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jamkookies · 5 years

Text

Okay

Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3.3k

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"Please, sir! I'm begging you! Open up, please!"

It was surprising how the both of you hadn't even moved an inch despite the cries that had begun to turn downright hopeless but as Jungkook's arm shields your body defensively, you decide that you just can't take it anymore.

"Jungkook, we should take a look." you say hesitantly, turning your head in his direction.

"No way. It's a trap." he claims. "I'm sure of it."

Your eyes keep boring holes into the door as if your vision could penetrate it.

It's quiet for a while.

Maybe he left.

Maybe he-

A thunderous boom to the door.

"We have to at least take a look, dammit!" you exclaim and push his arm away, now decisively heading towards it.

"Wait!" Jungkook yells after you but instead of stopping you, he joins your side. Before you can make any further attempts, he mushes his face onto the platform and looks into the tiny peephole. Curiosity can hardly keep you still.

At last, Jungkook retreats and motions for you to take a look as well but you don't know whether to expect a garnison of soldiers or a horde of wild bisons behind the door because the expression on his face is unreadable.

The cold surface of the platform touching your forehead only makes you grow even more uncomfortable. Then, your eyes are able to discern an obscure figure behind the magnifying glass. "You've got to be kidding me, " you whisper as your eyes naturally widen.

This could not be.

Him, out of all people....

Both you and Jungkook exchange a look of silent agreement and he pushes the open button with no words needed. The door swings open to reveal a slightly dishevelled-looking man with multiple cuts and bruises marking his face. Those eyes you'd seen gleaming with vigilance are now tired, drowsy yet still scarred with horrors you could only imagine. You'd never forget those eyes because they had been the ones that had given you a chance to escape, a chance to save yourselves.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook wonders, not bluntly but rather in a puzzled demeanor.

"Let me in, please. I'll explain everything, " the old bodyguard says and throws a look behind his back and down the stairs.

You and Jungkook exchange another look and then the latter opens the door wider, giving him space to enter. The bodyguard's face almost melts in relief upon the gesture. He crosses the doorstep in two huge strides, putting the farthest distance from it.

From the moment the lock clicks back in place, a deafening silence hangs into the air, adding even more to the suspense.

You decide to break the ice first. "What do you mean they're gonna kill your family?"

The bodyguard takes notice of where your eyes are fixed and he unconsciously touches a bruise on his chin. "Actually, I lied about that. I had to convince you to open the door."

Your anger flares like wild fire but before the flames can grow higher he quickly compensates for his mistake. "I'm really sorry. I had to.They...they did some things to me...I'll explain everything but I don't have much time."

"Why?" you demand. "Are they following yo-"

"What are you doing here in the first place?" Jungkook interrupts.

The man appears to be going through an internal conflict as his eyes shut tight, hands clench and unclench and the line of his eyebrows angles into a wide V. His distressed condition explained so much and yet so little. His eyes that up till now had been staring at the ground, lift to level up with yours and then flick to Jungkook's. "I went through hell itself to get here unnoticed. I'll have to go soon. But before I do, there's something you should know."

* * *

As much as Jungkook refused to drop the disgruntled attitude, he still made the man sit on the couch and then proceeded to offer him a much needed glass of water. The man drank and drank and drank like he'd forgotten its taste and freshness and after his thirst was sedated, he started chirping like a bird.

"First of all, I want to apologize about trying to take you by force back in Malta, even though in reality it was not my choice."

"We'd figured that out, " you confirm. "But why did you help us escape?"

You'd been racking your brains out for a long time now, trying to come up with a logical explanation but no answer fit in the frame. You just couldn't understand why he would put himself in danger so you could run away.

It didn't make any sense.

"I couldn't just let them take you like prisoners, " he says. "I had to at least give you a chance because I myself wasn't given one."

Jungkook's brows wrinkle in confusion. "What do you mean?"

A look of something like shame casts upon the man's face and he stares at his clasped hands. "When I first got this job, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Being a bodyguard, I had taken everything into account, including the fact that I would probably have to give up my life at some point but I never thought I'd be involved in criminal affairs."

Criminal affairs? What was he talking about?

"I thought it was normal at first. I thought this was how things normally went but when you decided to go to that trip in Malta I realized that I couldn't get out of this sucking hole no matter how much I tried. And the worst thing about it is that you've had to suffer along all this time without even knowing it."

Jungkook raises a hand to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there a second. Are you talking about Sejin making Y/N leave? And the the thing at the plane? I know he went a little too far but-"

"You think that's a coincidence?" the man shoots back. "He set everything up. From the tickets to the hotel to everything. Every single piece of it was planned out."

Your teeth grind against each other with a mixed state of anger and shock putting them into action. When you throw a glance at Jungkook's traumatised form, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. The man's statement seemed to had jarred him to the bone and rendered him speechless, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

"I apologize for that, " the man continues. "I didn't want to say it straight away because I knew it would come as a shock to you but Mr.Sejin is not who you think he is. I've had to live with this knowledge for years now."

For a moment, Jungkook's eyes clear up and he blinks a number of times till his attention is completely aimed at the man's face. "Is this a joke or something? Did he send you here to play with us?"

The man's expression remains stoic, forever expressionless but even through his mask you could make out the scars of horrendous truths.

He wasn't lying.

You both knew that but you just couldn't accept it, even though deep down you had always sensed that the origin of your ordeals had been somehow designated.

The said bodyguard points a finger at his face. "You see these bruises, sir? They gave them to me as a punishment for not being able to bring you back. Beat me up till I fainted. When I woke up they made it clear that this time the job had to be done properly. That's why I'm here. To bring you back. But I won't be doing that. I'm here to make sure that you know who you're dealing with. I don't have the authority to talk with his superiors. Trust me, I've even tried to but he's always one step ahead of me." He smiles sadly. "I've gotten countless warnings because of that."

Jungkook puts his head in his hands and agressively ruffles his hair. "How long has this been going?"

The man doesn't hesitate. "6 years. Since the moment Ms.Y/N set foot on that company. He was obsessed with the idea of a boy-group only and didn't want any other intruders. I can witness the number of times he complained to his superiors about not letting her join. He kept pestering them, kept telling them all sorts of things but PD-nim was the one who insisted on taking her. After that he was absolutely furious. You should've seen the way he flung things around in his office. It made me scared for a moment."

He releases a long-kept sigh and shakes his head dreadfully.

"This went on for as much as I can remember. He never changed, always kept making attempts into kicking her out and covered it with a fake smile. But this time he had it all planned out to the smallest detail and couldn't afford to just brush it off as usual. That's probably his biggest mistake so far. He just couldn't stand hiding in a bush anymore so he went 'go hard or go home' I guess."

All this new information was making your head spin. Your mind wasn't helping either, continuously attaching images to the words, helping build up the portrayal of the man who had detested you for so many years, piece by piece. To say that you'd been dismayed was an understatement. You just couldn't believe your ears, couldn't wrap your head around the idea.

"What exactly had he planned?" asks Jungkook with a tint of hesitation in his voice. Understandable enough, taking into consideration the fact that he was fed up with the truths he'd heard. The bodyguard takes a sip from his glass and gulps audibly. He keeps throwing nervous looks at the door, as if waiting for someone to burst in.

"If you can remember....the accident with the saesang girl...."

Not that

Anything but that

"It was not an accident, " he confirms. "Your manager planned it."

No no no no no no-

"He hired that girl knowing she was a saesang and told her what she had to do. He promised her Jungkook would be hers if she managed to get the job done. That night, when you sneaked out into the forest, it's like you offered yourselves to her in a silver platter. And that's how it went. She took care of everything; the car, the tools, even her assistant."

He shakes his head and you see a melancholic smile cast upon his lips as he looks directly at you. "Stupid girl. She hated you so much to the point where she even ignored Sejin's orders for a moment. He'd never intended to kill you. Obviously, he wasn't that stupid. But she didn't care at all. Thought about getting rid if you since she had the chance and went all-psycho. Unfortunately for her, you managed to escape and that's when Mr.Sejin got angry. Really, really angry. His face got all red and puffy and when Namjoon-ssi tried to talk to him, worried about you gone missing, he yelled in his face."

Joon.

You can almost feel the nostalgic taste of the word in your tongue. It was like smelling that familiar aroma of fresh flowers that grew in your back yard and being swept into a wave of old memories. Sick of you, to not think enough about him all this time, when all he'd ever did was worry about you.

You missed them. All of them. So much to the point where it hurt.

Were they okay?

Now that you were certain about your manager's intentions, you couldn't help feeling concerned about the rest of the boys.

Unaware of your thoughts, the man continues with his story. "And things got even worse when she shot you and you jumped into the stream. I guess she panicked. Her voice was literally shaking from the other side of the phone during the call with manager-nim. I don't know what she said exactly but it still didn't make him give up. After all, he had to prepare for the grand finale."

Jungkook's sharp intake of breath switches your attention to him. You examine his face carefully, looking for any signs of panic but nothing makes it to the surface.

At least not yet.

"-called the ambulance to make sure you wouldn't die."

The momentary distraction had made you zone out and you're only able to catch the last part of the phrase.

"Then what?" Jungkook asks softly.

It's like the man's physiognomy is put into action; eyelids blinking furiously, lips opening and closing, hands fumbling with each-other. He seems nervous to keep talking and that only puts Jungkook on edge even more.

"Then what? " the latter insists. Bolder this time.

The man chokes the words out. "Th-then you wrestled with that girl's assistant. And-"

"And I killed him." Jungkook finishes for him. You notice the way his eyes turn glassy and distant, as if they'd travelled back in time, recalling the events.

"No, sir. He's alive."

Both yours and Jungkook's head snap in his direction with lightning speed.

Had you just imagined him saying that?

"What?" you voice.

"He didn't kill him, " the man confirms and this time you can clearly see his lips matching the words. "It was all a trick."

Clash

"No!"

Tiny little glass shards scatter across the floor, but you don't even have time to react as another loud noise joins it.

"No!" Jungkook yells again after taking out the anger on the second vase. " I don't believe you! You're lying!" He's fully risen to his feet, his chest puffed from breathing too hard. You've never seen him like this, so angry and panicked and scared.

"He's alive, sir. I'm not lying. They enacted the death-"

"Shut up!" Jungkook screams.

"-to make Y/N-ssi feel guilty and leave. Please, sir. You have to listen to me. You did not kill anyone."

A storm of emotions drowns you whole and it's impossible to pinpoint a particular feeling in the midst of all the chaos. Pain, sadness, relief, anger. They all come as a flooding mess, an absolute wreck.

But none of that matters now.

Not as you notice Jungkook from the corner of your eye, slowly sink to the floor and curl into a ball. It's just like that night at the hotel. He rocks back and forth with no awareness of his surroundings, completely lost in his despair.

The storyteller gives him a perplexed look. He must be wondering why Jungkook was reacting this way, why he didn't sigh in relief upon the news of his innocence.

That's because the man didn't know what the idea of killing someone had done to him and how hard it was to just rip that thought out of his mind. He'd convinced himself over and over that he was guilty, that he was a murderer. You'd witnessed it yourself during all those restless nights filled with nightmares driven by his own conscience. You'd both tried to speak as little as you could about it by trying to avoid that fact but now that he's given up and let himself fall apart, you're able to see how it had ruined him beyond repair.

You glare at the bodyguard to stop him from going further and rush to Jungkook's side on the floor.

And your heart shatters into a million pieces.

He's sobbing like a little child.

A grown-up man turned into a little kid just like that, with his arms wrapped around his knees, head buried low within.

You carefully approach him and crouch on the floor, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Kook..."

He doesn't even acknowledge your presence and his sobs only seem to increase but that doesn't discourage you from throwing your arms around him in a wide hug.

"It's okay, Kook. You're okay."

Suddenly, his hands wrap around your waist and he hugs you so tightly, you almost fall back. You thread your fingers through his dark silky hair and pat his head.

Another choked sob escapes his throat.

Oh how you wished you were the one suffering, not him. If only you could take all his pain from him, you'd gladly do it. You'd do anything for him.

His fists scrunch the fabric on the back of your shirt as hit tears spill on your collarbones.

"You're okay, you're okay, shhhhhhh." you whisper in his ear.

All is forgotten by now. The only thing you can focus on is to let him know that you were here, that you understood, and that it was okay to feel like this.

It was okay not to be okay.

* * *

You'd lost all sense of time with Jungkook in your arms that you'd failed to even throw a look at the man in the corner, silently waiting for the situation to cool down.

"I'm sorry." you hear Jungkook's worn voice at the side of your neck.

"Don't be." you answer. "It's not your fault."

He finally unties his hands from your waist and takes a deep breath. A dark veil still hangs in his eyes but he tries to cover it up with a weak smile. However, the smile turns a tad bit more genuine when you cup his cheek with one hand and gently caress it.

"I'll get you some water," you say and make to get up but he grips your hand and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

"Don't go."

If you could choose to have an image branded at the back of your mind, this particular one would be it. Those big round eyes and the messy curls that fell over them carelessly, that scar on his cheekbone, the one you'd always loved, and the pouty lips under the frame of which a tiny mole showed.

You feel like crying and laughing at the same time.

Yet you still understand.

He needed the physical support as much as the he needed the emotional one in order to have something to hang onto. A safe harbor to keep him from straying off into the dark corners of his traumas.

"Okay." You sit back down and Jungkook clings onto your arm almost immediately.

"Sir, " the man finally decides to speak. "I'm really sorry about everything."

Jungkook nods in affirmation.

You're just about to add something when the man's inner pocket of his coat starts to vibrate.

He gulps.

Looks at the door.

With shaking hands, he reaches inside his coat and retrieves his phone.

"It's him." he says upon taking a look at the screen.

Your senses tingle with a mind of their own. What you'd been talking about all this time takes the form of a man. The source of all your fears and sufferings.

The floor suddenly grows uncomfortable.

Bzzzzzzzz

It's like the vibrations are digging into your brain, each buzz more unbearable than the other.

The man can't seem to take it anymore. He taps on the phone and pushes it to his ear.

A gruff voice joins the line.

You're not able to catch any of the words but the man's face says it all.

Something happened.

"Don't hurt them, " he croaks.

More yelling on the other side of the phone call.

Then, silence.

At this point you don't know what to expect. You tightly squeeze Jungkook's leg in reassurance.

The man's begging eyes turn to plead with yours, desperate, hopeless. "I'm sorry, " he says and runs off to the door.

But instead of leaving, he pushes the open button.

And waits.

Your heart leaps in your throat when a dozen other bodyguards rush inside.

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roman-writing · 5 years

Text

two, across (8/8)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Hilda Valentine Goneril / Lysithea von Ordelia

Rating: T

Wordcount: 14,256

Summary: Lysithea can barely keep afloat under the workload of giving undergrad lectures and finishing off her PhD thesis. Meanwhile Dr. Hilda V. Goneril is somehow both the laziest person as well as the most successful young professor she has ever known. It’s absolutely aggravating.

Author’s Note: Please be aware that one of the previous chapters has adult content, but that this chapter does not.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

According to Hilda -- whose opinion is the only one that counts in this matter, thank you very much -- they have been dating for over a year. It's very important that they've been dating this long, because Hilda has always refused to bring anyone home if she hasn't been dating them for at least a whole year. Meeting the family is no joke. Especially when it's her family.

They are big. They are loud. They are legion. And they are big. Did she already say they were big? Well, they are.

"Jesus, that man is big," Lysithea mutters under her breath.

Hilda glances around the airport terminal, and immediately spots him. It’s difficult not to. His head and shoulders stick out above the rest of the crowd waiting for loved ones to disembark.

He wears the same faded plaid and jeans combo from forever ago. Even though Hilda knows from experience that the clothing size is all XXL, he still manages to give the appearance that his broad shoulders and biceps will burst through the seams at the slightest provocation.

He sees her, and waves.

Returning the wave, Hilda sighs. She adjusts her pink-lensed sunglasses, and shoulders both her and Lysithea’s bags. “Yeah. That’s him alright.”

Hilda begins to stride through the crowd towards him. Lysithea trails along in her wake. “Wait. Seriously? That’s your brother?”

“I’m, like, ninety-nine percent sure.”

When they get close enough, Holst envelops Hilda in a hug that lifts her a good foot off the floor, crushing the air from her lungs. She grunts.

“It’s good to see you!” He places her back on the ground, but doesn’t let go of her shoulders. His brow furrows, and he gives her a once over. “Are you not eating enough? Look at you. Skin and bone.”

“Lay off, would you? You sound like Uncle Herrick.” Hilda shrugs his hands off, so she can readjust the bags before they fully slip down her arms.

“You know he and everyone else want to come over this weekend, right?”

“That better be a joke, Holst.”

“You rarely visit, and everyone wants to see the menagerie. Who am I to tell them they can’t see you?”

“I told you: no cousins! No uncles! Just you and dad!” As she lists them off, she drives a finger against one of his bulging pecs, and glowers up at him. “You two are enough to scare away potential suitors as it is.”

Holst is entirely unrepentant. “If they can’t handle me and dad, then there’s no way they could survive you.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Throughout the entire exchange, Lysithea has been standing to the side, watching them, silent. When Holst’s head swings in her direction, she blinks owlishly.

Everything Lysithea thinks, she wears on her face. Every thought. Every passing notion. Even from a distance, Hilda can always tell what's running through her head. If a student asks a question that Lysithea thinks is dumb, her tiny shoulders will hunch up around her ears like she's trying to physically restrain herself from saying aloud what she really thinks.

Hilda likes to play a game. It is a dangerous game. One that involves saying increasingly outrageous things just to see what new expression it might elicit on Lysithea's face.

So far, she is winning.

Right now, Lysithea looks belligerent. Her lower jaw is held forward the way it does when someone tall doesn’t notice her existence, and nearly walks over her. Hilda had seen that happen once in a grocery story. The man had fled from Lysithea’s wrath like a dog with its tail between its legs, while Hilda had gleefully witnessed the whole thing from the sidelines.

Holst must notice the look in Lysithea’s eyes, too, for he holds out his hand almost warily. “You must be Dr. Ordelia. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Holst.”

Immediately, the tension melts from Lysithea’s shoulders. She clasps Holst’s hand, and her own is utterly dwarfed by Holst’s massive paw. “Just Lysithea, please.”

Hilda rolls her eyes, and grumbles at her brother. “Wow. Really?”

Holst pulls his hand back, and gives her an innocent look. “What?”

“Why don’t you ever call me doctor? Huh?”

“I changed your diapers.”

“Well, whoop-de-fucking-do. You change one diaper, and suddenly twelve years of academic experience means fuck all.” Hilda tosses him one of the bags. “Here. Make yourself useful, Muscles for Brains.”

Holst catches the bags as though he had been expecting them to be flung at him much earlier. He smiles, and his teeth are as annoyingly perfect as ever. He has always looked like a poster boy for dentistry aimed at young veterans with hereditary gigantism. Square-cut jaw. Brown-eyed. Sandy-blonde hair that’s somehow immaculately coiffed and artfully messy all at once. She wants to ruffle his hair just to mess it up, but she knows it will only make him look better. Curse their good genes.

He draps an arm around her shoulders, and ignores her squawk of protest to pull her into another bear hug. He kisses the side of her face. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Duh. I’m amazing. And you need to shave.” She shoves at his face to very little effect. “Your stubble is all scratchy.”

Holst lets her go. He runs an experimental hand over his jaw. “Thought I’d go for a clean lumberjack look. Is it not working?”

“Do you have dad’s straight razor at the house?” Hilda asks, waiting for his nod. “I’ll fix you up tonight, then. Now, where are you parked? I need a shower and a change of clothes.”

Jerking his head, Holst begins walking in that same direction. “This way.”

He leads them out and across the parking lot. The pickup truck that he drives gleams like it is owned by a pampered business executive and not a jock wannabe. When Holst tosses one of their bags into the cab, he says, “You two packed light.”

“I had to smuggle seven extra outfits from Hilda’s bag when she wasn’t looking,” Lysithea says, pulling at one of the door handles to open it.

“And she let you live?” Holst lets out a long appreciative whistle. “She really must love you.”

“I like to think so.” Lysithea’s tone is dry, but she flashes Hilda a small smile that warms all the way down to her toes.

For all the vehicle’s oversized cab -- with factory made sides no less, which Hilda has always told him are useless because she’s right -- it has no proper backseat. Trust Holst to buy a utility vehicle with literally no utility upsides. He could fit a whole five more sheep in the tray if he’d bought the model she recommended. What a waste.

“Smallest goes in the middle,” Holst informs Lysithea as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Normally that’s Hilda, but today it’s you. Them’s the rules.”

Lysithea shoots Hilda an incredulous glance. “You’re the small one in the family?”

“The littlest of them all,” Holst confirms with a grin.

Hilda gives him the middle finger, which only succeeds in making his grin widen. She clambers into the vehicle after Lysithea, who is small enough that she needs a boost to get her up the first step.

“She’s also the only girl. Various aunts who married into the family don’t count,” Holst adds while he does up his seatbelt.

“This explains so much,” Lysithea says in an almost wondrous tone.

“Yeah.” Hilda slams the door behind her. “Like how it’s a miracle that I turned out so awesome when I was raised by these bozos.”

Holst doesn’t start the car until everyone’s seatbelts are in place. He checks, like an absolute dad. Only then does he turn the key in the ignition. The engine rumbles to life.

“Excuse me,” he murmurs politely to Lysithea as he reaches for the gear stick. It’s between her knees, and she has to widen her legs a bit so he can throw the truck into gear.

“How far is your family’s place from the airport?” Lysithea asks.

“Forever,” Hilda answers, already gazing out the window in glum anticipation of the long drive.

“About three hours.” Holst flicks on the radio. “Middle seat gets control of the tunes. Don’t let Hilda bully you into picking a pop station.”

“At least there’s one upside to this seat.” Lysithea reaches forward and begins fiddling with the dials. She switches from the news station that Holst prefers and which never fails to bore Hilda out of her mind.

Hilda could have kissed her. Then, remembering that she is allowed, she does just that. She leans over to press a quick smooch to the side of Lysithea’s head.

Lysithea does not stop scrolling through various radio stations. “What was that for?”

