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mimikametamorphosis · 4 years

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Friend

My friend, he thought. He knew she was more than that. She was a hero worthy of legends and sonnets; the Goddess incarnate herself. She was his professor, his Teach. She was the stars the in the sky looking at him and guiding him every step of the way. She was the dawn that he had been waiting for all his life, the light that would lead him to where he wanted to be. She was Byleth.

He thought that time would ease what he felt but it did not. In fact, it was the same as before -- or so he'd like to tell himself. This wasn't the first time he's felt this: a buzzing in his brain that refused to go away; a twitch at the corner of his mouth; and an involuntary curving of his hand into a fist. Their paths had crossed frequently as of late and he could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance well up in his chest. He hoped it never showed on his face because he wanted to keep as many useful people as his allies considering their circumstances. Most importantly, any sign of weakness was an unwelcome dent in his armor.

He found it odd, he admitted to himself. They had gotten along amicably over the last five years, working together towards their shared goal but once they had achieved it, something in their dynamic had changed. He had pondered on what had changed between them but seeing her pale green eyes look at him everyday made him realize that it was in front of him the whole time. Loath to admit that it was something so trivial, Claude shook his head.

It was morning yet he felt as though he'd already gone through the day with all the mental gymnastics he's done. He pushed off his blanket and dressed himself. There was a war council that day and he was scheduled to train with the professot after. He chuckled at the thought of training with their professor after five years. He thought it was silly the first time Byleth had suggested it. They had not seen each other for five years and she insisted that they continue with their training as though only a day had passed since they last saw her.

Training with Teach, he mused as he laced his undershirt.��Glad that some things don't have to change.

He took out a long-sleeved doublet from his closet. It was made of gold silk, with maroon trimmings and lapels. It was his one of the simpler ones his late grandfather owned and it was easier to discard this once he began training. He wore it over his undershirt and buttoned it. He slipped on his trousers and went on his way.

“Everyone here?”

Claude heard Byleth from outside the war room. He could've entered as soon as he arrived but he wanted to have a bit of fun to shake off all the annoyance felt this morning. He stood with his back against the door and listened.

He knew that Byleth inspected each one of them and that she noticed that her tactician had not yet arrived.

"Where are Claude and Yuri?"

The corners of his lips twitched.

“I'm sure they're on their way, Professor," Hilda yawned. “Maybe they just couldn't shake off the sleepies right away.”

“Surely Claude understands that he should not keep the rest of us waiting,” Lorenz huffed. “It is absolutely unbecoming of a noble, much less the head of the Alliance!"

And there was his source of fun.

“It's too early for that, Lorenz,” Leonie chided. “Lighten up will you? Besides, we all came here early. The war council isn't meant to start until after five minutes.”

“If he can keep dilly-dallying, then maybe he can also relieve himself of his headship and give it to someone who can— ”

Maybe it was time to make his entrance.

"Easy, Lorenz," Claude said as he entered the room, his hands up in mock surrender. "Relax, I'm here. No need to get your breeches in a knot because you missed me so much."

“To mock instead of apologizing for his indescretion; how unbecoming,” Lorenz spat as he glared at Claude.

Claude simply replied with a lopsided smile and patted Byleth's shoulder as he sat down on her right.

"Well, my frie—"

"Looks like I'm the last to arrive, friend."

And so it starts: the buzzing in his head had begun.

Yuri entered the room and sat on Byleth's left, placing himself directly in front of Claude.

“Alright, everyone, let's begin.”

Byleth turned to Yuri.

"Do you have any information for us, Yuri? I heard that your channels have come by some useful information."

"Naturally," Yuri said as he bowed his head.

"I also have useful information regarding our next battle," Claude began. He felt Hilda bristle at his side. It made him adjust his tone to a more amicable one.

"It seems Lord Gwendal of House Rowe will be riding to meet us at Ailell. He'll be coming with an army to stop us from meeting with House Daphnel. We're still checking our ranks to see who leaked the information. We have a number of former Kingdom soldiers that have joined our ranks once the heads of Houses Gautier, Galatea, and Fraldarius joined our army. No offense to the three of you."

He nodded in the direction of Sylvain, Ingrid, and Felix.

"None taken," Sylvain replied nonchalantly. "This is war, afterall. Nothing, not even loyalty, is certain."

"Thanks for that. Moving on, so far, we've narrowed it down to three possible candidates and two are from the Kingdom. We'll be probing them once we—"

"There is no need," Yuri said coolly. "My men have sniffed out the rat."

"You have?"

Byleth looked at him and he smiled at her.

Claude felt a small prick at his temple.

"Excellent work, Yuri," Claude managed to say through a stiff smile. He rested his elbows on the table and laced his hands in front of him. "You could have said so sooner."

"You were talking and you had valuable information I could work on," Yuri said simply.

"Good, I'll leave the matter of the rat to both of you since you're both our spymasters anyway," Byleth said with finality. "We must move on to our formations. Please open the map at the center of the table."

Byletyh took a small, open chest of wooden figures amd started placing them on the map. Claude watched as each labelled piece found itself atop the rocky fields of Ailell. He would question some of her decisions once she had laid them all out which was how she had always preferred it.

"Hey," Yuri said, "I think you might want to put your battalion a little far off than there, friend."

"Yuri," Byleth said, looking at him pointedly, "please let me finish."

This earned a smug smile from Claude which he hid behind his laced fingers. He could feel someone looking at him and true enough, he saw Hilda looking at him with a bewildered expression. He leaned in to whisper into her ear.

"I know strategy's not your strongesr suit," Claude began, "what's on your mind?"

"This looks simple enough, Claude," Hilda retorted. "I'm just wondering what's up with you and him." She shifted her eyes to Yuri's direction. He was now helping Byleth lay out the rest of the figures as she instructed him.

"Nothing's up," Claude said simply.

"Sure, and I want to go on the frontlines," Hilda said as she rolled her eyes. "You're acting funny."

"Well, I don't see you laughing," he countered with a lopsided smile.

Hilda huffed and leaned back into her seat, clearly turned off by his dismissal of the topic. He decided to scan the figures and their respective positions on the map. While he knew his professor was good at tactics, he found some questionable decisions sprawled across the field. He will point it out later once they had started but something else else caught his eye.

He saw Byleth reach out for the small chest at the same time Yuri did. Their hands touched, Yuri's hand over Byleth's. Claude found that their hands stayed that way a little too long for his liking. Yuri kept his hand over Byleth's until she moved hers away.

“Oh. I'm sorry, Yuri,” Byleth said with a hint of surprise in her voice.

"There you go being cute again," Yuri said with a cheeky grin as he returned the chest to its original place.

"Shall we start?" Yuri sat down and rested his cheek on one of his hands, looking slyly at Byleth.

Claude couldn't help but be disinterested for most of the council but he didn't forget to question her formations. Still, his mind couldn't help but wander throughout the rest of the war council after that distraction.

He listened intently to each of them — even Yuri — as they gave their suggestions but his mind was split between formulating his schemes for the upcoming battle and understanding the annoyance brewing slowly in his chest.

"Claude," Byleth began. He was shook out of his thoughts and, in that split second, he managed to recall the general gist of what they were talking about. "Do you agree with what we've planned? You are our master tactician afterall. Do you need more time to think this through?"

He looked at the clock behind Yuri's head. It was a little past one o'clock. He didn't have enough energy to do a sweeping review of their batteplan as of the moment and decided to distract himself.

"I think," he began, "its time for some lunch. I'll get back to you on that, my friend. For now, I'm starving."

"You're distracted," Byleth said as she disarmed Claude for the third time in their training session. His sword flew to the floor with a loud clang.

"Again," she said, going into position. She pointed her rapier at him while her other hand was tucked behind her. "Pick up your sword, Claude."

Claude ran his hand threw his hair, shaking out small beads of sweat. He had already shed his doublet and tossed it near the weapons rack. He picked up his sword, piqued at himself for not performing well.

He swung his blade side to side, trying to shake off his ill feelings. He bended his knees and pointed his broadsword towards Byleth, looking her straight in the eye. Yes, those pale green eyes. They were a darker color before but it was what it was now.

Byleth charged at him swiftly, her nimble steps barely making any sound as she rushed towards him. He parried her strike with his sword while she let her blade slide along the length of his, creating sparks in its wake.

Strong as always, he thought to himself, a small smirk forming in his lips.

Her eyes stayed focused on his. He could see fire, determination. She never liked losing no matter what cool, blank facade she wore. It was there in her eyes, like glowing embers being stoked in a fire. He wished to reflect the same towards her. He hated losing which was why he always had contingencies. So long as they never have his head, he has not lost. He doesn't want to lose, he admits, not here, or in any other area that mattered to him and that included her.

He placed his forearm against the flat of his blade and pushed hard against her. She backed away a few paces but she charged at him again, ready to swing her sword. He ducked and aimed to slash her abdomen. She jumped to the side and turned on her heels, slashing a part of his arm in the process.

Claude winced in pain as his torn sleeve began to soak in some of his blood. The cut was shallow and it stung when his sweat dripped on it. He holds up his hand to signal a short reprieve as he tears the rest of his sleeve. Byleth however continued to charge towards him. She swung her blade at his abdomen and he narrowly evaded it.

“Teach,” he gasped, “go easy now. This isn't the battlefield yet.”

“It isn't,” Byleth said matter-of-factly. “If it were you'd be dead. You're not a child, Claude. Brave through your wound and fight.”

He smiled to himself and charged at her. She stepped to the side but he sent a sweeping kick into her direction. She barely dodged it and quickly leapt away from Claude to steady herself.

“Better,” she said, a small smile gracing her face. “Fight with your body. Your sword is just an extension.”

Fight like a mercenary, you mean, Claude thought fondly.

It was one of the first things she taught them when she became their professor. It was a memorable day when she went through six Knights of Seiros, all of them fighting nobly, relying only on their weapons. All of them beaten down with dents in their armor. She served to prove a point that fighting with what you have was not any less noble than relying on your weapon. After all, chivalry and decorum were forgotten philosophies on the battlefield.

He was caught off guard for a moment and had the wind knocked out of him with a strong hit to his chest. He didn't notice Byleth while he was reminiscing. His breathless state was just a reminder of how he always was when she'd come crashing through his defenses.

Breathless, he thought, you always leave me like that.

“Focus, Claude!”

He wondered if it was mean of him to relish when she would display irritation towards him. It was a rare delight to see her frustrated. He had done so many things when he was younger to rile her up and ruffle her feathers but she never reacted the way she did now. After five years, she seemed different, as though life was breathed into her that she started to show different sides of her, even if it was only with him.

He stood up from his crouched position and charged towards her, matching her nimble movements as she dodged out his way.

Turn

He turned to his side and parried away her blade. Her grip was strong, he knew, and it would take much more force for her to let go. He could feel a surge in his body and he knew his crest had activated. Not one to waste an oppurtunity, he slashed away in her direction with increasing force. She barely had time to dodge him and was nicked in the arm. His wound felt hot and he could see that it started to close. He charged at her once again and repeatedly slashed at her until he backed her into one of the pillars in the training grounds; his sword's edge lightly pressed against her throat.

“You'd be dead if this wasn't training, my friend,” he said in between ragged breaths. He gave her a cheeky smile and she gave him a bigger smile in turn.

There you go being cute again, he thought, smiling to himself. Realizing this, he shook his head and frowned.

“Are you alright?”

Byleth asked, the slightest hint of worry showing on her brows. He pressed his forehead against hers for an instant and pulled back.

“I'm sorry,” he said, his breathing slowly stabilizing. “I just have a lot of things on my mind.”

“We can talk about the plan later if you like,” Byleth offered. “Just the two of us this time since we'll be leading them”

He wondered if she had gotten better at reading people but he knew better. She was talking simply and practically.

“I'll get back to you on that, Teach,” he said as he fished his doublet off the floor.

Byleth returned their used weapons to their racks and walked towards Claude. She was combing the tangles out of her hair and trying to clean some grime of her face with the palm of her hand.

Claude chuckeld. She was adorable, indeed.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, my friend, here,” Claude took out his handkerchief and gave it to her. "Keep it. I have a lot of those anyway."

"Hey, my friend," Claude said as he patted Byleth's shoulder.

“Oh, Claude,” Byleth was surprised, her green eyes widening a bit at the sight of him. "I thought you were Yuri."

He laughed it off. Frustration was brewing inside of him but he pushed it deep within himself and hoped it wouldn't surface again.

“I'm offended, Teach,” Claude said with what he hoped was mock annoyance. “I think I look more dashing than he does.”

Byleth let out a small chuckle. Whether she agreed at the thought of it or laughed at him was moot. He loved any display of emotion she offered.

“So, is this seat taken?”

“No,” Byleth gestured for him to sit down. "Go on and sit."

“Are you expecting, Yuri?”

Claude said before spooning a bit of food in his mouth to stop him from saying something he didn't want.

“No,” she said. “It's just that he often calls me ‘friend’.”

“I call you ‘my friend’,” Claude pointed out. “Do they sound so similar to you?”

“No,” Byleth looked at him, at his eyes. He was right to think that she had gotten better at reading people, him in particular. She was searching for something. “I suppose not.”

“See, Teach? I am one of a kind afterall. The one and only, Claude von Reigan. I don't think anyone can top that."

Byleth let out a small laugh. It tickled his ears. He wanted more of it

“On second thought,” Byleth began, “it is similar. You and Yuri are similar in your own ways but different.”

His heart sank. Was he really no different to her? All those times they had steeled away, just the two of them, planning their next move in an upcoming battle and sleeping against each other when they were tired out. All those times she would drape a blanket over his shoulders when she thought he had fallen asleep in the war room. Or when she would bring him a breakfast tray the next day and chat with him when he woke up. Were they all so commonplace to her?

They might be Claude taught, his shoulders slumping in defeat. A sad smile spread across his face. She was kind, afterall. She would always check up on everyone after each battle; even being a shoulder to cry on. She understood very little of emotion but she tried her best to be there for everyone. He figured maybe he had read into their interactions far too deeply. Whether it was wishful thinking or a frivolous distraction, he didn't know. It may be best to stop it now before he suffers further.

“Different good, right?” He offered her.

“Yes,” she said with a small smile.

“Well, Teach” he said as he stood up from his seat, “I'd better head off and sleep. You really gave me a beating today.”

“False humility,” she muttered before taking a sip of water. “You beat me fair and square, Claude. I think I might go to you for training sessions instead.”

“Yeah? I'll look forward to them.”

He excused himself and disposed of his tray in the kitchens. He pushed past the big wooden doors of the Dining Hall and savored the evening air. He saw the moon glimmering over the lake.

He sat on the edge of the fishing platform outside of the Dining Hall, dangling his legs over the barely stirring waters of the lake. Most of the fish were probably resting, he thought, and so should he. Still, his mind was abuzz with the events today.

He knew Byleth had joined Yuri in the sauna after their training session so he decided it was best to leave them be instead of worming his way into their plans. Yuri wasn't someone he wanted to openly antogonize since he had no reason to. He had not done anything to deserve that, he thought. He stretched his hands above his head and leaned back on the platform. He felt at peace looking at the sky.

It was night now, the stars shined against a deep, dark canvas overhead. He loved to look at the stars. It reminded him of how small his troubles were. There was a bigger world out there, bigger than the ones he'd always known. Anticipation and excitement were building in him. Each battle was a step closer to that world. Soon, they'll wake up to a new dawn just as they did when she returned to them, to him.

Friend, he thought ruefully. Friend, alright. Your friend who's being cute. Who's strong enough to beat six knights in single combat.

He sat up and rested his forearms on his thighs. He let out a sad chuckle.

Your friend who always leaves you breathless.

True. She always did. It took her disappearance for him to understand that. There was not a day when he would stop looking for her, teaming up with Yuri to find out where she had gone. Five years of non-stop searches only to have her appear at the Goddess Tower on the day of the would-be Millenium Festival. Auspicious, some would call it — Divine Intervention, even. The Goddess herself has returned and promised a new dawn for all in the land.

He understood that she mattered to him more than as a means for him to achieve his goals; she had not been that to him for so long. He doesn't rememebr when but it came so gradually it was hard to trace. It mattered not to him. What mattered was that he wanted to see that new dawn with her by his side.

