her future husband was in the envelope and that she could read it on the flight to meet him.

She’d never flown in an airplane before.

Kiara didn’t own much. All of her furniture were either hand-me-downs or things she found on the side of the road. Her clothes, what few she had, could all be stuffed into a single duffel bag. Her friends doted on her, telling her how lucky she was to have been chosen. They all pooled together and bought her a pretty sundress to wear since it was approaching Summer. Kiara promised to contact them whenever she was fully settled.

On the flight over, Kiara took a good look over the files she’d received.

Yoongi Min. 26. South Korean. Computer programmer. His home was Daegu and he still lived with his family, as per tradition in the country. He was fluent in English, which was a relief. He was definitely handsome - dark auburn hair, pierced ears, and umber eyes that almost appeared a little withdrawn. Or was it sadness?

Was he hurting on the inside too?

At her request, one of the flight attendants gave her a tablet for her to study. She didn’t want to embarrass herself on the first day of meeting him.

If the plane didn’t crash on the way. Kiara could only be so lucky.

Yoongi wasn’t the one who picked her up from the airport. It was someone from the family’s household staff. He was a kind looking middle-aged man and he helped her load what few belongings she had into the trunk of her car. The drive from Incheon to Daegu was long. The driver, Mr. Song, told her she could take a nap if she liked. But there were so many questions she wanted to ask and she was grateful that he was also fluent in English.

There were things she discovered about Yoongi that she felt she could relate to. He was an avid reader and enjoyed music. He preferred his solitude and when he had the time to spare, he took pictures and tended the garden at his family’s home. There were servants to handle such things as yardwork, but Yoongi insisted on raising seedlings in a greenhouse.

After she arrived at his family’s home, she was welcomed by the rest of the staff. Yoongi, again, did not greet her. His parents did, however. They were not so fluent in English, but they were kind enough to allow one of the maidservants to translate what they were saying to Kiara. She both nodded and shook her head at the appropriate questions. Nothing they asked was outside of a “yes” or “no” response.

“Are you healthy?”

“Are your parents really dead?”

“Were you comfortable on the plane?”

“You’ve never flown on an airplane before, have you?”

And finally, the question that served as Divine Intervention.

“Are you tired?”

The questioning ended when she nodded. It wasn’t that Kiara wanted to avoid her future In-Laws. She really was tired. She refused to nap on the long drive from Incheon to Daegu and the jet lag was starting to rear its ugly head. She could hardly keep her eyes open. After she was escorted to one of the guest rooms, Kiara barely took note of her luggage on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She fell asleep almost immediately.

When Kiara awoke the next day, she found a handwritten note sitting on the nightstand. Groggy and hungry, she did her best to read the note. Her eyes quickly focused when she realized it was from Yoongi.

Miss Townsend,

I’m glad to see you arrived safely. I know this is a bit of a transition for you, but everything will be fine. I will be out of town on business until the day after tomorrow. Please meet me at City Hall on Wednesday so we can finalize everything.

~ Min Yoongi

Unsure of why, Kiara felt her heart sink. The note seemed so impersonal; business-like. She knew what kind of world they lived in now, but did it really mean that a perpetual wall would exist between them?

Crumpling the note in her hand, she was grateful to be alone. She didn’t think she’d be able to explain the tears if anyone saw her. Mostly because Kiara, herself, couldn’t understand why she was crying.

~ m.y. ~

The days always began the same.

Yoongi woke up, showered, went downstairs and had his cup of coffee. Two spoonfuls of sugar. No cream. He hated watching television because most channels either rattled on political propaganda or spoke about the “Runners” rebelling against society’s standards for the world. He preferred the soft sounds of jazz peeling from the radio speakers. Sometimes it was purely instrumental. Other times, someone was crooning a song about heartbreak. It was an idea that he didn’t quite understand, but the tones were pleasing to the ears.

He wasn’t a fan of it originally. Yoongi only listened to it because she had it playing while she hung laundry out on the line one warm summer day. “Killing Me Softly” droned from the speakers and he could recall the look on her face when he told her to turn it off immediately. Music containing lyrics had been banned as it was a way for artists to spread their messages of love, freedom, insurrection and justice.

She didn’t argue with him, but her expression shifted significantly that day.