“What? Is it against the rules to shower my super cute girlfriend with affection?”

“It is when I’m in the car,” Holst grumbles. He pulls on the steering wheel to round a corner, clearly indicating for the full three seconds as legally required.

At that, Hilda taps on Lysithea’s shoulder. “C’mon. Make out with me.”

Not even bothering to look away from the radio, Lysithea pushes Hilda’s face away with one hand.

Holst chuckles. “Okay. I like you already.”

“I’m very likeable,” Lysithea fires back without a moment’s hesitation. She tunes the radio to a classical station.

Holst’s expression brightens. He does not take his eyes off the road. “Oh! Mendelssohn!”

With a great groan of complaint, Hilda leans her head against the window. “Oh my god. I’m going to die in this dumb truck before we even make it to the hills.”

Her brother and her girlfriend start chatting about classical music, which is normally enough to send Hilda directly to sleep. Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Except that now it’s noon, and she’s already had two cups of burnt coffee on the plane. Her leg jitters with caffeine. It’s going to be a long journey home.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Hilda is bored. She plays with the lock mechanism on her door, flicking the switch over and over in various patterns in time with the music. She makes it into a game, trying to find the best rhythm.

“I’m amazed Hilda hasn’t tried to wrest power from the Radio Throne yet.”

Lysithea smooths an absent-minded hand over Hilda’s jean-clad knee. “She can pick the next station in an hour.”

“Thank god,” Hilda mutters.

"Since you clearly have witch-like powers -" Holst begins. "No offence. I am simply stating a fact."

"None taken," Lysithea says.

"But since you clearly have witch powers, then perhaps you can convince Hilda to write to me more often."

Hilda locks and unlocks the car door a few more times. "I told you: I'm busy."

Holst lifts one hand from the wheel to mime little air quotes. "Busy. Is that what we're calling it these days?"

"Just because I take the time to look after myself doesn't mean I'm not working on a squillion things at once. It's called 'work life balance.' Look it up."

"Never heard of her," Lysithea says.

Hilda sticks out her tongue at Lysithea. "Yeah, I know you haven't, Miss Workaholic."

"That's Doctor Workaholic, I'll have you know." Lysithea turns back to Holst. "And I'll see what I can do."

"Traitor," Hilda says.

It's not that she doesn't like receiving a constant stream of letters from her brother. It's just that he always comes off as so needy. She would rather be blonde than appear needy.

Lysithea points to Holst. "Is that also Hilda's original hair colour?"

Holst nods. He runs a hand through his hair, which only makes it appear even more artfully disheveled. "It sure is. She's had it dyed different colours since the age of -- oh, I don't know -- thirteen?"

"Are there pictures?"

At that, Hilda snaps upright from her slumped position. She rounds on Holst with murder in her eyes.

He ignores her, like someone with a death wish. "So many pictures. I'll show you when we get there."

"Thank you. I'd like that," Lysithea tells him.

Hilda mouths at Holst over Lysithea's head. 'I'll kill you.'

She grunts when Lysithea elbows her lightly in the gut. "Don't be a hypocrite," Lysithea drawls. "I've heard it's very last season."

Before long, the cityscape outside gives way to sparse towns, then to nothing but trees and mountains as far as the eye can see. Which isn’t very far. A cold mist clings to the peaks, and flecks the windows as they begin to ascend. Slowly. Painfully slowly. Holst may be the proud owner of a douchebag truck, but he takes every switchback like he’s an old lady driving on the edge of a cliff. If she were the one driving, it would only take them two hours to reach the house.

Hilda isn’t allowed to drive with him in the car for a reason. But she only almost killed them on the road once! And it wasn’t her fault!

Okay, maybe four times. So what?? He’s such a big baby.

When Hilda begins to rummage through the glove compartment to find new means of entertainment, Lysithea absently reaches over to take her hand. Toying with Lysithea’s fingers provides enough distraction for exactly twelve minutes, at which point Hilda bends down to shuffle through her handbag for her phone. She unlocks the screen.

No reception. Fucking typical.

Flinging the phone back into her bag, Hilda crosses her arms with a huff. “For the love of god, please tell me you’ve installed wi-fi at the house.”

Holst pauses in his animated discussion of seventeenth century syncopation with Lysithea to say, “Sorry. You’re going to have to actually interact with family during your visit. It’ll do you good. You spend too much time on your phone as it is.”

Hilda buries her head in her hands.

She feels Lysithea pat her on the shoulder in a commiserating fashion. “Do you want to pick the radio station?”

Immediately Hilda’s head jerks up. “Yes.”

Lysithea lets her pick the music the rest of the ride into the mountains, and it’s the best because Holst can’t complain even though Hilda can see his jaw twitching in that way that means he desperately wants to go back to his boring news talk show. But middle seat picks the radio station. Them’s the rules. And if middle seat says Hilda gets to pick the radio station, then that’s set in stone, baby.

Hilda perks up when she finally spots the sign for the village of Locket, which heralds the last twenty minute stretch of drive to her family’s house. The afternoon has well and truly set in now. Hilda’s stomach growls at the sight of the local pub on the street corner. Its familiar faded sign is comforting in the way only unchanging things can be.

People wave at Holst’s truck as they trundle along the main drag. Despite the mist still dampening the cool air, Holst stops the truck and rolls down his window at one point to exchange neighborly words with Uncle Henrick’s youngest boy, who Hilda remembers best as a sulky nine year old.

“Who’s that?” Lysithea whispers for Hilda’s ears alone.

“A cousin. I’m related to basically everyone in this valley.” Hilda waves out the window as her cousin peers inside. “Hiya, Hayden!”

Hayden tips his cap back to get a better look at them. “Oh, hey, Hilda! Holst mentioned you’d be back in the area.”

“Just for the weekend,” Hilda confirms.

“That’s a shame.”

Hilda lowers her voice so that Hayden and Holst can’t hear, “It really isn’t.”

Holst pulls away from the curb, not because someone is behind him -- there aren't enough people in Locket to rustle sheep let alone the will to use a car horn. Besides, chances are that if you honked at somebody, you'd get a telling off from your mother for being shitty to a cousin later that night over dinner. That or you just get into a good honest blood feud over firewood during wintertime.

No, the reason why Holst hurries along is because the sun is starting to set on the mountains to the west, and dad can't cook for himself anymore. Holst apologises to Hayden for as much, and Hayden waves them along with the promise to talk to Uncle Herrick for them about rotating some of the cows over to another field for grazing.

Hilda hates that she knows exactly what they're talking about. Hell, her first ever degree was in large animal sciences before she realised that she never wanted to stick her arm up a cow ever again, thank you very much.

The truck trundles along through the village. The main drag of Locket is the only paved road in these parts. Holst turns left and onto dirt. For all that Hilda berates her brother for his poor taste in vehicles, at least his truck can take all terrain.

The side of her head bounces against the window, dislodging her sunglasses. "Are you trying to hit every pothole between here and the moon?”

“You know it's impractical to gravel everything apart from the driveway,” Holst counters.

Their bodies sway as he hits yet another pothole. Hilda adjusts her sunglasses on the bridge of her nose with a huff of irritation.

“I thought it was cute,” Lysithea says. “The town, I mean.”

“Village,” both Holst and Hilda say at the same time.

“It’s not a town,” Holst clarifies, when Lysithea gives them each an odd look.

Hilda nods, but only because the truck’s tyres are bobbing her up and down like a jackhammer. “Town is where the bigwigs live. Or, as we like to call them: ‘townies’.”

“Jesus Christ,” Lysithea mutters under her breath. “How many people actually live out here?”

“About .09 people every hectare. Which is to say: three hundred and seven inhabitants,” Holst answers.

Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up over the rims of her sunglasses in surprise. “Oh, shit? Who died? Was it Great Uncle Hartwig? My money was on Great Uncle Hartwig.”

“You are vulgar for taking part in that betting pool.”

“But was it him?”

“No, it was not.”

Hilda raps her knuckles against the dashboard. “Damn.”

“Yes, we are all very sad that Great Uncle Hartwig is still alive,” Holst says dryly.

The dirt road twists and turns all along the hills. They pass paddocks full of cows and mobs of sheep. The grass is so green it makes Hilda glad she'd brought her sunglasses, even though the sunlight is hidden behind the thick mist that shrouds the mountains.

Holst rounds another bend, and the dirt road gives way to gravel. They drive along for another minute before the house finally comes into view.

The house is everything that Hilda is not. Rustic, and tidy, and homey. It’s why she always frequents Claude’s bar. She likes the woodsy feel. It makes her feel at home.

Also, Claude is cute, and good company, with great taste in little underground live bands. Plus the drinks are killer.

Hilda undoes her seatbelt, and hops out of the truck before Holst even had time to shut off the engine. She offers a hand to help Lysithea down, and then reaches into the back for their bag. One of the herding dogs comes hurtling from the house towards them, and Hilda has to shoo it away.

"No, Brindle! Down! Brindle! This is Gucci!!" Hilda pushes the dog away before it can make a complete mess of her outfit, but it's too late. There's already dog fur ingrained into the fabric of her black slacks. She sighs in resignation.

Lysithea pets the dog when it snuffles around her feet, its tail wagging excitedly. She quickly retracts her hands, though.

“Oh.” Lysithea scrunches up her nose. “He’s quite filthy.”

“He’s one of our working dogs,” Hilda points out. “We don’t let him in the house. I would recommend washing your hands before eating.”

Lysithea is already wiping her hands off on her skirt. “Noted.”

Holst is the first in the house. He bellows their arrival with a single "We're home!!" while taking off his boots in the narrow hallway that acts as an atrium. While Hilda and Lysithea are taking off their own shoes, they can hear another voice from further inside the house calling back to them.

Hilda sets their bags down before walking further along. She makes sure Lysithea is following while they traverse the familiar twists and turns of the sprawling single-story farm house. Everything is wood accented. The white-painted walls and panelled floors and exposed beams. Everything is also properly sized for Hilda's family, which means that Lysithea looks like a pale doll walking through a human house. All of the shelving is higher, all the pictures hung at a level where Hilda and Holst can see but which Lysithea has to crane her neck to simply catch a glimpse of. And when they enter the living room, all of the furniture is massive.

Dad sits on his old leather armchair in front of the television. A stack of books and magazines are piles precariously at his elbow. An empty cup of tea teeters atop one the books. The television is on, but his gnarled fingers fumble with the remote for a few seconds while he figures out how to mute it without stabbing a million other buttons at the same time.

Her father struggles to his feet. He has to push himself up from the chair, painstakingly slow. Hilda bites back the urge to help him; he would’ve hated it. Watching him makes her chest tighten, as though her sternum is trying to meld with her spine.

He used to stand taller than Holst and just as broad. Her memories of him are always of a man with energy and exuberance to spare. Now he stoops. His hands shake, his fingers gnarled and worn to the bone beneath skin that’s paper-thin.

Hilda hugs him as soon as he’s on his feet. He pats her on the back, then uses a heavy hand on her shoulder to steady himself.

“You’re taller,” he says.

“You’re shorter,” she replies.

He squints at her, as though suspicious. His eyes are magnified behind the thick lenses of his glasses. Hilda dreads the day that her own eyesight deteriorates to that stage. Dior does not make prescription glasses that thick. Her amassed collection of sunglasses is already in need of a fresh trip to the optometrist as it is.

His gaze swings past her and lands on Lysithea, who stands behind Hilda. He nods at her, a jerky motion more than anything else, and says, "You must be Hilda's new beau."

Lysithea clears her throat. "Ah. Yes. Hi."

"What he means to say -" Hilda fills in for her dad, "- is 'It's so nice to meet you, Hilda's super cute and awesome girlfriend! My name is Harald! Welcome to my ancestral home, where generations of Gonerils have been born and raised!"

"Don't call me Harald," Harald grumbles.

"Dad. It's your name."

"It makes me sound old."

"You are old."

"Months without visiting, and then two minutes at home and already you slander your poor martyred father." He gestures at Lysithea and then at Hilda. "You see what I have to put up with?"

Hilda puts her hands on his wrists. "Okay. I'm going to drop you to the floor now."

"My point exactly." Rather than complain, he pats at her arms. "Help me back into my seat."

She does. It takes a while. His legs don't want to support him properly, and his back doesn't seem to want to bend.

"Where’s your cane?" Hilda asks, when she's finally got him situated back in his chair. She turns to where Holst is leaning in the kitchen doorway. “Holst, where’s his cane?”

Holst shrugs. “I saw it before I left.”

From the sidelines, Lysithea reaches behind a chair and produces a darkly polished wooden cane. “Is this it?”

Hilda takes it, and props it against the armrest of her dad’s chair. “Stop losing this.”

“It makes me look old.”

“Oh my god. Dad.”

He ignores her. "Hilda, go help your brother make dinner."

Hilda whines, "Holst doesn't need my help. He's fine."

"Actually -" Holst begins from the kitchen doorway.

"Nobody asked you," Hilda says. Then she grabs the bags she had set on the ground. "Besides. I need a shower, and to give my girlfriend a tour of the place."

Dad grumbles, but he's now expended too much energy trying to sit back down to really argue. Once upon a time she would have needed to really wheedle her way out of making dinner, but these days all it takes is for her to be out of sight. Dad can't go racing after her anymore and haul her back over his shoulder to do chores while she pounds her tiny fists ineffectually against his back. Though in truth she wishes he still had that mobility. Seeing him like this is far worse.

Hilda tilts her head to one side, "C'mon. My old room is this way."

"It was nice meeting you," Lysithea says to Harald, who waves her away with a brief smile.

Hilda has already started off down the hall, and Lysithea trots after her. Behind them they can hear the sound of the television starting up again in the living room. Hilda nods towards various doors and rooms as they go, giving a running notation of what everything is.

"That's the master bedroom. Dad sleeps there. Holst's room is over there. There's the downstairs bathroom for the living room. Here’s my room. It has its own ensuite bathroom, so we don’t have to fight Holst for it.”

“Let me guess -” Lysithea steps into the bedroom, which looks exactly as Hilda remembered. “-They gave you your own bathroom because you spent so much time in it that nobody else could use it.”

“I am insulted you would even suggest such a thing!” Hilda tosses their bags onto the bed, and begins to unpack.

“That doesn’t mean: no.”

“Anyway!” Hilda changes the topic by gesturing to the room at large while she hangs her outfits in the closet. “This is where I grew up. Surrounded by farmland sans internet. Starved for culture.”

Lysithea joins her in unpacking. “You’re being a bit dramatic.”

“Who? Me?” Hilda pulls out her spare hair dryer, along with a whole host of emergency make-up supplies that were packed alongside Lysithea’s medication case. “But seriously, though. The nearest library is an hour away by car. And that’s only if the rain hasn’t flooded the main road into Locket.”

“Where’s the school?”

“With the library,” Hilda answers from the bathroom.

She arranges all of her supplies, and sets down Lysithea’s travel cup on the sink counter so that Lysithea can use it for her morning Routine. When she emerges from the bathroom, Lysithea has neatly unpacked the rest of their things in all the exact places that Hilda likes them to be.

Hilda points in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

Mischief crosses Lysithea’s face, and she says, “No, thank you.”

Hilda narrows her eyes. “What?”

With a nonchalant shrug, Lysithea says, “Nothing! I just saw all those picture frames over the fireplace earlier.”

For a moment, neither of them move or say anything. Then, Lysithea makes a dash for the bedroom door. She’s out before Hilda can close her in, and prevent her from seeing said photos. Hilda almost catches her in the hallway, but Lysithea’s height means she’s slippery and sly and difficult to grab hold of.

Harald barely even glances up when the two of them barrel into the living room. Everything in this house is Goneril-Proof anyway. They couldn’t break things if they tried. And Hilda and Holst had tried before. Many many times.

On the mantlepiece over the smoke-blackened fireplace, there are a host of picture frames cluttering around the riverstone chimney. Lysithea makes a bee line for them. Most are family reunion pictures. The family is too large to photograph altogether, so they are sectioned off by age group. Hilda is the only girl amidst a mountain of boys.

“Tell me about this one,” Lysithea demands as she picks one up.

With a sigh, Hilda relents and does just that.

There are a few other more personalised pictures. Hilda points to each of the ones that Lysithea asks about. There's mom looking young with her sandy-blonde hair before the cancer took care of all that at the age of fifty-two. There's her parents getting married. There's Holst at his first shooting competition. There's a baby picture of Hilda all swaddled up (and the cutest image on the shelf, if she does say so herself).

Hilda tells stories about each of her cousins. Dad pipes in from the peanut gallery to add corrections or embellishments. About how Hans busted her tooth when they were kids and had to share a bed. About how she waged war on the boys by weaponising cow pats. How she would do anything to win -- scratch, bite, cry, you name it.

Lysithea leans forward on her toes to observer a photo down the back. It's a picture of Hilda at the age of twelve, a baby-faced version of herself that she hardly recognises. Dad had snapped it after her first successful hunt with Holst. The two siblings are frozen in a pose over a freshly killed buck. Holst is looking at her rather than at the camera, a broad smile splitting his face in two.

In the picture, Hilda is caught mid sentence. She holds the rifle easily at her shoulder. Her jeans are torn at the knees. Her hair is dishwater blonde and loosely gathered in a simple ponytail at the base of her neck. Her plaid is baggy and rolled up at the sleeves to reveal her scrawny forearms. Her chest is covered in a high-vis vest. A pair of Holst's dark sunglasses are perched atop her head. She used to always steal them when she was younger.

Slowly Lysithea picks up the picture. "You look so different."

"Ugh. I know. It's awful."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Please. Look at me. I'm wearing -" Hilda shudders in disgust, "- sneakers."

Lysithea’s thumb traces over the edge of the picture frame. “I would’ve liked to have known you then.”

Hilda snorts. “No. You don’t. Trust me. I was a little shit.”

“And you aren’t anymore?”

Making a face at Lysithea, she continues. “Very funny. Besides, you would’ve been, like, seven. And even if you had been my age, I probably would’ve picked on you so hard.”

“I doubt that.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Edelgard would’ve had me assassinated.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea says, “I can’t imagine you being mean to me in any lifetime.”

“Listen. That’s flattering. Really. But I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger, remember? And I know what I was like back then.” Hilda picks up another photo, this one of Holst holding Hilda in one arm, and the Commonwealth championship trophy she’d won at the age of fourteen in the other. Her hair is dyed a sickening electric blue in the photo, and her makeup is way way over the top.

“Alright, then. I’ll bite.” Lysithea gestures with the picture in her own hand. “Why would you have picked on me?”

“Because you were so cute. Obviously. I mean you still are,” Hilda assures her, to which Lysithea just rolls her eyes. “But back then, I would’ve been super jealous. And also very in the closet to myself.”

“Ahh,” Lysithea nods in understanding. “You’re were one of those.”

“Yeah, yeah. I got over it. Thank god. Still took me until the age of sixteen or so to realise I wasn’t jealous of other girls, I just wanted to kiss them. And their boyfriends. You know. Because I’m not a coward.”

Placing the picture back on the mantlepiece, Hilda scrunches up her nose. She runs her finger along the varnished wood, and it comes up with a thick layer of dust. “Ew. Nobody ever cleans around here while I’m gone!”

“At least it’s tidy,” Lysithea points out. She places the other picture back, and discreetly wipes the dust from her own fingers off on her cardigan.

“What’s the point of things being tidy if they’re not clean? Excuse me. I need to go yell at my brother for polishing his Olympic medals, but nothing else.” Hilda turns and starts to march towards the kitchen.

In the end, she does wind up helping with dinner despite her best protests. Lysithea is no help, either. When Hilda pokes her head from the kitchen, it’s to find that Lysithea has sat down on one of the couches and is engaged in conversation with dad. And they seem to be having -- Hilda has to check her sunglasses to make sure they’re the right prescription -- a good time. Unbelievable.

Hilda’s only consolation is that she manages to weasle her way out of doing the dishes. She only feels slightly guilty when Lysithea and Holst do them together, chatting all the while. She did end up doing the bulk of the cooking, after all. No matter what Holst claims.

Instead, Hilda wanders back to her room for a shower. Short, because the hot water tank at the farm doesn’t last long, and she doesn’t want dad yelling at her on the first day of the trip. When she emerges from the bathroom amidst a billow of steam and wrapped in nothing but two towels -- one for her body, the other for her hair -- Hilda pauses in the doorway.

Lysithea is curled atop the bed. Her legs are folded beneath her. She reads from a tablet loaded with more books than are contained in most libraries. Hilda knows. She's seen Lysithea's online library account.

Hilda crosses the room, and jumps onto the free side of the bed. Lysithea does not look up despite the mattress bouncing beneath Hilda's weight. She is utterly engrossed in whatever book she is reading.

"Whatcha reading?" Hilda asks. She takes off the towel wrapped atop her head, and pats her hair dry before tossing it back towards the bathroom.

The tips of Lysithea's ears go an appealing apple red. "Nothing of interest."

Hilda immediately zooms in on the blush. It must have been a smutty book, in that case. "Oh, really? That's a shame."

Letting her hand smooth over one of Lysithea's knees, Hilda pretends that it's an idle motion. All the while she watches for a change in Lysithea's expression. The white stockings are fine beneath Hilda's palm. The corner of Lysithea's mouth twitches, and Hilda lets her fingers trail a little further up Lysithea's thigh. Just far enough to play with the edge of her skirt.

Still, Lysithea makes no comment. She continues reading in a valiant effort to ignore Hilda.

"Soooo," Hilda drawls. Her hand continues to stroke along Lysithea's leg, but never too high to be considered indecent should they be happened upon by snooping older brothers. “Is my humble family abode everything you’d imagined and more?”

Lysithea taps at her tablet screen to turn the page in her book. “It sure is something.”

“Wow. Yikes. That bad, huh?”

“No, not bad. Just different. Not what I expected, knowing you.”

“Would I fit in better if I wore cowboy boots and assless chaps?”

“I think you would rather die than be caught wearing something like that.”

“You underestimate the lengths I will go to for a bad joke.”

Lysithea snorts in amusement, and turns another page. “Well, if you do, then let me know. El would love a picture.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would.”