His heart began to beat faster. He knew what it meant. If only he had pondered the lingering thoughts and feelings he had buried in the recesses of his heart maybe things would be clearer for him. Who had that luxury in war? One had to survive and that was a privilege and not a right. To think of his feelings right now was a luxury stolen from others that's why he never bothered understanding his own heart. It never sat well for him to consider his own feelings when those around him barely had the chance to do so or had lost theirs when he trampled on their corpses on the battlefield. How many of those men and women had their own feelings that were now lost to memory?

Maybe, he can indulge in this selfishness for once so that he can focus on what needed to be done; get it out of the way before it becomes something he cannot handle in the future. He always stamped down any trivial feelings he had, they were nothing but flights of fancy. And maybe, what he felt for her was too.

She was Byleth: his Teach, his stars, and his dawn. Most of all, she was the most important to him in the world right now.

“My love,” he said quietly. Yes, his love. My friend was always my love.

He looked at the lake somberly with his realization. He would do anything for her smile, her laugh. Anything to see her happy. This new dawn was more for her than it is for him. For her to live a new life away from all the tragedies that befell her. A new life where maybe she can love an outsider if she knew how or even one where she'd let him. He had enough love for the both of them.

He wondered if Yuri meant the same when he calls her friend. Were his feelings as strong as his? Did he view Byleth the same way he did?

He remembered he asked her out on a date when they were still students. Claude listened in on their conversation. He realized that his irritation started then. How brazen was he to ask her out? He was a student and she was a professor. He knew however that Byleth understood what it was, though not fully, at the time. He understood too despite himself.

Trivial, he thought. Nevertheless, a distraction.

He tucked his hands beneath his head and lied down on the platform again.

It's time to say goodbye to this for now. We need to concentrate on the war.

Claude wondered if his feelings would die down like he'd hoped despite his proximity to her. She was always by his side that it seemed natural; their dynamics had shifted greatly after five years.

“Well, goodbye for now,” he said softly, his eyes looking at the stars above. “Maybe when the war is over, we could sort it all out."

“Sort what out?”

He bolted upright and turned behind him to see Byleth walking towards him. She sat next to him, her legs dangling over the lake. She looked at him questioningly.

“I know better than to ask what's on your mind,” Byleth started. “I know there are many things.”

“True,” Claude agreed with a soft chuckle.

“You're too distracted lately, Claude,” Byleth said as she leaned closer to him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“It's not really something you can help me with, Teach,” Claude said, wistfully looking at the lake. “Not now, at least. Maybe after the war if you're still interested.”

“I don't understand you in many ways, Claude,” Byleth began as she looked to the lake as well. “You always seem to be hiding something. It's not something I understand.”

It's true. She cannot understand. She was an open-book after all. She had no secrets that she willingly kept unlike him. He had many.

Silence fell between them. The sound of cicadas filled their ears.

What was he to say?

Speechless, he thought. Breathless and speechless in so many ways.

“I don't care about your secrets, Claude,” she said, finally. “If there are things you refuse to tell me, then I cannot do anything about them. What matters is you and that you're okay.”

He looked at her. She was staring at the moon now. Her face glowed beneath the moonlight and her eyes reflected the sparkling stars. Unpretentious and unassuming, that's what she was. He never saw her as pretty but she was indeed beautiful in all her innocence and purity. Despite all the blood in her hands over years of battle, she was clean. There was nothing tainted within her. She was as transparent as the waters beneath them yet just as deep. She knew not the intricacies of his life and maybe that's better that way.

“Thanks, Teach,” Claude said after a pause. That was all he could think of saying.

“We'll sort out your problems if you want,” she offered. “Or if I can't help you the least I could do is stay by your side.”

He sat closer to her but they avoided looking at each other.

“Is that a promise, Teach?”

It was different to want that of her and to hear her say it. It felt exhilarating, in fact. It may mean different things to them but he took delight in hearing it. A small consolation for an otheewise trying day.

Byleth turned to him and smiled with squinted eyes. He had never seen her smile like that before. His heart beat faster. He wanted to grab her and pull her into his arms and never let her go. He wanted her to be his but only time will tell if that were possible.

“Yes. Always.”

“Thank you, Teach,” he said as he brought her hand to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “You don't know how much that means to me.”

He felt her hand bristle under his lips but she didn't slip away from his grip. She held on tighter. He looked at her through his fringe as he looked up slightly. She was looking at him with a warm smile and what appeared to be a dust of blush on her cheeks.

He smiled. His heart felt warm and full at the sight of her. He barely understood this feeling but he liked it. He felt that wherever his ambitions might take him, he'll always long to feel this again with her. An outsider like him couldn't understand what this was but maybe one day, he will. One day, he'll have a name for it too but for now, her name will suffice. Wherever in the world Claude was, he'll always search for this feeling with Byleth.

“Teach, I think it's a bit late now,” Claude said as he turned back to see the that Dining Hall lights were now extinguished. “Maybe we should head back to our rooms.”

“Maybe we can stay a while,” Byleth said looking at the moon with soft smile. Her smile seemed almost private and that he was intruding into whatever she was feeling but he felt privileged that she let her guard down around him.

“Alright, my friend,” he began, noticing that she hadn't let go of his hand since he kissed it. “Anything for you.”

Byleth held on to his hand the entire time they looked at the moon. He'll never forget the way it felt to hold her hand in his. He wanted this feeling to last a lifetime and he'll spend the rest of life making sure it happens.

#claude von riegan #byleth #fe3h claude #fe3h byleth #claude x byleth #byleth x claude #fe3h #Fire Emblem: Three Houses

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writing-royza · 6 years

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Two Hundred and Ninety-five - Now, 3.0

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Can’t say much more than a hi and bye tonight, but I hope you all had good weekends! ^^

I do not own FMA.

Two Hundred and Ninety-five - Now, 3.0

For three days, he had watched her as she studiously kept her hand away from her right shoulder until she thought he wasn’t watching. Every time, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it. He saw her massage firmly through the fabric of her shirt, along the rear right side of her neck, her fingers pressing hard, trying to reach an ache that was deeper than the surface.

Kind of like the psychological one he was feeling. He knew that the burn scar there wasn’t a deep-running one and therefore probably not the cause of her pain, but she had enough trouble without the problems he had caused her.

Finally, on the fourth day, he couldn’t stay quiet about it anymore. Walking up the stairs to their third-floor office, he caught the reflection in the window of her hand on her shoulder again. “I wish you’d let me help you with that,” he said quietly. Her head snapped up, surprise evident on her face as she yanked her hand away from the ache like… well, like she had been burned. Roy paused on the next landing, looking back. “It can’t be helping much to do it yourself, if it’s still going after this long.”

Her usual professional mask slipped into place with practised ease. “I’m fine, sir. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” She cast a casual glance both up and down the stairs as she spoke, then continued. “It’s a muscle knot, not scar tissue. It isn’t your fault.”

“I know.” He started up the next flight of stairs. “But don’t forget that Marcoh gave me that alchemic back pain treatment; it could help a lot faster.”

Her skepticism was heavy in her tone as she replied. “I haven’t forgotten. However, no offense, I saw what happened when you tried it on yourself, sir. I think I’d prefer to avoid the consequences.”

Roy huffed a sigh at the reminder of that particular failure, his bangs lifting briefly off of his forehead. “That only happened because I tried doing it a different way than the prescribed method. Marcoh mailed me a copy of the circle he uses, along with two full pages explaining the intricacies of using it. I get it now.”

When he looked back again, her expression was doubtful. “I don’t know, sir….”

“Just consider it, okay?” Pausing at the door, he touched gentle fingers to her sore shoulder. “If it gets better, or you think you don’t need it, that’s fine. But I want to help if I can, so at least think about it?”

Her smile was fleeting, but fond. “All right.”

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

Normally, what woke him up at night ranged anywhere from having to use the bathroom to Riza’s occasional snoring. Tonight, however, she wasn’t snoring. What woke him was the thud and surprised ‘ow!’ as she rolled out of bed and landed on the floor.

“…Riza?” Leaning over her side of the bed, he found her lying on her back, staring in puzzlement at the ceiling. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think —”

In trying to sit up, she promptly froze, eyes going wide as she fell back to the floor. Her mouth fell open in a soundless gasp, left hand going to her right shoulder a second later as her teeth clenched. Kicking free of the sheets, Roy clicked on the bedside lamp and climbed over until he was crouched on the floor beside her.

“You don’t look okay. Your shoulder again?”

“Something…popped. And not in a good way,” she gritted. She took a pair of deep breaths, then looked at him. “…Did you, by any chance, bring those notes that Marcoh sent you?”

“There with the files I brought from the office.” He studied her carefully. “You’re sure?”

“I don’t think I have much —” She tried to shift, and winced slightly. “— choice anymore.”

He retrieved the folded piece of paper with Marcoh’s special transmutation circle on it, along with the notes. Riza held still as he pulled her gently away from the bed to give himself room to work, grimacing as the movement jostled her shoulder. “What I don’t understand is how it got this bad,” she muttered, half to herself.

“You were down in the Archives for two days,” Roy reminded her, unfolding the paper marked with the circle and positioning it under her shoulder. “Lifting and carrying heavy files boxes will do that to you, especially if you were up on those ladders. Could be you twisted the wrong way, and things haven’t twisted back into place.” He put gentle fingers in the centre of the trapezius. “Is that where the worst of it is?”

“A little more to the right… there.”

He adjusted the circle’s position, then took a deep breath. “Okay. Ready?” She nodded, closing her eyes tightly. “Riza, it’s okay. There’s not going to be any actual energy release; all you’re going to feel is a tingle. Don’t tense up; you’ll just make it worse.” He watched as she exhaled, and her shoulder pressed closer against the floor. His fingers brushed the edge of the circle.

As always, he felt the energy gather in his fingertips, felt it spreading out along the lines of the circle, but resisted the instinct to send the pulse that would activate it. It was formulated in such a way to be defunct if he did, just in case, but he could hold it back. When the energy reached a certain point and held, he began counting seconds in his head. …One… two…

He was just about to pull his fingers from the paper — three seconds had been Marcoh’s recommendation for holding the energy in place – when he caught the faint smell of burning. He yanked his hands back just as the edges of the paper started to smoke, turn black, and curl.

“What the hell?!”

Riza sniffed, and her eyes widened before she disregarded any pain and sat up swiftly. Just in time; flame burst into being around the edge of the circle paper closest to Roy, incinerating one portion of the circle before he leaned close and blew it out. He moved quickly, picking up the unmarked edge and crossing to the kitchen sink, where he dropped it in.

“How did that happen?!” Riza said, still holding her shoulder and watching him closely.

Roy shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure. Unless….” A sinking feeling spread through his stomach. “It might have reacted with the edge of the tattoo. Since the majority of the information is still present, the energy might have spread from the paper circle to the ink one…. I don’t know how, though; I would’ve thought the paper circle only crossed a burn scar, not the actual tattoo. A phenomenon so rare that it’s practically legend — or it could be that the gathered energy caused spontaneous combustion of the paper….” One hand scratched at the shorter hair at the back of his head, the way it did when he felt somewhat at a loss in his research. Dark eyes turned back toward her, looking almost guilty.

“But the point is,” Riza said quietly, picking up where he had trailed off, “this particular technique isn’t going to work on me. Not with what’s on my back.”

“Probably not, at least until I can talk to Marcoh and figure out what went wrong,” he conceded. “But I don’t think he’s going to like me calling him up in the middle of the night. For now….” He moved back toward her, settling onto the edge of the bed behind her. “For now, I guess you’re stuck with the old-fashioned way.”

She moved her hand as his settled on her shoulder, beginning to massage firmly. His thumb pressed into the knot near where her neck joined her torso, and Riza hissed a breath through her teeth at the unexpected pain. Murmuring an apology, Roy moved his thumb in a circle; more hissing, more apologizing.

By the time they finally settled back into bed, her shoulder was still tender, but not quite as painful. Nestled against his side, Riza hesitated a moment before speaking. “I appreciate you trying to help, even if it didn’t work the way you wanted it to. Thank you.”

“No problem.” He reached up, running a hand over the silky fall of her hair. “I’m just sorry you’re still hurting. But like I said, I’ll talk to Marcoh and we’ll find a way to make it work. The trick will be explaining what went wrong without telling him what’s on your back.”

She settled a calming hand on his chest. “I’m not hurting as badly as before; it’s back to about where it was earlier today.” He felt her cheek move against him as she smiled. “My arm isn’t going to fall off. Maybe it’s not back to normal, but it’s all right for now.” Riza lifted her head to make eye contact, making sure she got her point across. “That’s the key phrase here. ‘All right for now.’”

“Okay.” The same hand that had brushed over her hair touched her back, keeping her from moving too far as he stretched forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll trust your judgement, and let it go. For now.”

#fma #fmab #Roy Mustang #Riza Hawkeye #royza #royai #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #snap shots

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marvelousbirthdays · 7 years

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Happy Birthday, queenoffrizz!

January 7 - Fluffy (just the teensiest bit cracky) Bucky/Darcy fic for @queenoffrizz

I love situations where Bucky is pleasantly surprised or mildly knocked off kilter by a force of nature type Darcy, and fake relationships are definitely my catnip.

Written by @backwardsandinhighheels

“I found you a date for Stark’s thingamajig!”

Bucky scowled at his best friend. “Why do I have to go to that? I hate being on show.”

“We all hate it,” Steve reminded him. “That’s why we drew straws. You and Banner lost, and he went to the last one. Ergo, you get to go to this one!”

“Ergo? Ergo? Do the others realise you only use fancy words when you’re being a little - oof!”

“Now, Buck, mind your manners in front of the lady. Bucky Barnes, this is Darcy Lewis. Miss Lewis, this is my sorry excuse for a best friend and I understand if you want to give this up as a lost cause.”

Bucky gave up rubbing at his bruised side - serum or not, Steve still had sharp elbows - to gape at the wonder that had just entered the common room. With loose waves of brown hair and some floral scent he couldn’t quite identify, she barely came up to his chin. “Ma’am.”

She laughed and ducked her her head, eyes sparkling behind her glasses. “Aw, don’t go all formal on me! You’re like the only person I’m going to know at this thing except Tony and Pepper so you better call me Darcy.”

“Alright, uh, Darcy, then you gotta call me Bucky. You go to these events often?”

“Nope, so Pepper’s letting me charge hair and makeup to her credit card and I think I’m going to take advantage and get a trim while I’m at it, what about you?”

“My hair?” Suddenly self-conscious, he ran one hand through his hair. He hadn’t thought about it much beyond keeping it out of his eyes, though a long distant memory informed him it used to be important. “What do you think?”

“I was wondering if you go to Tony’s parties a lot, but yeah, you’d look good with short hair. There’s a bunch of barbers around, I’m sure you could get it done in time. Listen, do you prefer regular or bowties?”

“I... honestly have don’t know. Don’t know if I’ve ever owned a tie, either. Do I need to get one?”

Darcy flashed a smile. “Nah, I’ll get you one that matches my dress. Always wanted to do that but the guy who asked me to prom said he wanted to wear a Hawaiian shirt so I went stag. Anyways, the party stays at 8 so how about you pick me up at 6 and we’ll go for dinner first, yeah? There’s this great Vietnamese place I haven’t been to in ages. Sound alright?”

He had time to stutter out a “okay,” before she vanished into the stairwell, leaving him to stare after her, rubbing his chin in thought.

“Party looking a bit more palatable now?” Steve asked, grinning.

“Shut up,” muttered Bucky, glaring daggers.

~~~

“Good going Darce, just babble at the guy, that’s sure to go down well. Probably trying to get out of the party right now…”

Darcy’s monologue trailed off as she reached the right floor and pushed the door open. Jane looked up at her entrance, confused. “Is something wrong with the elevators?”

“What? Oh, no, I figured I needed some exercise if I was going to be wearing a slinky dress next to Hottie McMurderthighs.”

Jane scowled. “Darcy, no! I’d kill for curves like yours. If you ask me, he’s the one who needs to make an effort, or he’ll be outclassed.”

“You have to say that, you’re my friend,” Darcy pointed out. “But he’s Captain America’s best friend and like, a war hero. Probably has models throwing themselves at him on a daily basis.”

“Steve’s the one who asked you to do this, remember? He’s like the war hero and you’re fine with him. Why are you stressing out? Unless -” Jane’s eyes went wide. “Unless you like him! You do, you have a crush on Bucky Barnes!”

“Shut up,” muttered Darcy, her cheeks flaming.