In their society, love was something that could not be felt because love equaled passion and passion led to impractical thought. Impractical thoughts led to irrational decisions being made. Wars, hatred, violence: they were all ingredients for disaster that nearly wiped out the population of the world.

But mankind couldn’t very well lead itself to extinction. Population growth was necessary, so long as it was monitored and controlled. Maintaining order was paramount in this new age. The Lottery Bill was established across the world - bridging the racial and cultural divide that continued to exist until the United Nations took matters into their own hands.

The class system was determined by lottery. Blue Bloods all the way to Laborers. Everyone had their place and would accept that place. No one would strive to reach above their station as that would disrupt order and breed chaos. To regulate the classes, lotteries were also pulled for marriage. Couples were chosen from like classes to maintain balance in the system.

But because the world’s government was not cruel, there were families chosen to participate in philanthropic activities. Every year, a small percentage of Laborers were pooled to marry into Blue Blood lineage. It was a way to show the kindness the global governmental body possessed. Most in the Blue Blood class referred to it as “Forced Charity” but they couldn’t argue against the positive impact it had both across the media and in society as a whole.

Min Yoongi’s family was one of the families chosen to participate in the “Forced Charity”. As the only son, he was obligated to be the one to represent their family during The Lottery.

He didn’t make a fuss. When Yoongi received his Summons in the mail, he went to his district’s City Hall and took the envelope from one of the clerks. He had one week to accept the terms presented in his drawing. Since he was willingly volunteering to marry someone outside of his station, he had one opportunity for a redrawing. But only one.

Yoongi opted out of it.

He was living with his parents still and politely asked that they give him privacy. For five days they tormented him about what his bride was like. It wasn’t out of childish rebellion that he hadn’t given them an answer. It was because he truly didn’t know.

On the sixth day, he finally opened the envelope.

Inside contained the dossier of his future bride, as well as a single photograph. Everyone who was eligible for The Lottery was required to have their picture taken at their district’s City Hall, regardless of what part of the world they were from. If his bride-to-be had to travel miles to get to him, then that was what had to be done. There would be no objections from either side.

He had no expectations. There was no reason to disagree with the marriage. Yet a part of him hesitated when it was time to call The Lottery office to have them send for her. The same part that looked at her picture and couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking when she was staring back at the camera. Yoongi wondered if he had the same expression on his face when he’d taken his photo.

Kiara Townsend. 26. African-American, German and Scottish. She had no parents and she worked full-time in a textile factory in North America. Her parents were killed during a neighborhood raid of residents who were presumed to have been involved in an underground movement of sorts - advocating free love and speaking out against the societal norms currently in place for the world.

In the photo, her skin was a golden caramel, hair thick with large curls, and she had prominent brows and a set of full lips. Her eyes, small and hazel in tone, were seemingly endless - like she could see into the very souls of anyone she laid her eyes upon. But there was an emptiness that lingered there in her photo.

After accepting his lottery choice, she was notified and escorted to his home country of South Korea. In three days, they were married. As a wedding present, his parents bought them their own home - a large estate in the Daegu countryside where they would have privacy. She no longer had to work now that she was married to a Blue Blood. Yoongi worked from home as a computer programmer and only went into town once a month for board meetings.

For the first month, neither of them said a word to each other. It was an unspoken rule that they had their own separate spaces in their home. Yoongi rarely slept and when he did, he slept alone. His wife often slept on the couch and he never bothered her to sleep in her own bed.

They were like strangers who happened to share the same address.

Four months went by. Yoongi grew more and more numb to his situation. The whole point of marrying someone was to increase the population. Young men and women were fully educated in the concept of sexual intercourse so that there would be no mistakes during the coupling process. No one was truly a virgin when they were age-appropriate for The Lottery. Sex was no longer an act of pleasure in the world. It was a business transaction.

They didn’t have sex. Neither even so much as touched the other.

Six months into their marriage, Yoongi heard Kiara speak for the first time.

“Can we send the servants home? I want to make dinner tonight.”

The sound of her voice was so soft. He was entranced and nearly forgot to speak. When Yoongi finally found his voice, he replied - realizing that his own tones sounded a little strange to him.

“Alright.”

~ k.t. ~

She hadn’t meant to be silent. There were so many things she wanted to know about her husband. But the very air around him appeared frigid and Kiara knew she didn’t want to bother him. There was a part of her that could sense his loneliness, but she never wanted to push or prod where she wasn’t wanted. The interactions they had between each other were brief, if even at all.