A comfortable silence falls over them. Hilda memorises the pattern of the stocking beneath her hand. "I'm bored."

"Sucks for you."

"Can I go down on you?"

“Didn’t you just take a shower?”

“Yeah? And?”

Lysithea glances at her over the top of the tablet. Then she eyes the door. "How thin are these walls?"

Hilda taps her knuckles against the wall behind their bed. "Like bedrock."

From another room, they hear Holst sneeze. Clear as a bell.

"Surface bedrock," Hilda amends. "Compacted gravel, even. Okay, maybe more like asbestos. But that’s still a rock!"

Lysithea purses her lips, but there's a considering air to that particular furrow in her brow. It's the same expression she wears when she's offered one slice of cake too many, but is still tempted to eat.

"We don't have to," Hilda assures her. She swings her legs over the side of the bed. "I can go blow off steam by splitting wood."

"Is that a euphemism?"

"Nope." Hilda jerks her thumb towards one of the night-darkened windows. "There's an axe and a bunch of logs out back near the porch light. Out here, we always need firewood."

Just as she’s about to take a step towards the door, Hilda feels something pull at the edge of the towel. She turns. Lysithea has reached out and is pulling her back towards the bed. The towel is tugged free, and falls to the floor. Lysithea’s eyes have an intense look that never fails to make Hilda’s pulse spike.

When Hilda flops back onto the bed beside her, Lysithea sets her tablet aside. She rolls over to straddle Hilda’s waist, steadying herself with hands at Hilda’s chest.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” Lysithea warns.

“I can be quiet! Can you?”

As it turns out, they both can. But one of the pillows suffers for it.

Holst cooks breakfast the next morning. Hilda has to cut up dad's food for him, while bickering with her brother over the radio station, and Lysithea queries Harald about the farm. By the time Hilda is actually able to sit down and eat, her own food has gone cold.

Holst slides a cup of hot tea her way. "Here."

"Thanks," she sighs, taking a sip despite its scalding temperature.

Holst lumbers into the spare seat beside Lysithea. He gently bumps her elbow with his own as he tucks into breakfast. "I thought you might like to go shooting this afternoon."

Lysithea blinks at him. "I've never handled any sort of firearm before."

"Don't worry. Hilda and I can show you the ropes." Holst winks at his sister. "Unless she's so rusty from living in town, that she can't tell which way to point the barrel."

In response, Hilda meets his gaze with a steely expression. "Oh, you're on, pretty boy."

"Excellent. I love wiping the floor with you."

"As if. I'm going to win, and I'm going to do it in style."

Chewing at his eggs and toast, Holst takes a moment to swallow before speaking. He gestures at Hilda with his fork. "You're not really going dressed like that, are you?"

Hilda rakes a hand through her long pink hair. "I said what I said."

He snorts. "Yeah. Alright. Sure."

"You couldn't rock this look, let alone do it while shooting."

Holst's chewing slows. He leans back in his seat, and pats at his mouth with a napkin. "Is that a challenge?"

She grins at him. "You bet your ass it is."

Dad stabs at his own eggs with a fork, and mumbles to Lysithea, "They've been this way since forever. You get used to it."

"If you say so," Lysithea says. She watches from the sidelines with an expression that is intrigued, but in a wary way. Like she half expects there to be bloodshed by the end of the day.

Rising to his feet, Holst tosses down his napkin. He points at Hilda. "You. Me. Bathroom. Now. Bring your girly hair products."

"Oh, fuck yes," Hilda breathes, shoving herself away from the table to stand.

"Is this really a good idea?" Lysithea asks.

Neither Hilda nor Holst are listening. They are already racing each other to the restroom. Hilda has to take a diversion to shuffle around in her old room for the hair dye she had left behind from her last visit. After a minute or two of searching, she finally finds what she's looking for, and pushes her way into the bathroom, where Holst is draping a towel around his broad shoulders and getting his hair wet in the sink.

"Bleach first," Hilda instructs, leaning over the sink to help him. "We need to get your hair a lighter shade before putting any colour in."

He doesn't even ask what colour she'd picked. "Do your worst, Dr. Gonorrhea."

She brandishes the little bottle of bleach at him. "Call me that again. I dare you."

By the time they finish dying his hair, it's two in the afternoon. Hilda wields a hairdryer and a brush. Not that he needs to have his hair styled. Somehow, it always comes up perfect.

Holst admires himself in the mirror after she has finished. He runs a hand through his hair, which is now the same shade as her own. "Not bad."

“You’re welcome.” Hilda ruffles his hair, which only makes him look rakishly tousled.

Leaning in the doorway, Lysithea says, "Now you two look like twins."

"Could be worse, I guess," Hilda shrugs and puts the hairdryer away. "Let's go shoot something."

They take Holst's truck to an empty paddock facing the hills. There's already an Olympic sized skeet range in place there. Dad had installed it years and years ago, and Holst had been maintaining it ever since.

Hilda takes out the munitions box, while Holst handles the soft shotgun cases. Lysithea follows after them with a wary expression when Hilda hands over hearing protection.

"Keep them on unless the range master declares the range closed," Hilda says.

Lysithea immediately puts the hearing protection over her head and ears. "Who's the range master."

"Me," both Hilda and Holst say at the same time.

Holst pulls a coin from his pocket. "Heads or tails?"

"Tails."

He flips it. Glimmer of gold and aluminium, which he snatches out of the air and slaps onto the back of his hand.

Tails.

Hilda pumps her fist in triumph.

“And what exactly does it mean to be a range master?” Lysithea asks slowly.

“It means you have to do everything I say.”

“It means she’s in charge of the safety of the range until she leaves.” Holst starts taking firearms from their bags and propping them up on the stands beneath the firing platform awning. “And that we have to do everything she says.”

“Surely not everything,” Lysithea says.

Hilda points at Holst without looking at him. “Give me five push ups.”

Lysithea watches in horrified fascination as Holst sighs, drops to the ground, and does five push ups.

“See?” Hilda says smugly. “It’s rule number five. Which brings me to the next point: Safety.”

Holst finishes setting up while Hilda gives Lysithea the ‘Goneril Family Gun Safety Talk.’ 1) No pointing guns at other people even if unloaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 2) No pointing guns in any direction other than down the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 3) Treat every firearm as if it’s loaded, or you get a punch to the mouth. 4) No alcohol or other intoxicants on the range, or you get a punch to the mouth. 5) Obey the range master at all times, or the range master will personally punch you in the mouth.

“Why is there so much punching in this?” Lysithea asks after number five. “This seems like the opposite of safety.”

“It’s part of the time honoured traditions of the Goneril Family of Idiot Boys and Also Hilda,” Hilda says, still holding up her hand where she had been ticking off each rule on her fingers. “Lastly, number six: only load a firearm when ready to fire, or you -”

“- Okay. Yeah. I get it.” Lysithea says.

“Good!” Hilda claps her on the shoulder and steers her towards the platform. “You’re first.”

“W-Wait. Me?” Lysithea glances at one of the shotguns as though it will suddenly rear up and bite her.

“Relax. It will be fun. I promise.” Hilda puts on her own hearing protection, the muffs bright red. “Range open!”

Holst immediately follows suit. His own pair of ear muffs are the same colour and brand, but older and faded from years of use. He drops down into a chair behind them, folding an ankle over his opposite knee, watching with the claybird machine remote in his hand. When Lysithea shoots him a nervous look, he flashes her a thumbs up and a grin.

Under Hilda's instruction, Lysithea sets the shotgun firmly into her shoulder. Hilda uses her hands to guide Lysithea's legs apart so that her stance is more stable, and then places her hands on Lysithea's waist to steady her.

"Whenever you're ready. Just tell Holst to pull, and go for the claybird." Hilda gently squeezes Lysithea's hips. "And remember: try to keep your movements fluid. Track the target."

"Shouldn't we be starting off with something stationary?" Lysithea asks.

"Animals aren't stationary when you shoot them for the most part. Now, go ahead."

Hilda can feel Lysithea take a deep breath. Lysithea shrugs at the firearm, and then barks out firmly, "Pull."

There's a two second delay before the target zips across the air. Lysithea fires immediately, flinching from the shotgun before she has even pulled the trigger. She would've been blown back onto her butt if Hilda hadn't been standing directly behind her.

Lowering the shotgun, Lysithea rubs at her shoulder with one hand. "Ow."

"You get used to it," Hilda assures her. "This is a pretty light shell as well. Tuck the shotgun into the meat here -" she rubs at the right spot on Lysithea's shoulder. "- and lean into it a bit. But don't flinch! It’s a bad habit!"

Lysithea’s jaw takes on that familiar bullish slant, and she hikes up the shotgun once more. “Pull.”

She misses. And again. After the fifth try, she finally manages to clip the claybird, which sends a puff of bright purple smoke trailing through the air. Lysithea turns to Hilda and Holst, flushed with pride, and Hilda has to grab her arms and point the shotgun back down the range.

“Rule number two!” Hilda reminds her.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Lysithea grimaces apologetically. “Please don’t punch me in the mouth.”

“Rules are rules,” Hilda says resignedly. And then kisses her.

Behind them, Holst yells, “Boooo! That’s not how the rule works!!”

Hilda flips him off while she’s still kissing Lysithea. By the time she lifts her head, Lysithea’s cheeks have gone pink, and her grip has slackened around the stock of the gun. Hilda taps the shotgun with her finger, and murmurs, “Seriously, though. Don’t break the rules.”

“Y-Yeah. Got it.”

It takes Lysithea a few more rounds to be comfortable enough that Hilda doesn’t have to keep a steadying hand at the small of her back. But Hilda does so anyway. She strokes her thumb at the divot of Lysithea’s spine. Lysithea’s next shot misses wildly.

“You’re very distracting,” Lysithea mutters.

“I could be more distracting.”

From behind them, Holst cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Rule number seven: No hands on butts, or you get a punch to the mouth!”

“That’s not a rule!” Hilda shouts back.

“It is now!” Holst stands and approaches one of the other stations beneath the platform. He picks up a shotgun from the rack, and tosses the claybird remote to Hilda. “Pull for me, so I can get a higher score than you.”

With ease Hilda catches the remote. “You talk a big game for someone who still hasn’t beat my high score.”

“Only one Goneril sibling has won an Olympic medal, and it’s not you.”

Hilda gives Lysithea a quick peck to the cheek, before turning away from her to confront Holst. She crosses her arms. “If I win, you have to take us to the the pub for dinner with your hair the way it is.”

“Fine.” He loads two shells, and then snaps the shotgun into place. “And if I win, then you dye my hair back to its normal colour, and acknowledge that I am The Supreme.”

Hilda rolls her shoulders, cricking her neck back and forth. "Alright. Let's do this."

From the sidelines, Lysithea raises one of her hands. “Do I shoot as well, or -?”

“You see that over there?” Hilda points at a mound of dirt with what looks like a rack of spoons dangling from a steel bar. “That’s a reactive target. Go for those, while I show this guy who’s boss, and then we’ll go back to pulling for you. Or, you can put the gun down, and watch if you prefer.”

“Alright.” Lysithea breaks the shotgun in two, and throws the shells in one of the bins just like Hilda showed her. Much to Hilda’s surprise, Lysithea reaches for another two shells and loads them into the over-under barrels.

Behind her, Holst clears his throat.

Hilda turns back to him. “Yeah, yeah. Keep your tighty-whities on.”

He shoulders the shotgun. "Pull."

She clicks the button on the remote. A three second delay, and two claybirds zoom out across the air. Holst's movements are fluid, controlled, and precise. He seamlessly tracks the projectiles one after the other, and utterly obliterates them.

"Pull."

In the end, it's a near perfect set. It would have been perfect had it not been for Lysithea sneezing to the side. Hilda could have kissed her, but Lysithea apologises so much that neither Hilda nor Holst believe for a second that it was done on purpose. Holst is a good sport when he's not facing off against family members, and he pats her on the arm good-naturedly.

Finally, Holst offers the shotgun to Hilda. They swap out the gun and the remote. Hilda takes his position. She rolls her shoulders and adjusts her pink-tinted sunglasses to calm herself. The firearm is a familiar weight in her hands. Even years after giving up the sport, holding a shotgun in her hands feels like breathing fresh air.

"Getting cold feet?" Holst asks.

Hilda tosses her head, and sniffs. "You wish."

Lysithea has stopped shooting, and her shotgun is leaning up against the stand. She observes from the sidelines next to Holst. Suddenly there’s a prickle of sweat running between Hilda’s shoulder blades, despite the fact that the air holds a chill, and the mountains are shrouded in dense fog. Hilda wishes that she had opted to wear a scarf along with her classic Burberry trenchcoat.

Turning back towards the range, Hilda says, "Pull."

It's a perfect set. Hilda celebrates like she’s fourteen again and just won a tournament. Holst drops down to his knees and clutches his pink hair with a groan. Beside him, Lysithea golf-claps politely, even as she assures Holst that she personally thinks he looks very nice.

Pushing to his feet, Holst concedes defeat. "Guess dinner's on me."

"Damn right it is," Hilda says far more confidently than she had felt just minutes before. She unloads the shotgun, and then hands it back to her brother. "Here you go."

They trade, remote for shotgun again. "You don't want to keep going?"

"After that set? No way. Better to end on a good note."

Hilda walks back over to stand beside Lysithea, who slips an arm around her waist and leans her head against Hilda's arm. She is warm, and her pale hair is soft. Feeling like she is floating on a cloud, Hilda kisses the top of her head. Hilda can feel a thrill of pleasure working its way into her lungs like she's taken a sip of warm tea.

Another hour or so passes before the sun starts its descent, and the winds pick up speed. Hilda declares the range closed. They pack up, and clamber back into Holst’s bro truck.

"Is your dad going to be okay on his own tonight?" Lysithea asks when Holst starts the truck.

"He'll be fine," Holst assures her. "I cooked him dinner already. It's in the fridge, so he can just heat it in the microwave."

The truck trundles its way down the one of many dirt paths that run along the farm to various paddocks. As they pass, a few curious cows lift their heads and watch them go by. The sheep shy away from the noisiness of the vehicle, but are otherwise unconcerned. Hilda strikes up a conversation with her brother about when he's planning on tupping this season and if that new ram panned out. Holst enthusiastically tells her everything about his plans.

It takes a good twenty minutes to drive down to the main drag of Locket. The farm roads are steep in some places, and Holst drives like an arthritic grandma. By the time they arrive at the pub, the sky has darkened to a dark lavender grey, and Hilda is starving.

Hilda holds open the door to the local watering hole. Holst goes in first, and is immediately flocked to by a group of local girls. From the doorway, Hilda watches, mouth agape, as her brother does the big bashful gentle giant act, and they all fall for it. Hook, line, and sinker.

As he’s being dragged away by both hands, Holst mouths over his shoulder at her, ‘I told you so.’

Hilda rolls her eyes. She stomps over to a free booth, and sits down, followed by Lysithea, who sits across from her. When a waiter comes over to take their orders, Hilda gets the strongest drink she can find on the menu to go with their meals.

"God,” she groans. “He's going to be so insufferable later."

"You two really are related," Lysithea teases.

Hilda shoots her a warning glance. "Don't."

Holding up one hand in surrender, Lysithea grins around her soda.

Their meals arrive. People periodically wander up to their booth to talk to Hilda. They use small talk and catching up with Hilda after so long as an excuse to snoop. Word of Lysithea has whipped through the small town like wildfire. Hilda does her best to shoo people away with her usual charm, or -- failing that -- painfully sweet passive-agressiveness.

For the most part it works. There are still those that aren’t the least bit dissuaded, despite Hilda’s best efforts. Luckily, Lysithea is as immune to small country, backwater charm as ever. She takes every new introduction in stride, coolly shaking hands, and nursing her sodas. Meanwhile, Holst is making the rounds. The belle of the ball. As usual.

Hilda sighs, and orders another drink along with an extra basket of wedge-cut fries.

Lysithea abstains from alcohol, but Hilda indulges just a little. She doesn’t realise she’s a little buzzed until she catches herself watching Lysithea over the top of her glass, and thinking about all the ways she could try to get Lysithea to sneak around the back of the pub and make out with her. The thought of pinning her against a wall and slipping a hand through a gap in that button down shirt sends a flush rushing to Hilda’s cheeks, and a heat directly between her legs.

Lysithea is, of course, oblivious. Even after all this time, it takes all of Hilda’s blunt straightforwardness to get Lysithea’s pants off. Or skirt. Whatever. She looks cute in either. She looks cute in anything. And in nothing.

Someone puts money in the old jukebox, and Hilda is genuinely surprised when music starts to play. She and her cousin, Hans, had broken that piece of junk back when she was seventeen. She could still see the dents from here. Holst must have paid to have it fixed. That, or he will have fixed it himself, like the cool and honourable guy she had always admired, loved, yet also resented.

Said cool and honourable guy is currently gesturing at them from across the pub.

“What on earth does he want now?” Hilda grumbles, and Lysithea turns in her seat, craning her neck to look at Holst.

Holst mimes dancing with his beer, and then points at the two of them.

Okay. His ‘cool and honourable brother’ status has officially been rescinded.

A few other people have indeed begun to clear a few chairs away to make space for dancing. They are pairing off. One of the girls who had been fawning over Holst earlier is now dragging him onto the dancefloor away from his beer and conversation with cousins. Meanwhile, Lysithea has hunched up her shoulders and is studiously staring into her half-empty soda as though the idea of dancing in front of a bunch of strangers causes her physical pain.

Hilda plays a bit of footsie with her under the table until Lysithea glances up at her. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Fuck Holst.”

The song has changed into something a little more classic yet lively. Old rock with a heavy strain of twelve bar blues.

Lysithea lifts her head somewhat. Her pale hair is done up in a loose bun at the base of her neck, so that she looks like an escapee librarian from the 1930s. She tucks a loose strand behind one ear. “We could, if you wanted,” she says, eyes darting to Hilda. “I know you like dancing, even if it’s not something in which I typically partake.”

She wants to. She wants to so badly there's an ache in her chest. But Lysithea is watching her with an almost wary expression, like she expects Hilda to leap up and drag her onto the dancefloor without a moment's hesitation. That alone gives Hilda pause.

A few months ago, she would have done just that -- grabbed Lysithea at the first say so, and danced until Lysithea was pink in the face and needed to sit down to catch her breath. Now however, Hilda sits, frozen, in her seat. The old plasticky booth is somewhat sticky against her legs despite the cold. In the summer time it would be warm enough that you would have to scrape her bare thighs off with a spatula. The idea of pushing Lysithea too fast is, as always, a constant fear in the back of her head, like the buzzing of a phone alarm reminding her not to do what she usually does and fuck this up.

"No," Hilda says. "I'm fine."

At that, Lysithea blinks in surprise and -- surprisingly -- disappointment. "Oh. Alright. Do you want another drink? I think I'll get another drink."

The words are on the tip of Hilda's tongue, burning at her throat, wanting to retract what she said. Instead, she holds up her empty glass and waggles it back and forth. "Just water, thanks. I think I've had one too many of these."

"Okay. Be right back."

It's not too deep into the night before Holst wanders over to their booth. He shares a few snacks with them. He downs another beer. When he orders a third pint, Hilda holds out her hand for the keys to his truck and he promptly passes them over without complaint.

“Do you really think you should be driving?” Lysithea points out. “You’ve had a few tonight as well.”

Hilda swings the keys around her finger. “Can you reach the pedals?”

Glaring, Lysithea snatches the keys from her. “Give me those.”

In the end, Lysithea is the one to drive them home. The headlights cast the farm road in eerie shadows, and she drives extra slow to try to avoid as many pot holes as possible.

The downside to Lysithea driving is that Hilda has to sit in the middle (which is The Worst). The upside is that Hilda can keep a surreptitious hand on Lysithea’s thigh the whole way.

Back at the house, Lysithea takes off her shoes in the long entryway. Holst's muddy gumboots are neatly lined up against the wall beneath the series of wooden coat pegs. Out of force of habit of being on the farm again, Hilda takes off her own stylish boots, and immediately sinks down three inches. It means that the top of her head now barely reaches Holst's shoulders.

She is seriously considering putting heels back on, when Lysithea says, "I think I'll take a shower."

"Want some company?" Hilda asks.

Lysithea hums a contemplative note. "I’ll just take an actual shower, thanks."

"Boring," Hilda says in a sing-song voice, but winks at her anyway. "I'll come to bed in a bit."

With a wave, Lysithea wanders off through the spacious living room and down the hall. The house is dark. Presumably dad has already gone to bed. Lysithea leaves on a trail of lights as she goes.

Holst waits until the door to the bedroom is shut before going after Lysithea and turning off most of the lights in her wake. Another force of habit. Hilda herself had to resist the urge to the same. Instead, she stands by the old chair that her father favours. The leather is cracked and shiny from years of use, but none of them had the heart to throw it out. It’s too comfortable. It holds too much emotional value.

A knitted woolen blanket is thrown over one of the glossy arms. As a kid, Hilda had always thought that mom had made it. It wasn’t until she was older that she realised mom was truly terrible at knitting and sewing, and that dad had made it all along.

Despite the long shadows cast over the house, Holst manoeuvres his way back through the living room with ease. The only light is that of the moon, the porch, and the sliver of pale yellowish light from beneath Hilda’s closed bedroom door, where Lysithea is having her shower. Neither of them need light to wander this house. Not when the layout hasn’t changed in over thirty years, and every creaky floorboard is firmly ingrained in their every childhood memory.

Hilda nods towards him. “You looked good tonight.”

“I look good every night,” Holst says.

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, and accept my compliment.”

“Thank you. I will.” The grin slowly slips from Holst’s face. He clears his throat, and rubs a hand at the back of his neck. “Hey - uh - can we talk?”

“Oh, no. What’s wrong?” Hilda asks, already expecting the worst.

“Nothing,” Holst says. When Hilda just arches a cool eyebrow at him, he shrugs and lowers his arm. “I appreciate that you’re just here for the weekend, but we need to discuss dad’s will before you go.”

Hilda darts a look over her shoulder. Lysithea is already in the shower; she can hear the roar of the pipes. Still, the walls in this house are thin. She lowers her voice to a hiss. “Can we please talk about this some other time?”