~~~

The rap on the door startled Darcy. She’d been ready since 5:30, had spent the minutes since then pacing and reassessing her choices. She’d swapped her dream of a slinky dress for one with a fuller skirt and was wearing her favourite heels because no-one would be able to see them under her full-length gown. “No backing out now,” she muttered to herself. “Game face on.” She checked her lipstick one more time and opened the door.

~~~

Bucky tried not to gape. Really.

“Wow,” he managed. “You look amazing.”

A smile blossomed across Darcy’s face. “You like it?”

“It looks good on you,” he said. “Really good.”

“Ang guess what, it has pockets! Oh, this is for you.” She reached into one and pulled out a tie that matched the deep red of her dress. “You know how to tie this?”

“Uh…”

He ducked his head to let her loop the tie around his neck. Head bowed in concentration, she knotted it into place, the floral scent of her shampoo teasing his senses. He’d been wrong, she was a little taller than his chin - or maybe she was wearing heels. Either way, she was the perfect height to -

“All done!” she chirped, patting him on the chest as she stepped back. “You ready to go eat? I’m starving. I wanted to grab a snack earlier but I was scared I’d smudge my lipstick.”

She pulled her front door shut and tucked her arm through his, keeping a running commentary all the way. “The haircut looks great, by the way! Not that it wasn’t okay earlier, but I like this one better.”

They walked a few short blocks to the restaurant and Bucky let Darcy’s chatter wash over him and soothe his nerves. He’d never tried Vietnamese food before, so when they arrived, he sat back and let her order for the two of them. He liked her confidence and her willingness to try new things, the way she asked his opinion but didn’t rely on his help.

The food was great, but even better than the delicate flavours and the crisp vegetables were the little glances she snuck at him from across the table. The flow of conversation slowed and came to a stop. “Am I talking too much?” Darcy demanded.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I like the way you talk.”

She brightened. “Oh, okay then.”

Stark’s party was hosted in a nearby hotel and Darcy insisted she would be okay to walk there. “These are my favourite heels, I’m fine! Look, all the taxis are busy at this time of night.”

One block from the restaurant, Bucky noticed her shivering. “Are you cold?”

Darcy shook her head.

“Your teeth are chattering,” he pointed out. “Take my jacket, at least for the walk.” When she hestitated, he added “I run hot”.

“Fine,” she sighed.

He shrugged out of his suit jacket and held it out for her to slip her arms into. “It’s kinda big,” she observed, looking down at where the sleeves went past her hands. Before he could formulate a reply, she looked up at him and grinned. “I like it.” Pushing one sleeve up, she grabbed his hand - his metal hand - and tugged him along the sidewalk. “C’mon, we’re going to be late.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of being fashionably late?”

“There’s fashionably late, and there’s us. They’ll probably lock the doors.”

“Great, then we can skip the party.”

“Tony will be mad and you know it.”

He nodded, resigned. “Fine.”

Soon enough, and yet all too soon, they arrived at the media press outside the hotel. Darcy slipped out of his jacket reluctantly and handed it back to him. “Time to face the music,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he told her. He saw the surprise and delight in her face and felt it solidify his resolve. “Just one thing before we go in.”

“Yeah?”

He kissed her, cradled her face in one hand as her arms came up to twine around his neck.

“Been wanting to do that all night,” he admitted. “Sorry I kinda smudged your lipstick.”

“You’re so lucky this dress has pockets. But even if it didn’t…” Darcy looked up from her reapplication and winked. “Still worth it.”

#wintershock #fuckyeahdarcylewis

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lastbuckshot · 6 years

Text

NSFW: ”Fabian”/Jackson Pritchard/Reader

Words: ~10k Fandom: Devil’s Gate but don’t worry about it Rating: Explicit Title: Easter Sunday

so this is a smut fic i wrote mostly for @miloventimillas, Fabian is made up dw about it this is a mess

The Sunday mornings in Jackson’s home tended to start much the same; he wakes you from bed, you both shower; you put on a dress, he puts on a suit; he heads outside to his truck after locking up the house, and you followed, sitting obediently in the passenger seat to be taken to church.

This morning, however, the emotion in the home was different; a different intensity, a new tension. As you wrapped Jackson’s tie around his neck, preparing to tie it for him in front of the bathroom mirror, you watched him feverishly check his watch every few seconds.

“He’s late,” he jabbed, lifting his chin to make way for your hands, “Shoulda figured that.”

The black silken fabric of the tie wisped past and between your fingers as you began to tie it in a knot.

“I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

With your hand close to his throat, you felt and heard a grumble from his throat as you pulled his tie taught against his neck.

“You c’n be sure all y’like. But I ain’t.”

You turned toward the bathroom mirror to make your final adjustments to Jackson’s suit. The position of every button, the cuffs, the evenness of his tie; each part of him received your special attention. You pulled his tie down to meet his belt, and picked a couple stray pieces of lint from his bright white dress shirt. Jackson stroked his beard in the mirror, laying down a few stray hairs on his freshly trimmed jaw, but the abrupt sound of knocking turned you both toward the bathroom door.

“Looks like he made it after all,” Jackson teased, looking back toward the mirror, “I’ll finish up ‘n here. You go’n downstairs an’ greet ‘im. Get acquainted. See if y’ like ‘im any better th’n I do.”

With Jackson staring intently into the mirror, brows furrowed as he stroked his beard and laid down several thick, dark strands of hair on his head, you turned toward the bathroom door to exit. Descending the stairs toward the front door, several more knocks filled the home, as did several startled barks from Earl.

When you opened the door, you saw a man with a similar stature to Jackson, his face clean shaven, his hair long and neatly combed over. You were distracted by his bright and glinting gold watch, reflecting rays of morning light, before you noticed the rest of his outfit. A white button up outlined in black, short sleeved, leaving his lightly tanned arms exposed; with them, a pair of black dress pants, down the side of which were a black pinstripe. The man stood at the door with his hands in his pockets, a smirk crawling across his face when he saw you open the door.

“You don’t look much like my brother, thank god,” he said, looking you over, “You must be the ‘helper’ he was talkin’ t’ me about.”

“You could call it that. You must be Noah?”

You heard him scoff and bite the inside of his cheek, lifting his hand from his pocket to wipe his face.

“Figures my brother decided t’ tell you that name. That is my name, but it’s not what I go by. I prefer Fabian, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh,” you said, stepping aside to swing the door open wider, “Well, Fabian, please come in. Jackson’s still upstairs getting ready.”

Fabian stepped inside, looking around at his surroundings, dragging his fingers over the kitchen table and dining chairs. He looked at the walls, at the pictures and plaques, and peered into the living room at the walls and furniture.

“Jesus. Didn’t realize how bad Jackson needed someone t’ help him clean until now. The place actually looks nice now. I might have t’ pick you up and whisk you away t’ help me out.”

You laughed and straightened out your dress, to which Fabian shared a momentary chuckle. He slowly licked his lips as you responded.

“Thank you. I try to do my best around here.”

“If this is your best, then your best is perfect, sweetie. It really is. And so’s that dress.”

Fabian motioned his finger toward your dress, all white and flowing to your knees. The dress itself was thinly strapped, with a V cut deep enough to expose the gold cross on your chest. To cover your arms, you wore a light pink cardigan, soft and elegant to match with the holiday.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, Fabian.”

“Of course. Tell me, somethin’, though.”

Fabian leaned his elbow against a dining chair, scanning you up and down again.

“How’s a girl as beautiful as yourself end up in the middle of nowhere with someone like my brother?”

You cocked your head to the side, laughing gently at his comment.

“Where should I be instead? With someone like you?”

“If you ask me,” said Fabian, taking a few steps closer toward you, “I think we’d get along just fine—”

“Noah, that you down here makin’ all that noise?”

Interrupting Fabian’s approach, you heard the evenly timed thuds of Jackson’s shoes against the stairs and on the floor as he stepped toward the kitchen. Fabian straightened his posture as you moved aside, leaving the brothers to look each other in the eye, silently and intensely as they shook hands.

“I thought I remembered telling you I prefer to go by Fabian, Jackson.”

“Y’ mentioned it, sure,” Jackson said, letting go of Fabian’s hand, “But y’know you’ll always be my little brother Noah t’ me.”

You could see Fabian roll his eyes and nod, and simultaneously felt Jackson’s arm snake around your waist. He squeezed your hips lightly and looked down at you.

“Y’ about ready t’ go, darlin’? I don’t wanna be late.”

Before responding, you glanced up at Fabian, whose eyes were fixated on Jackson’s hand on your waist. He looked up at you, with a cocked eyebrow, to which you abruptly looked away to look at Jackson.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m ready to go when you are.”

With that, Jackson walked ahead of you toward the front door, and you grabbed your purse from the kitchen table. You looked up at Fabian, who smirked and twirled his keys around his finger. He motioned his hand toward the door and made a shallow bow.

“After you, please.”

Following behind Jackson, you walked out of the front door, hearing Fabian’s steps close behind you. As everyone stepped from the porch and onto the sandy dirt of the yard, you heard Fabian’s voice from behind you.

“You know, I was thinkin’,” he proclaimed, walking up behind you and placing his hand on the small of your back, “Maybe the young lady and I could ride together this mornin’. You know, t’ get to know each other.”

Jackson turned, his keys jingling in his hand as he squeezed them. His brows were slightly furrowed, and he cocked his head to the side.

“I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

“Maybe. But maybe not. Just let me drive the young lady to church. We’re all goin’ to the same place anyways. And I like to get to know the people I hang around.”

Jackson’s top lip flared up for an instant before he shook his head, turning to walk back toward his truck on the other side of the house.

“Fine. Take ‘er, Noah. Just don’t be late.”

“Yes, because it’s so hard to keep up on a straightaway road. I’m in awe of your driving skills, Jackson.”

Jackson didn’t respond, but even as the physical distance between the brothers grew, the presence of their tension could still be felt. Fabian placed his hand on your shoulder as he walked toward his car, leading you to the passenger side and opening the door to allow you inside. You sat down and buckled your own seat belt, watching as Fabian sat and did the same. His key clicked in the ignition and the engine hummed quietly, much more gently than the loud angry roaring that often came from Jackson’s truck. The car itself was pristine, the outside a glimmering silver, and the interior a deep black leather. Being in close quarters with Fabian now, you could smell him, his fresh clothes and the scent of expensive cologne, which you’d not smelled for the while you’d been in town. With each of his gentle movements, to turn the key, switch gears, move his foot to the gas or the brake, a waft of his scent caressed your nose.

“Your cologne smells nice.”

Fabian glanced over to you and smiled, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting against his car door as he waited for Jackson’s truck to pull ahead.

“Thank you, sweetheart. That’s sweet of you to say.”

As Jackson’s truck pulled off down the road, Fabian followed, a fair distance behind.

“So,” he started, breaking what had been several moments of silence, “Can I ask sort of a personal question?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“How long have you been religious? You always been that way, or did you find it later in life? Did Jackson introduce you to it?”

You shifted, somewhat uncomfortably in your seat at the question. You thought back to your first night and everything that had happened since; the sermons, the lessons, the sex, the guilt, piled on with more sermons in a vicious cycle. You thought back farther still, to your life before coming into town, before you formulated an answer.

“My family was religious. You could say I grew up in it. Grew up used to it. I was sorta tired of it when I came into town, honestly. I loved letting loose, doing my own thing all the time. But I guess you could say Jackson pulled me back into it. Religion, I mean. I don’t mind it, really.”

“D’you really believe in all of it, though? Or do you do it ‘cause it’s his lifestyle?”

He paused, sensing some of your discomfort, and added,

“If it makes you feel better, I’m not big into religion myself. I grew up in it, same as Jackson. Just realized it wasn’t for me. I won’t judge you, darlin’.”

You thought on the question for a moment before saying anything. You looked down at your nails, picking at them, trying to find the words. Or trying to find the truth. Knowing well what Jackson’s reaction would be if you didn’t choose your words carefully, you questioned Fabian.

“If I’m honest, can you not tell Jackson what I say?”

“Whatever you say stays with me,” he said, glancing away from the road and at you. He smiled, his eyes gazing again at the open road and the dirt and sand that surrounded it. “I don’t want you to lose your job on account of me. I’m just curious.”

You sigh, adjusting your cardigan and playing with one of the corners.

“I believe some of it,” you started, pausing again. You looked ahead on the road, seeing the tail end of Jackson’s truck. You looked back down toward your lap.

“I don’t think having faith is a bad thing. But sometimes it’s too much. I understand having a lifestyle, but sometimes it’s too restricting. I don’t wanna feel like everything I do or say or want is gonna land me in hell for an eternity.”

Fabian nodded, his eyes still fixated on the road ahead. He rubbed his lips and jaw with his free hand before speaking again.

“Does that mean you still have a li’l bit of a wild streak in you?”

You laughed and tugged your dress, which had begun to ride up your thighs, down closer toward your knees.

“I guess you could say that.”

Fabian smirked slightly and leaned back in his seat, his thighs spread apart, with one hand guiding the wheel. You looked him over, starting toward his knees and moving up his leg, to his lap, up to his chest. When your eyes met his, you saw his eyes, meeting directly with your own. You smiled nervously but quickly looked away, back toward the road.

“Does Mrs. ‘I-Love-God-But-Only-For-My-Job’ like what she sees?”

Your lips curled inward and you chuckled lightly.

“You’re handsome. Your brother is, too. I won’t deny that.”

“How handsome? ‘Cause I know I’m more handsome than some church goin’ farm boy.”

“You’re both handsome. But to answer your question, very. Very handsome.”

Licking his lips, Fabian pressed further.

“Mmm. Okay. Can I ask another question? More personal?”

You glossed your eyes over the land for a moment.

“Sure.”

“Have you ever fucked him? Jackson, I mean.”

You cleared your throat to voice your surprise at the question itself. You bit the inside of your cheek and twisted your mouth to consider it for a moment, then answered him.

“If you must know,” you sighed, “Yeah. Yes, we’ve slept together before. But definitely don’t tell him I said that, either.”

Fabian gripped the steering wheel and raised his eyebrows, a tickled laugh filling the car. He rubbed his jaw, still chuckling over his words in his response.

“Oh, wow,” he started, laughing a little under his breath as he adjusted his hand on the steering wheel. “I knew my brother could be a little bit of a rebel, but damn. A full-on hypocrite nowadays, huh? Jesus.”

The car ride continued with curious conversation from Fabian. He asked about your life, both before Jackson and now, your likes, your dislikes, how you enjoyed life on the farm. He danced around the topic of yourself and Jackson, of how you’d met and what you considered the relationship to be; before he could ask too much, however, you saw the town within eye distance, and soon enough, you’d made it to the church.

The parking lot was full with cars; at least as full as a small town like this could get. Jackson’s car pulled into a space close to the front door, while Fabian opted to park in the back. He turned off his car, exiting and walking to your passenger side door to let you out. He offered his arm for you to hold on to as you both walked around towards the front of the church. As you bent the corner, passing two large trash cans, you saw Jackson come into view, slamming his truck door shut and shoving his keys into his pocket. He turned to see you both at the sound of your heels clicking against the pavement.

“So, you two did make it on time,” he said, adjusting his tie. “I’m almost shocked.”

Fabian rolled his eyes, the three of you walking toward the front door, with Fabian leading.

“If anything’s gonna shock you, it’s gonna be some broken part in that bucket of bolts you call a truck.”

Fabian swung the church door open and filed in, turning immediately toward an unoccupied backmost pew to sit. He guided you to sit closest to the wall, while he sat between yourself and Jackson. He crossed his legs, resting his arm behind you on the pew.

Service began, and all throughout, you could smell Fabian’s cologne, and his subtle aftershave. The pastor of the church, Mr. Dover, and his wife, along with several other speakers preached in short bursts, each with their own presentation for Easter. Most spoke about the resurrection, some spoke of self-growth and still others lead youth presentations. At the latter, you could hear Fabian talk under his breath.

“Why do kids need to get involved in this?”

Jackson shot him glances whenever he caught a line of defiance, but soon, Mrs. Dover stepped up to the podium after a particularly rehearsed (“indoctrinated”, Fabian had called it) song about Christ’s resurrection to speak.

“Now,” she said, leaning into the podium’s microphone, “We have a final sermon, to be led by Mr. Jackson Pritchard.”