Kiara didn’t have to want for anything. But was this really a life that she could grow accustomed to? It felt like the more she wanted to grow closer with Yoongi, the further he seemed to appear.

Did he hate her? Or not care about her? When he fussed at her about playing the radio, she wondered if she was simply an eyesore to him.

Wasn’t it better to simply stay out of his way?

The months bled on and while they were finally sharing small bits of conversation here and there, Kiara could sense the gap between them slowly transforming into a chasm. There were times when she caught him looking at her when she was busying herself around the kitchen or even putting away clothes. She was so used to a hard, springy mattress from her pullout bed in her studio that Kiara found it easy to fall asleep on one of the many couches throughout the house.

Their house.

But was it really her house? Could she call it her home?

Eight months into their marriage, she woke up in a bed after having fallen asleep while reading on the sofa. The warm blankets and plush down startled Kiara, causing her to halfway scramble from the bed. The room was unfamiliar to her and she felt slightly trapped. Most people would be elated to wake up in a room with pristine, painted walls, an elegant vanity table, and clean blankets and pillows. It was warm and inviting, something that Kiara saw in the pages of magazines. She never dreamed she would be able to sleep in a room like this. It was part of the reason why she couldn’t bring herself to do it in the first place.

Who could have brought her there? One of the servants, maybe?

Sighing, she took a moment to study the room she was in - the room that was designated as “hers”. It was as unfamiliar to her as the day she first set foot in this country. While Kiara understood the language and continued to learn the customs and culture of South Korea, there was a part of her that still felt strangely out of place. It shouldn’t have been the case, not with The Lottery Bill having been in effect for several years now.

Only when her raging heartbeat slowed down a measure, did she notice the small note resting on the nightstand. With slightly trembling fingers, Kiara picked up the note and read it.

Stop sleeping on the couch. There’s a perfectly good bed not being put to use.

You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable for no reason.

Haven’t you suffered enough in your life?

~ Yoongi

A warm feeling slowly blanketed her entire body. Kiara pressed the note to her chest as she sat on the edge of the bed. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. Relief? Understanding? Perhaps. Maybe even a little hopeful.

There was the faint aroma of spices permeating into her room from the gap below the door. Setting the note down, Kiara left her room and made her way out into the hallway. The stairwell was just a few feet away, but she paused in front of Yoongi’s bedroom. Her eyes lingered a little further to the third door at the other end of the hallway - the master bedroom. It seemed that Yoongi opted to stay in a guest bedroom just like hers.

Was that out of concern for her? Did he not want to appear entitled?

But that didn’t make any sense. He was a Blue Blood. His very lineage was entitlement, wasn’t it?

So then...why?

Her palm slid along the railing of the stairwell, her bare feet gliding over the perfectly polished wooden floor. She could hear a pot boiling as someone chopped methodically in the kitchen. When she reached the entrance, Kiara peeked her head around the corner. She felt like a small child stumbling across their parent in the middle of some adult task.

Yoongi was focused on chopping vegetables for a stew. The meat was already fully cooked in the broth and he appeared to be putting the final touches on what he was doing. Kiara gazed at his exposed forearms in awe - watching the muscles tensing as he worked. Her eye-line shifted, roving over the curve of his shoulders to the juncture of his slender neck. Sweat gathered around his temple and trailed down his jawline and with each movement, she saw his earrings twinking under the kitchen’s amber light fixture.

She couldn’t recall a time when she’d seen a man as beautiful as her husband.

As if he’d sensed her presence, Yoongi craned his neck to look at her - his arms moving to slide the vegetables off the carving board and into the stew pot. He turned the burner down while setting the chopping board into the sink. Washing his hands, he then wiped them clean with a dish towel as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

“Did you sleep well?”

Kiara nodded. “I did, thank you.”

“Good.”

There was a pregnant pause that seemed to stretch towards the edge of forever. Just as Kiara took a step forward, preparing to offer some kind of assistance, did Yoongi finally break the silence.

“I dismissed the servants,” he offered gently, his gaze meeting hers for what she felt like was the very first time since they were married, “it’s not like they really have much to do around here.”

Kiara didn’t know what to say, so she remained silent. Unconsciously, she began wringing her hands together. She very nearly averted her gaze until he spoke again.