His brow is furrowed, but he keeps his voice to a low rumble rather than the usual raucous level their family employs. “I don’t understand why you’re so dead against taking ownership of the farm.”

“Because I have things I want to do with my life that don’t involve the latest in Rotary Milk Sheds Magazine.”

Holst brandishes an admonishing finger under her nose. “Now, I won’t hear a bad word said about RMS Mag in this house.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“I can’t keep doing this forever, Hilda. Uncle Henrick and his boys are helping me out when they can, but there will come a time when you need to step up to the plate. Dad won’t live forever.”

“Yeah, thanks. I know that.”

“You wouldn’t even have to visit more often than you already do,” Holst says, and he’s using that annoying older brother voice like she’s six again. “We just need to sign some papers, and then arrange for a farm manager to act in your stead for the time being.”

Shaking her head, Hilda strides past him towards the kitchen. “I need a cup of coffee.”

“We’re out of freeze-dried.”

“Fine! Tea, then.”

He follows after her. He has to duck through the doorway so that his head doesn’t hit the arch. “Caffeine this late at night isn’t good for you.”

Hilda flicks on the kitchen light. She fills the electric kettle with water from the tap, and sets it to boil. “I’m thirty-one years old. I have a PhD. I’ll damn well have caffeine when I want to have caffeine.”

With a sigh, Holst lets it go. He steps by her and makes a start into the dishes that dad has left in the sink, because these days dad is too old and shaky to be cleaning his own chef’s knives let alone running a farm.

The kettle boils, and Hilda grabs the jar of teabags that’s been in the same place since she was born. “Do you want a cup?”

Holst shakes his head. He has a dish towel draped over one massive shoulder. “No, thank you.”

She pours only a cup for herself, grabbing the bottle of fresh milk from the fridge and adding a healthy dollop. The tea isn’t nearly bracing enough, but it gives her something to do with her hands that doesn’t involve nervously wringing them together.

Warm water sloshes in the sink as Holst scrubs at a plate. “You’re awfully antagonistic this trip. More so than usual, I mean.”

The tea is too hot to drink quickly, but Hilda takes a large slurp anyway. “It’s almost like I expected to be ambushed by inheritance talks the moment I walked through the front door.”

“You’re acting like this is the end of the world.”

“I like what I do.” The porcelain sears between Hilda’s hands. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I worked hard to get there.”

“I know that.”

Silence settles over the kitchen. Hilda taps her fingers against the mug. Her rings clack. They can hear the hiss of the shower from the other room shut off.

After a long moment, Holst says, “Lysithea’s nice. I like her way more than that last guy you brought home. The short one with the blue hair.”

She shoots him a scathing look. “Gee. Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like -” He breaks off with a sigh. Pulling the dishcloth from where it is draped over one shoulder, he begins drying everything that he has just cleaned. “I just want to see you settled down with someone nice. And I think she’s very nice. You’re calmer around her. And I think she would make a good addition to the family.”

Hilda lightly swats one of his brawny arms. "You didn't say any of this to her, did you? Don't go scaring her off, you asshole."

"I didn't say anything!" Holst insists. Then he adds, "Yet."

Hilda points to the night-dimmed window. "I swear to god, I will go outside, grab an axe, and cleave you in half."

He waves the white dishtowel in surrender. "Relax."

"I really like her, alright? Don't screw this up for me."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Holst returns to drying the dishes. After a moment, he says, "Dad likes her, too."

That sends Hilda's stomach into a whirlwind of somersaults. Dad had never liked any of her previous beaux before. Then again, most of her previous beaux had been thick country boys, who were lacking in every category except the sack. She has always liked her men to be the same way: big, dumb, and easy to manipulate.

Lysithea is, of course, none of those things.

And then Holst says, "So, when are you going to propose?"

Hilda chokes on her tea. Her face goes bright red. She doesn't need a mirror to know that her complexion is now clashing terribly with her clothes. She splutters. "That's -! Well, I mean -!"

"Haven't you thought of it?"

"I have," Hilda admits slowly. "And -- not that it’s any of your goddamn business -- but we've, y’know, talked."

"And you haven't put a ring on her finger yet? Oh, Hilda..."

Slamming her teacup on the bench, Hilda growls, "What? Why am I the one who needs to propose here?"

"Well, because you're -" he gestures at her with a wave of the drying towel. "You know..."

Her glower is sharper than the knives on the drying rack. "No, go on. Say it."

Holst has never had a very strong sense of self-preservation. It shows, because he does in fact continue. "You're a very forceful personality. Always have been."

“Forceful personality?! I am a delicate flower!" Hilda stamps one foot on the ground. "And maybe I'm the one who wants to be proposed to! Have you ever thought of that? Huh?"

"It's not me who needs to think of that," he replies dryly.

That stops Hilda dead in her tracks. Her mouth works, but no noise comes out. Finally, she swipes up her cup of tea, and drains it dry.

“I am just looking out for you,” Holst insists. “And don’t be an ass. Not about this.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you,” she says once she’s finished.

“No. You should be having it with her.”

She clamps her mouth shut so hard she can feel her jaw ache. “I’m going to bed.”

“Just -” he sighs, “- think about what I said. About everything.”

Hilda shoves the now empty cup in his hands for him to clean. “Good night.”

Hilda sleeps poorly. She tosses and turns all night, and still wakes early enough to see sunlight creep through the window to the sound of distant birdsong. She whittles away an hour by curling up behind Lysithea, and sticking her nose into the back of Lysithea's neck.

Lysithea remains asleep. She is warm, and soft, and smells like clean soap and freshly washed sheets. Her long pale hair tickles Hilda's face. Hilda wouldn't move for the world.

Eventually however, Hilda is very much awake. And when Hilda is awake, she cannot keep from fidgeting. When she feels her own feet start to twitch, she gets out of bed to ensure that she doesn't wake Lysithea.

Wrapped in a cosy last season sweater, Hilda creeps out of the room. She closes the door quietly behind her, and wanders towards the kitchen.

Holst is already awake. He is cradling a cup of freshly brewed tea. When he sees her enter the kitchen, he blinks in surprise. "You're up early. The pot is on. Do you want a cup?"

"No," Hilda yawns. She runs a hand through her hair, which is still slightly mussed with sleep. "Can I have your keys?"

Fishing them from his jeans pocket, he tosses them to her. "Going to the village?"

She catches them. "Just for a bit. I'll be back in a hot second."

"We need more bread. And can you pick up the mail?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

In the entryway, Hilda stomps her feet into a pair of ugly boots that are nonetheless very comfortable, and more importantly she isn't afraid to get them dirty.

The mailbox for the farmhouse is over a mile away. Hilda doesn't get out of the truck, just leans through the open window to grab whatever is in the mailbox. It's a quick jaunt to Locket through the low-hanging fog. She picks up a few loaves of fresh bread and a local newspaper.

By the time she makes it back home, Lysithea is awake and having a cup of tea in the kitchen with Holst. Stepping out of the truck, Hilda pauses outside. She can see Lysithea through the mist-clung window; she has dressed into casual clothes, but her pale hair is still cowlicked from pressing against a pillow for so long.

When Hilda enters the house, and makes her way into the kitchen. She makes a point of putting down the bread, the newspaper, and the letters so she can run her fingers through Lysithea’s hair. It does little to tame the persistent cowlick.

“Morning,” Hilda says.

“Hey.” Lysithea does not tell her to stop, though her eyes do alight upon the newspaper. “Is this the local rag?”

"Mhmm. It's not the paper you're used to," Hilda says. Pulling her hand away from Lysithea’s hair, she flips a few pages of the newspaper over. "But it has a halfway decent crossword! Want to do it with me?"

Lysithea surprises her utterly by saying, "How about later? We can do it on the plane ride back this afternoon. Holst was telling me about one of the gentler walks on the farm. Think you can show me around?"

Holst himself has busied himself by taking the loaves of bread -- but for one -- and putting them into the freezer. The one he has kept out, he breaks into, placing a few slices into the toaster to start on breakfast. The moment his name is mentioned, he flips the bag of sliced bread shut, and reapplies the twist tie. "I can have brunch ready for you when you get back."

"Sure." Hilda tugs at a lock of Lysithea's hair. "You ready to go now? You might want to grab a jumper. It's chilly out there today."

A few minutes later, Lysithea is dressed in one of Hilda's oversized woolen sweaters. On Hilda it would have been just slightly too big, masking her bulky shoulders somewhat. On Lysithea, it could have acted as a dress. As they head out, one of the dogs thinks it can join on walkies, but Hilda shoos it away.

"We could bring him," Lysithea offers.

"Nah. He'll just be a pest." Hilda points back to the farmhouse. "Go on, Brindle!"

Dutifully, the dog trots back, and flops beneath the shelter of the eaves.

The house recedes as they go on their way. When Hilda had driven into Locket earlier, the fog had been thick enough to obscure the mountains and make the trees loom through like shadows. Now, the sun has begun to burn it away, giving detail to the world once more. Hilda guides them towards the gentlest walk on the property, but still she makes sure to take frequent stops. Lysithea's breathing only grows slightly laboured, but she has sounded more winded in bed to be honest.

"Uuugh," Hilda's feet squelch through the mud and grass. She grimaces down at her old hiking boots. They keep all the muck at bay, but they also clash terribly with the rest of her outfit. "This is a disaster."

"I kind of like it."

“Impossible. These boots are horrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the boots,” Lysithea says behind her in a small voice.

Glancing over her shoulder, Hilda sees that Lysithea is trailing along in her wake. She looks -- and this really is strange -- nervous. Hilda doesn’t stop, but she does slow down slightly.

"What is it?" Hilda asks. Her eyes narrow. "Did my dad say something to you. Did Holst?"

Lysithea shakes her head. "No. It's nothing like that."

"I'll kill him."

"Hilda, I swear. They didn't say anything. They've been nothing but lovely since we've arrived."

"Hmm," Hilda hums under her breath, disbelieving.

Lysithea trots a few steps forward so that they walk side by side. She slips her hand into Hilda's and holds her fast. "Though I must admit -"

"Oh, here we go."

"It's not bad. I just have to say that when we first arrived I was -" Lysithea takes a second to fish for the right word. "- puzzled. This place seemed so unlike you. I had a difficult time reconciling that you grew up here. But the longer we've stayed, the more apparent it becomes. You really are at home here."

"It's the boots." Hilda lifts one of the offending shoes as they walk like she’s goose-stepping. "They ruin my whole ensemble."

"It's not the boots," Lysithea says. Then, after a moment, she adds. "Well, the boots don't hurt."

"They do. Specifically, they hurt my eyes."

"Hey," Lysithea's voice has gentled. She squeezes Hilda's hand to get her to stop.

They are standing in a clearing. The trees rise up on all sides. The grass is green and lush beneath their feet. Late morning sunlight slants through the low-hanging mist, and through the boughs of the trees can be seen the distant snowy mountain peaks bearing their misty capes.

Lysithea's words are a soft murmur. "You've been so uptight during this trip. Is there something I can do to help?"

Hilda lets out a long breath she had not known she was holding. It escapes her in a rush of air. She glances back in the direction of the house, but they've put it far behind them. Nobody is following them. They are alone.

"It's -" Hilda grimaces. "To be honest, I'm nervous."

"I already know that. I am a genius, you know."

Hilda laughs, but it's shaky and short and sharp. She has to clear her throat. Lysithea is still holding her hand, and her skin is cool against Hilda's own sweaty palm. "Every time I've brought someone back home, it's always turned out badly."

"Your family scares them away?" Lysithea asks. “Because I’ve met way scarier people. You remember Hubert, right?”

"Yes. No. Not always." Hilda shrugs. "It's just - nothing ever goes right for me after this step. And I don't want that to happen again. Not this time. Not with you. I kind of like you, you know."

"Yes, I got that impression, thanks."

“Just a little, though. Can’t have people thinking I’m going soft.”

“Your secret is safe with me."

"So, yeah. I'm nervous. And you know what the only thing I can think of is?"

Lysithea cocks her head to one side.

"That I really really should've danced with you last night." Hilda lightly smacks her own forehead with her free hand. "I've been kicking myself over it all day."

With a smile, Lysithea shakes her head. She turns Hilda's hand over, and seems to be deep in thought for a moment. Then, she says, "We can now, if you want."

"Here?" Hilda gestures to the gently sloping woodland around them. "And without music? What do you take me for? A loose woman?"

"Oh, shut up, and dance with me already."

Lysithea has to reach up to grab Hilda's other hand and bring it to her waist. Hilda's mouth goes dry. Her heart flops around in her chest in a dumb romance novel kind of way.

She's supposed to be past this point in the relationship already. She’s supposed to be restless and distant. She's supposed to be bored. It terrifies her that she isn’t.

Lysithea hums under her breath. It's a warm sound, surprisingly light and airy. She tends to only ever sing if she thinks nobody else is around. Even Hilda only hears Lysithea singing softly when they're in separate rooms in the apartment. Usually when Lysithea is in the bathroom for her morning routine, or in the kitchen brewing coffee.

It’s not a dance so much as it’s a sway. Hilda guides them around in small circles to make it more of an actual dance. Lysithea never dances with her in public. Normally, Hilda has to coax her into dancing in the kitchen. She’s only done it in public once at Claude’s three months ago. A trendy new band was opening there, and the bar had been packed.

The fact that she had been willing to dance with Hilda last night at the village pub is unprecedented.

“Holst and I were talking last night.”

Lysithea hums an inquisitive note, prompting Hilda to continue.

“Not going to lie, it got a little awkward. He was basically trying to foist off the inheritance onto me. Dad’s not getting any younger, and Holst wants me to officially start to look after the estate. It’s such a pain.”

For a moment Lysithea did not reply. Then she asked, “And what did you say?”

Hilda exhales a long breath that she turns into blowing a raspberry. “Well, he’s very insistent. But I don’t think I can be responsible for something like that. I can barely look after a house pet, let alone a thousand cows.”

“That’s -” Lysithea blinks. “- a lot of cows.”

“You’re telling me.” Hilda leads them around in a slow circular pattern. The long grass catches on the edges of her hiking boots with every step. “Anyway, I haven’t decided yet. I wouldn’t have to move out here for, like, ten years to really take over, but still. It’s a big commitment. I don’t know if I’m ready to give up what I have to come back to this old place.”

“You could be the most stylish farmer on this coast, though,” Lysithea points out.

“Hmm. Tempting. But not very challenging.”

"It's not a bad early retirement plan." Lysithea adds. "I kind of like the idea of just disappearing off the map one day. Though we would have to put a proper airstrip into Locket for El's jet."

"She can use one of the paddocks."

"I don't think jets work like that."

"She'll be fine."

"You know your brother is just going to keep worry about this until you give him an answer, right?"

Hilda rolls her eyes. "He's always worrying about something. Might as well make it something that will turn out right in the end."

Lysithea furrows her brow. "You never intended to say no to him, did you?"

"I am incapable of saying no. Especially not to a good cause. It's just a part of my giving nature."

Slowing to a stop, Lysithea studies her face carefully. “I hope I’m one of your good causes.”

With a snort of laughter, Hilda asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I -” Lysithea chews at her lower lip, one of her signature nervous ticks. “I may have overheard a little of your talk with Holst last night, and -”

When Lysithea begins to fish around in one of her pockets for something, Hilda’s eyes go wide. She has to turn around and catch her breath. It feels just like that time she was playing rugby in an empty paddock, and was kneed in the gut by her cousin, Hughes.

It's one of Hilda's worst-kept secrets, that she is flustered by genuine romance. The best way to avoid getting all blubbery over even the most cheesy of romance movies is to either a) not watch them at all, or b) tell horrible jokes throughout all the bits that would normally get her misty-eyed.

It's embarrassing. It’s debilitating. It's something that would've gotten her severely mocked by a horde of male cousins since the age of zero.

“Hilda?”

Hilda peeks over her shoulder as if expecting a zombie to leap out of the bushes. Instead, it’s just Lysithea standing there with a little velvet box in her hand. Which is even more terrifying, arguably.

“Is this -?” Lysithea tilts the box back and forth like she’s debating whether she should just chuck it and run. “Is this not the right time or place or -? Have I messed this up?”

“No,” Hilda breathes. Then, realising what that sounds like, she hurriedly tries to correct herself. “No! I don’t mean: ‘no.’ I mean ‘No!’ I mean -! Yes! No, it’s not not the right time or place. And yes, yes.”

She is blabbering. She’s too far gone. She can feel a tell-tale burning in her eyes, and has to swallow down a swell of tears.

Lysithea stares at her, but if anything her expression is determined rather than completely baffled or put off by the way Hilda is rambling. She hesitates for only a second before saying, “I know you like a bit of showmanship, but I really don’t want to kneel down in the mud. Is it okay if I don’t -?”

“Yes!” Hilda is so excited she’s jumping up and down a little in place, and clapping her hands together. She sniffles. “Ohhhh! Open it! Open it!”

“Edelgard may have helped me pick it out a few weeks ago. Because I’m bad at jewelry, and tend to just go for something I think looks pretty,” Lysithea admits as she opens the box to reveal the ring.

It’s not gaudy, but it is eye-catching. Rose gold. Diamond. Pink sapphires. Without hesitation, Hilda sticks out her hand for Lysithea to put the ring on. For a moment Lysithea fumbles at the ring to pull it from the case -- it’s pretty firmly stuck in the velvet lining -- before slipping it onto Hilda’s finger. Her touch is warm and soft, and Hilda can’t keep the burning behind her eyes at bay any longer.

“Please don’t cry. You’re going to make me cry.”

“I can’t,” Hilda is already wiping at her eyes with her free hand. “Thank god I’m not wearing mascara.”

Lysithea laughs, but it sounds a little watery. She shakes her head with a grin. The silly cowlick still in her hair and the oversized jumper with a plaid collar poking through are so endearing that Hilda can’t help but kiss her. Lysithea’s hands grip the front of Hilda’s woollen sweater to pull her close.

When they part, Lysithea breathes, “I’m so glad you said yes.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“A little.”

“I’m shocked. Appalled, even. That you could even dream that I would say no to you.” Hilda kisses her again, briefly this time. “Honestly, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

With a huff of laughter, Lysithea pulls away, but drops her arm to lace their fingers together. She tugs at Hilda’s hand. “Come on. Show me the rest of the walk. And then let’s go home.”

#hilda valentine goneril #lysithea von ordelia #hilda/lysithea #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #roman writes #two across

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animeniacss · 5 years

Text

What I Want- BadBoy!Taehyung x Reader - Chapter 1 - Up and Out

Synopsis: You are an innocent, excitable new girl, moving all the way to Korea due to your dad’s new job. As you anxiously learn about the new world around you and how you’ll make your mark, you stumble into none other than bad boy Kim Taehyung and his band of six crazy friends. He seems to be bothered but you, something he doesn’t even understand. Will you be able to tolerate the shenanigans of Taehyung and his rowdy friends, or will you fall victim to his charms just like everyone else?

Featuring Jihyo and Dahyun (TWICE) as your friends, and BTS members as Taehyung’s group of friends.

Genre: Romance, BadBoy!V, BadBoy!BTS, High School Romance, Drama

Length: approx. 2.6k words

Chapter 1 - Up and Out

Being good was boring. Being good meant going to class on time, listening, and taking notes, studying! Yeah, no thanks. It was much more fun to be spontaneous, smoking behind the school campus during break hours, playing video games until midnight instead of scanning through a useless textbook, and yeah, starting the occasional food fight in the cafeteria when the teachers weren’t looking. Now that was fun, and it made things more exciting. That was exactly what Kim Taehyung was about, bringing more fun to his school other than those boring pep rallies, sporting games, and god awful school dances. No, he was going to make school fun in a different way, his own way.

You, being a bright-eyed new girl, had no idea about Taehyung and his god awful reputation. All you knew was that you were a bright-eyed, innocent girl who recently moved to Korea from your childhood home. At first, it bothered you, not wanting to leave your friends whose bonds were over 16 years in the making or your school that you were almost done with. Not only that, but you barely knew any Korean! Sure, your grandmother would speak to you in Korean when she would come to visit, but that was always very basic conversation and you always managed to reply in broken sentences and half-English remarks. But that wasn’t important, your dad had gotten a new and better job through his company, requiring you all to pack up your well-established lives and move across the globe. It was a bit unfair, yes, but as you began to learn the language with your mother, who was just as lost in the language as you were, you began to enjoy it. Not only that, but you tried to pique your interest more by watching some Korean dramas on Netflix, listening to Korean music, and learning whatever you could about your soon to be home. It was interesting, it was amazing! By the time you boarded the plane, you couldn’t wait to go!

The trip to Korea was exhausting, but you spent the entire time chewing off your little brother’s ear, who was trying to ignore you and play his Switch, but you kept being persistent, all the way until you landed. You were guided off the plane, your father using his fluency in Korean to help guide your family into cars and to your new home. It was nice, something your father was able to negotiate with his boss in exchange for uprooting his family. You were eager to look inside and see what new memories would be made here! As you headed into the house, you and your brother raced to find your new bedrooms. Lucky for you, you ran track in middle school, so you were faster. This nabbed you the bigger of the two rooms.

“No fair!” Your brother shouted in annoyance, but you smirked at him and closed the door in his face as your response. You looked around, seeing that the new furniture that was ordered had begun to arrive already, as your new bed and dresser were set up. All you had to do was wait a few days until your luggage from home arrived in the next few days and you would be able to set up. But what you did have, you put out. About a few days’ worth of clothes, a few pictures of friends and family, and letters covered in tear stains from the hour or crying you and your best friends did before you left. As you set things up, you hear a noise outside. It seemed someone had come by, as you heard indistinct chatter coming from underneath your window. Setting down the last of your things, you grab your belongings and head downstairs.

There you see your mom, letting in a few different people, older women about her age. They’re greeting her, smiling as they try their absolute best to communicate, your mom giving broken greetings in Korean and the others giving broken responses in English, all leading up to a good laugh between them. Behind them were a few teens, two girls about your age. They seemed sweet.