The crowd erupted with claps, as it often did when Jackson’s name was called for a sermon. Jackson was well respected, and his father well-known; everyone tended to listen to his sermons with reverence. Fabian, however, clapped half-heartedly, almost mockingly, as Jackson left the pew, walking toward the front of the church.

“This should be great,” he jeered. “Absolutely great. I wonder if he’ll talk about pre-marital sex sending people to hell while he’s up there.”

You nudged Fabian with your elbow and heard him laugh at himself, and promptly thereafter heard the echoing of the microphone being adjusted between Jackson’s fingers before he spoke.

“How’s everybody doin’ on this beautiful Sunday mornin’?”

The crowed jubilantly responded back with “goods” and “greats”, along with a defiant “we can chat about it” from Fabian, earning him another nudge from you.

Jackson began his sermon, asking the audience to flip to scripture pages and read along with him, before going on to build his speech. With the sound of Jackson’s voice filling your ears, you felt a hand rising up your leg, past your knee, and towards your thigh. You looked down to see Fabian’s hand gripping your thigh, his fingers beginning to slide between the warm space between them.

“Let me know if you want me to stop, church girl.”

You said nothing and simply smiled, looking up towards the podium at Jackson. With his hand swinging into the air and his face emoting every several seconds, the crowd was completely transfixed on Jackson. He was a gifted speaker, no doubt; which left time and opportunity for Fabian to slide his hand higher up your thigh. His fingers teased the hem of your panty line, and he leaned over, his mouth brushing against your ear with each movement of his lips.

“Take off the cardigan.”

You obliged, slipping your pink cardigan off of your arms. As it slipped off of your body, Fabian adjusted it in front of you, laying it in your lap to cover the movement of his hand under your dress. He shifted in his seat to get closer to you, but kept his legs crossed to block the view of unwanted eyes.

His fingers began to push and pull at the fabric of your panties before creeping into them from above. His and your eyes maintained fixed on Jackson, who still preached, increasingly involved now, at the podium. His fingers teased below your waistline before he slid his fingers between your lips. His middle finger lapped up your wetness, and moved back up toward your clit, rubbing it in wet circles. Tension grew in your throat from the pressure of suppressed moans. With one hand, you gripped Fabian’s arm, stroking it with your thumb to keep your hands occupied, distracting yourself from the urge to make noise.

Fabian’s hands worked rhythmically, stretching down between your lips to feel your wetness before they reliably slid back upwards, rubbing one side of your clit, then the other, then rubbing in circles before a dip back down between your lips.

Intensity began to build in your stomach, which Fabian felt with your grip on his arm beginning to tighten. You glanced around the room for assurance that no one was looking, and were relieved at the sight of the church still steadily focused on Jackson’s impassioned sermon. Fabian looked up toward the podium with a self-satisfied smile.

“Fucking clueless,” you could hear him say under his breath. “Absolutely fucking clueless.”

The intensity in your stomach only grew as your stomach twisted itself into knots; a combination of nervousness and the imminence of an oncoming orgasm. Jackson’s speech grew louder, and your grip on Fabian tighter the closer you crept towards release.

“Were it not for the sacrifice of our Christ Jesus,” you could hear Jackson say, “Our sins would never be forgiven. We’d all be wallowing in our sins, in our own transgressions. Drowning in them. Can I get an ‘Amen’?”

The crowed echoed back his “Amen”, and Fabian laughed momentarily as his pace around your clit quickened.

“Sins. Fuckin’ tell me about it.”

He dipped his finger once more between your lips, the slick fluid coating your clit as he rubbed quickly and steadily against your clit. Your face felt flush and warm, the tightness in your throat began to hurt. Fabian could feel your nails begin to dig into the skin of his arms, but he continued, eyes still defiantly fixed on Jackson, proudly staring through him as he made Jackson’s-little-servant-girl cum.

Your thighs squeezed around his hand and your teeth clenched together, your body seconds away from orgasm. You closed your eyes and felt a rush of warm blood course through your body, the urge to cum replaced by an intense throbbing between your thighs. Fabian continued to rub his fingers against your soaking wet lips, but slowed his pace to draw out your pleasure.

“Open your eyes,” he said, leaning in your direction. “Don’t look obvious.”

You open your eyes and cleared your throat to release some of the stress that holding in your moans had brought. Your orgasm now subsiding, and Fabian’s fingers ever-slowing, you let go of his arm as his fingers lap between your lips once more, coating them in thick, sticky wetness before he pulled his hand from below your dress.

Fabian licked his fingers, your taste coating the middle of his tongue. He did so slowly, savoring the warm liquid, before he pulled a small package of sanitary wipes from his pocket. He licked his lips, fully satisfied with your taste, and used a wipe to clean his hands before placing the package back into his pocket. From the same pocket, he pulled out a tin of Altoids, which he opened and offered to you. You pulled your dress down and regained your composure, taking one before he took one himself, and put the tin back into his pocket.

Service continued without a hitch, with Jackson finishing his sermon, loud and powerful, to be met with adjulation and tongue-speaking and “Amens” from the crowd. As service wrapped up and people began to file out of the doors, Fabian unwrapped the sanitary wipe he’d crumpled in his hand. On the wall behind both of you, a gold cross hung, seemingly unmoved or untouched for years. Fabian took the wipe, damp with the scent of both yourself and him, and wiped down the crust of a few inconsequential flecks of dust. Some passersby nodded in his direction, ignorant to Fabian’s actual intentions, and only seeing a kind member of the church cleaning off precious memorabilia. Jackson stepped down from the podium, talking to several people eager to thank him for the service. Fabian, proud as ever, continued to wipe down the cross with the soiled wipe until Jackson was able to walk away from the center stage, and to the back of the church, where you both stood.

“I never took you as th’ type t’ wipe down a cross,” Jackson said, his head tilted to peer over at Fabian’s handiwork, “’specially not outta th’ kindness of your heart.”

“Well,” Fabian said, crumpling the wipe again in his hand, “I guess your preaching skills got me in the mood this mornin’. Could you take this and throw it out for me? I would, but I ain’t been here in a while. I don’t know where the trash cans are.”

Jackson opened his palm, wherein Fabian dropped the wipe. Jackson walked away, out of the door and out of earshot before Fabian snorted and laughed, covering his face with his hand. Everyone had exited the church but the Dovers, who had gone into the back of the church to begin cleaning and sorting things away.

“Holy fucking shit,” he struggled out, still laughing, “This is the best fucking day of my life. I swear to God, out of all my days on Earth, this is the best one.”

“A day for me to get caught if if you don’t stop fucking around,” you whispered harshly. Fabian shook his head and rubbed your back reassuringly.

“He won’t realize a damn thing, darlin’,” he said. “This’ll stay between you and I. Trust me.”

Fabian nudged his hand forward towards the front door, which you both exited before he closed the door behind both of you. At the side of the church you could see Jackson, lifting the lid to a trash can and dropping the wipe inside. When he looked up to see yourself and Fabian, he took off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm.

“Seein’ as you got to drive the young lady to church, I’d appreciate it if I drove her back home.”

Fabian, with widened eyes, pointed toward Jackson’s truck.

“In that?” he jeered. “You wonder why you and I were so different with girls back in the day. You wanna drive a girl in that death trap. And your skin is always dry, cracking, and covered in dirt.”

“She’s been in it plenty of times. ‘Cause she works with me. You’d’a figured that out if your skull wasn’t so thick.”

“I’m sorry, big strong Mr. Jackson Pritchard the preaching farmer, but what happened to that message of love and forgiveness you were talkin’ about in that sermon?”

Jackson closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, sighing out of his nose before opening his eyes again.

“I apologize, Noah—”

“Fabian.”

Jackson cleared his throat.

“I apologize. Now if we could please—”

Fabian held up his hand.

“I’m sorry, Jackson, but I don’t think I heard you say my name. Do it at least once today. I know you can find it in your good Christian heart.”

“Fabian—”

A grin spread across Fabian’s face.

“I will drive her back home, and we c’n all have lunch and dinner at my house. I’d enjoy your company.”

Fabian nodded and pulled his keys out of his pocket, swinging them by the key ring around his finger.

“Alright. Sounds good to me. I’m ready to get outta here before God-fearing children start huntin’ for eggs while recitin’ scriptures, anyway. I’ll meet y’all there.”

With that, Fabian turned toward the back of the church to walk to his car, while yourself and Jackson stepped to his truck at the front. Stepping inside and slamming the door shut, you felt the truck bounce gently on its wheels, giving into the weight of Jackson taking his seat. Jackson backed out of his spot and pulled off onto the road, with Fabian following behind soon thereafter.

The two of you sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Jackson’s hand gripping the steering wheel, his silver ring wrapped around his right ring finger, rays of sunlight dancing over the top.

“So,” he started, shifting in his seat, “Did’ya like it? My sermon, I mean.”

You thought back over the sermon you’d heard, but only remembered in patches. Resurrection, something, forgiveness, someone, something else, sins wiped clean, so on and so forth. The incident with Fabian had left your memory of the sermon in a blur.

“It was good,” you responded, adjusting your cardigan in your lap, “Very beautiful. Really moving.”

“Thank you, darlin. I appreciate that. I really do.”

Another few moments of pause fell between the two of you.

“Did y’ get hot in the church? With all th’ people in there? I noticed y’ took of y’r li’l sweater.”

You gripped on to your cardigan, adjusting it in your lap much as you had in church earlier. You remembered the sensation of Fabian’s hand between your legs, and the sensation of your nails digging into his forearm.

“I did, actually. Especially when you started speaking. I feel like everybody’s temperature rose.”

Jackson laughed and leaned back in his seat, switching his hand grip on the wheel. His left hand now steered, while his right hand rested on his thigh.

“Then I guess I did somethin’ right, didn’t I? I’ll take it as a win.”

Another pause.

“If you don’t mind my askin’, what d’ya think of Noah, anyways? ‘R Fabian, ‘r whatever he prefers t’ go by nowadays.”

“I think he’s sweet,” you said, pulling your dress down toward your knees. You could still feel an uncomfortable wetness in your panties from earlier, and crossed your legs to avoid the sensation. “Very much a gentleman. Aside from the looks, you aren’t very much alike.”

“Nah, an’ we never were. Not really. He c’n be a little too rich f’r my blood nowadays. We bumped heads a lot. Still do. Y’ could probably tell.”

Thinking back to your car conversation with Fabian, you decided to press further.

“He said you had a little bit of a rebellious streak. Way back when.”

Jackson rubbed his jaw and scratched his beard, again adjusting his posture in his seat.

“Yeah. I guess y’ could say that. I did some things I ain’t proud of. Probably some things I don’t remember no more. But our paths diverged a long time ago. If I was a li’l rebellious, he was a lot rebellious. Our daddy got onto both of us f’r it, an’ Noah wound up leavin’ home after a while t’ get away from it all. I stayed, though. S’ now I got the farm an’ th’ house, an’ the preachin’ thing. An’ he got… well, he ain’t preachin’, that’s f’r sure. An’ he got whatever it is boys from the city with nice cars an’ nice clothes tend t’ get.”

After a while longer of conversation, yourself, Jackson, and Fabian had all arrived back home. Jackson pulled in around the back of the house, while Fabian pulled in at the front. Stepping into the house, you were all greeted by Earl, whose paws thudded against the kitchen floor with his jumping.

“How old is Earl now? Younger than you? Even in dog years?”

Jackson knelt down to stroke Earl’s head and adjust his collar.

“I dunno. ‘Bout as old as you act? Seven or so.”

With yourself and the brothers beginning to wind down now, you prepared for the rest of the day. Jackson had asked you to cook both lunch and dinner for everyone, and you did, with help from both brothers. Lunch was modest, with fish, rice, and vegetables (Fabian didn’t share Jackson’s love for red meats), while dinner was more substantial. Ham, mashed potatoes, corn, rolls, mac and cheese, and a cherry pie; the table was full with an array of Easter dinner foods. Fabian took pleasure in helping you, stirring pots for you, kneading dough with you, all the while sneaking light touches against your arm and back under Jackson’s nose. When dinner was ready, and all the plates made, the three of you sat at the table. Just as soon as you all sat, Fabian picked up his fork in his hand, aiming it directly toward a piece of ham. You held is hand back, to which he cocked his eyebrow up at you.

“Grace first.”

Jackson smiled, holding out his hands to hold both yours and Fabian’s in prayer.

“Very good catch, darlin’. She’s right. I always say grace in my house.”

Fabian put his fork down and sighed, putting one hand in Jackson’s palm, and gripping your hand with the other.

“Right. I forgot you think that the food we just cooked with our own two hands will be poisoned and inedible if we don’t say words first.”

“Watch your mouth, please, Noah.”

Under his breath, you heard Fabian remark, “It’s Fabian, but alright, Jason Pritchard,” to which you pursed your lips to bar laughter.

With you gripping both Jackson’s and Fabian’s hands, you all bowed your heads, as Jackson led the prayer. Throughout the prayer, you could hear Fabian commenting just loud enough for you to hear as you sat beside him, but not quite loud enough for Jackson to notice, or care.

“Heavenly father, an’ Lord, His son—”

“Right. Forgot there were two of ‘em.”

“We thank you—”

“Jeremiah Pritchard thanks you.”

“F’r this meal you have blessed us with t’night.”

“Did we not just slave over the fucking stove?”

“T’night, we recognize the Resurrection of you, our Lord Jesus Christ—”

“How many names does one man need?”

“An’ the sacrifice you made t’ cleanse us of our sins.”

“Like that wipe from earlier?”

You squeezed his hand to nudge him to stop, but he continued.

“May your word heal even those who have strayed from the path, O’ Merciful Lord—”

“Me. That one was about me.”

“An’ may we continue t’ reap your blessin’s for life eternal.”

“Seems like a long time t’ listen to a ghost.”

“Amen.”

Yourself and Fabian repeated back Jackson’s “Amen” and began to eat. Both Fabian and Jackson complimented the meal, and dinner continued without conflict. After the meal, with nightfall having approached and arrived, you turned your attention toward the sink. With a sink piled with dirty dishes and everyone full and satisfied, Jackson pulled off his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves, walking toward the kitchen sink.

“Little lady an’ I c’n work on the dishes here. Y’ c’n use the shower if y’ like, or head on home. Not sure what you planned on doin’ t’night.”

Fabian stepped ahead of Jackson and next to you at the sink, beginning to rummage around for dish soap.

“Oh, no, Jackson,” he said, wetting a sponge with soap and warm water, “Please. Allow me. I’m your guest. I c’n do your dishes.”

“You ain’t gotta do that, Fabian.”

“As much as I appreciate you using my name for once, please. I insist.”

Jackson sighed and untuck his dress shirt, beginning to unbutton it from the top.

“Alright. Go ahead. I’ll be in the shower if y’all need me.”

“To help wash dishes?”

“Y’know what I mean.”

Jacked turned and ascended the stairs, and Fabian watched as he reached the top, entered the bathroom, and closed the door, out of view.

With the reassuring “click” of the bathroom door locking, Fabian stepped behind you, his hands wrapping around your waist, then your hips, then your thighs. You felt his light kisses on your back, neck, and shoulders as you washed dishes. You stopped to enjoy the sensation, feeling Fabian’s hand slide around in front to lift your dress, his hand sliding down into your panties to feel between your legs. His fingers were met with a familiar slick wetness from earlier.

“Damn, still wet? My brother must not be givin’ you anything worthwhile if you’re gettin’ like this for me.”

With one hand in your panties, his other moved up toward your chest, squeezing your tits in his hand as his tongue slid up the side of your neck. He kissed up your jawline, and pecked your cheek before moving his mouth over yours for a kiss. His tongue wrapped around yours as his fingers steadily rubbed between your legs. After a few moments, Fabian released the kiss and pulled your hips back toward him. You could feel him hard against your ass and thighs as he pressed his hips forward.

“How d’you feel about quickies?”

“I enjoy them.”

“How long do his showers usually take?”

“Around twenty minutes.”

“Alright. Consider this round two, then. Go ahead and do the dishes. Don’t mind me.”

Fabian looked over at the kitchen clock to note the time, then grabbed either side of your hips and knelt down. You almost immediately feel his arm breath against your thighs, and soon thereafter his warm, wet tongue between your lips. His thumb continued to trace wet circles around your clit as his licked you out, his tongue wandering now and again up to your taint, and your ass, before swirling back down to your lips and clit. You heard a couple of swallows as he took in the taste of you, and he squeezed your thighs each time, satisfied, but still hungry for more. After a few minutes, he slowed his pace and kissed your pussy lips, then the back of your thighs, and stood.

The metal of his belt buckle clicked and jangled as he unbuckled his pants, unzipped them, and pulled them down just below his underwear. You felt the head of his cock begin to stroke up and down the lips of your pussy, getting wet before Fabian pressed his hips forward, sliding himself into you. You moaned and gripped the kitchen counter with one hand and squeezed your sponge in the other. Fabian kissed your shoulder blades and caressed your hips.

“Sshhh. Don’t want Mr. Old McDonald finding out you’re getting something worthwhile on his farm, do you?”