“I’ll probably send them back to my parents’ home.”

Again, her eyes locked with his. His expression stayed neutral and Kiara felt a lump forming in her throat.

“Would it be okay if it was just the two of us?”

Her eyes widened slightly, unsure of what he was implying. But it was true that the servants didn’t have much to do in their home. Yoongi hardly made a mess and what mess he did make, he often cleaned up after himself. The same could be said of Kiara. If anything, the servants were often shuffling around and attempting to find something to do so they didn’t appear to have idle hands.

Surely they could take care of themselves, right?

Kiara didn’t know what expression to make, so she kept her face from shifting too much. Maybe it was out of need to keep herself just a little more guarded because of the lack of interaction for so long. She couldn’t be sure. But appearing too vulnerable, too open, could be just as much of a mistake as being too closed off.

Taking a breath, she nodded once more.

“If you’re alright with it, then I would like that, too.”

~ m.y. ~

He didn’t shower her with gifts because of an impulsive decision.

He bought her things because he knew she chose to go without.

Kiara came from a world that was vastly different than his own. Yoongi could hardly fathom the idea of not having enough clothes in his closet or enough food in his fridge. But she never complained about anything - whether he bought too much or not enough. She graciously accepted everything that was given.

What was even more puzzling, however, was how a mild feeling of irritation blossomed when Kiara didn’t utilize the things he’d given her immediately. He knew she was grateful and she rarely made a fuss about anything. The one time he ever saw her upset in the entire year they’d been married was when he’d made the comment about the radio.

Hadn’t they reached a compromise?

Biting his lower lip, he found it difficult to focus on his computer work. Everything looked like Egyptian hieroglyphics, which was saying something considering that Yoongi lived, breathed, and dreamed about coding. He became a computer software programmer out of necessity for the ever-advancing world of technology they lived in. Modern society was growing more and more dependent on smart devices, which would have been a shame had he lived in a different world.

People often missed the world around them when their eyes were glued to a screen.

The latch unhooked from the door, causing him to shift his gaze from the computer monitor. When it slowly opened, he saw Kiara quietly enter - arms cradling a small serving tray. Yoongi leaned back in his chair, threading his fingers through each other as she approached. She set a plate of toast, jam, and fruit on the desk - her motions smooth and practiced. She finally set the cup of steaming hot coffee beside the plate, as well as utensils wrapped in a cloth napkin.

“You should take a break,” she said, the tray resting against her stomach, “you’ve been working non-stop for about four hours now.”

He set the computer to hibernation mode. “I didn’t realize I’d been here that long.”

“You can leave the tray outside when you’re finished.”

Yoongi watched her turn to leave, his body reacting before his mind could process what he was doing. Before he realized it, he was out of his chair and reaching out to grasp her shoulder - stopping Kiara from leaving him. He felt her muscles tensing and Yoongi pulled his hand back immediately. Slowly, she turned to face him again.

Her hazel eyes appeared to glow from the twilight rays peeling in through the windows of his office.

His heart crashed into his chest with heavy thuds. A lump slowly formed in his throat and he made a vain attempt to swallow oxygen through the closing airways. Yoongi knew he wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure what that something was. He opened his mouth to speak and, again, no words came out.

All he could do was push the bubble in his throat down into the knot twisting in his chest.

Sensing something was amiss, Kiara set the tray down on the desk. “Are you alright?”

Yoongi remained silent, studying the crease on her brow as her curls bounced around cheeks and shoulders. She reached her hand up, pressing the flat of her palm on his forehead.

“You’re a little warm, but you don’t seem to have a fever.”

Every representation of logic was screaming at him to pull away - telling him to replace the wall that existed between them for the last year. She hadn’t moved her hand from his skin and Yoongi felt his vision swimming for half a second before refocusing back on her face.

How had he missed the beauty mark at the corner of her left eye?

Taking a step back, he watched her arm continue to hover in the air for a few seconds before settling back at her side. Yoongi saw something pass over her face, but it was so quick that he wasn’t sure he’d seen anything at all.

Kiara brushed some of her curls behind her ear. “I’ll head to the market and pick up a few things. Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll take care of them when I come back.”

Then she turned away from him to head out of his study, leaving him alone without so much as a second glance.

His chest hurt.