“Honey! C’mere and meet our new neighbors.” Your mother said, glee in her voice. You made your way over to see two girls about your age standing beside one another. Both girls were very pretty, one with short and wavy brown hair and the other with long blonde hair. They smiled at you.

“Hi!” The brunette girl said in Korean. Despite your excitement, you were nervous about being judged for your Korean. You blushed, shyly saying hello in shaky Korean. “I’m Park Ji-soo, but you can call me Jihyo.” The other girl, the blonde, gave a grin as she held up a peace sign in front of her face.

“And I’m Kim Dahyun.” The other girl said. “What about you?” You responded, giving a smile. “Sorry my uh….my Korean isn’t very good still.”

“Good thing you have us to practice with.” Dahyun grinned. “We both live on the block, so we’ll be happy to help you out.” You were silent for a second, trying to process what she had said. Dahyun and Jihyo chuckled a bit watching your eyes move from side to side and your lips mouth what Dahyun had said to you before your eyes finally went bright and a smile formed on your lips. You got it.

“Thank you!” You replied happily. “Do you guys also go to high school?”

“Yeah, we do.” Jihyo smiled. “So we can help you get adjusted there too.” You smiled, glad to know that you made two friends who were so nice to help you out while you were adjusting. As the three of you sat in the living room, your mothers in the kitchen, they fill you in on what school was like, and what kind of kids to expect. You were listening, fortunate that they were speaking some English to you within all of the Korean to make understanding just a little bit easier. It was fun getting to know these girls, they were kind and respectful, and Dahyun was a riot when she got going with the crazy personality you learned she had.

By the time you girls knew it, it was time to go home to rest. You said your goodbyes, exchanged phone numbers and watched as they left with their mothers. Your mother closed the door and smiled.

“Well, that was nice. Seems we got lucky with some good neighbors, huh?” You nodded in agreement. “Alright, it’s pretty late Tell your brother to get to bed, you both have school first thing tomorrow and the last thing you need is to be late.” Agreeing, you headed upstairs to relay mom's message.

“But I’m not tired!” The ten-year-old shouted in annoyance.

“Well if you don’t go to sleep I’ll be sure to tell Mom and she’ll break your Switch.” You said simply. Your brother groaned, knowing you were a girl of your word.

“Goody-goody.” He muttered as he made his way into the bathroom to get ready for bed, and you did the same. Tossing on a pair of old pajamas, you slid onto your bed with your temporary blanket and covers. As you got ready to fall asleep, you heard a ding from your phone. Turning to look at it, you see it was from Dahyun. You had been put in a group chat with both her and Jihyo.

Dahyun: It was nice to meet you! :D Jihyo and I can meet you tomorrow morning so we can all go to school together! J

You: Okay! See you tomorrow! Goodnight!

Setting your phone down, you curled up in bed. On your door hung your new uniform for tomorrow, and it made your heart pound a bit. You were really excited to go to school tomorrow, despite all of your fears about it. As you thought about what the experience would be like, you fell asleep.

The next day, your alarm woke you up right on time. Groaning, you stretched in your bed and hoped desperately that it was a weekend and you could sleep in and rest. But nope, your parents were already up, making the same loud noise they always do, and your brother’s footsteps pounding up and down the hallway too. Groaning again, you eventually got up and made your way into your bathroom. Combing your hair, brushing your teeth, and putting on your makeup, you went back into your room and slipped into your new uniform. You had to admit, it looked pretty good on you, the skirt wasn’t too short, the blazer wasn’t too tight around the chest, and it flattered you well. I feel like I’m in a Korean drama. You thought to yourself, spinning around in your mirror once before you heard your mom calling your name. As you headed downstairs, you weren’t surprised to see Jihyo and Dahyun down there, standing in the kitchen with your mom. She was making some breakfast and offered the girls some fruit, which they both happily took, before turning to you.

“Hey.” You said happily, heading to the table and grabbing a piece of toast, than spreading some egg on it. “I’ll eat this on the way. Bye, Mom!” You waved to your mother, heading out the door with the girls, your brother trekking behind, as the elementary school was a stop on the way to your high school. After dropping your brother off, you and your friends made your way to the office of the high school. You introduced yourself to the principal, who spoke some English, so it made the conversation much easier on you. You got your ID badge, your schedule, and a map of the school before you were on your way.

The school was bustling, full of teenagers pushing, shoving, listening to music as they perched themselves up against a locker, muting out the rest of the world. Friends threw arms around one another, grinning as they spoke about teenage problems like homework and love. You could only hear pieces of information as you made your way to your classroom, which fortunately you shared with Jihyo, and found your locker, which was in the bottom row of the homeroom lockers. It was a bit weird, being in a school where nobody knew you, and you didn’t know anybody. For as long as you were in school, you were always the one eagerly welcoming the new kid, showing them around and helping them get adjusting to their new life, and here you were. Now you were in their shoes, and you could understand why some people were hesitant to open up to you at first. It’s intimidating. You stepped out into the hallway, where Dahyun was approaching from her classroom next door.

While you were finishing up with settling in and adjusting to the slight feeling of anxiousness within your body, someone else was entering the school grounds. Someone who, with every step, he took closer to the building, had more and more eyes staring in his direction. He was unsure if these looks were out of fear, or attraction, or both, but he honestly didn’t really care. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped into the building. As he was getting his bearings, he felt a hard slap on the back. It was another guy, a bit smaller than him, but with full lips and a grin on his face stretching from ear to ear.

“So you’re finally back, Taehyung? How was that three-day vacation?” He asked. Taehyung replied with a shrug as the duo made their way down the halls of the school.

“It was whatever. How were the three days here without me, Jimin? Did you all fall apart like last time?”

“No!” Jimin said quickly. Taehyung raises an eyebrow, and Jimin pouted. “Well…Namjoon-Hyung broke that really cool statue in our room.” Taehyung snickered a bit at the thought of his Hyung. Yeah, that sounded like something he would do.

“What else have I missed?” He asked curiously.

“Nothing. I think a new girl started in our year, though.” Jimin said. Taehyung pursed his lips together, grinning as they walked deeper into the school.

“Really?” he asked.

You watched as students slowly began to disperse into their classrooms, saying goodbye to friends and kissing lovers goodbye. You waved to Dahyun as she headed to her class, talking with another friend as well as they disappeared into their class. As you and Jihyo were about to do the same, a voice was heard at the end of the hallway.

“Oi!” You blinked, turning to Jihyo. Her face immediately dropped, a hand going over her face. She looked annoyed, her thumb and forefinger rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“What’s wrong?” you asked curiously.

“I thought he was suspended for the rest of the week.” She muttered.

“Wrong!” You heard that voice chime again. It was deep, sultry, and it surprised you a bit. Turning your head, you became face to face with a brunette, leaning over Jihyo with a hand on her shoulder. He was grinning, his gummy smile fitting with his face despite his hard and tough appearance. “Did you miss me, Jihyo~?” he cooed, smirking.

“God no. What do you want?” She asked.

“I just came to introduce myself to the new girl.” He cooed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and his eyes fell immediately to you. You stayed still, not sure what to say. “Well, hello there, cutie.” He said. “What’s your name?” You hesitated, but before you could give it to him, Jihyo took your arm.

“Her name is none of your business. Now go away, don’t you have a class to skip?” She asked. Taehyung snickered, shrugging.

“Maybe.” He said. “Why? Want to join me and have some fun, Jihyo my dear~?” Jihyo scoffed in disgust.

“You’re absolutely disgusting. Let’s go.” She said to me, and she led me inside. You glanced back at Taehyung, who snuck you a wink as he headed down the hallway, his friend following behind him. Jihyo sat in her seat up in the front of the room, and you stood in front of it, waiting for the teacher to come in and assign you a seat. “I swear, do not talk to him, okay?”

“Why?”

“He and his gaggle of friends may be super popular with the girls, but they’re all bad influences. They smoke, they skip school, and they get into fights…Just steer clear of them, okay?” You saw how serious she was being, and nodded.

“Okay. Okay, Jihyo, if you’re so sure, I trust you.” You smiled happily. Jihyo gave you a kind smile and leaned back in her seat. Just then, the door opened and the teacher walked in. He was an older man, a bit rounder and balding on the top of his head. He had glasses on, which he pushed up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. He approached you, and you introduced yourself to him, as well as your entire class. He sent you to your seat, two seats behind Jihyo. She turned to you and smiled a bit, before facing forward and listening to the lesson.

During the lesson, you did your best to pay attention to. However, it wasn’t long before your eyes started to wander. You were a decent student, but god was it hard for you to pay attention. Your eyes wandered to the window, where you could see some bits and pieces of the outside. From one of the corners, you saw a few figures of some boys. They were laughing, playfully shoving each other, and goofing off as they headed out of sight. Out of them, you noticed Taehyung, his head in a headlock from a taller boy, who had a piece of some kind of food in his mouth. From what you were witnessing, they didn’t seem like bad people.

But what something seems like isn’t always the same as reality. At least, that was something you were taught.

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#v #bts #bangta boys #reader insert #taehyung #kim taehyung #bad boys #fanfiction #kim namjoon #rm #kim seokjin #jin #min yoongi #suga #jeon jungkook #jhope #jeon hoseok #park jimin #What I Want ff

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

nobody knows where we might end up, chapter eight (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr) | word count: 4150

AN: Thank you so much for the recent lovely reviews and feedback on this fic! It makes me so, so happy every time, and even more motivated to keep going. I appreciate you all so much. Thank you Writ for beta-ing this and being wonderful.

(then)

“C’mon, Mami. Please tell me something cool that’s happened at work recently.”

“Patient confidentiality, baby. Not gonna happen.” Vanessa’s mom ruffles her hair, making her scowl. “Can’t be spilling stuff to just anyone.”

“But I’ll understand so much more now! We had our cardio unit in physiology and I aced it.” Vanessa swings her legs on the side of her mom’s bed, watching her pack a sweater in her bag before her night shift.

“Already told you, I can tell you all about the cardiac ICU and what it’s like being on the unit, but no patient-related things. Gotta wait till you’re working in a hospital yourself for that part.” Vanessa’s mom pulls her hair up into a bun, away from her face.

“That’s not going to be until forever.” Vanessa sighs. She wishes she could fast forward to being an intern or a resident now.

“Tell you what. Want me to talk to the cardiologist on the unit about maybe shadowing him? You can see what it’s like, then.” Vanessa’s mom straightens out her light blue scrubs. Vanessa wishes sometimes she could try them on, but it would feel a little too on the nose.

“Would that even work? I thought you have to apply through official channels and stuff.” Vanessa has already applied to some hospitals in the new year for volunteering, but none of them are going to be in cardio, which is what she really wants to see.

“Connections always help, mija. Having a nurse for a mom has got to be useful for something.” Vanessa grins at her mom’s statement. Her mom is definitely why she’s always been drawn to healthcare, seeing her in and out of scrubs for most of her life.

“Though it beats me why you won’t just apply for nursing,” Vanessa’s mom continues, “it’s practical and you’ll have to do less school and you’ll get to make money faster. And no cutting people open.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. They’ve had this conversation way too often for her liking. “But night shifts, like the one you’re going to right now. And cleaning up poop.”

“You’ll have night shifts as a resident too, y’know, if you try and become a doctor. They’re unavoidable.”

“All worth it if I get to cut people open eventually.” Vanessa shoots a cheeky grin at her mom when she swats her with her bag.

“What are you, Dr. Frankenstein or something? Gross.” Vanessa’s mom makes a face at her. “I’m telling you, there’s something off about all the surgeons at the hospital. They’re all a little cuckoo in the head.”

Vanessa tries not to laugh. “I bet they think the same thing about the nurses.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t dare. We could kick their asses in a second. Not that we’d ever say that to their faces. Don’t tell them.” Vanessa’s mom points a finger at her.

“When would I ever see the surgeons?”

“I’m gonna get you to shadow one of them, aren’t I? Mom of the year. Pay attention.”

“You really are, Mami.” Vanessa stands up, placing a kiss on her mom’s cheek. “Have a good shift.”

Vanessa’s mom waves her off. “And don’t you forget it. We’ll see about it being a good shift, though. Depends on which bobo day nurse I take over from today.”

Vanessa’s mom pulls on her coat, then hat and gloves, grumbling the whole while. “Damn winter weather. Remind me why we live in Brampton again?”

“Because of your job.”

“Eh.” Vanessa’s mom shrugs. “Now that you and Julio are both out of the house, maybe I should just move to Florida or something. Somewhere warm. Not a place that’s frozen over half of the year.”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to visit you during the holidays!” Vanessa protests her mom’s statement, hands on her hips. It’s not like they’d be able to afford constant plane tickets either.

“Take it easy, mija, I wasn’t being serious.” Vanessa’s mom shoots her a good natured look.

Vanessa huffs. “I know.”

“Glad to know you would miss me, though. You better.” Vanessa’s mom grabs her car keys, nearly drops them in her gloved hands.

Vanessa snorts. “Don’t gloat about it too much. Now go before you’re late for work.”

“Going, going.” Vanessa’s mom pops her head back inside a second later. “Don’t forget to make the plátanos tonight. We’re going to be too swamped to do them before Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

“I won’t!” Vanessa calls it out long after her mom closes the door behind her, rolling off of the bed. She heads to the family computer in the living room, which Julio is still sitting at after playing games on it for most of the day. She rolls her eyes. Her older brother is absolutely addicted to it. All she wants to do is be able to talk to Brooke.

“Julio, move! It’s my turn now.” She stomps her foot too, not that it makes any difference because he doesn’t even look up from the game on the screen.

“Nope.” He pops his lips on the last letter. “I still gotta beat this level.”

“Ugh.” Vanessa rolls her eyes at him, leaning against the monitor. “Do you ever do anything other than play stupid games on this thing?”

“I’m in engineering, dumbass, of course I do.” Julio looks up, his grin smug, making Vanessa huff. Annoying brothers. “I’m enjoying my winter break.”

Vanessa crosses her arms. “I wanna talk to-”

“I don’t care. You have to wait.”

“I’ve been waiting all day.” Vanessa grumbles. She perks up suddenly when remembering exactly what can make him move. “If you don’t move, I’m gonna tell Mami about the time when you were in Grade 12 when you snuck out and went to Noah Fielding’s party and-”

“Do not.” Julio turns from the computer, wide-eyed, pointing a finger at her. “You know she’d still beat my ass for that.”

“Well,” Vanessa shoots him a smug smile, “guess you gotta move then, huh?”

“Fine. Jesus.” Julio grumbles under his breath as he gets up, shuffling to the kitchen. Vanessa takes his seat with a grin.

She logs onto MSN messenger, scanning through her contacts while looking for one very specific person.

“Yes!” Vanessa can’t help but let out a little whoop when she sees that Brooke is online.

Vanjievanjievanjie: Brooke!!! <3

BLDancer1: V! I miss you so much!

Vanjievanjievanjie: I miss u too :( this break has been so long

BLDancer1: Way too long. :(

Vanjievanjievanjie: what are you up to??

BLDancer1: We’re going to midnight Mass later tonight because of Christmas Eve. I gotta get ready soon, ugh.

Vanjievanjievanjie: sounds boring tbh

BLDancer1: It is! I’d much rather be asleep, honestly. Vanjievanjievanjie: nerd

BLDancer1: Like you stay up much later than me! What are you up to?

Vanjievanjievanjie: not doing much for Christmas Eve cuz my mom’s working, just me and my brother and my dog rn but tmrw we have lots of fam over

BLDancer1: That sounds more fun than our Christmas dinners. It’s just my family all sitting around the table and eating quietly like every other dinner.

Vanjievanjievanjie: ew that sounds stiff. how’s the fam tho??

She hasn’t met Brooke’s family, knows very little about them. Brooke always gets more sad and shifty whenever her family is brought up, so Vanessa tries not to do it too much. Though asking over MSN may be better than in person.

BLDancer1: The usual. They said I need to exercise more and tutted about how my grades still aren’t as high as they should be. Not much else.

Vanessa winces. Yikes. Brooke had been fretting about going home the entire week before they left for Christmas break, hanging around Vanessa’s room because she hadn’t wanted to be alone with her thoughts. Vanessa doesn’t know exactly what Brooke’s family is like to make her feel this way, but it makes her want to fight them all.

Not that that would be a good first impression on them.

Vanjievanjievanjie: sorry baby :(((( sending u a big hug from here

BLDancer1: It’s okay. They’re right, I need to be better.

Vanjievanjievanjie: you’re already perfect u angel

BLDancer1: Not as much as I should be, though. My grades weren’t good enough this semester.

Vanjievanjievanjie: u got the top marks in our class u loon

BLDancer1: My mom said they’re not high enough to get into med school, though.

Vanjievanjievanjie: what does she know?? ur already working ur ass off, you’ll do it

BLDancer1: I feel like there’s always more to do, like I’m not doing enough.

Vanjievanjievanjie: listen come here so I can yell at you about how ur already a genius, u dumbass

BLDancer1: LOL, that’s a contradicting statement.

Vanjievanjievanjie: u know what I mean.

BLDancer1: Ugh. I do. I just hate being here and hearing them lecture me constantly about things.

Vanjievanjievanjie: :(((

Vanessa spams a lot of emojis after her message for emphasis, hoping that it makes Brooke laugh at least.

BLDancer1: What is the blueberry emoji for?

Vanjievanjievanjie: because i miss u BERRY MUCH

BLDancer1: LOL. I miss you and you remain the cutest ever. :*

Vanjievanjievanjie: 5 more days to go!!

BLDancer1: I’m counting them down. <3

Vanessa has to stop herself from smiling when she signs off after Brooke has to leave. Five more days until she gets to see her, hug her, kiss her again. Five more days until she can go back to telling Brooke how she’s already wonderful just the way that she is, no matter what her family says. She hopes that Brooke starts to believe it, too.

(now)

Nessa.

Dr. Hytes had called her Nessa again. Brooke had called her Nessa.

Vanessa hasn’t heard the nickname since junior year of undergrad. No one else has called her that since then, no ex-girlfriends or family or anything. No one since Brooke.

It’s what Brooke used to call her when she was feeling particularly affectionate, or soft, or needy. When she’d drape herself over Vanessa, seeking comfort in her touch and the way that both of their bodies would feel warmer, safer.

And now she’s gone and said it again.

Sure, maybe it had been in the heat of the moment. Banging on Vanessa’s desk, skiving off the boring assembly for something way more fun.

But that sex had been different, Vanessa knows it. She had felt it on Brooke’s lap and she still feels it now, two days later because all her fucking brain wants to replay on loop is Brooke’s voice saying Nessa.

Maybe it’s good that the OR has been overly booked with cardiac surgeries and that Dr. St. Clair is out sick, making Vanessa’s schedule overflow with work. She needs the distraction, needs concrete work to focus on because if she doesn’t have it, she’s going to fucking spiral.

Not that it helps, because even during surgeries her mind has started to wander, falling back on muscle memory for the procedures because her brain has decided that it would rather focus on that fucking voice.

She can’t do this again. At least, that’s what the rational part of her brain is telling herself. That her breakup with Brooke had been her worst breakup for a reason, drudging up all of her insecurities and fear and crushing her heart with a weight on her chest until it had smashed into a million pieces.

She can’t survive it a second time. She can’t.

Because sex is one thing. The chance to get freaky with someone who already knows her body, knows what she likes, knows what to do. Someone who has no doubt improved over the last eleven years as well.

But the way that Brooke had held onto her that last time, whispered to her softly, pressing kisses to her temple that hadn’t just been offhand, but felt so loaded with unspoken words? It had felt so real in the moment, and still feels real now when she thinks about it. Mostly because she can’t stop thinking about it.

Nessa.

Not Dr. Mateo, not Vanessa - the latter of which Brooke had began to use before they had broken up, when they had danced around each other and said words that neither of them had been able to take back.

Nessa.

It has to mean something.

Vanessa hates how much she wants it to. How much her heart is begging to go back to the start, to how things used to be. She needs to resist it.

At least, that’s what she’s going to keep telling herself.

“Vanjie. Vanjie.”

“What?!” She nearly jumps when seeing Kameron suddenly in front of her waving a hand in front of her face, blocking her view of the computer she’s sitting at in the dictation room. “Jesus Christ, woman. You scared me.”

Kameron snickers and Vanessa can’t help but smile back as she rolls her eyes, taking her thoughts of Brooke and pushing them away, burying them down in favour of Kameron’s expectant face. She’s beginning to bond with the cardiac surgery team in and out of the OR, a fact that makes her happier than it should. They’re all on a first name basis (well, nickname for her), and they’ve begun to hang out after work. Little things that are beginning to make Toronto feel more like home again.

“You’ve been so on edge for days. What’s gotten into you?” Kameron raps her nails on the computer monitor, and Vanessa closes her open tab with a sigh. Clearly she’s not going to get much work done.

“Nothing. Just tired, is all. This week’s been a fucking mess with the long hours.” Vanessa shrugs up at her. She can already feel a tension headache brewing at her temples, though she knows it’s not just from the workload.

Sure, they’re all friends now. But does she want to spill the saga of whatever the fuck is going on with her and Brooke to a work friend? Not particularly.

“You’re telling me. It’s nine p.m. and we’re still here because of all this documentation left over that we still have to do because of all the extra OR time we’ve had to take on this week? I want to go to bed.” Kameron flops down in the chair beside her looking slightly put out.

“Where’s Asia?” Vanessa looks at the spot beside Kameron and is surprised to see it empty, because the two of them are not far from being attached at the hip when they aren’t with patients.

Kameron huffs. “On a date. Again.”

An interesting fact indeed. It’s Asia’s third date just this week, and coincidentally the third day of Kameron walking - no, stomping - around the cardiac units with an extra furrow in her brow.

Hell, Vanessa needs a distraction from her own love life - or rather, lack of one, so she may as well bother Kameron about hers.

“That seems to be making you feel some type of way, huh?” Vanessa wants to tread carefully because she knows that she’s best friends with Asia, but the way that Kameron is affected seems like-

“I’m not jealous, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Kameron’s a bit quick in her answer, fiddling with her hands. “Asia just goes out with all of these…lame guys and never seems to enjoy it, anyway, from the way she always comes over for a glass of wine afterwards to talk about it and it’s just…annoying. That’s all.”