As you leaned over the sink, continuing to scrub dishes, Fabian slowly bucked his hips forward and back, sliding in and out of you while he reached a hand between your thighs to play with your clit. Gradually, he picked up pace, looking up at the bathroom door every few minutes, his hear attuned to the sound of shower water pounding against the tub upstairs. A moan escaped his mouth as he felt your tight, wet walls squeezing around him the faster her went. You looked ahead at the wall behind the kitchen sink, and read the plaque that read:

“Every moving thing that liveth shall be meat for you; even as the green herb have I given you all things. Genesis: 9:3.”

Fabian followed your gaze and read the plaque, laughing behind you as he slid his hand up your back.

“I’d say I’m givin’ you a lotta things right about now. The meat thing is a li’l on the nose though, don’t y’ think?”

His pace was fast now, with the close of Jackson’s shower nearing closer now, ten minutes away. The faster he went, and the more you felt his wet fingers circling around your clit, the more you feel an acutely sensitive feeling inside of you with each stroke of his length. After a minute of his fast paced thrusting, you feel a hot gush of fluid between your legs as you squirt, with the liquid dripping down your legs and spraying onto the floor, and onto Fabian.

Fabian pulled out to allow the rest of the liquid to gush out of you, patting his cock against your lips, letting his cock drip soaking wet.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he said, with a momentary laugh between his words, “How bad did you need that?”

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, and pressing his lips against the dip in your back, Fabian slid his cock back inside of you, and replaced his fingers between your thighs to rub your clit. He used the wetness as lube, slicking it against your clit as he favored each side, edging you toward climax. He’d lifted his button up shirt, and you could feel the warmth of his stomach and the stiffness of his abs against your back as he continued to thrust. A familiar swell of pleasure began to build between your legs, as it had in the church, your body hot and seconds away from release.

In your hands you squeezed a plate so hard you thought it might break, and between your legs was an intense throbbing between Fabian’s fingers as you came, his cock still steadily sliding in and out of you. You heard him moan in satisfaction and slow his pace, enjoying the new wetness between your legs, feeling your pleasure and aching for his touch.

“Does Jackson do that for you?”

Breathless, you simply shook your head.

“Figured he didn’t.”

He continued to fuck you from behind, both of his hands squeezing your hips as he picked up his pace. Five minutes left.

With each minute passing, Fabian’s moans grew louder. He began to stifle them, trapping the moans in his throat and grunting, and exhaling sharply through his nose. Continuing to thrust, you felt his grip tighten and his breathing become more labored as he came closer to climax.

Two minutes out from the time Jackson would typically finish his shower, you felt Fabian pull out.

“Get on your knees. On your knees for me, sweetheart.”

You listened, getting on your knees and holding your mouth open expectantly. Fabian tilted your head back with his hand and stroked himself with the other, his own head thrown back, eyes closed. With a final moan, his warm, thick cum shot out from his cock and onto your tongue and lips, in several long, powerful spurts. You held your mouth open for him for several seconds before swallowing, then licking and sucking the head and shaft of his cock, tasting yourself, licking your own juices off of him, and sucking out every last drop. You lifted his shaft to kiss and lick his balls, met with groaning laughter from Fabian. You stood and wiped your mouth, while Fabian zipped and buckled his pants, then reaching into his pants pocket for the tin of Altoids. He offered another to you, which you took gladly as you finished up the dishes.

Fabian stood at your side, helping dry the dishes that you’d cleaned, as you both heard the bathroom door click and swing open. From the door exited Jackson, none the wiser, who turned toward his bedroom to get dressed for the night. Several minutes passed before he descended the stairs, black tank top and black pajama pants, to inspect the kitchen. He looked over the progress on the dishes, then at the floor, where his eye was drawn to a puddle beneath your feet.

“Fabian can’t even wash a dish without makin’ a mess, huh?”

Fabian looked down between your legs, raising his eyebrows and nodding.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right. I did do that.”

Jackson laughed to himself, and you nudged Fabian, who was proud as ever. With dishes nearly done, you watched as Jackson walked over to his liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and another of red wine, and setting them both on the table. Fabian looked behind himself to see the bottles, and Jackson, who was unscrewing the cap on the whiskey.

“This is what we’re doing on Easter Sundays now?”

“I feel like windin’ down for the night. So I’m gonna wind down. The wine’s f’r you, if you want some.”

With the dishes now done, Fabian looked over the table and sighed.

“Where do you keep your wine glasses in this mess of a house?”

Jackson pointed Fabian toward the kitchen cabinet wherein he kept his wine glasses, and the two sat at the table to drink casually over casual conversation. Fabian stayed mostly on his phone, while Jackson drank and fiddled with his harmonica, playing several seconds worth of song a couple times. Fabian had drunk two and a half glasses of wine, while Jackson had thrown back more than a few glasses of whiskey over ice. Cutting through what had been a small while of silence, Jackson spoke.

“So,” he said, throwing back the rest of what was in his glass, “You headin’ home t’night? Or do I need to make a bed?”

Fabian glared at him, tapping on the base of the wine glass.

“You know, despite our family history, I’m not dumb enough to drive home after almost three glasses of wine.”

“It was just a question.”

“A dumb question. Yes, Joshua, I’d like to stay the night and not kill two people, four horses, and fifteen chickens on the road.”

Fabian stood, pushing his chair out from underneath him and walking towards the staircase.

“I’m gonna lay down,” he called back. “In the room that must not be named. Hopefully God doesn’t strike me down in here.”

Jackson watched as Fabian went up the stairs, turning right towards the bedroom that had remained empty since you arrived. He listened for the click of the door shutting, much as Fabian had when the roles were reversed, then looked over at you. His eyes wandered up and down your legs and chest as he poured himself another glass of whiskey. He spread his legs apart and patted his thigh.

“C’mere. Sit.”

You walked over to Jackson, acquiescing to his whim and sitting in his lap. He wrapped his arm around your waist as he drank again, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey. He spread your thighs apart, making sure your panties, still wet from the activities of earlier today, sat directly on his thigh. He waited, patiently, for the sensation of a wet spot against his skin. His free hand grabbed his glass of whiskey, downing the remainder of it, then grabbing and stroking his crotch as you sat obediently on his lap.

Abruptly, Jackson stood and picked you up in his arms, your legs now wrapped around his waist. He stepped up the stairs in silence, turning to his bedroom door, closing and locking it behind him. He laid you back first on the bed and crawled on top of you, his whiskey stained lips and breath leaving trails on your neck and chest where he left kisses and bites. He pinned your arms above your head, lifting your dress up towards your stomach.

He paused, then, suddenly, standing upright and staring down at you as he lifted his tank top up and over his head, then pulled his pants down to the floor, and his underwear along with them. You could see plainly that he was hard as he took a couple of steps back, giving you room to slide off of the bed and get on your knees.

You cupped his balls with one hand, and lifted him into your mouth with your tongue. As his cock slid towards the back of your throat. You looked up to see his head thrown backward, his throat bobbing as he moaned and grunted at the motion of your tongue. Between sucks, you took him out of our mouth to kiss and lick his shaft, delicately swirl your tongue around his head, and suck his balls. He moaned at each transition, and moaned louder each time the head of his cock sit the back of your throat as you took him back in.

Your drool and spit bubbles ran down the shaft of his cock, some dripping farther still down to his balls, and some others dripping down to the floor. Several minutes passed you by without notice, and Jackson held your chin to keep your head at bay, moaning at a final lap of your tongue against the underside of his head.

He crawled into bed and laid on his back, motioning his fingers for you to come over. As you crawled on your hands and knees into bed, Jackson snuck his hand up your dress to grab the hem of your panties and pull them downward, down your thighs, calves, and finally off of your feet and onto the floor.

Jackson lifted your dress and held it in a fist in his hand to keep it out of the way as you straddled him, positioning him against your lips and beginning to sit down slowly. As more and more of him inched its way inside of you, Jackson let out a long, drawn out, grunt-like moan, letting himself enjoy the sensation of how tight and wet you were.

“You c’n make noise this time if y’ like”, Jackson breathed out through a moan. “I don’t mind.”

You rested your hands on Jackson’s chest, which was bobbing up and down from his heavy breathing, and began to ride him. You moaned, and Jackson stared up at you, mouth ajar, breathlessly moaning every few strokes. Jackson put his hand behind your neck and pulled your head down toward him. Your noses touched, then your lips, and thereafter you felt Jackson’s tongue inside of your mouth as he kissed you, your hips continuing to buck and grind, back and forth, side to side as you rode him. He moaned into your mouth, still kissing you, his mouth thick with the taste of whiskey, his body light with the scent of soap and cologne.

He released the kiss, allowing you to sit up and continue riding. As you sat up, your cross necklace dropped and dangled from your chest, hanging directly over Jackson’s face. He stared at it, then up at you, your hands still gripping his sides, his cock sliding in and out of you to the rhythm you’d set. He looked around at his bedroom walls, at the plaques and crosses, and then again at the cross necklace, and abruptly sat up, pulling out and pushing you off to the side as he sat up against his headboard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, putting his head in his hands. “I really am. I shouldn’t’ve done this.”

You adjusted your dress as you sat on the bed next to him.

“You sure?”

Jackson sat on the bed, bare and naked, illuminated only by the faint moonlight outside. He glanced at you, but looked away quickly in guilt as he cleared his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can go’n ahead an’ go to bed if y’ want. I won’t bother you any more t’night.”

Picking up your panties from the floor, you unlocked Jackson’s bedroom door and left, closing it behind you. You heard it lock as you stepped into the hallway and turned towards the stairs. Before you could get to the first step, however, the bedroom door on the opposite side of the hall opened, from which you could see Fabian’s head. He stuck out his hand, motioning for you to come in, and after looking back at Jackson’s bedroom door, you did.

“Did you just fuck him?”

“Are you kidding me? This is what you called me in for?”

Fabian looked at the panties you had gripped in your hand and cocked his head to the side.

“You fucked him.”

You sighed defeatedly.

“Yes. I mean, sort of. We didn’t finish.”

“He can’t get it up?”

“No, smartass. He got guilty and stopped.”

A snort of laughter left Fabian’s nose before he covered his mouth to prevent any more sounds from escaping. He laughed silently to himself, almost doubled over in laughter, and took what felt like hours to regain his composure.

“Okay. Okay, wow. God must’a took over. Hallelujah. No pussy on Easter Sunday.”

You shook your head, and Fabian continued.

“Well. Alright. That means you still need to get off, right?”

You smirked up at him, but said nothing.

“I can finish you off, if you want. I’d be happy to, actually.”

Fabian’s hands lifted your dress, and pulled it up over your head. He dropped it to the floor, then wrapped his hand behind your neck to pull you in for a kiss. You began unbuttoning his shirt, starting from the bottom and working your way up the top, slipping it off of his shoulders once it was completely undone. You grazed your fingers against his stomach, your fingers rolling against the hills of his abs as he moved his kisses down to your neck. You unbuckled his pants, but before you could unzip them, Fabian lifted you by the waist, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as he carried you to the bed.

Laying you down, he unclasped and removed your bra, throwing it aside, and allowing his hands to explore your now naked body. He cupped one breast with his hand, and put his mouth on the other, swirling his tongue, slowly and gently, around your nipple. He moved his mouth down, leaving a trail of spit as he moved down to kiss your stomach, and down still to your waistline. He knelt on the floor and spread your legs apart, rubbing between your lips with his thumb.

“How does the farmer usually do this for you? Fast? Slow?”

“He doesn’t do it, usually. Not often.”

Fabian’s eyes rolled as he positioned his mouth closer to your lips and clit.

“’Course not. Fuckin’ idiot. Or a coward. Or both.”

Before he put his mouth on you, he spoke up one more time.

“Don’t worry, then. I know how to treat a lady as beautiful as yourself.”

With those final words, you felt Fabian’s tongue snake up slowly from your whole, up between your lips, and then to your clit, where his tongue lapped up and down against the front of your clit, before gradually moving to one side, and then the other. As he licked and sucked, you felt a finger slide inside of you, moving and twisting as slowly and carefully as Fabian’s tongue. He looked up at you, his eyes greenish-brown, and his long, dark hair falling in strands on his forehead. He continued, painfully slowly, and you gripped a fistful of his hair between your fingers. With the sensation of you tugging at his hair, Fabian slipped a second finger inside of you, his tongue moving in circles and teasing semicircles around your clit. You moaned, to which Fabian moaned in response, the vibration of his moan hitting your clit directly.

You swayed your hips and arched your back as he continued, his pace only picking up momentarily. You came close to orgasm a couple of times, and each time, Fabian would pause to lick between your lips, your wetness coating his tongue. He’d wait for your body’s excitement to decline before he worked his way back up to your clit, his pace slowed to draw out the time it took for you to come close to orgasm again.

The third time, Fabian watched as your back arched and your hips bucked into him, bringing your pussy closer and deeper into his mouth. He quickened the pace of his finger fucking, but slowed the movement of his tongue, making your moan sound almost like a cry as he teased you closer and closer to climax. You squeezed his head with your thighs as you came, your back arched, his tongue still swirling around and sucking on your clit as it throbbed in his mouth. He continued to lick through your orgasm, and kept going until you tugged at his hair to bring his head up, your body nearly jumping out of its skin, your clit sensitive to even the slightest wisp of warm breath from his mouth. Fabian licked his lips, then kissed between your legs, resting his head on your thigh.

“I was gonna go some more. D’you need me to stop?”

You let go of his hair and nodded.

“Okay. D’you still wanna fuck, or are you settled for the night?”

Your head was still laid back on the bed, but you nodded, and spoke breathlessly.

“Please fuck me.”

Fabian smirked, picking you up off of the bed and carrying you toward the mural of Christ that hung on the wall. He laid you down on the floor beneath it, on your side, beneath the collage of crosses. After removing his pants and underwear, both of you now bare, he laid down behind you and lifted one of your legs, positioning himself between your lips.

“I dunno about you,” he said, pressing his hips forward, “But I always wondered what it’d be like t’ give God himself a show.”

His stomach warm and solid against your back, you felt Fabian’s cock move past your lips and inside of you. One of his hands was beneath you, clutching your breast, while the other kept your weak, shaky leg hoisted in the air. He pulled you closer, resting his head in the crook of your neck and moaning next to your ear. With every few thrusts, he let a puff of air out of his mouth, hot and damp against your skin, stained with the scent of red wine. His pace was slow and gentle, allowing you to recover from your climax minutes prior.

He got pleasure from the disrespect, the defiance of fucking you beneath a painting of Christ himself, but yearned for more. He continued for several minutes on his side, but gradually slowed his pace until he stopped, pulling out and getting up on his knees. He gripped your hips and guided you semi-upright, on your hands and knees. You were both facing forward now, looking directly at the bedroom’s makeshift altar, staring directly into the eyes of a picture of Christ.

“D’you think He likes it so far? Maybe we can ask Jackson. See if God’s favorite puppet knows.”

Fabian again pushed himself inside of you, eliciting a moan from you both. He spanked your ass and thighs, throwing his head back and groaning.

“I swear, Jackson is so fucking ungrateful,” he said, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. “You are so fucking perfect.”

You groaned as Fabian’s pace quickened, his cock hitting against your G-spot in rapid succession. You bent forward, your face now touching the floor, your ass still pointing up into the air as Fabian continued his strokes. Nails scratching against the hardwood of the floor, you felt a familiar warmth begin to grow inside of you, promptly followed by a gush of fluid from between your legs, coating Fabian’s abs and thighs, along with your own.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he said, laughing to himself. “Jackson really didn’t give you mucha anything for you to be doin’ all this, did he?”

He gently wrapped his fingers around your neck and lifted your head up to see the mural of Christ. His head was circled with a crown of thorns, from which blood dripped down his head. Fabian wiped his fingers against his stomach, and then on the floor, capturing the fluid on his hands, and wiped it on the painting, tracing everywhere the blood was. On the painting, you could see your wetness dripping down, mimicking the streams of blood on the painting itself. Behind you, heard satisfied laughter from Fabian.