Flopping back into his chair, Yoongi carded his fingers through his hair in frustration - hands resting at the back of his neck as he stared blankly at the ceiling.

“...I didn’t even thank her.”

~ k.t. ~

The months were getting colder. Kiara wasn’t a fan of the cold, but she loved seeing the snow in South Korea. Everything was covered in a soft blanket of white. It gave her an excuse to indulge in a savory meal, wrap up in a warm blanket, and read by the fireplace. Yoongi was in Seoul for a business meeting, leaving her alone to her own devices. This was the first winter that she would get to experience without the servants around, fussing over her in case she hadn’t acclimated to the weather.

She took a warm bath, drank from a large glass of wine, and enjoyed the book she’d discovered near the back of the library. Most of the books in Yoongi’s library were reference books and non-fiction. She’d combed through most of them. But nestled in the very back, tucked away in a hidden nook, was a small collection of fictional literature. There were more than a dozen; small in comparison to the rest of his library. But the discovery of it surprised her just the same. In the year she’d been married to Yoongi, he always seemed very “by the book” and she couldn’t forget the comment he made about the music she was listening to while hanging up laundry. Finding something of this caliber was like stumbling across buried treasure.

Kiara was currently flipping through the pages of Animal Farm by George Orwell. She chose it because next to 1984 , it had the most worn out spine. It meant that Yoongi read it the most in comparison to the others in his entire collection.

Upon completing the novel, she could see why.

Politics. Justice. Equality. Inequality. A corrupt system. Broken families. Broken societies. A dream that fizzled away to greed - a dream that would only remain a dream so long as dictators felt that “some were more equal than others”.

There was a small part of Kiara that almost seemed to understand Yoongi a little bit better. He was a thinker and also compassionate. He never asked her to do more than what she needed and he readily provided her with anything she would ever need. It was the sort of life that Kiara wasn’t used to for over twenty years of being part of the Labor Class.

Yet something was still missing…

The sudden slamming of the door startled Kiara, causing her to drop the book into the bathwater. She panicked, knocking over the wine glass as she flailed to pull the book out. The pages instantly soaked - some of them were already falling out from the binding. She released a sob while pulling the plug to drain the water, clambering haphazardly out of the tub. Her heel found the bath rug by the tub and she could only cling helplessly to the pages, gathering up what remained in the bathtub into her trembling hands.

There was a knock at the door and she whirled around to face it.

“Is everything alright in there?”

Yoongi was home early. Looking at the ruined book in her hands, Kiara’s heart sank.

“I-I’m fine,” she said, leaning down to pick up the wine glass, “I’ll be out in just a moment.”

“Take your time.”

When she heard his footsteps fading away, Kiara sighed as she wrapped a towel around her body. She used a smaller one to clean up the mess on the floor - grabbing a small plastic bowl and filling it with water so she could wash what remained to let it drain out in the center of the bathroom. She let out another sigh, brushing her fingers through her wet curls. It was better to be honest and get it over with, wasn’t it?

Drying herself off, she slid into her pajamas, grabbed the ruined book, and made her way downstairs. Yoongi poured himself a drink in the kitchen, taking note of her presence with a simple nod. He held the glass up and out toward her.

“Drink?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I had some wine earlier.”

“Ah, I see,” he replied gently, replacing the cap on the whiskey bottle.

There was a small measure of silence that stretched between them and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, her fingers digging into the wet pages of the book currently hidden behind her back.

“Uh, Yoongi?”

He hummed during mid-sip, swallowing and then setting the glass down. “Yes?”

Slowly, she pulled the book around from behind her and held it out to him from across the kitchen island. “I was reading and dropped one of your books in the bath.”

“It’s just a book,” Yoongi said with a shrug.

Kiara bit her lower lip, her hands shaking as she continued to hold the book out to him - waiting for him to take it from her. He looked like he was about to say something, but she noticed his eyes lingering over the cover. When his eyes scanned over it, they widened slightly and it took everything Kiara had not to wince. Her shoulders visibly tensed when he snatched the book from her hands.

Without another word, he left the kitchen. Kiara followed on instinct, her eyes widening when she saw him throwing the book into the open hearth. The flames seemed to fight against the wet pages, but it didn’t take long for the book to burn.