“Jealousy or not, it’s clearly upsetting you a little.” Oh, has Vanessa been there. Crushing on a straight girl. Not something she’d ever want to repeat.

“Hmph.” Kameron folds her arms, and the action when contrasting with her scrubs and lab coat is a little funny. “It’s not. She’s just my best friend. I don’t care.”

“You’re so convincing, I almost believed you there for a second.”

Kameron scowls. “I don’t.”

“Hey.” Vanessa takes pity, putting her hand on Kameron’s shoulder. “Care or not, you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, ‘kay? I get it.”

Kameron deflates in her seat. “Thanks. Not that I need to talk about it,” she’s quick to add, “but I appreciate it.”

Vanessa shoos her away. “I know. Now go, I gotta finish dictating this report.”

She can hear Kameron’s snort as she heads down the hallway, and can’t help but smile either as she shakes her head. Kameron’s unrequited crush, no matter how much the other doctor doesn’t want to admit it, is cute. Though not something Vanessa pities in the least - she’s glad she’s moved on from that stage in her life.

Kameron’s problems are enough to distract her to get her through the rest of her reports, her mind blissfully clear of her own issues (she can’t start thinking about Brooke again, she can’t). It isn’t until she’s home a few hours later, setting her alarm for the morning that she realizes the next day is Thursday. Her next meeting with Brooke and the team about the surgery. Where she has to see her again.

Shit.

Grabbing an extra coffee before the meeting hadn’t been the smartest idea, something that Vanessa is beginning to realize the longer and longer she has to sit in this conference room while fighting the urge to bounce her leg in her seat.

The anesthesiologist is droning on and on, his nasally voice making Vanessa cringe. She has ten minutes before he’s done his explanation to the patient, family, and the rest of the surgery team. It’s going to be her turn straight after, having to review the patient’s tachycardic issues and the precautions that the team will have to keep in mind.

Except that her brain is running way too fast and circling through her thoughts at what feels like a million miles an hour, and she’s trying to look down at her notes and pay attention to them while listening to the meeting at the same time, but all she can focus on is Brooke.

Brooke, who is sitting at the other end of the table, looking incredibly focused and calm and is participating in the discussion as if she doesn’t have a care in the world. Brooke, who greeted her when she came in with a neutral smile and a handshake as if they didn’t have the most confusing sex the last time they were in each other’s presence.

Brooke isn’t shaking in her seat the way Vanessa is, nor are her eyes darting around the rest of the room. She’s not stuttering on her words, not like Vanessa did when the patient’s wife had asked her a question and she missed half of it.

How is Brooke so unflappable?

“Dr. Mateo?”

“Huh?”

The case manager is looking at her expectantly and shit, it’s her turn to speak and she hasn’t even noticed.

Vanessa can feel the blush rising in her cheeks as she clears her throat, trying as best as she can to not make eye contact with Brooke.

Of course, Brooke’s direction is exactly where Vanessa looks as soon as she starts her spiel. Her blonde waves are falling down her shoulders and her head is slightly tilted as she fixes her steady gaze on Vanessa, and it’s enough to make her pause for a second, stumble on her words. A real great look for a cardiothoracic attending surgeon.

Vanessa finds it difficult to look away from Brooke as she continues talking, her eyes somehow always straying and returning back to her. As if Brooke is a homing beacon that pulls her back in every time, one that Vanessa can’t seem to change her course from no matter how hard she tries to do so.

Brooke doesn’t shift her gaze away either. Vanessa can’t tell if the way that Brooke bites her lip and the storm that’s brewing behind her eyes are real or just in her imagination, as if she’s projecting what she’s feeling - what she wants to feel - onto Brooke.

Hell, Vanessa’s not even sure what she herself is feeling anymore.

She can’t stop herself from tugging on Brooke’s arm as the meeting ends, holding her back while everyone else around them leaves. Brooke turns around and for a second Vanessa wonders if she’s made a mistake, because being so close to her and seeing confusion and pain and emotions that she doesn’t recognize on Brooke’s face are nearly enough to knock her over.

Brooke shuts the door as the last person leaves, and maybe it’s good that they’re now both on their lunch break because there’s no way Vanessa can even think about work. Not when Brooke is taking a step closer to her, then another, lips parted as if she wants to say something but she’s still holding back.

“What are we doing?” Vanessa can’t help the pleading tone in her voice, because she doesn’t know, has no idea and she’s so fucking confused.

“I…” Brooke’s voice trails off as her eyes search Vanessa’s face, breath hitched and Vanessa wants to scream, because if Brooke doesn’t know, then what are they supposed to do? She can’t take this state of limbo anymore, walking on a tightrope that feels like it’s losing stability, becoming more shaky the more that they try to balance on it.

Brooke puts her hand underneath her chin, tilts her head up and Vanessa is sure that Brooke can see the way that her chest is rising and falling, the air feeling like its escaping her lungs faster than she’s able to bring it in.

It’s almost predictable when Brooke kisses her, wipes the slate of her mind clean with the way her hands come to rest on either side of her face. Vanessa can’t help but stretch up on her tiptoes, sighing into the kiss because it feels right, it feels okay, even though her brain is screaming no, no, no.

It’s not going to solve things, but what does it matter? When Brooke pulls her hips in closer and they press together like two puzzle pieces that somehow fit as if they were never meant to be apart. The smell of Brooke’s shampoo, the softness of her hands, it’s all so familiar and part of memories that still haven’t been erased from her brain no matter how much she had tried to do so when they broke up. It’s all coming back to her now, resurfacing as if she’d never buried them out of anger in the first place.

Maybe it’s a bit destructive, especially because now it’s not just sex, or releasing tension. Not for her, not anymore.

The realization sinks in deep into Vanessa’s chest when Brooke starts to kiss down the column of her neck, hands trailing down her sides and lips pressing against her hip bone as she gets on her knees when she pushes her shirt up and-

She can’t do it.

Not like this. Not right now.

“No.” Vanessa pushes on Brooke’s shoulders and Brooke moves back immediately, wide eyed and hair slightly mussed and an apology on her lips that begins to spill but Vanessa doesn’t hear it, not with the realization that this is all it will be. Sex.

Vanessa had thought that she could do it, she really did. Except that now her heart feels like it’s being tugged, pulled towards Brooke, someone who doesn’t want her for more than that because why would she? That isn’t their arrangement. Never was. The expectations have been to have no strings attached.

Which is something that Vanessa had thought was possible. Though she should have known better - as if her heart will ever able to release the ropes that it had tied to Brooke back when they first started university.

She pushes her way out of the conference room on shaky legs, ignoring Brooke’s voice from behind her that she can’t tell what she’s saying because her brain isn’t working, not right now. The signs down the long hallway start to blur together as she tries to look up and find the way to her office because where the fuck is it, she can’t break down in the hall, she’s an attending, what will everyone say? But then she’s there and slamming the door behind her, leaning against it because her legs can’t do something as simple as holding her up right now.

“Vanessa. Vanessa.” The voice on the other side is a little desperate (no, no, no), with the banging of a fist on a door that follows makes her squeeze her eyes shut tight. She wants to disappear, make it as if none of this happened and as if she never even came back in the first place because of course she was naive enough to think that she could be back here with no problems.

Vanessa had thought that she’d freed herself. But now, she realizes that she hasn’t. She never had.

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #hospital au #lesbian au #holtzmanns #nobody knows where we might end up

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breanime · 6 years

Text

Traditions

I’m in a slight writing slump, so here’s a piece of ~smut~ featuring our very own Logan Delos for @suchatinyinfinity--thanks for indulging me, homie!

*gif not mine*

Logan used to love going on business trips. He loved being out of the office, he loved being away from his father, and he absolutely adored all the sex with strangers. Sex was his favorite distraction and being in another city meant he could get as wild as he wanted. But things had changed. Ever since you came into his life, Logan found himself obsessing over you. You tasted so sweet and felt so damn good—no one else made him feel so good…and so loved.

You two hadn’t said the words to each other, you weren’t even a couple—but Logan knew he had something special with you. The sex was insane, but there was something else there, something deeper. You were the only person he could spend time with without needing to be drunk or high, the only one who liked his sense of humor and bawdiness, who he could complain to without being told he was whining or talk about his accomplishments without making him feel like he was bragging. And you held his attention—that was a big deal for Logan. He was used to having to hop from one warm body to the next, no one ever maintained his affections for long: but you did.

He had just gotten off of a plane from Tokyo and had two choices for what he could do with the rest of his day: run home for a quick shower before heading to the office or go to your place. He decided to compromise by taking a shower and then going to your apartment.

You and Logan had been fooling around for months and had fallen into a familiar rhythm. Logan took you out for dates, and you would come by the office to see him at least twice a week. You’d given him a key to your place (which he used with reckless abandon, of course), and he’d reciprocated. Yet neither of you ever brought up or questioned your relationship status. If he were being honest, Logan would admit that he was scared. He was into you—really into you—and he knew you liked him, but he couldn’t be sure if your affections were only surface level or not.

Logan knew you’d be home when he let himself into your apartment but was surprised when he didn’t see you working on the couch. He had picked up some take-out on the way over and dropped it off in the kitchen before heading to your room. He broke out into a smile when he saw you.

You were sprawled out in bed, hair all over the pillows, with your laptop dangerously on the edge of the comforter. Logan chuckled to himself as he moved your computer somewhere safe. He slipped out of his designer shoes and crawled into bed with you. He caressed your cheek; your skin was so soft and warm under his hand. You nuzzled into his touch and Logan laughed again. You really were adorable.

“Y/N,” he sang softly, “sweetheart, it’s time to get up…” You mumbled, turning and cuddling into him. Logan’s grin widened when he saw that you were topless under the covers. He pulled you to his chest, kissing the top of your head. “I’m up,” he coaxed.

You giggled. “I’m sorry, is that a double entendre for your boner?”

“You don’t even know if I have a boner.”

You slid your hand into his pants, eyes still closed. Logan licked his lips as he felt you grip him. He hadn’t been hard before, but he was definitely getting inspired now. “I thought you had another day in Japan,” you said, rubbing your thumb up and down the head of his cock.

Logan put a hand on your throat and lifted your head. You were looking up at him now, pretty eyes still a little unfocused with sleepiness. “I got back early,” he said, pecking you on the lips as he spoke, “I wanted to surprise you,” he paused to give you a slow, languid kiss, “Didn’t think you’d be home.”

“Got the ok to work from home this week,” you sighed when Logan dropped his mouth to your neck and suckled on the skin there, “it’s been so boring here without you.”

Logan groaned as you started slowly pumping him. He lightly bit down on the juncture between your neck and collarbone right as you snaked a hand in his thick hair. “If you’ve been bored,” he breathed in, “I can give you a few suggestions on how we can pass the time.”

“Yeah?” You dipped your head down and caught Logan’s lips in a filthy kiss. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” he kissed you, “I was thinking you could wrap those pretty lips around my dick for a while.”

You giggled and moved down his body. Logan sat up and shed his shirt while you worked on his belt buckle. He watched as you tossed his belt aside before sliding his pants down. He kicked them off and grinned as you kissed his V-line. You kissed his dick softly, smiling up at him through your eyelashes and Logan could have died a happy man right then and there. You took your time warming him up, gently pumping him as you kissed his twitching dick. Logan loved to be kept waiting. You slowly graduated from soft kisses to slow licks, and Logan moaned loudly as your tongue swept over him. Your ass was in the air, and you were wearing the lacy black panties he’d bought you a month ago (he’d seen an incredible lingerie set in Paris that he just had to get for you) that made Logan weak. You gave his dick one last, loving kiss before you dipped your head down and took him in your mouth. Logan huffed out a laugh; your mouth was wet and warm and you were swirling your tongue around him—it was incredible. He put a hand in your hair—more for the feel of it than to move or direct you in any way—and sat up on his elbow to get a better look at you. Your eyes were closed as you bobbed your head up and down, taking as much of him as you could. Logan lifted his hips a little and was rewarded with your answering moan as his dick slid deeper down your throat. He eased up a little, sinking back into the bed, and let you resume your pace. Your hair spread over his lower half, and he loved the feel of it brushing against his abdomen with every dip of your head. He loved it a little too much, actually.

“Shit,” he hissed between his clenched teeth, “Sweetheart, come here, I wanna taste you now.”

You released him with a pop, licking your lips as you sat up. You looked so gorgeous, hair all over the place, chest heaving with a smile as you looked down at him. Logan put his hands under your armpits and slid you up his body. You both moaned at the feel of each other, so slow and so close. He kissed you, tongue dipping in and out of your mouth, chasing the taste of himself on your lips. His hands roamed up and down your bare back, caressing the skin that he was so eager to put his mark on. You moaned when he licked your nipple, pulling the tight bud between his teeth. He moved to the other nipple, and you rolled your neck, giving him better access to your chest. Logan rolled his hips, and you moaned at the movement. You were straddling him, and Logan was acutely aware that all it would take would be a little bit of shifting and he would be inside you. But he wanted to taste you first.

Logan lifted you up and laid you down onto the bed so that he was on top of you. He kissed you hard before heading south. He grinned as he took hold of your legs and spread them apart. “Jesus,” he whispered, “you’re so goddamn beautiful.” He kissed up your leg, then switched to leaving little bites when he got up to your thigh. You were breathing hard, and Logan knew you didn’t have half the patience he did…so he gave you what you wanted.

Logan plunged his head between your thighs and sucked on your clit, licking you up and down while you moaned out his name. Logan had a very talented tongue, and he added his fingers—first one, then two, then three—to the party as well. His chin was wet with your juices and he fucking loved it. You tasted so good. You grabbed two fistfuls of his hair and bucked your hips, trying to bring yourself closer to the sensation of his mouth and fingers. Logan placed an arm over your stomach, making sure you didn’t move too far. He was determined to make you come.

Gently, with much care, he rubbed your clit with his teeth, making you cry out with pleasure. He hummed into you, pumping his fingers in faster and rougher. Logan knew exactly what you liked and was all too happy to give it to you. He curled his fingers and hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard on your clit. The feeling was just the right amount of too much for you—the biting, the licking, the feel of his long, strong fingers pumping in and out of you—you came with his name and several curses on your lips. Logan lapped it up like manna from Heaven.

He kissed his way back up your body, taking a moment to give some extra attention o your heaving chest before you pulled him up by the hair for a proper kiss. Your hands were still in his hair when he pulled back.

You smiled sweetly at him. “You wanna fuck me, baby?” You asked, kissing his nose.

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“Mm,” you kissed his chin, nuzzling into his beard, before leaning back to look at him, “You want me on top?”

“Fuck yes.”

“Okay…” You gripped his chin and smiled. “Then beg.”

Logan’s dick twitched at your words. “Please,” he whispered, grinning as he obeyed, “please get on top, baby. I want you to fuck me, sweetheart.”

You kissed him. “Keep talking.”

“I’ve been wanting you to fuck me since the morning I left,” he said, closing his eyes as you gently pushed him on his back, “Fuck, I missed you. I wanted to be with you, buried inside you, every day I was gone.”

“Well I’m sure you found something to distract you…” You were kissing his chest now, not quite laying on him but wrapped around him.

Logan shook his head. “I spent all my free time jerking off alone in my hotel suite,” he admitted, “just thinking about you.”

You stopped, lifting your head up to stare down at him. “Really?”

He grinned. “Really,” he answered, “So sweetheart, please climb on top of me and let me finally fuck you before I cum from just this.”

You grinned back. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” You positioned yourself on top of him, and Logan stared up at you—his perfect match. “…What’s the magic word?”

Logan was nearly bouncing with excitement. “Please.” His head flew back when you lowered yourself onto him; it had been far too long, you felt amazing. He cursed under his breath as you both rolled your hips. Logan put both hands on your waist as he rocked inside you. Your eyes were squeezed shut and your mouth was thrown open in ecstasy. He liked that look. He liked it a lot, but he liked the way you said his name even more. Logan pushed himself off the bed, angling deeper into you. He hit your spot and was rewarded with your breathy “Logan!”. He wanted to make it last long, he really did, but you were so wet and warm and tight around him, plus the sounds of your moans and the slapping noise of skin-on-skin were driving him crazy: he knew he wouldn’t be able to last too much longer.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warned you, his tone just an inch above a growl, “I’m gonna cum in you because you’re mine.”

You opened your eyes and smiled down at him. “Yes, baby, please,” you huffed out, “I’m yours, Logan, I’m all yours, only yours.”

That did it for him. Logan came inside of you with a shout, and you were right behind him. He groaned as he felt your walls constrict, pulsating around him and drawing out his climax. He was sure you’d have bruises on your hips to match the scratches he had on his chest. You collapsed on top of him, and Logan made no move to remove himself from inside of you.

“Shit,” he gasped out, wrapping an arm around your back. You both had a light sheen of sweat on your skin; and Logan dipped his head down to lick the small pool of sweat that had gathered at the base of your neck. “I’m going to need…maybe 15 minutes before we go another round.”

“I’m gonna need something to eat—something that doesn’t end in Delos,” you laughed back. You ran a hand through his hair. “Mm…I don’t have anything in the fridge, though.”

“I brought take-out,” he kissed your forehead, “and we can get something delivered later…” He kissed your nose. “I mean, if it’s okay if I stay,” he pressed a tender kiss to your waiting lips, “I know you have to work.”

“Of course you’re staying,” you kissed him back, wiggling your hips on top of him to his groaning delight, “What kind of boyfriend would you be if you didn’t?”

He laughed, feeling more at ease than he had in years. The concept of being someone’s boyfriend should scare him—and it probably would when he gave himself a moment to really think about what that meant—but now, with you in his arms and him still semi-hard inside you, it only made him happy. “So I’m your boyfriend now?” He asked, a teasing tone in his voice as he ran a hand up and down your back.

You gripped his chin and lifted his face so that you were eye-to-eye. “Fuck yeah you are,” you grinned, “I’m all yours and you’re all mine, isn’t that right, baby?”

Logan felt himself grow hard inside you. “I’m all yours,” he echoed.

You giggled, bringing his lips to yours. “I thought you needed another 15 minutes,” you said, lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Logan grabbed your hips and pressed them down, groaning as he felt your warmness engulf him. “I got my second wave,” he grunted, burying his face in your neck.

You sighed happily, slowly rocking your hips in time with his.

Logan decided then and there—with his dick inside you, and you moaning on top of him—that this would be his new tradition: after every business trip, he’d come home and fuck you until both of you were too tired to move. And he stuck to it. You added it to the rhythm of your relationship easily; whenever one of you had to go away for work, you’d spend at least 48 hours in bed together when you got back. Sometimes you could only go for a few hours, exhausted and too turned on to play game, other times you’d last for days on end until you were too sore to go on or Logan had to go back to the office. Either way, it became a habit for the two of you that Logan absolutely adored. He even started volunteering to go out of the country for meetings more, much to the surprise and suspicion of his father. Logan became accustom to traveling through timezones and having to sit through boring, mindless meetings. He spent most of those kinds of days daydreaming about what he would do to you when he got home. You called and texted him every day he was gone, and he made sure to videochat with you whenever he could. You took the fear out of being a boyfriend for Logan, and he was determined not to fuck this up. You rewarded his dedication with your easy love, rare friendship, and a healthy amount of sexts when he was away.

It gave him something to look forward to whenever he had to travel for work.

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

*insert shrug emoji* So I’m gonna try to churn out maybe one or two more oneshots this week before updating Heartworm. Please hit me up if you have a request or something you’d like to see me write. I need ideas.

Also--should I make an “everything” tag for people who want to be tagged in my non-Billy stuff? Let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in. For now I’ll just tag: @banditthewriter @teacuplotus @suchatinyinfinity

#logan delos #logan delos x reader #logan delos imagine #ben barnes #westworld

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kreactionsentertainment · 5 years

Text

TIR IV - Arrival

Part I//Part II//Part III// Part IV// Part V// Part VI

When a new color is created, a new part of their world is also created. A new color joined the rainbow sun, making it brighter than ever. A pink glaze coated the rainbow fields and stones as it embedded itself into its proper place in between red and white. Sehun and Jongin ran into the gentle pink field, the new color immediately felt safe. Like the field cared for their safety and made every step feel as soft as the clouds.

It’s been quite a few years since a new color had been created. The sky above them sparkled as the soft pink sun settled into its new home.

Chanyeol joined Baekhyun on the ground, watching the youngest two run around. He gently curled his fingers into the beautiful pink soil. Baekhyun watched the youngest with eyes void of emotion, he couldn’t get the Great One’s words out of his head.

The Humans have become bored with you, a new color must be created.

“Chan, what happens when the Great One deems us completely useless?” Baekhyun asked his best friend softly.

“What do you mean?” Chanyeol asked as he brought a bit of soil closer to his face to investigate it.

“Do you think they might destroy us completely and start over?” Baekhyun asked, his gaze no longer seeing the scene in front of him as he thought about the past few days.

“Where’s this coming from?” Chanyeol dropped the soil and turned to look completely at Baekhyun.

“We’ll never be enough, Pink won’t be the last color to be created,” Baekhyun brought his legs to his chest as he shivered.

“We don’t know that Baek, besides the Great One gave us life. Shouldn’t we be grateful to them? Without them we wouldn’t have our brothers,” Chanyeol smiled gently.

“Chan, we don’t know the Great One. We’ve never even seen them before. They give us orders and we make sure they’re followed through,” Baekhyun looked toward the beautiful pink sky.

“When will it be our turn to live?” Baekhyun asked softly.

“That’s not our purpose. Our purpose is to-“

“Is to bring balance to the world the humans walk upon. I know, I know…” Baekhyun interrupted softly.

“Baekhyun hyung, Chanyeol hyung! Come look there are pink creatures!” Sehun’s excited voice startled Baekhyun from his thoughts. Chanyeol stood up quickly and helped him up. True to the youngest’s excitement, strange creatures took form in the bright pink water running though the Pink sector of their home. They were a different shade of pink and stood on one leg. They looked kind of like the robins from Chanyeol’s sector, but… Bigger and pinker.

“What are those?” Chanyeol asked with amazement as they caught up with the others.

“The Great One calls them the Flamingos,” Jongin explained excitedly.