“There. Look. Now it’s better than the boring ass original.”

Fabian kept your head gently held upright with his hand, while the other guided your hips back and forth against his length. Several minutes passed before he lifted your head further, forcing you up on your knees, your back now laid flat against his chest. He continued to pump, his fingers delicately encircling your throat, his mouth trailing kisses along your back and shoulder. You heard him swear under his breath again and again, “Fuck,” “Oh my fucking god,” “Jesus fucking Christ,” quietly into your ear between held-back moans. He slowed his pace momentarily to speak.

“Where do you want me to cum, pretty girl?”

His head was in the crook of your neck now, your moans vibrating against his mouth as his lips grazed over your throat.

“Inside,” is all you could manage between moans.

Fabian’s groans and growls grew more intense the closer he came to climax. His grip around your throat tightened, and he nibbled on your ear, tugging with the lobe between his teeth.

You felt his warm breath against your ear as he breathed out a final moan, feeling a sudden warmth between your legs. You felt his throbbing inside of you, and the gentle movement of his hips pressing against you through his orgasm. As the intensity subsided, Fabian stayed inside of you, kissing up your neck and jaw, then kissing your lips before letting go of your neck. He pulled out slowly, his cum beginning to drip out of you and onto the floor. He reached behind himself, for his pants, and reached into one of the pockets to pull out his pack of sanitary wipes. He pulled out several, using them to wipe the floor clean. He set all of them aside to throw away, except for the last one. He looked at it momentarily, after wiping a few remaining spots of cum from the floor, and stuck it on the mural of Christ, in the middle of his forehead.

“Amen,” he said, with a cocky grin, “And happy fuckin’ Easter.”

#bri's writing

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joeys-piano · 7 years

Text

Lucid Dream

Rating: General Characters: Yuuri and Viktor

If one were to ask Yuuri what was his favorite moment with Viktor, he wouldn’t know how to explain it. Not because he wanted to shy away from the cameras, or because he didn’t have an explanation. Yuuri’s favorite moment couldn’t be described with just words. It was an experience that held more weight as a memory than as a mere answer for the world to know. So if asked, Yuuri would simply say, “It’s personal” and carry on. But if say, Yuuri were to ask himself what his favorite moment with Viktor was, he’d cover his mouth with one hand, gaze affectionately to his right where his engagement ring glistened, and Yuuri would whisper: “It started like a dream…”

Four months prior in their cozy apartment in St. Petersburg, Yuuri shifted under the bedsheets to find that Viktor was no longer next to him. Yuuri’s fingers skimmed over a cold portion of blanket and tugged at the wrinkled bedcover. Despite the chill, Yuuri felt traces of Viktor’s warmth when he rose out of bed and slipped on his glasses. His eyes followed a blanket trail, how the sheet spilled from the mattress and onto the floor before pointing out the bedroom door. Yuuri shuffled quietly, careful to feel his way through the darkness and stepped over Makkachin before making it out into the quiet hallway leading to the living area.

Yuuri could only hear his hitched breath and the scratch of his nails along the walls before he heard the turn of a kitchen stool, and Yuuri flicked on the lights to find Viktor hunched over an empty mug with packets of sugar piled into a makeshift pyramid by his side. Viktor appeared to be sleeping, but he spun his stool when Yuuri approached from around the corner.

“Babe, are you--” Yuuri blinked when he met Viktor’s droopy, red eyes. Noticing Yuuri’s slight recoil, Viktor brushed his messy bangs until they covered his eyes and he turned his head away sadly. Yuuri pulled up a stool next to Viktor before he rested a hand over Viktor’s. “Can’t sleep?”

Viktor nodded. He brought his mug up to his lips, and all he gulped was air before setting the cup down.

“Do you want some tea? Hot chocolate?” Yuuri offered to take the mug, but Viktor was rather fond of it and kept it close when Yuuri’s fingers tried to touch it. “Do you want to drink something?”

Viktor shook his head and sniffled. He motioned for Yuuri to lean closer, and Viktor rested his head on his fiance’s shoulder. Yuuri slowly ran his fingers through Viktor’s hair, calming whatever worries or fears that threatened to spill from Viktor’s lips when he opened but closed them just as he sniffled again. Yuuri didn’t say much of anything else and simply sat in silence with his fiance. He waited for Viktor to speak on his own, and Viktor did when he picked up his mug again.

“I can’t sleep.” Viktor’s voice was hoarse as he traced his words down Yuuri’s arm with an absent finger.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Yuuri shifted in his stool just as Viktor snuggled closer to him.

“It’s…” Viktor mumbled some Russian underneath his breath before he remembered that Yuuri couldn’t understand him, but Yuuri told Viktor that he didn’t need to repeat himself. Viktor lifted his head and probably raised an eyebrow, but Yuuri couldn’t see it. Not with Viktor’s bangs in the way. Yuuri brushed them aside and murmured if he could kiss Viktor’s forehead. Viktor lowered his head and Yuuri gave his presents. One kiss to ease his fiance's mind, one kiss for a good sleep, and one more kiss because a smiled grew on Viktor’s lips with every gift.

Yuuri probably backed away a few inches before asking, “Do you feel a little better?”

“Can I have one more kiss for good luck?” A purr escaped from Viktor’s lips when Yuuri kissed him one more time, and he embraced Yuuri with tender arms. “I still can’t sleep,” Viktor whispered, but his voice sounded smoother and a bit fluttery as Viktor’s hands trailed down the spine of Yuuri’s back. Yuuri nudged Viktor’s side with his knuckles, rather gently with a chuckle to ease his fiance’s spirits.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yuuri coaxed Viktor to stand up so that they can walk back to the bedroom together, and the two stood up slowly and shuffled. Viktor clung to Yuuri’s arm, and Yuuri walked slowly so that Viktor could keep up. Sometimes, when Viktor was about to run into a wall or corner, Yuuri would gently steer him into the right direction. Other times, Viktor would walk into a wall or corner to remind himself that he was still awake before following Yuuri’s touch. When they made it to the bed, Viktor eased himself slowly and hid under the blanket after Yuuri slipped in. “Viktor?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to talk about why you can’t sleep?” Yuuri bit his bottom lip when Viktor shifted over and squeezed his pillow.

There was a brief moment of silence, and Yuuri wondered if Viktor had fallen asleep or had simply ignored him to feign it. “Let me close my eyes first, darling.”

Despite the darkness, Yuuri could watch Viktor’s eyelashes flutter slowly when his eyelids drooped. Quick before slowing down but even then, Viktor’s eyes didn’t stay closed for long before he opened them again and really tried to sleep. Yuuri scooted closer to Viktor so that he could feel some company.

“Viktor, what do you want to eat tomorrow?” It was as if Yuuri asked for the weather, but Viktor had known his fiance long enough to know that Yuuri liked to use coded-phrases when an individual didn’t want to speak about something out loud.

“Muffins with some cereal, and the usual coffee on the side.” Viktor could almost taste his breakfast before he transitioned to lunch and dinner. All three of his meals were rather simple, and Viktor wondered if Yuuri was able to figure out what he really meant by his answers. He rolled over and watched as Yuuri mumbled under his breath, formulating his words before meeting Viktor’s steady gaze.

“Are you worried for the future?”

“What makes you think that?” Viktor whispered, and his words hovered over the collective silence.

Yuuri rolled around under the sheets. Lost in his thoughts, but he worried about his answer. Because the reason was directly linked to him, even if Yuuri mumbled that it wasn't his fault. Because Viktor was making his comeback into the skating world and he was going to continue his coaching with Yuuri. Realistically, it was a reckless idea but Viktor had persuaded Yuuri before that he wouldn't be him if there wasn't a surprise tacked to it.

“Yuuri?” Viktor nudged his fiance with his elbow.

“Don't hold yourself back because of me.” Yuuri clenched his teeth. “Just be you and--”

Viktor cut him off with a tender embrace. He cuddled next to Yuuri, and Yuuri laid in silence. Unsure of what Viktor meant by the gesture, or if he should try speaking again.

“Yuuri, you don't have to worry about me.” Viktor’s voice was thick as sleep began to dull his senses. “I'm going to be okay.”

“You haven't skated competitively for a year.”

“But I skated with you,” Viktor yawned, laying his head near the crook of Yuuri’s shoulder. “I'm not scared about my future, but yours is a different story if you think I'm going to hold myself back.”

It was a tease, but it knitted knots inside Yuuri’s chest while he absently messed with Viktor’s hair. How could he not worry about Viktor? With the media, with fans and their opinions, and with new programs to choreograph and plan, it was simply too much for one man’s shoulders. Not to say that Yuuri wasn’t going to do his part for what he had to do, but...Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to think. His thoughts buzzed around like flies, and Viktor moved around in his pseudo-sleep.

There weren’t any words to say, but Viktor traced his thoughts along Yuuri’s arm. Reassurances that things were going to be okay, that they could discuss more about this in the morning, and that right now...Yuuri needed him as much as Viktor needed Yuuri. It took a bit of coaxing before Yuuri could fall asleep comfortably.

Later that morning as Viktor sat by the kitchen counter, cup of coffee at his lips, he glanced up from his beverage when Yuuri shuffled in and opened the fridge for some yogurt. They were both tired--judging by Viktor’s third cup of coffee and the buzz in Yuuri’s mind when he ate his breakfast with a fork from the utensil drawer. Viktor voted that should take a break and enjoy the rest of the day with Netflix and classic movies with Makkachin.

“In the end, someday, will you hold my hand? Will you walk with me?” Viktor reached for Yuuri’s hand when they sat on the couch and watched as their DVD loaded across the television.

There was no hesitation on Yuuri’s part when his fingers curled around his fiance’s.

“Always.”

#yuri on ice #YoI #yuuri katsuki #viktor nikiforov #viktuuri #victuuri #viktuuri fanfic #yuri on ice fanfic #YoI fanfic

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unholyhelbiglinked · 7 years

Text

Pack Mentality | TWO

“Look at me, okay?” the man hissed his words out, almost like his saliva was filled with the very venom that dripped from his teeth. It should have burned, his own words as they slid past his throat, the conscious thoughts he was so prided for sharing. “That thing… that girl. She’s not like me, she’s not like you. She’s not like most.”

Grace resented that statement. One or two genetic differences didn’t’ make her completely different from the group of savage people surrounding her on every side. They were ready; ready for what she didn’t’ know. It’s not like she could take any of them without a formulated plan.

Her eyes darted between the group around her. They were all dressed in dark clothing, most of them bundled up against the cold. Grace was different. She struggled to keep her composure, struggled to keep her hold on something other than fear. If she focused too much on the fear she would end up on the front page of more than one tabloid.

The teenager had a feeling that they knew exactly what she was capable of, though. Her hair was standing up on end. “Look, I did nothing wrong. I’m just walking through the woods.”

One of the only girls in the group, the one the man kept teaching, was looking at the slick-haired human now. He smelled of hair gel and cigarette smoke. Maybe it was from something fancier, like cigars that were flown in exclusively in pine boxes. They were rolled and bound, finally being wrapped in think sheets of gold. But that was just a guess.

“She looks like me,” The girl said, more out of curiosity than anything. “How do you know you’re not in sighting murder here?”

“You’ll know.” The dark man lifted his chin, “But of course there are more blatant ways of figuring out exactly what we want to know.”

Grace tensed. Her heart was in her throat at this point, pounding so roughly against her palm that she could swear the strangers around her could hear it too. They couldn’t though, but someone had to. If she would get out of this alive, they had to.

In one swift motion, the hot edge of a blade slashed against the edge of Grace’s cheek. It was warm at first, the subtly of the pain dripping from the blood that now poured across her cheek. Her eyes were trained on the leaf coated ground. Her breathing was heavy, a rough heat followed, like a bee sting. The girl had gasped, close to covering her eyes, but instead, she grasped the man's upper arm.

“What the hell, Michel?” She glowered, “What did you just do!?”

“Relax, she’ll be fine.” He said, voice still steady with gravel, Grace was too stunned to stop him from placing his could touch under her chin. He lifted her gaze to his. “Won’t you?”

She swallowed unevenly, swatting his hand away. She knew the very wound he had created with a pocket knife was sealing in front of their eyes. It left a faded red line, but not he large scar it should have provided. Once again, the girl with sharp green eyes let out a breath that was similar to a gasp.

“See,” The man grinned “She’s not like us. She’s not human.”

Her mouth was dry, air filling her lungs to the point of not having much room left. Grace wanted to cough, to clear her throat and stop the cold sweat from collecting at the edge of her collarbone, but all eyes were already trained on hers.

The sheet of paper that was set up and ready to be written on for today’s lesson sat sweat soaked and crumbled as her fist tightened around its edge. She panted, eyes darting frantically around the room as the classroom around her seemed to freeze.

“Miss Helbig, is the thrilling theory of everything boring you enough to lose consciousness in the middle of my lecture?” The middle-aged woman leaned heavily against her desk. She stilled looked close to being fresh out of school, although she lost her thrill for teaching years ago. Her deep brown hair getting lighter with every passing year.

Grace blinked a few times, staring blankly. She didn’t even remember dozing off, much less what that incessant woman was droning on about beforehand. “No ma’am, I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed acceptable enough for the class to keep moving with the lecture.

The lights had been dimmed, an old fashion projector cast an image into the dully painted walls. The glow was golden, an off-brand expo marker was drawing different graphs in attempts to visualize how everything coexisted in the world that was inhabited today.

The girl was still tense, her shoulders knotted as she gripped the edges of her desk, feeling the grains of wood dig into the pads of her fingers as she lowered herself into a slumped position of her seat. The plastic was cool as it pressed against the nave of her back. She tried to focus on breathing. Again, not wanting to lose control.

“Grace,” A slight whisper came from beside her, her gaze flashing over to the girl that was seated to the right of her. She was smaller, her dirty blonde hair cropped and styled in a way that only she could pull off. She was wearing a flannel that was way too big for her own good, but it looked warm- just like her deep turquoise gaze. “You okay?”

The blonde just nodded, against trying to keep her mouth from staying as dry as it was now. She knew that Hannah could see right through her, but she wasn’t going to grill her friend in the middle of a lecture. Grace was off the hook for now. The scent of rustic blood was sure to soak through the bandages that her mother had painfully wrapped around her leg earlier today.

Demi Helbig had always been the type of woman to think of everything, her cunning solutions and makeshift medicine skills constantly came in handy when it came to the issues that faced their family. She had taken fresh jasmine, layering the herb between each layer of bandages to mask the smell as much as possible.

The loud clanging of the school bell made her jump again, which Hannah was sharp to take notice of. Again, she stayed quiet, watching her friend carefully as she shoved the already crumpled page of notes into her bag. She was usually pristine, never wanting anything out of place, but at this point, Grace didn’t care.

Light poured through the windows of her truck, the grey sky was a collection of bold clouds and deeper colors. Grace had seen stuff like this before; the sign that snow was about to fall and a crisper time of the year would creep in.

When the sun started to set, the sky would fade to a vibrant orange, the clouds painted in deep maroon until everything eventually turned black. Grace always used to watch the color vanish from the sky. She would sit right by the lake, the quiet taking up most of her time.

“She’s not like us,”

The words fogged up her mind, a sharp chill filling most of her body as she let out a gasp. The sound was almost in unison to her side door creaking open. The leather steering wheel beneath her grasp nearly tore and changed shape like putty. It was malleable, her nails digging into the material.

“What is with you?” Hannah stood on the other end of the door. She had her hand resting above her head on the roof of the truck. Her foot was propped up on the base. She had her bag hanging from her shoulder. “We were supposed to meet in the courtyard.”

“Right,” Grace let out a breath. She glanced into her rearview mirror, letting her deep golden eyes take up most of the reflective surface. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I just… a lot has been going on.”

“Then talk to me about it.” Hannah let out a small huff of air as she hoisted herself into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut with a dull thud. She was turned completely in the chair, her fingers pressing against the dashboard. Her cheeks were red and irritated from the cold. “That is why I’m here.”

“That’s not why you’re here Hannah,” Grace scoffed “You’re here because you need a ride home.”

“Well yeah,” She stifled a smile “But that’s not the only reason. We’ve been friends for years, and I know when something more than a test in phycology is bothering you.”