“I’m sor--”

Yoongi was already moving, his body disappearing down the corridor. Her legs were rooted where she stood and Kiara wanted nothing more than to disappear between the cracks - to dip below the earth and vanish into the ether. She could hear his hurried steps and the breath left her lungs when she saw him carrying an armful of books.

Books from his hidden collection.

He moved faster than her brain could keep up and by the time she realized what was happening, he’d already thrown three more books into the fire.

“Yoongi, wait!” she cried, running toward him and pulling at his shirt sleeve, “Please wait! I said I was sorry! I didn’t mean to!”

Yoongi said nothing. He simply continued to throw the books into the fire. When all of those were devoured by the flames in the fireplace, he turned to head back toward the library. Kiara ran at him, wrapping her arms around his waist to stop him. He took three more steps before stopping completely.

She openly sobbed into his back, soaking his shirt as her fingers dug into his stomach to keep him tethered there.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, clinging to him as if he was a life raft, “I’m sorry…”

She felt the flutter of his beating heart against her face, drumming along her cheeks. It almost seemed manic, but his shoulders finally relaxed as she heard him taking several long, deep breaths. The flames popped and crackled in the fireplace, having had its fill from Yoongi’s literature collection. She knew there were still a few more on the shelf in his hidden nook, but Kiara didn’t think she could handle him destroying the things he clearly seemed to care so much about.

“I haven’t read those books in years,” he murmured gently, “I should have gotten rid of them a long time ago.”

Her hands slid up his chest, curling so that her fingers could slip over the curve of his shoulders. Kiara took a breath, sighing through the scent of his cologne.

“But why?”

“Because they’re dangerous. They provoke dangerous thoughts.” He paused and she lifted her face in time to see his head turning slightly. “It’s why they’ve been banned.”

“They’re precious to you, aren’t they?”

“It’s not worth keeping them if they get you into trouble.”

Taking a step back, she blinked and he turned around to face her.

“Me?”

Yoongi nodded. “You’re so curious. I should have known that you would stumble across them eventually. But it’s just like with the music. You have to be careful.”

Kiara wasn’t quite sure what he meant, but she knew could tell that he wasn’t upset about her reading his books. He was upset that she had unknowingly placed herself into danger. He was concerned for her well being.

And that meant something to her. More than she would ever admit out loud.

Averting her gaze, she lowered her head slightly. “...I’m sorry.”

“And stop apologizing,” Yoongi said, an edge in his tone, “it frustrates me.”

She felt his hands around her shoulders, gripping them tightly. He looked like he was going to shake her, but thought better of it. Instead, he loosened his hold - letting his hands continue to rest on her shoulders. When she next looked up at him, his brows were furrowed and his pupils seemed to shake. She wasn’t sure what was still bothering him. Kiara wanted to know what she could do to make him feel less agitated.

But as she opened her mouth to speak, she lost all words of comfort as Yoongi leaned down toward her face. She was almost positive that her heart either skipped a beat or stopped altogether at that moment. Everything was so quiet. Kiara felt his breath dancing gently over her face as he pressed his cheek against hers, his lips brushing over her cheek.

Kiara was afraid to breathe, believing that the moment she did, it would shatter whatever dream-like illusion she was currently experiencing. The second she heard her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, however, was when Yoongi pulled away. Blinking up at him rapidly, she was sure that her cheeks were inflamed and her hand absentmindedly went to touch her cheek as his hands slid away from her shoulders.

“...don’t stay up too late,” he said gently.

And then, just like a mirage, he quietly turned away and made his way toward the stairs. When she heard the door to his bedroom shut, she finally collapse to her knees. Kiara’s breathing came out in rushed waves and she buried her face in her hands, stifling a sob that nearly broke through the silence. She wasn’t sure if she should feel elated or devastated.

What was happening between them now?

~ m.y. ~

It had been three months since he burned his private book collection. The more innocent and bright-eyed side from his youth mourned the loss of the texts. He could always purchase them again if need be. He wasn’t exactly hurting for money. But it was the worn edges of the books, the notes he’d made in the margins, that he could never get back.

Those would be lost forever.

It’s probably for the best, he thought, sighing as he cradled his cup of coffee in his hands, the lessons have been learned .

He watched the sun setting slowly over the horizon from his back patio. He reflected back to Kiara’s face when he’d torched his books. She’d called them “precious” and she wasn’t exactly wrong. But she wasn’t completely right either.