“Do they have a purpose?” Baekhyun tilted his head slightly.

“Unknown, but they’re really pretty!” Jongin smiled happily.

“Hyung, when will we get to meet Pink?” Sehun asked impatiently.

“Well, it’s been a few days since creation. I believe their illusion will be taking form soon,” Minseok smiled as he ruffled Sehun’s hair.

“I can’t wait until we meet them! Can we take them to Earth?” Jongin asked excitedly as he grabbed Junmyeon’s arm.

“I don’t see why not, but we should let them get acquainted before we take them anywhere,” Junmyeon shook his head with a smile.

“Should we go back and see how Pink is doing?” Junmyeon turned to Minseok.

“I think we should, it’s also getting late. It’s time for the rest of you to go home,” Minseok looked at all his younger brothers sternly.

“Hhyyuunngg, that’s no fun…” Sehun crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled.

“Fun or not, it’s getting late. Baekhyun, make sure everyone gets home, okay?” Minseok smiled at Baekhyun, who nodded quickly.

“Come on kids, let’s go home,” Baekhyun gently grabbed Jongin’s hand away from Junmyeon.

“Fine, but I’m not going to be happy about it,” Sehun growled softly.

“No one’s asking you to be~” Jongdae teased lightly.

“Yah, Jongdae don’t tease him. He’ll whine the whole way home,” Chanyeol teased gently.

“They’re bullying me!” Sehun looked at Minseok and Junmyeon for help.

“Boys be nice. Or We’ll hear about it,” Minseok threatened lightly.

“No need to worry Hyung, I’ll make sure they leave Sehunnie alone~” Baekhyun rolled his eyes slightly at Jongin, who then tried to protect Sehun from Jongdae’s humor.

“Alright. Get going before the suns go down. I don’t want you out when the moon rises,” Junmyeon scolded lightly.

“What’s so bad about being out when the moon is out?” Sehun grumbled under his breath as Jongin pulled him along. Junmyeon and Minseok looked at each other, maybe one day they’ll explain the dangers of the night, but for now, they had no reason to. The boys usually listened to them without hesitation.

Minseok and Junmyeon watched as their younger brothers left the beautiful pink plane. Their smiles slowly slipped from their faces. Their nonexistent age showing more prominently. Slowly they walked toward the entrance of the Rainbow plane. Quietly, they walked through the dark halls to the Place of Perfection, the room that led to the Room of Creation. The Pink orb began to fade, and an illusion started to replace it. A young man, like the rest of them, began to take form with each level of fading. Minseok and Junmyeon sat down the small fading orb in front of them.

“Younger than Kyungsoo, but older than Jongin and Sehun?” Junmyeon asked quietly.

“That’s what the Great One said,” Minseok nodded and smiled at Junmyeon.

Slowly but surely, as the Rainbow Sun began to set, and the Rainbow moon took its place, the orb disappeared. Junmyeon and Minseok stood up and dusted themselves off, wanting to look nice the first time they met their new brother, and waited for him to awaken. Beautifully soft pink hair fully took form as their younger brother went through the last stage of completion. The young man was carefully placed on the ground, the symbol below glowed brightly for a moment. Pink has arrived.

The light of the pale Rainbow moon filled the room. Junmyeon and Minseok walked closer to their younger brother and waited. A few moments passed, then suddenly caring bright pink eyes opened. A couple of slow blinks and the eyes finally focused. The young man slowly sat up and looked around.

“Welcome Huang Zitao, Welcome Pink.” A beautiful pink flower bloomed strongly in between the red and white rose of life.

#exo series #exo #kim minseok #Kim Junmyeon #byun baekhyun #Park Chanyeol #Kim Jongin #oh sehun #Huang Zitao #The Illustrious Rainbow #part IV #admin eva #kim jongdae #do kyungsoo

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 48

Warnings: none

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

She sleeps on the car ride from Broome, not even waking when he stops at a grocery store to pick up much needed supplies. One of his hoodies folded and being used as a pillow as her head rests against the window; body turned sideways, both legs draped across his thighs. She’s worn out; mentally AND physically. The worry and the stress -and the enormity of the current situation- has caused a host of issues. Sleep problems, migraines, nausea, dizziness. Part of him wishes it WERE possible -even remotely- for her to be pregnant; another baby so soon after Addie would be a relief compared to the other scenarios running through his mind. He hates that his mind goes there’ into the dark and fatalistic place. Losing your first born will do that to you; strip away your optimism while heightening your paranoia. Austin’s illness had blindsided him. What was suspected to be simply a stubborn and lingering flu bug turning out to something so much worse. The ferocity of his cancer had taken everyone -even the specialists- by surprise- and they’re been little they could do to contain it; to slow down the damage it was causing. Three months. That’s all that remained between diagnosis and death. And it’s left a lot of mental trauma in its wake, even ten years later. It’s Tyler’s worst nightmare; the thought of losing her to something completely beyond his control. A threat like Mahajan is one thing. He can fight back against that; his own actions being what dictates the outcome. But a serious and possibly life altering -or even threatening- illness? Where there’s nothing he can to stop it from taking hold and progressing? That’s a thought that’s almost too much to bear.

When they arrive at their destination he leaves her in the car, giving himself the opportunity to perform a ‘search and secure’. It’s both old habit AND necessity. Anytime he’s away from home due to the job he thoroughly investigates his surroundings, whether they’re familiar or not. In that line of work you can never be too careful. Always assume that someone is watching; looking for the weak spot in your defences so they can take advantage of them. It’s just part of the game; his many years spent in a dangerous and unpredictable lifestyle have left a permanent mark. And he hates that there’s an actual NEED for it now. Theirs targets on their backs and not even this -the place that was once home- is safe. It’s a very real possibility that there’s someone, or even a number of people, keeping their eyes on them. With Mahajan’s money, he can afford to hire the best. He won’t use street thugs or rookies that will only make mistakes. He’d send people that know how to get the job done.

While the old homestead is wide open, it DOES offer some sense of security A surprise attack would be near impossible to carry out. His hearing is sharp; he’d hear tires on the gravel, the squeak of the rusted metal gate, the crunching of dirt and stone under heavy feet. The tree line is sparse and would provide little to no cover, and the mountains are rough and unforgiving even to those who are familiar with them. And even if someone did manage to navigate the terrain, they’d have to be one hell of a good shot. Not even the best of marksmen would find it easy; guys like G with extensive sniper experience. And it’s those thoughts that give at least some sort of comfort. He’s experienced; confident in his strength and his skills. He knows the land; able to navigate it and use it to his advantage.

Mahajan would know that; his guys wouldn’t last long in the unfamiliar terrain and he would hesitate on sending them there. But there’s still a chance he would, and that’s not a gamble Tyler is willing to take. So he checks the house and all of the outbuildings; anywhere that someone could possibly hide. And as he slowly and methodically walks the perimeter, his eyes scan the treeline and the mountain range; looking for anything that looks even remotely suspicious. His hearing is sharp and keen; listening for any unusual or unfamiliar noise. There’s nothing. Just the faint rumble of thunder in the distance and the sounds of rustling trees and bushes as the breeze passes through them.

Esme’s awake when he returns; still sitting in the car and watching him through her side mirror. It’s why they work so well together. Not just her knowledge of the job and all the danger and unpredictability that comes with it, but her knowledge of HIM. After almost seven years, she knows how his mind works and trusts him -and his instincts- implicitly. She would have known upon waking and finding herself alone exactly what he was up to. And her own time in the game - her experience with working side by side with mercs and seeing how they think and operate- would have her staying where she is until the ‘all clear was given’. They always seem to be in sync with one another; common experiences and their shared life always ensuring that they function as a team. It’s what makes them as strong as they are together, he supposes. They know the other’s next moves before they even begin to execute them; often aware of what the other is thinking or getting ready to say.

She waits until he’s a foot from the car before she pops open her door and steps out. “Everything good?” she asks, and then stretches noisily; bottom of her tank top rising up as she brings her arms over her head and revealing a slice of pale, smooth skin.

She complains about it often. Fretting over her stomach being nowhere as trim and smooth as it used to be. Lamenting the stretch marks that carrying five babies have left behind. And it’s not he’s never noticed them; often tracing them with his fingers or the tip of his tongue. It’s that he doesn’t see them the way she does. Those so called imperfects are reminders; badges of honor. That she’d sacrificed her body to give him children. She’s carried life inside of her. That they’d made together. And that realization only makes her more beautiful in his eyes. You never fully appreciate how strong and selfless the woman you love is until you’ve seen her pregnant. And you don’t think you could possibly love her more than you already do and then she becomes a mother and everything intensifies.

“Everything’s good,” he confirms, and then lays a palm against her stomach and leans down to kiss her. Frowning when she pushes his hand away and then yanks down the front of her shirt. “What?” She’s been extra self conscious since having Addie. Often refusing to even take off her shirt when they make love.

“You know I don’t like my tummy.”

“Well I do. So…”

“You’re weird,” she says, and then moves his hand to her side when he once again attempts to lay it against her stomach.

“YOU’RE weird.”

“Yeah, but you knew that seven years ago and you still married me. So you only have yourself to blame.”

“I’m pretty happy with my decision,” Tyler says, and covers her mouth with his.

The kiss is slow and deep as his hand slides around to the small of her back and then down onto her ass; squeezing tightly as his body leans into hers and presses her into the side of the car. Tasting a mixture of strawberry flavored lip gloss and a hint of the white wine she’d had on the plane. And while she’s the only woman he’s been intimate with -in any way or form- in the past seven years, no two kisses ever feel the same. Her lips are soft and familiar. The kind of familiarity that is never dull or boring but always makes you feel welcome and safe. Like a favorite hiding place as a child or that one sweater that is well worn and loved, yet still makes you warm and comfortable when you wear it. Every kiss...every touch...even every smile she gives him...brings him back to that. It feels like...home. And even after the kiss ends he stays tightly pressed against her, eyes closed as his hands move up to the middle of her back. Enjoying the feel of her body move against his as she perches on her tiptoes, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“So there were no bad guys lying in wait?” Esme teases, when he finally breaks away and tosses open the back passenger door. “Or did you already find and beat the shit out of them?”

“Now I know where Millie gets that talk from,” Tyler grins, as he pulls duffels and grocery bags from the back seat.

“She knows you’re an expert on kicking asses, just like I do. She knows there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to protect her.”

“I WILL break someone in half if they mess with her. Any guy that breaks her heart is going to regret the day he was born.”

“Now you’re actually admitting she’ll eventually meet boys. That’s progress for you. You’re so worried about her, what are you going to do when your sons start having girls calling at all hours of the day? Or if they get someone pregnant and make us grandparents way too young.”

“I’ll kick their asses is what I’ll do. Tanner says he wants two wives when he grows up.”

“Men can’t keep one woman happy, never mind two at once. Present company excluded. You’ve become very good at towing the line and keeping me happy.”

“It’s not that hard. All I have to do is either say ‘yes dear’ or ‘no dear’ or even just smile and nod. I just have to bring you tacos, gets the snakes and spiders out of the house, clean the toilets, and fuck you good. I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?”

“Might not now that I know your secret,” she teases. “Although the last part you’ve always been excellent at. Even when things were really bad, that was always really good. And we least we have SOME consistency.”

She’s right. Even when things went to shit and were at their very worst and they were fighting and a permanent end seemed like a very real possibly, sex had been the one thing they could rely on. When all the arguing and the harsh words and the animosity were temporarily put on hold and the bodies did all the communicating for them. It wasn’t a healthy way of dealing with things, but it was THEIR way of dealing. And coping.

“****

“It hasn’t changed THAT much,” she comments; eyes surveying the exterior of the shack as they work together to carry the bags inside. “Other than a new roof and a touch of paint, it’s pretty much what I remember. Kind of weird, don’t you think? Being back here together?”

“Never thought about it.”

“Do you ever miss it? Being here?”

“Why would I? My life’s a lot better now.”

“You’re not for sentiment, are you. You don’t feel anything? Doesn’t it bring back ANY memories?”

“Other than the day we met? Not many.”

There’s not much to fondly look back on. When he was actually home, most of his days were spent in a booze and pain med induced haze. Or he was passed out. There are weeks, even months, that he can’t remember, aside from taking any job Nik brought his way; devoting himself to one suicide mission after another.

“Everything was shit before you came along,” Tyler admits, as he presses his back against the door to hold it open. “I was shit. You wouldn’t have wanted to know me. I don’t think you realize just how big of a mess I actually was.”

Dhaka changed everything. Most just the moments on the bridge and getting shot by Farhad or the months of recovery forcing him to get clean and sober. Or finding out that he was having a kid. But those five days in that dirty hotel room. When he actually started feeling alive again instead of simply just existing.

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” Esme counters as she steps past him, intentionally too close so her body slides against his and the back of her hand brushes over the front of his shorts. “I know you had your issues, but you weren’t a lost cause. Look how far you’ve come in seven years. If you’d really wanted to give up...if you'd really wanted to die...you would have found a way to do it long before I came along.”

“Maybe,” he says, as he drops the duffel bags in the bedroom area and then joins her in the kitchen where she begins putting the groceries away.

“There had to be some reason you didn’t do it,” she reasons. “If you were THAT bad off and wanted to die, you would have done it. You had guns in the house; you could have used them and just been done with it.”

“Maybe I was just a coward and couldn’t get up the balls to do it myself.”

“I don’t believe that. You are not a coward. You’re the furthest thing from being a coward. A coward doesn’t do the things you do. A coward runs away from those things, or they’re the ones that cause them in the first place. Guys like Asif and Mahajan? They’re the cowards. Getting other people to do their dirty work; preying on the vulnerable, ruining lives. You get people away from guys like that. You try to stop these things. You aren’t a coward.”

“I thought we weren’t going to talk about Mahajan? Or the job.”

“I’m trying to make a point. My husband is NOT a coward. You’re basing that off of one mistake you made. You were twenty five years old when Austin died. You made a bad decision. A horrible decision. But do you pay for it for the rest of your life? You’re a different person now. Say one of our kids get sick.”

“Esme…”

“I know it’s your worst fear, but hear me out. Hypothetically speaking, if one of them got sick, would you take off? Or if I got sick. Would you haul ass on out of here?”

“Of course not. I’m not who I was back then.”

“Exactly. Way back then. When you were thirty one and had a shitty wife that had seen more pricks than a pin cushion.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “That’s a pretty accurate description, actually.”

“You’re almost forty one now.” she continues. “You’re NOT the same guy. At all. And you’re not a coward. You never have been. You know how you always say I need to stop talking shit about myself and try to see myself through your eyes? Well you should do the same. Because the way you look at yourself? That is not the way I look at you. Or how your kids look at you. You’re not a bad person, Tyler. Regardless of what you think.”

He steps behind her now, reaching over her to help put things on the shelves she can’t reach.

“Something inside of you told you to stay alive.” she says. “Maybe it was telling you that things were going to get better. Maybe it was saying there was something...someone...out there that was going to give you a reason to keep going. I don’t know. But I do know that if you had really wanted to die, you would have done it.”

“I think you think too much about stuff like this.”

“You knew what I was like. You had your chance to get away and you didn’t take it. Now look. Now look how deep you’re stuck in it.”

“Yeah…” he lays his hands on her shoulders, kneading and massaging the tight muscles. “...five kids is pretty deep in it.”

“You think?” she scoffs.

“You know what would put me even deeper in it? Six kids.”

Esme turns around to face him, leaning back against the cupboards, hands on the counter top. “We are NOT talking about that either. It’s way too soon after Addie. She’s only five weeks old.”

“Millie was only eight weeks old when you got pregnant with the boys,” he reminds her.

“Even if we wanted another one this soon, we can’t. That can’t happen because we decided no more babies after Addie and you went and got the old…” she holds up a hand and mimics scissors open and closing with her index and middle finger.

“I’ll call the doctor when we get back. See what has to be done.”

“This is not the time to be talking about this.”

“Seems like as good a time as any. It’s just me and you. No one to interrupt.”

“You know what I’m talking about. With everything that’s happening right now, with everything that IS going to happen, this is not the time to be talking about having another baby.”

She doesn’t need to say it; the implication hanging heavily in the air. Every job you take on is unpredictable. Each one comes with its own set of hazards and burdens. Not once has he gotten out of one without some kind of injury; whether it be as simple as stitches or a concussion or a busted nose or a broken bone. Sometimes things were worse; knife wounds, bullets you have to dig out of various parts of your body. But what’s coming up...Mumbai...it’s as dangerous and risky as it gets. There’s no real game plan; just arm yourself to the teeth and hope for the best. But she’s right. It isn't the time to talk about adding to their family. Or even consider it. Because nothing would be worse than deciding to go for it and then him not making it back home.

“When you get back,” she says, as her hands slide across his shoulders and down his chest, a somewhat confident smile curving her lips. “Once you get things done and you’re home, then we’ll discuss it. Once everything is finished and calm and we don’t worry about this anymore.” Her hands reach his waist, slipping under the front of his t-shirt and resting on his belt. “I mean, there will ALWAYS be something to worry about now that you’re back in things and we have the business and…”

“But nothing like this. This? Everything that’s going on? This is…”

“Fucked?”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Things will be okay” her smile is brighter now; eyes sparkling up at him. “You’ll go there and you’ll do what you need to do, and then you’ll come home. And then things can go back to normal. Our version of normal.”

He nods in agreement, his bottom lip between his teeth as he combs his fingers through her hair and then tucks it behind her ears.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, as his hands come to rest on her shoulders and his thumbs brush along her jaw. “I know that look, Tyler. I’ve seen that look before. That’s the look you gave me before you sent me off with Ovi and Saju, That EXACT same look. And we both know how things almost ended that THAT time.”

He wants to tell her that everything is going to be okay. That it’s as simple as picking a name from a list and tracking their owners down. But the truth of the matter is that nothing is ever that easy. Every job comes with complications and its glitches no matter how boring and routine they’re supposed to be. He might manage to get to two or three of the guys before Mahajan catches on and realizes who is responsible. After that the bounty on his head will increase significantly and moving around the city without being recognized will be complicated. Every gun in Mumbai will be trained on him, and that’s a hell of a thing to escape.

“You promise me,” she orders. “You promise me you’re coming home.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Promise me,” she demands, both hands yanking at his belt, pulling him closer to her. “Promise me, Tyler.”

“I can’t,” he says, then presses a kiss to her forehead before drawing her into his arms.

****

They lay in a mess of tangled and rumbled sheets and sweat soaked limbs; stifling heat and the smell of sex hanging heavily in the air. Both sated and spent and resting on their sides, her back tucked into his front, their tightly joined hands resting on next to her head. Bodies and hair damp from perspiration; one of his thicker and heavier legs draped over hers and the top of his nose pressed against the nape of her neck. He can’t remember a time where he’s felt THIS relaxed; every muscle, every tendon, every ligament feeling loose and at ease. The pain in his back, shoulder, and knee nothing more than a light throbbing; a far cry from the stiffness and the agony that often makes getting out of bed in the morning seen like an insurmountable chore. Yet his senses remain sharp. Hearing her soft, slow breathing and the fluttering and flapping of the curtains as the breeze flows through open windows. Smelling the mix of sweat and other bodily fluids and the remnants of shampoo that cling to her hair. Still tasting her on his lips and his tongue and feeling the softness of her skin with her back against his chest and his thumb repeatedly brushing against hers.

These moments...the stillness and the quiet that exist after they make love...are rare these days. Their lives busy and full; the demands of raising a family often stripping away any real alone time and any form of true intimacy. There’s no one to blame for that; it is what it is. They often forget that their roles in each other’s lives extend far past just making babies and taking care of them together. And he’s missed these times. When things aren’t so hectic and their lives don’t seem so chaotic and all they have to worry about is each other. It’s been almost six years since they’ve been child free. Almost seven since those five days in Dhaka.

Of all the shitty and horrible things that had happened there…all the lives taken...how close he’d come to his own demise…it’s still nice to think about those moments in that cramped and dirty hotel room. Where he’d felt the first of the walls he’d built up around slowly crumbling down around him. It was the first time in years that he’d felt THAT alive. Where someone didn’t look at him with disgust or pity. He’d always seen on Nik’s face; written as plain as day. How disappointed she was in him; how big of a mess he’d made of himself and his life. Yet she’d never balked when it came to fucking him. Maybe she’d seen it as a form of charity; believing she was doing him a favor and lowering her standards by hooking up with the hired help. Yet in Dhaka, with Esme, he’d been both surprised -and slightly terrified- at how well they connected. It had never been that smooth and easy, especially with a woman. He’d spent years avoiding forming bonds with who he slept with; leaving almost as soon as the deed was finished and never looking back.

It had been different. SHE had been different. And he found he smiled more when he was around her. Laughed easier. He didn’t feel judged for his choice of career or the mistakes he’d made; especially when his son was dying. He found he liked the sound of her voice and the feel of her body pressed against his in bed and the way she’d smile at him whenever he returned to the room. Dhaka had been the first time where he actually enjoyed the moments after sex. Those sleepy conversations and how easy it was to share even the deepest and darkest of secrets with her. And on the fourth day he’d found himself actually hopeful about something; confident that once they were out of Bangladesh and away from the job, they could make something out of whatever the hell was happening between them. It SHOULD have been just another job. Get the information, get out, get home. But it had quickly turned into something so much more. Two broken and damaged people somehow finding comfort and solace during such a crazy, unpredictable time.

“Tyler?” she asks now, and his eyes snap open and he presses a kiss to the back of her head.

“Yeah?”

“Are you awake?”

“Would I have answered if I wasn’t?”

“Don’t be such a smart ass,” she grumbles.

He chuckles into her hair. “I’m awake..”

“I think we should agree right now that we never…ever…tell Koen we christened his kitchen table.”

He laughs. “I agree.”

It had been intense. A brief but heated argument over his refusal to promise he was coming home turning into a quick hard fuck; her bent over the table and her hair clutched tightly in his first. The second time -after carrying her to bed still buried inside of her- had been slow and lazy; wandering hands and long, deep kisses and two rounds of foreplay followed languid, attentive love making.