Grace let out a long breath, pressing her back into the plush seat. Just like her father, she knew that Hannah would be upset about her going out in the middle of the night without at least one person by her side. Without her. She clenched her jaw, tasting the familiar copper that often plagued her.

“You have to promise not to get mad.”

“How can I promise if I don’t know what you did.”

“You can’t really, but it helps.”

“Okay,” The smaller girl breathed out “Okay fine.”

Grace swallowed roughly, her nose close to running from the cold. The truck hadn’t warmed up yet, even though the vents pumped scented air into the small space. She started to feel stifled, her fingers pulling at the edge of her shirt. It started to stick to the nave of her back. It felt like a cold. Something she hadn’t acquired for years. Then again, she always healed whenever something like this decided to attack her body.

“Last night I went out,” Grace sounded carefully, avoiding the accusatory gaze from Hannah. It wasn’t like she had been taken out on a date for some pizza and a movie. She never got asked out, and both girls knew exactly what she meant. The smaller girl stayed silent, though. “And a group of people, they uh, they attacked me.”

“They saw you?” Hannah adjusted her position in the leather seat once more.

“They sure as hell did, but it was dark. They were human. I don’t think… I know they wouldn’t recognize me now. Not in daylight.”

Hannah chewed her lip slightly, the metallic taste coating her tongue. It was a nervous habit. She would always have Grace’s back no matter what, and part of her was irked that her friend didn’t come to her first. The taller blonde had a tendency to do without thinking- to rebel even in the smallest of ways. This time it cost her a lot more.

“Was it another pack?” Hannah’s voice was sharp, squeezing the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes.

“No, god no.” she shook her head “I would smell them from a mile away. Feel them even sooner. This was different. It freaked my dad out. He won’t talk to me about it.”

“What about my mom?” Hannah asked, breath still clouding in front of her in thick condensation. “Do you know if he called her?”

“I’m sure he did,” Grace scoffed, staring down at her hands as they rested lazily on her lap.

They sat in a labored silence for a few moments, their breath the only sound the filled the area. A few people were starting to crowd around the table that their group usually met at. All of them were bundled up in different layers of clothes, Grace’s eyes catching a few stares when she glanced in the rearview mirror.

Anthony was sitting on the blue painted table, the mesh sure to dig into her thighs. He didn’t seem too bothered by it though, Andrea had her arms wrapped tightly around his arm, leaning her chin on his shoulder as the two stared at the glowing screen to his phone. Rosanna had her nose buried in a book, eyes scanning every single page as Jordan occupied himself with peeling a sticker off of an apple. They looked comfortable- like family.

Hannah finally lets out a small sigh before pulling the car door open, tossing Grace a questioning look. “You coming, Helbig?”

“Yeah, Hart.” She let out a small breath “I’ll be there in a minute.”

#grace helbig #mamrie hart #hannahhart #mace #fanfiction

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melody-hall · 6 years

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bury the past | closed

There’s nothing here worth being around for anymore. Go AU where Mel left after the flora store fallout and no one could find her but after some troubling news she comes back after 10 years (bonus point for myself: a curly haired almost 9 year old kid) - inspired by x

10 years ago

She found out only a month after and the guilt set in. And the fear. Mel had drunk heavily and she felt that her sickness was due to that. She was all alone, living in a raggedy motel across the diner she worked. How was she going to deal with this? She had never felt more scared in her entire life. She wanted to go back. She should go back. It’s too late, she told herself. She had severed ties, it was her fault and for the first time in her life she should own up to the consequences of her actions. She told Betsy first. Perhaps the older woman would have been more excited if the news weren’t followed by a loud sob from Melody. Betsy promised to help, to mel’s surprise the whole diner and the community helped her in every way they could. It didn’t heal Mel’s brokenness, but it put a little band-aid on it.

When the time came she was alone, Mel didn’t want to burden anyone else with her choices, she had done enough. She screamed, she cursed. When they placed him in her chest she felt like she couldn’t breathe. All she could see was him mirrored in this small being who was holding on to her thumb with such strength. She cried the whole night, wishing she could have her mother to help her. Or her friends. Or the love of her life. Melody wanted him here, she hoped that simply by sheer willpower he would appear and they would be happy.She wished she hadn’t been so stupid and selfish. But between all her regrets and fears, she made a promise. After all her wrongs, she would do right by him.

now

Her phone rang obnoxiously loud at 3 AM. She opened one eye to peer at the screen to see the caller. The number wasn’t saved in her contacts and she didn’t recognize the numbers. She muted the noise and turned to the other side. It rang again. And at the fourth time Melody decided she had enough and picked it up. “What?” she barked, softly enough to not wake him up in the other room. “Am I speaking to Melody Hall?” a woman with a firm voice on the other side asked. “Yes, this is she” Suddenly a feeling of dread washed over her. “You are listed as an emergency contact for Tip Doren, do you know this person?”. At this Mel sat up straight “Yes”. “I am sorry to inform you but he was involved in an accident with his daughter”. Mel took a sharp intake of air “oh my god”. “Tip is in very critical situation that is why we were asked to come in contact with you, which hasn’t been easy”. Before Melody could even formulate a sentence, the lady continued “They are at the St. John’s hospital since Thursday.” Melody tried to swallow the knot in her throat “I will be there as soon as possible.” She paused, she noticed a small figure by her bedroom door clutching a teddy bear tight “If there’s a way, please let them know I’m on my way. Thank you.”. The lady on the other line bid her goodnight and hung up. Melody wiped away her tear and opened her arms asking for him to join. The boy quickly climbed on the bed and hugged Mel at the neck with as much strength his little arms could. “Why are you crying, mom?” he looked at her with worried eyes. Mel pushed a dark curl away from his face and inhaled to steady herself “You know your uncle Tip that mommy tells you stories of?”. The boy nodded. “Well, he was in an accident, and the people at the hospital asked me to go.” His eyes widened with worry. “So I think we have to go on a little trip. Do you mind missing a couple of classes?” He shook his head firmly “No, I think I can catch up”. Mel managed to smile despite everything. “Okay, now go sleep, pumpkin. I’ll email your teacher and we’ll catch a flight first thing in the morning”. He didn’t even bother to leave to his own room, he simply got under the covers and turned to the other side.

As soon as they landed dread sunk in her stomach, she felt dizzy but she needed to push through. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply trying to calm herself, hopelessly. Luckily she had managed to have some good sense to rent a car instead of the 2 hour bus trip to the town. Her son sat in the passenger seat happily doodling, nodding his head to the music. Familiar guitar notes started playing from the radio and Melody quickly reached over to turn off the radio. Her son looked back at her confused by her reaction. It scared her how much he looked like him. At days it hurt her to even look at him because the simple sight of him brought back memories that she fought hard to forget. He truly is the representation of her disappearance, every birthday party meant one more year away from it all. Mel started to recognize the streets and felt like she couldn’t breathe. She stopped the car violently as soon as she realized in which road she was in. Melody looked to her left and found her old school, abandoned with weeds on the ground that could reach her knees and with ivy covering the walls, broken windows and graffiti. She sat there, with her car in the middle of the street, breathing rapidly but feeling like no air was coming in at all. “Mom, are you okay?” he asked carefully. But before Melody could answer, a police car flashed its lights at them and pulled right next to Melody. “You know you can’t stop in the middle of the road?” The police officer warned and Mel watched as recognition painted his face. “Melody.” It wasn’t a question. Then his face turned into a scowl “Why did you come back?” A pause, Ouch. “Haven’t the people who love you suffered enough?”. His words felt like a punch in the stomach. “That’s rude.” Her son quipped beside her, frowning at the officer who had his mouth open at the sight of the boy. “Probably” Mel replied before driving away.

Nothing appeared to have changed and yet everything had changed. She looked around and she could almost picture herself in her twenties skipping down these streets fresh out of the beach. Her son gasped at the sight of the beach, she had never took him to see the ocean, it hurt too much and there wasn’t a close enough beach so it served as a good excuse. She caught a glimpse of Fauna’s bakery, forever filled with customers and not far away it was Flora’s store. At that sight she tore her eyes away, the hole in her heart aching and drove to the hospital. As soon as she arrived, Mel was redirected by the hospital staff to the correct room, what they failed to mention it was that there was already someone in the room. Mel knocked out of politeness and opened the door. She first caught sight of her tall friend sitting down in a hunched position, the beeps from the machine were the only sounds in the room, as soon as he caught a glimpse of her by the door he jumped to his feet. “Mel!” Dash half-whispered. “Th-They called me” Mel tried to steady her voice as she fiddled with her seashell pendant. Before any of them could say anything, her son peered from behind her into the room surveying it with curiosity. Mel could have sworn that Dash’s jaw dropped to the floor at the sight. “Mel…” he sounded defeated, disappointed and scared, if it was possible to sound all those things together “Does… Does he know?” All Mel could do was shake her head, her final words to him still haunted her ’There’s nothing here worth being around for anymore. Goodbye’. She was the only one to blame.

#P:closed #hi #i love pain #LETS GET THIS PAIN #i love myself #ah #tinkerbell gets her power from applause #i get my power from character pain #p:bury the past

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aliceslantern · 7 years

Text

Nocturnal Memory, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic--Chapter 3

[Summary: Dying takes a lot out of you, it's true, but when Demyx wakes up for the first time since his fight with Sora nothing's right. His memories are fragmented and he's missing his true name. And he's not the only one. An incomprehensible mystery and an inevitable war make him question what, exactly, he would do to become whole, and reclaim the music lost to him.

Chapter summary: After learning some horrifying news about his reformation, Demyx sits in on an intel meeting, where he is propositioned by the Radiant Garden Restoration committee

On FF.net/on AO3]

III.

The Committee

The walk back to his room was silent. Demyx tried to push against the wall of anxiety that was threatening to crush him—think of literally anything else—but it seemed to be in vain. He felt like he was choking.

"Nine?" Ienzo asked. "Are you all right? You seem… overwhelmed."

No shit. "I… I'm… I want to be alone," he said in a small voice. "Please."

"You're certain?" He asked.

He nodded.

"I'll come to check up on you," Ienzo said. "There's a committee meeting later and we feel your input would be valuable. But if you don't feel up to it I understand."

The whole time he spoke all Demyx could think was shut up shut up stop talking. And when the door was finally, blessedly shut, leaving him in the solitude of this horrible room, he sank down onto the mattress. At first he tried to resist the urge to curl into a ball and cry, but he wasn't sure what else he would do with himself if he didn't.

What the hell am I supposed to think about that? What do I do now?

What was worse, there was nothing for him to do. He knew that Even and Ienzo usually knew what they were talking about, or at least speculated in the right direction. Unless some miracle befell him, he was royally fucked.

After hours of panicking, Demyx had thought that the day wouldn't get any worse. Of course, he was wrong.

He wasn't sure how he had found himself sitting at the Restoration Committee's panel that afternoon. Maybe it was because he was slowly going mad and the prospect of having something—anything—other than his own literal deterioration to think about was appealing. Maybe he thought that seeing his old coworkers would make him think that this current reality was just a nightmare. Maybe he was just too tired to object to Ienzo's invitation. Either way, there he was, sitting at a long wooden table with Even and Ienzo, waiting for the others to arrive. He wasn't even a hundred percent sure who all the "others" were, but he knew that if Sora showed up Demyx might die. Again.

"How have you been processing this, Nine?" Ienzo asked. "You seemed… distressed… when I left you."

"Why are you calling me Nine again?" Demyx asked. "I asked you to call me by my name."

Ienzo nodded. "It's habit, I suppose," he said, but Demyx could tell by the way he knotted his hands that he was lying.

"Who else is in this hell committee that I'm not aware of?" He asked instead of pressing farther. "He's not… Sora's not…"

"No. Sora isn't coming. I wouldn't have asked you to come if he were. He's far too busy right now." Ienzo flipped open a notebook; Demyx squinted.

"Hey," he asked. "Where's your lexicon? Couldn't you take notes in that?"

Ienzo stared at him, but before he could formulate an answer the door banged open. Axel's Somebody barged in. Unlike the rest of them, he was still wearing the black coat, albeit with a red and orange kerchief around his neck. There was a glowing confidence to him that was different than before, more wholesome. He caught Demyx's eye. "Well, look who it is?" He came over and clapped him on the shoulder. "I was wondering when these two eggheads would let you rejoin normal society."

"Nine's health has been delicate," Ienzo interjected. "We figured it was best for him to remain behind." Ienzo's jaw and shoulders were tight. Even had a hard, uncomfortable look on his face, and his hands were clutched in front of him, the knuckles white. Demyx didn't understand why they were reacting to Axel like this.

Axel's Somebody shrugged. "Whatever you say. Anyway, how have you been?" He spoke very quickly, and didn't let Demyx answer. "It's like the gang's all here. Well. For the most part. Name's Lea, by the way. I figured you were wondering."

"All… all right," Demyx said. "You look… good."

"It's been a wild ride," Lea admitted. He flopped down in the seat next to Demyx and propped his feet up on the table; Ienzo wrinkled his nose. "Did brownnoser here tell you the news?"

"That depends on which news," Demyx said tersely.

"I'm a Keyblade wielder," he said. He smiled smugly. "It's been surreal, I admit…"

"Wait… what? But… aren't there only like two Keyblade wielders, ever?" He couldn't mesh his concept of Lea with his idea of what a Keyblade wielder should be like.

Lea whistled. "Boy, do you have a lot to learn."

He put his head in his hands. "Look, everything's really complicated right now, I've been told like a million things. I'm kind of overwhelmed."

Lea laughed. "Good thing you're at an intel meeting then." He slapped Demyx on the shoulder again. He turned to Even. Even's voice was level, but strangely harsh. Demyx wasn't listening; he was again slipping. He wanted to get up and run out of the room. But then what? Where would he go?

The door opened again and in came Dilan and Aeleus. Dilan's gaze passed right over Demyx, and he spoke in a low voice to Even about something that had happened on the outskirts of the castle. The noise in the room seemed muffled and Demyx found himself getting dizzy again. After so long with only Ienzo for company, the sight of so many people was almost too much.

"It's good to see you back in full health, Nine," Aeleus said. He sat across from him. The deep blue of his guard uniform softened his otherwise harsh features; without the frame of the black cloak, Demyx barely recognized him. He even afforded him a smile. "We've been worried."

"…Thank you," he said, though he doubted it.

"Have you been briefed about the situation?" He continued in that unnervingly kind voice.

"Sort of?" Demyx asked. "It's hard to tell what I know and don't know. I know about the vessels, and how we had hearts all along, and now I just learned about Lea—"

Dilan, on his other side, rolled his eyes. "Ah, yes. Seems like something right out of a torrid pulp novel, does it not?" He paused. "And presumably you haven't been told about what we would like you to do?"

This day was getting weirder and weirder, or was the right phrase worse and worse? "Um… no?"

"Well obviously you're quite skilled at intelligence gathering. Nobody would dispute that fact." He chuckled. "So you see—"

The door opened again. A dull headache sprung up in his head. A small group of people came in, chatting. Demyx recognized them from all his reconnaissance work—this was the core of the Restoration Committee. He knew their faces better than their names. It was strange to see them so up-close. This was getting too surreal. His tried to keep his breathing level.

Before he looked down, he caught the gaze of the shorter, dark-haired girl. She gave him the same look of disgust as you would a rat in the gutter. Demyx looked away. He felt nauseous now and just wanted this to be over.

"How long do these meetings usually take?" He whispered to Dilan.

"That would depend on our friends," he said. "Sometimes they have a lot to say, sometimes very little. It all depends on the information they have gathered."

"From Sora?" Demyx watched the woman with brown hair chat with Aeleus. She had a kind smile on her face.

"And the other allies."

"Allies? So… like… we're… actively fighting this? This being Xe—"

Dilan tapped his palm. "Not yet, Nine."

Demyx groaned. "Not you too."

"So then it hasn't been explained to you?"

"I don't know!" He said a bit more loudly than he intended; the older man with the blond hair gave him a look. "I don't know anything about… anything."

The angry girl sat next to Dilan. She rolled her eyes and then started talking to the brown-haired woman. Dilan raised one eyebrow.