There were more important things in life than the words on the pages of books. He wanted to be able to tell her that himself, but Yoongi found he couldn’t. He didn’t think the words he had swirling around his head would be enough to get his message across.

Or maybe she already understood…

He turned to head back inside, closing the sliding glass door behind him. He peered around the main living area, absentmindedly wondering where his wife was. It was still early. Maybe she was still asleep.

As Yoongi moved toward the kitchen, the distinct sound of typing could be heard down the hallway. Blinking, he set his cup down and slowly trudged down the corridor leading to his office. He slowly turned the knob, opening the door to peek inside.

Kiara was rapidly typing at his desk, her eyes focused but clearly tired. Every few minutes, she would stop to roughly hit the tops of her shoulders, rolling her neck to loosen whatever knots were beginning to form there. His eyes wandered to the desk where there was a large stack of papers. Bundles were separated and stacked in varying directions so that there would be no confusion as to what stack belonged with which grouping.

His printer whirred to life, shooting out page after page of whatever she’d just finished. When the next bundle was complete, Kiara pulled out a pencil and began to write on pages as she sifted through them.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

“What are you doing?”

His voice clearly startled her, nearly causing her to drop the entire packet of paper she had in her hands. Yoongi closed the door behind him, approaching the desk and reaching out for the bundle of papers at the very top of the stack. Kiara made a noise of protest, but his eyes scanned the front curiously.

Then his curiosity gave way to surprise.

“This is…” he began, but realized he couldn’t finish as his eyes landed on the next bundle’s cover page.

Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Yoongi rapidly flipped through the pages of 1984 in his hands. It was written, word-for-word, from what he could remember of the book. The most shocking discovery, however, was seeing his own handwriting along the margins of the pages where he’d taken his own personal notes and written rhetorical questions to ask himself as he read. It was almost too much for him to take in.

Lowering the manuscript at his side, he looked up as Kiara stood from his chair.

“I felt terrible about you destroying them,” she began, holding her hands up, “and don’t worry! I made sure that there aren’t any digital copies on your computer. Every time I finished one, I would print and delete it right away.”

He said nothing. He just continued to look at her; flabbergasted.

“You have photographic memory.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

Kiara nodded.

“You even put all of my notes back.”

Again, she nodded.

His eyes wandered back to the large stack of papers. If it was separated by novels, then there were at least twenty books in the stack. Maybe more. And if she was taking the time to recreate his own scribbles, who knew how long this was actually going to take; how long she’d already been taking?

Is this what she’s been working on for the last month?

The ream of paper slipped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. Kiara gasped, rushing around the desk in a hurry to pick up the discarded pages. He stopped her before she could kneel to the floor, his hand grasping her upper arm to keep her standing. She looked at him with wide eyes and she tried to take a step away from him. But Yoongi held fast, refusing to let her move even an inch away from her.

“...thank you,” he whispered softly.

He felt what tension remained in Kiara start to ebb away.

And then she smiled. It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile and it hurt to even look at her. But Yoongi continued to stare at the curve of her lips and the way they turned upward. Her hazel eyes seemed to glitter against the twilight sky pouring in from his office window - the corners crinkling up just a little in response to the smile. He didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi swore he could hear the sound of his heart breaking and reforming simultaneously. Suddenly, it was difficult for him to breathe, but he tried anyway. It felt like tiny needles were stabbing into the organ beating furiously against his chest, threatening to burst free and fall to the floor.

The logical side of his head, the one screaming at him to run out of the office and as far away from Kiara as humanly possible, was losing against the side that Yoongi didn’t even recognize. Like a time lapse, he watched their life together zip through his mind’s eye - a grainy film projection that continuously focused on every facet of Kiara that he could remember. Everything from big to small - a simple gesture and an even simpler question.

Nothing could compare to the sheer radiance that resulted in her smile.

In that moment, Yoongi knew that he wanted nothing more than to see her smile again. To see it past today and to watch her smile every single day after this one.

He would ask for forgiveness later. He wasn’t about to ask for permission. Not now.

Tugging his arm back, he pulled Kiara close to him. Her chest crashed into his, causing them both to stumble a single step forward and backward respectfully. Her smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. He watched her brows furrow and just as her mouth opened to speak, Yoongi leaned his face in - sealing his lips over hers in a rough kiss.

They both inhaled slowly and he could feel Kiara’s hands grasping at his shoulders. But she didn’t fight him. Instead, he could feel the heavy thud of her own heartbeat attempting to chase the cadence of his. Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he tried to pull her even closer. The smell of her shampoo, her subtle body spray, and how warm and smooth her skin was beneath his touch was almost too much. He feverishly kissed her, nipping and tugging at her full lips which would be swollen from his affection.

Darkness enveloped the sky, plunging them into darkness. The only light in the room came from the computer monitor, reflecting its light against the large bookshelf behind the desk. He pulled away from Kiara’s mouth, his eyes adjusting to the dark quickly as they both took the time to catch their breaths.

“Y-Yoongi,” she stammered, her body trembling slightly in his arms.

“I know what this is.” His voice was low, his breath dancing along her skin as he curled his fingers into the flare of her hip. “This is a problem.”

Even in the dark, he could see Kiara’s worried expression. She wasn’t a fool. She knew what this was just as well as he did. And just like him, she also knew how much of a problem this was.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“I didn’t want to fall in love. I didn’t.” Yoongi lifted one hand up to brush a few of her curls away from her face, resting his palm against her cheek so he could tilt her face further upward. “But then you smiled, and that was the end of everything for me.”

Even as he continued speaking, Yoongi could feel the panic creeping up his throat, threatening to choke the very life out of him. He’d heard of things like this happening in the past, years before he was born. When marriage was a choice made between two people who loved each other. It wasn’t something to be pulled from a Lottery.

When loving someone was a gift, not a crime.

A crime or not, Yoongi wanted to know. No. He had to know.

“Do you love me?”

And like he’d struck something buried deep at the core of her, Yoongi watched Kiara’s eyes fill with tears. They streamed down her face endlessly. For a brief second, he believed he’d hurt her feelings; that he’d done something irreparable.

But then, just like before, Kiara smiled up at him. He felt her hand brushing over his face, her nails lightly scraping over his jawline and resting at the edge of his chin.

“I do,” she replied gently while nodding, “I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Unable to hold himself back, Yoongi kissed her again - their arms entangling themselves with one another. The need to continuously press and touch, to physically express everything they’d collected inside of themselves all this time, was overwhelming. But he couldn’t stop wanting her; wanting the woman he’d come to love little by little every single day and he hadn’t even realized it.

But they couldn’t stay like this forever.

They both pulled away to reclaim the air they’d stolen from one another, catching their breaths momentarily. He could feel Kiara’s ability to hold herself up beginning to wane. Slowly, he lowered them both to the floor - pulling her into his lap so he could cradle her against him. He took comfort in the feel of her arms around his neck, pulling him close so that he could rest his face against the juncture of her neck.

She smelled so good.

“We can’t stay here,” he finally said, his voice muffled in his own ears from the heavy thrumming of her heart, “they’ll find out eventually and we’ll both be thrown into prison.”

Her chest rose and fell as she sighed. “Where will we go?”

“Anywhere.”

“Anywhere?”

Yoongi smiled as he closed his eyes. “Anywhere but here.”

A moment of silence passed and he felt her sigh again, but her heart beat began to settle.

“Will anyone be able to help us?”

“I’m sure we aren’t the first ones to experience this.” Yoongi raised his head up so he could look at her. “And we won’t be the last.”

He watched her canting her head a little. “Is everything going to be alright?”

Yoongi gave a slight shrug, causing Kiara to giggle a little. “Even if it isn't, it doesn’t matter. I love you, Kiara.” Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Stay with me. ...please.”

As they looked at each other, Yoongi couldn’t help but drink in everything about her. Kiara’s eyes fluttered before closing and he quickly closed what little distance existed between them. This kiss was less intense, soft and meaningful - pulling and tugging at a want that perpetually nagged at him from the shadows for so long. Kiara shed light on the dark crevice of his heart - a part of him that he’d believed was simply meant to be there and to feel nothing else. To want nothing else.

Yoongi wasn’t sure if he was lucky or not, but he knew that he was thankful. He’d been so hollow for so long, he’d forgotten what it was like to feel anything; to yearn for something so much that the desire itself could swallow a person whole. But it was a feeling that made him remember what being alive was supposed to entail; what it truly meant.

Love.

Her love.

His love.

This love.

Their love.

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