Demyx turned to Dilan. "I think I have to go." He tried to get up—for a minute he thought his legs might be too weak to stand—but a voice stopped him.

"All right. Is everybody ready to proceed?" Ienzo asked. Demyx took a deep breath to try and steady himself. He wouldn't listen, that was all. He wouldn't listen and it would be fine.

He'd been trained too well from many years of reconnaissance and annoying meetings. No matter how much he tried to distract himself words like casualties and undeniable influence and total world annihilation slipped through his net and a trembling nausea grew in the pit of his stomach. Demyx couldn't help but wonder—had the old Organization done things like this? Of course, he'd never committed any atrocities like that with his own hands during his tenure, but had he planted the seeds just by following orders? He put his head in his hands and tried to push the thoughts away.

"…And that's where you come in."

Dilan nudged him; Demyx was being addressed. He looked up. "What was that?" He asked.

The angry girl—her name was Yuffie—snorted.

"You'll have to excuse him, Nine has been inundated with quite a bit of information today," Ienzo said. The babying, though well-intentioned, just made him feel worse, and a hot flush flooded his face.

"Well, obviously it would be good to have you in the field, with your reconnaissance skills," the man with the scar said. "But… there is another… more pressing matter where we feel you could be helpful."

And if I don't want to? "…And what would that be?" Demyx felt heat building behind his eyes and he prayed that he wouldn't start crying.

"The reservoirs are in shitty shape," the blond man, Cid, said. "They're old, and we don't have the resources to fix them properly."

He blinked quickly. "I don't get it."

"Your power over water. If you could clean our fresh water sources and reroute them while someone else fixes the old system, instead of investing so much time trying to mine new wells, it would be immensely helpful. We have to ration enough with the dry season coming." Aerith, the kind woman, afforded him another genuine smile.

Demyx was reaching the end of his rope. He couldn't hold the panic back anymore; it was like an elastic band and it was about to snap on him. Truthfully he hadn't thought about his powers since waking up. Maybe it was just his terrible reformation, but he wasn't even sure if he had any powers at all anymore.

"Nine is still healing from a traumatic metaphysical wound," Ienzo added. "Right now, using his powers might endanger him."

"It would be wonderful if you could try, though I understand." Aerith tilted her head. Of course. They all wanted something from him but they didn't care how he felt about it. His eyes were damp. Hold on. Hold on. The angry girl was now starting at him with a bemused expression. They were all staring at him, waiting for him to say something. Only Lea had the decency to look away.

"Yes. I'll try. Whatever. Now I, um, have to go." He didn't listen for a response. He didn't care who he had to trip over to get out of the room, he just had to get out. Demyx stumbled over to the door and slammed it on his way out. He was able to get to the end of the hall before the panic overtook him completely and he collapsed. He leaned against the wall and choked for air. He couldn't feel his fingers and he thought his chest might split open.

"Hey, buddy." A voice—so soft he had trouble placing it as Lea's—called out to him.

The humiliation burned through him, and he gritted his teeth. "Why won't you people leave me alone?"

He heard the zipper of Lea's jacket brush against itself as he sat down. "I only wanted to see if you were alright."

He laughed through a sob. "Oh, that's rich."

"You held it together really well, considering. I can only imagine. Ienzo told me about your reformation."

The word vomit was on the edge of his tongue—he wondered if he would spill. "Nobody seems to care about how I feel, or what I want. They're all… they're all treating me like a child, trying to figure out, "oh, what will we deign ourselves to tell Demyx today?" And they all want something. I know it. But I didn't ask for any of this to happen." He was shaking with adrenaline.

Lea's expression was aggravatingly neutral. Demyx wanted him to contradict him, or to tell him off. "No, I get it."

"Look. I don't care about this stupid committee, or the resistance, or whatever. I just want to live." He knew how pathetic he must sound. "But who knows if that'll happen." For a few minutes he flat-out cried while Lea sat there. His old wounds were getting irritated.

Lea stood. "Want to go for a walk?"

Getting out of the castle was appealing, but he wasn't sure he could. "I guess."

He forced himself to his feet. His hands still trembled, but he was more or less over the worst, at least for now.

Demyx and Lea walked through the hallways in silence. Lea mercifully moved very slowly. They passed by some open windows, and Demyx realized that he hadn't yet been outside since waking up. A cool breeze fluttered the ragged curtains; it looked like it would rain soon. He leaned against the frame and closed his eyes. The air felt good against his swollen face. "What'll happen to me?" He asked. He didn't expect an answer; he just wanted to hear it out loud.

"I'm sure it'll all work out," Lea said. "You've been lucky this far."

Lucky? He called this lucky?

Lea touched him on the shoulder. "You want to keep going?"

Demyx sighed. "No. I'm pretty tired. I think I just want to lie down."

But he didn't move. The air smelled like spring rain and relief. He was falling. Falling? Fa—

#demyx #nocturnal memory #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3d #fanfiction #the hollow bastion restoration committee

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dwarva · 8 years

Text

Stardew Valley 30 Day Challenge Day 23. Out of Energy

The snow crunched under his beaten old bown boots as Harvey gripped onto the fence leading to the farm. No fresh snow had fallen in days but the temperature stayed under freezing so the compacted snow was fast turning into an ice rink. The soles of his boots had mediocre grips but even they were struggling to keep him upright as the sun dipped below the horizon and the winds grew even more biting.

Worries about pulling a muscle if he slid or breaking an ankle if he slipped plagued his thoughts but still onward he moved. Before he'd left the clinic, he'd gone through a dozen potential injury scenarios and still decided that visiting Rae was worth any risk. The stitches from the creature's attack in the mines were due to come out tomorrow so he wanted to give it a once over before she came to get them removed at the clinic.

Careful now. One foot in front of the other. Tiny baby steps Harvey...

When he caught sight of the tall farm house with its temporary snowy hat he breathed a deep sigh of relief and dragged himself along faster, his gloves now sodden with ice crystals melting all over them. The sun was a mere glowing line on the horizon now and its absence had resulted in another drastic drop in temperature. Not for the first time Harvey was glad his upper lip was warm at least. Hopefully Rae had the fire burning and a cup of coffee ready for him because he wasn't sure he could manage without--

What was the thing on the porch? He edged closer and when he realised what was making the shape he abandoned all attempts at baby steps and began to jog full pelt across the path.

"Rae!" He shouted desperately. It seemed like all she was doing these days was scaring the life out of him, and as he approached the figure he realised she wasn't responding to his calls at all. "Rae!" He called again, louder; desperation echoing through the valley. The chickens chattered in response, safely tucked in their coop, but still Rae sat motionelss.

He whipped off his wet glove and cupped her hand. Even though he wasn't warm himself he could tell she was ice cold. As he leaned in closer he felt warm breath on his cheek and watched as her chest rise and fell regularly. Should he take her to the clinic or just inside? He didn't have anything with him if she needed medical help but, as though she could sense his concern, her eyes fluttered open and she gazed up at him, calmly smiling.

"Hey Doc. I must have fallen asleep..." Her voice was breathy and she squinted as she looked round at the farm. "It was much sunnier when I sat down."

By the time Harvey formulated an actual sentence he'd already picked Rae up and the breathlessness caused by lifting her weight wouldn't allow him to say anything. Instead he huffed at her angrily, cursed her out loudly in the silence of his own head and shoved the front door open with his backside. A dim lamp was on in the kitchen that cast shadows over the room and he looked around, trying to remember where Rae told him her bedroom was. He caught sight of the corridor to his right and shuffled his feet down it, hugging Rae into him before he carefully placed her on the bed. As he caught his breath he realised any other time he would venture to her bedroom he'd be looking around like a trapped animal but, just like seeing her half naked the other day in his clinic, he realised there were bigger fish to fry.

The bedroom was dark other than a slim patch of light coming in from the lamp in the living room. He looked around but could only see a candle on her bedside table. Next to it were matches. Did she really only have a candle in here?

"When did...." A sharp pain shot through his lungs as he still tried to catch his breath. His throat burned. He really should work out more. "When did you go to sleep outside?"

Her eyes edged open to the sound of his voice again, her expression completely serene and sleepy as though he'd caught her napping on the sofa. "Are you in my bedroom Harvey?" The last of his breath escaped out in a half laugh as he leaned in and felt the skin on her arm.

She was still ice cold. Her normally tanned skin had gone especially pale and her lips were tinged with blue. He leaned into her and looked carefully at her fingers. No frostbite that he could see.

He ignored her question. "Rae, do you remember what time it was when you fell asleep outside?" He turned and grabbed the matches and lit one, tossing it into the fireplace. Plenty of fresh wood still lay there and, after a few more matches he both realised he had no idea how to actually light a fire and hoped that putting in some fire with the wood would help them catch. He needed to get more warmth in the room. Rae's lips were still tinged with blue and her skin was pale.

He poked around the wood and they started to catch. As he looked over at her she stayed asleep, a blissful smile on her face. He pulled a patchwork quilt that was bunched at the bottom of her bed over her cold body and began to rub her exposed arms and legs. She began to shiver and stir and rolled over, reaching her hand up and grasped at his arm.

"Thanks Harvey." She murmured. Her slightly goofy expression still betrayed the fact that she was half asleep and as though he needed any more reassurance she whispered, "Are you coming to bed?"

Her voice was calm; as though she'd said the words a hundred times before and Harvey looked down at her with desperate eyes. But he didn't answer. He went back to the fire and gave it a few more pokes with the long metal rod that was propped up on the side. Quickly the fire began to roar and the room warmed up so much that he slipped off his heavy overcoat.

She lay still curled on the bed as Harvey knelt down next to her head. Her body was starting to heat up but was still cold to the touch. The blue was gone from her lips as Harvey idly ran his fingers over them. He tried to convince himself he was checking them for cold related injury but knew it was that he simply wanted to touch her.

Is this a wise decision, he asked himself as he settled what he'd do in his head. What is she going to think when she wakes up in the morning?

He took off his suit coat, kicked the snow boots into the corner of the room and lay down in the bed behind her. Without hesitation she shuffled herself back onto him and they were soon knotted around one another, spooning.

He rested his arm over her and was glad to feel her body coming back to life and her skin began to warm up. He could leave now, more than likely. He could make sure she wasn't in any danger and then go back to the clinic and he'd see her tomorrow when she came by to get her stitches out. But even though he considered a dozen reasons that it was the best thing to do he remained sided up next to her, the two of them lying in foetal positions curled up to one another with no space between them.

He breathed in the scent of her and almost moaned into the back of her neck. He nestled his nose into her dark hair and could pick out the familiar scent of rose and vanilla that she liked to wear. He gave her arm another brisk rub in a half attempt to show he was doing this for medical need only, and was grateful to see it back to its normal tone. She lazily reached back for his hand and pulled it over her stomach, snuggling further into him.

This was it. This is what he'd spent so many evenings imagining. All he'd wanted since he'd met Rae for that first time was to be so close to her that he could feel her hair tickle his face and have them curled up with one another. How had it even happened that he'd got so lucky? That she'd chosen him? Of all the people in town she could have chosen to be with, she picked him. A cowardly small town doctor with no prospects or ambitions other than to just keep her close and safe.

He loved her.

Damn, he was in even deeper than he realised. It was no longer a simple crush. He was in love with her and wanted to spend every single day for the rest of his possible mediocre existence making her happy.

He gripped her tighter and she responded with a contended sigh.

"Harvey?" She asked drowsily. He moved his hand down onto her stomach and she knotted her fingers with his. "Don't go home?"

"I wasn't planning to." He muttered, exhaustion now fogging his own mind as well. He pulled the quilt over the two of them and silently decided he wasn't going back to a life of lying awake and alone in his apartment. If she'd let him he wanted to share his life with her. Starting tonight.

The last thing he thought of as he drifted off to sleep was a summers day with Rae and he sitting on a swing on the farmhouse porch, watching a little boy with glasses running around the farm with a stick.

----

When Harvey woke the next morning he found himself alone in a room he didn't recognise. The alarm hadn't sounded and he flipped over, grasping subconsciously for it on the nightstand. The sharp smell of ash filled the air and he looked around for something he recognised.

The room was bright as sunshine cascaded in, creating a square pool of yellow on the hardwood floor. A mirror hung by the window with a shawl tucked into the corner and a fireplace simmered an old blaze by the bed.

His face relaxed as he recognised the smell of Rae's perfume and the night before came rushing back. But where was the bedrooms owner? Had she been furious at him staying and taken herself off to calm herself down? She's specifically said she didn't want to take their relationship further until she was sure. Did she think he'd taken advantage of her?

His stomach lurched as he imagined what she must have thought of him. Swinging his legs around his bare feet hit the cold floor. Through the sickness in his belly he smelled something delicious wafting through the house. Familiar and reassuring scents mingling with something different he couldn't quite place.

Looks like if I have to face the music she's at least providing coffee to go with it, he thought to himself. She can't have been that mad or she'd just have woken him and kicked him out.....right?

Hesitantly he walked through the short corridor, not sure what he'd find on the other side. But what he saw made him smile in spite of himself and he leaned against the wall leading into the living area. "Good morning..." he said quietly.

Rae spun from where she was nursing something on the stove and offered him a mischievous grin. "Good morning." She responded and lifted the pan onto the dining table which was set with plates and cutlery. "Ready to eat?" She was wrapped in the quilt that normally lay over the back of the sofa and was wearing boot style slippers.

So she wasn't angry with him. Or, if she was, she was hiding it well.

He smoothed down his shirt politely but futilely and sat down at the table where she lifted some bacon on his plate and spooned him some eggs from a bowl in front of him. She did the same to her own plate and returned the pan to the stove, licking her fingers. She came back with a large pot of coffee and poured him some, again without asking if he wanted it. She knew he wanted it.

He nodded at her with thanks and the two sat in silence for a few mouthfuls, Harvey grateful for the food as it stemmed the nausea he was still getting over from the whole situation. Eventually she laid her fork on the half full plate and rubbed her mouth with a napkin, taking a long draw of the cup of coffee in front of her.

"I'm sorry."

His eyebrows furrowed. "You've got to stop saying sorry when you've nothing to be sorry about."

"Maybe," she muttered taking another long drink. "But I know you felt you needed to stay and look after me last night. And....I'm grateful. I sort of remember parts of last night but not all of it. I remember you carrying me into bed."

His cheeks pinked and he took a sip from the mug to try and mask it. Reassuring coffee slipped down his throat and he sighed gently. "I did. And I promise I only stayed because I was really worried about you."

"As my doctor?" She joked lifting her fork again and cocking an eyebrow.

"And as...." His mind raced as he thought about how he was going to define himself. He'd done it at the clinic without thinking but this time there was no emergency. "And as your boyfriend Rae." He smiled at her and she gave him a knowing look.

"I'm sorry I made you worry. But I can't say I was sorry when I woke up this morning with you tangled up all around me." His cheeks went from pink to crimson at that and an uncomfortable noise emerged from his throat She reached for his free hand and linked her fingers with him. "Maybe it's something we should do to more often?"

He looked at her peaceful expression, her hair still tousled from the night before and her eyes still dozy from sleep. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to see that sight every day. He nodded and gripped her hand ever tighter.

"Are you sure about this?" He wasn't sure if he was offering her an excuse to back out because of his own cowardice. But he desperately wanted to lean over and kiss her and his stomach churned again as he wanted for her answer.

"I'm very, very sure..." she whispered as she stood up, pulling him with her and lifting her mouth to his, kissing him deeply.

Harvey was sure too.

#stardew valley #stardew harvey #stardewvalleytimidseasons #30daychallengestardewvalley #stardewvalley30daychallenge

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