“You finally got your kitchen table fantasy fulfilled,” she says. “Only took you seven years. Was it what you imagined it would be?”

He smiles against the back of her neck. “It was even better.”

“It’s weird being here with you.”

“Yeah?” He places a kiss to her shoulder, then her temple. “Why?”

“Not weird in a bad way. Just weird. This is where we met. Almost seven years ago. And we’re here and we’re totally different than we were back then. In so many ways.”

He nods in agreement. “If anyone had have told me that my fake wife would end up my real wife, I would have told them they were fucking crazy. That was the last thing I ever thought I’d do again. Get married.”

“I told myself I never WOULD do it again. That there wasn’t any man on the planet that could convince me to try it a second time. And...well...look where we are now.”

“Guess I should be lucky that Gaspar was out of the game. That’s who Nik went to first.”

“Oh god,” Esme groans. “I would have had to have been fake married to HIM?”

“Afraid so.”

“Well my Dhaka experience would have gone entirely differently if that had happened. Because there was no way he would have gotten the same treatment you did.”

Tyler grins and nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear, then kisses it. “He wasn’t your type?”

“Eww! No! What is wrong with you? I do have standards, you know. Thank God he said no. I’m going to have nightmares now. Thanks, Tyler.”

“I’ll help you sleep better.”

“I’m sure you will. You know, to be fair, I didn’t want to be fake married to anyone. I thought the entire thing sounded ridiculous.”

“See. We DO agree on things.”

“I’m just glad you turned out better than I thought you would.”

“How you mean?”

“You know how you hear stories and rumours about someone and you create a picture in your mind? Of what they’re going to look like?”

Tyler nods.

“Well you totally did NOT look like what I pictured.”

“What did you picture?”

“I thought you’d be older. Much older. Rough looking. Weathered. Mean, even. I was not expecting you to look like you do. I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. I changed my mind very quick about Nik’s idea.”

“You at least knew beforehand. I had it dropped on me. And she was fucking sneaky about it, too. Had me agreeing to get the kid before telling me about everything else. I didn’t have a choice after that. I was in whether I liked it or not. I couldn’t exactly back out.”

“Yeah, I saw the look on your face. When Nik talked about what she wanted us to do. You were NOT happy.”

“I’d already been real married,” he says. “Why would I want to be fake married?”

“Well for one, it doesn’t cost money to get a fake divorce.”

He grins. “Good point.”

“Was it THAT awful? The thought of being fake married to me? To be THAT pissed about it? Geez. Thanks.”

“That’s not what I was pissed about. It was the whole thing. The whole idea. It seemed fucked up. It still seems fucked up when I think about it. But it wasn’t about you. It was NEVER about you.”

“It scared you. Knowing you’d have to be THAT close to someone. You didn’t like that idea, did you? That I’d be that close. You were worried about what I’d think about you. If I saw you drinking and taking the meds. You didn’t want me seeing all of that. Seeing YOU.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Tyler agrees.

“But you still went along with it. You could have changed your mind.”

“I could have. But I didn’t. What guy is going to turn down five days in a hotel room with you?”

She snorts. “Bold of you to just assume that I’d sleep with you.”

“I didn’t assume anything. I was a little hopeful. I’ll admit that.”

“Just a little?”

“I was there to do a job. Not get laid. But someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.”

“I am not accepting blame for any of it,” Esme laughs. “You made the first move. You’re the one that had me pressed up against a wall. With your hand around my throat.”

“That wasn't a sexual ploy. I was pissed.”

“You were so hot. IT was so hot.”

He chuckles.

“And you kissed me first, so…”

“You kissed me back. You could have punched me in the face or kneed me in the dick. But you didn’t. You went along with it. So you’re just as much to blame as I am.”

“Bullshit!” she argues. “You seduced me and you know it, Tyler.”

“You and I remember that day very differently.”

“You seduced me with your stupidly handsome face and your stupidly ripped body and stupidly beautiful blue eyes.”

He grins and presses a kiss to her shoulder. “Sorry.”

“They were the first thing I noticed about you,” she says. “Your eyes. I was on the porch with the dog, and when I looked up you were watching me. At first you were so intense and then you actually smiled at me. It was a little smile, but it was still a smile.”

“I liked what I saw.”

“I remember thinking ‘god he has beautiful eyes’. And then you turned around to say something to Nik and I got to see that you had a really nice ass too. I was sold right there and then. Beautiful eyes and an ass that looks like that? Sign me up. Maybe this fake husband thing won’t be so bad after all. And then I noticed the hair and the arms and the hands.”

“The hands?”

“You have beautiful hands.”

Frowning, his fingers release the grip on hers and he holds his hand out with the fingers played. Palm down first, then up. “You call that beautiful?” The calluses, the misshapen knuckles; the scars from surgeries, various fights, knife wounds, and from when he’d repeatedly yanked out his IV in the hospital.

“Very beautiful,” she says, and places her palm flat against his; the size difference in their hands both surreal and humorous. “Because they’re your hands. They’re Tyler’s hands. I know what they’re capable of and I know how they feel. I’ve seen them braid a little girl’s hair and rock babies to sleep and clean skinned knees. They’re very beautiful hands.”

Smiling, he lifts his head long and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You were so different,” he recalls. “Than anyone I’d ever met. Especially out here.”

“Different in a good way or…?”

“A very good way. I didn’t know who you were or what you were doing here, but all of sudden you were out there on my porch and I was watching you and listening to you with my dog. It was almost like it wasn’t real. Mind you, I was pretty fucked up on booze and Oxy and it would have made sense if I’d been hallucinating.”

She gives a small, dry laugh.

“But you were. Different. I saw the ink and the piercings and those huge dark eyes and I thought ‘fuck, she’s cute’.”

She groans.

“There is nothing wrong with being called cute. You WERE cute. You still are. You were cute and you were small and you had all those piercings and all those tats. Like part good girl, part bad girl. Certainly wasn’t expecting the likes of you to wander through my door that day. I’m glad you did though.” He presses a kiss to her temple. “VERY glad you did. Sorry I was such a dick.”

“You were fine. You seemed more annoyed with Nik than with me. And you offered me a drink. Two drinks, actually.”

“I knew the second you downed the first one that I was in trouble.”

She laughs at that, then rolls over to face him. “I have a confession to make.”

“Okay…”

“Promise me you won’t laugh?”

“Why would I laugh?”

“It’s a little...I don’t know...weird. Maybe even a little off putting.”

“Alright…”

“That night...when Nik and I got back to the hotel in Fitzroy Crossing...I was going to call you.”

“For what?”

She arches both eyebrows and stares at him pointedly.

“Oh…oh...THAT. You were going to call for THAT.”

“I was,” she admits, and then buries her face in his chest and giggles.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I have a huge fear of rejection. If I’d called and you said no…”

“I would NOT have said no.”

“...it would have made working together extremely awkward.”

He pushes a hand through her hair; those fine, soft, dark tresses slipping slowly through his fingers. “You should have called.”

“You would have showed up?”

“I definitely would have showed up.”

“Wouldn’t it have made things weird between us? If we’d hooked up that night, wouldn’t it have made working together...I don’t know...difficult?”

“Why would I? I still would have fucked you in Dhaka. That wouldn’t have changed.”

“Change one thing, everything changes. You always say that.”

“I don’t think THAT would have changed. Why wouldn’t I have wanted to in Dhaka? You think I would have been able to stop at one night? You’re underestimating your own skills.”

“What if you’d been disappointed? What if you showed up in Fitzroy Crossing and the sex sucked and you didn’t want more once we got to Dhaka?”

“That wouldn’t have happened.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. I wasn’t disappointed the first time in Dhaka, right?”

“That’s a very good point. I’ll give you that. But…”

“There’s no buts. I would have showed up, I wouldn’t have disappointed, and things would have stayed the same in Dhaka. We wouldn’t have Millie if things DIDN’T happen Dhaka.”

“She’s the only good thing that came out of that place.”

“I don’t know about that. We’re pretty good.”

“Yes,” she smiles. “We ARE pretty good. I think we’re very good, actually.”

“We have our moments,” he agrees.

“We have more really good moments than we have bad moments. It’s just that we remember the bad before we remember the good.” She skims the knuckles of one hand along his jaw. “You’re letting it get longer. You’re unleashing your inner lumberjack again.”

“That’s how you like it best, right? You don’t like it like it when I trim it back.”

“I much prefer it like this. How it was when we met. Your hair’s growing in too. We’ll have to shave the back and the sides while we’re here.”

“I don’t ever want to hear you say I never do anything nice for you,” he chides.

“You shockingly do a lot of nice things for me. For a guy that’s such a bad ass that kills people with garden tools.”

Smirking, he wraps an around her waist and rolls onto his back, pulling her onto top of him. “You’re obsessed with that.”

“As psycho as it’s going to make me sound, it’s kind of a turn on. When I think about you kicking the shit out of people and getting all ragey and violent. I kind of like that side of you. Knowing what you’re capable of on the job. Probably because I know what you’re like when you’re NOT on the job and how different the two sides are. They’re both sexy in their own way. Job Tyler and domestic Tyler.”

“I think you have issues.”

“I do,” she grins, and pecks his lips. “A six foot three, two hundred and thirty pound issue.”

“I think I’m hovering at two forty. Maybe two forty five,”

“It’s your ginormous arms and shoulders and your big ass thighs. Sexy, big ass thighs, mind you. And your butt. It’s a great butt.”

“You said that already.”

“Great butts need to be told they’re great butts,” she reasons.

“This…” he runs his hands down her back and grabs her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “...is a great butt.”

“Not as great as it used to be,” she pouts. “ Having five kids will do that to you.”

“It’s still a great butt to me.”

“You’re very biased.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t make it less true.”

Smiling, she slides further up her body and kisses him. Soft and slow at first, then more demanding; tongue eagerly pushing its way into his mouth, fingers tightly gripping his hair as his own continue and squeeze and fondle the cheeks of her ass. And a low growl rumbles deep in his chest when she grinds her pelvis against his and he feels the stirring of his erection.

“You’re demanding.” he grins, fingertips digging almost painfully into her ass as she kisses and nibbles her away along his jaw, slowly making her way upwards.

“I think you should make love to me again,” she whispers into his ear, then traces the outer edge with the tip of her tongue.

Groaning, he lifts his hips from the bed, pressing his rapidly hardening cock against her before gripping her hips and flipping her over onto her back. A smirk on his face as both his hands and his mouth slowly descend her body, starting at the valley between her breasts.

“I think so too.”

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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taexual · 6 years

Text

GOT7 / They miss you while on tour

ANON REQUEST: I’m not sure if you do song fics but could you do a song based on Blackbear’s Nyla for got7?

A/N: loosely based on the motives of Blackbear’s “NY LA”

Mark

he was the kind of guy who, when asked if he missed you, said “sure,” shrugged his shoulders and carried on with his activities as nonchalantly as possible – but, really, he was d y i n g

not being able to see you didn’t seem to be like that big of a problem at the start of your relationship since both of you were busy and barely managed to see each other once a week

but then he got so used to your presence when he was on a two-week break and took you out for a trip, that just the thought of having to be without you pained him now

and yet mark put up a tough exterior, acting like he wasn’t suffering without you

he practiced every day, he rehearsed his lines, learned new choreographies, and performed for thousands of people every night

but god he missed you so much that as soon as he climbed off the stage, he was running to get his phone to give you a call

hearing your voice didn’t ease his suffering but it was better than nothing and it helped him calm down for the time being

oh and you bet mark had downloaded three different countdown apps and had all of them counting down the days until he’d see you again

so, when you surprised him one time and showed up to his show unannounced, he was a little conflicted because a) there you were!!! right in front of him!! all his to be hugged and kissed!!; and b) how the hell was he supposed to reset the timers on the countdown apps now that you were here???

the sad, melancholic feeling of being without you worked as a stimulant for his creativity and he finished, at least, three songs just about missing you alone, and three more about wanting to see you again

but while he was almost able to conceal most of his emotions when he wrote, he was never able to hide his longing for you very well when he was doing something else

and everyone around him knew what he was feeling as soon as he walked out of the hotel room in the morning, ready to head to the venue – they didn’t even have to look at his glum face – because there was something about him that was different

he radiated light, confidence, and positivity – and utter joy – when you were around

but now he was moving quietly, always looking down, constantly checking his phone

oh but if someone saw him when he was on the phone with you, they’d think he was a completely different person because the sad boy™ from before was gone

all of his attention was on you as he swallowed every word you were saying, cherishing in the sound of your voice, and smiling all through the phone call

he didn’t want to put it that way because, in his opinion, it sounded far too cliché, but alright, maybe you really were the center of his whole world and he wasn’t truly himself when he was without you

Jackson

he didn’t really suffer from too much pain without you but only because as soon as he got a free day, he was on a plane to see you

and he was exactly the kind of person who didn’t really mind taking one plane in the morning, seeing you for five hours tops, and then flying back to his next venue the same night

he’d be exhausted, he’d end up having to listen to jaebum scolding him – although jaebum didn’t mind because seeing jackson’s happy face after he got to spend some time with you was worth it – but he’d be so happy

and he’d do it all over again the next day because, i mean, what else would he do in the three free days before the next show? he could work on the lyrics of his next song on the plane to see you and he could record it on a night when he couldn’t sleep, so, really, why would he not fly back home for you?

but he showed his utter almost impossible dedication to you in other ways if, for example, he couldn’t come see you in a while

he’d buy you so many small, meaningful souvenirs from each place he visited because they all reminded him of you

and he wasn’t actively trying to bring you gifts, he just couldn’t help it, everything that was cute reminded him of you and he needed you to have it – it was seriously starting to become a problem

although, really, jackson would have done just about anything to see you smile and there wasn’t much that could have stopped him from giving you the whole world

Jinyoung

missing you came in stages of grief for him and denial was, of course, the first

he insisted he was completely fine and that it’s only been “two days” when he’s last seen you, so the only reason why he kept checking his phone was because he was bored and had nothing better to do

and he went through anger immediately after because the other boys would not stop grinning knowingly at him whenever he snuck away from practice to text you back or give you a quick call

the three last stages mixed for him while he was on stage during one of the shows, looking out into the crowd, feeling absolutely blissful because there he was, doing something he loved the most in life!

but something wasn’t quite right

jinyoung was excited and happy, and yet something was missing – and it didn’t take long for him to realize that it was you

you weren’t there, among the faces in the crowd, your bright, supportive smile calling from him across rows of people

and despite there being so many people all around him, your absence was crushing

so, fine, he missed you

he’s been missing you since the day he walked out of that door, giving you one last hug before leaving for three months

Youngjae

he didn’t really think that missing you could take over his life the way it did

and he didn’t even feel himself close off and stay in his room when it got particularly bad – he didn’t want to concern the other members but he was so used to always having you by his side, it was difficult to realize that now, in order to hear your comforting words, he had to wait for hours until he could call you at a reasonable time due to the timezone differences;

so, on the one hand, missing you was almost like an illness

but, on the other hand, he used it for inspiration and it worked miracles

you would get these random texts from him, at like, 6am, and it’d be the lyrics from a song he was working on

and maybe you wouldn’t even realize that these are song lyrics – or that they’re about you – at first until, weeks later, you’d get more texts from him, also at very inconvenient times

only this time it’d be the recordings of him singing the same words he’d sent you in a text message before

he wouldn’t send them to you to show off but rather to hear your opinion about the song itself

even if he turned into a shy mess whenever you called him after hearing the song and ranted for twenty minutes straight about how you didn’t deserve him and how his voice could bring world peace

but that’s how he lived without you – although, maybe “without you” was too strong of an expression since you never really left his mind – counting down the days until he could see you again

BamBam

he was always either blowing your phone up with endless text messages or disappearing for days

you’d seriously worry when he would suddenly stop texting you but you could ask anyone, bambam didn’t disappear because he just stopped missing you

no, there was always a part of him that constantly buzzed with thoughts of you

but sometimes, he just had to shut that part down and focus on something else because otherwise he couldn’t live

the way he almost depended on you wasn’t fair, like he truly never thought he could feel so strongly about someone or panic so much when you fell asleep on him in the middle of the phonecall (he immediately assumed something bad had to have happened)

and he might have been away from you but you were e v e r y w h e r e

he could see you in the clouds when he lied on his hotel bed, he could see you in the reflection of the champagne glasses when he went out to drink with the boys after a show, and he could see you in the crowds of people that cheered them on during the concerts

but even though he couldn’t get your face out of his mind and he saw you in absolutely everything, he still couldn’t feel your presence and it wasn’t the same

you were there but, at the same time, you weren’t and it was slowly driving him crazy

Yugyeom

actually, he’d been scared to leave for tour because this was going to be the first “real” challenge in your relationship

you’ve already experienced what it was like to not see each other for weeks but this was a whole different thing and, truth be told, yugyeom’s mind might have stumbled upon thoughts of breaking up just so he wouldn’t have to put you through the pain of waiting for him to get back

in the end, he couldn’t do it

he loved being a performer with his whole being but, god, he loved you just as much

so the two of you were stuck dealing with the absence of each other in your own ways that actually weren’t that different – both of you tried to take your minds off of each other by spending time with your friends

and sometimes, both of you could spend a whole day doing something else, too busy to think of each other, but then the night would come and you’d get a call from him

and all you’d hear would just be his breathy, whiny voice, “i need you here”

so you’d spend hours on the phone no matter what you had to do the next day

but it never really felt enough, no matter how many topics the two of you covered and no matter how many times he’s heard you tell him about your day

you’d be getting a plane ticket delivered to your house about three weeks after yugyeom left so he could see you for, at least, one weekend

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debcnairs · 5 years

Text

( kim taehyung, cismale, he/him, 24. ) — i hear that PAK HAEIL has been living in seoul for around FOUR YEARS and works as an EXOTIC DANCER. rumor has it, they can be DEBONAIR & INSOUCIANT but also IMPETUOUS & MISCHIEVOUS which is why neon lights glowing at midnight, bodies entangled in silk sheets, sultry gazes & designer clothes makes me think of them.

its me, the demon, gem, finally making this demon's intro like eight years later. ( claps for myself wow look @ u go !! ) ANYWAYS... i don't have his entire backstory or anything like that figured out but i do have everything i know of below the cut as well as basic info / plot ideas under the cut ! it kinda sucks and i’m sorry,,,, love me anyway pls :/

SMASH the lil heart if you want to plot with this shithead !

basic information.

full name: pak haeil. nickname(s): hae, honey. age: twenty-four. date of birth: october 31st. birthplace: london, england. current location: seoul, south korea. gender: cismale. pronouns: he / him / his. orientation: bisexual. occupation: exotic dancer / escort / sugar baby / runs a nsfw twitter acc. language(s) spoken: english, korean, french, spanish.

physical appearance.

face claim: kim taehyung ( v ) of bts. hair color: changes frequently, currently red. eye color: brown. height: 5 ’ 11 ". weight: 165. build: slender. tattoos: far too many to count. piercings: multiple in his ears, nipple piercings.

favorites.

season: winter. color(s): peach, baby blue, purple. music: not picky in the slightest. movies: loves comedy & action movies, starting to get into the horror genre. sport(s): used to play soccer when he lived in london. beverage(s): anything, isn't picky. food: home cooked meals. animal: cats.

family.

father: tba. mother: tba. sibling(s): n/a. children: n/a. pet(s): an egyptian mau named diamond, extremely spoiled. family’s financial status: upper class.

extras.

zodiac sign: tba. mbti: tba. enneagram: tba. temperament: tba. hogwarts house: slytherin. moral alignment: tba. primary vice: tba. primary virtue: tba. element: air.

biography.

haeil was born in london, england. both parents moved there years before he was born to chase their dreams.

because of it, he grew up around people with british accents & picked one up during his childhood years.

his parents were gone a lot, both of them working but he didn't really mind because that meant he could go do whatever he wanted to do without any consequences.

in fact, his parents were the ones who constantly gave him permission to go out and hang out with friends... all that good stuff.

sure they didn't really KNOW about the fact that him & his friend group were constantly out doing things they shouldn't have been, but what they didn't know wasn't going to kill them, right ?

he was basically free to do whatever he wanted and even if he did get caught doing bad shit, his parents were close with the police so most of the time they just let him off with a warning and sent haeil off on his way.

haeil was fifteen when he experienced his first party, drugs & alcohol within his grasp and the peer pressure to fit in with his friends causing him to cave & try anything and everything that was offered to him that night.

needless to say, he got pretty fucked up that night & ended up sleeping on some strangers couch after passing out in their front lawn on his walk home.

& after that? haeil quickly became addicted to the atmosphere & the way that drugs / alcohol made him feel so he continued to seek it out with each and every chance he got.

that lead him to the day he showed up back at his home at four in the morning, drunk & high out of his mind, parents waiting up for him at the front door because they hadn't heard from their son in over twenty hours & were beginning to think he'd gone missing.

they were more pleased to have their son back home that anything, advising him to be more careful if he did decide to go back to the party scene but not really 'punishing' him for it because they had done the same thing as kids.

hence the reason that haeil continued to seek out anything & everything he could that would get him to his next high.

one party, though, he ran into someone who told him he needed to make money so he could afford the "better" stuff.. and haeil being the person he was went right along with it.. ending up at some hole in the wall strip club in london.

he had no idea what he was doing for the first few weeks, sticking to table running more than anything but he always had a curiosity & that lead him to ask one of the regular dancers to teach him the ropes.

which they did, without hesitation, and surprisingly, haeil was GOOD at it right from the start, knowing how to use his looks to his advantage, knowing the in's & out's of how to make the most money all while still being able to have fun with it.

after a while, though, he was bored of the tiny little club, wanting bigger & better things.. so after a few google searches, he decided to move to seoul, hearing that the underground party scene there was unlike anything he'd been able to experience before then.

it was only a week after the first google search haeil made that he was on a plane, moving his entire life without hesitation, excited to be able to explore & go on new adventures.

personality.

the BIGGEST flirt you will ever meet.

knows how he looks, uses it to his advantage w every chance he gets.

is so unashamed of his entire life it's unreal.

takes no shit but also doesn't start it unless it's absolutely needed.

actually really likes the "domestic" things like cooking / cleaning, loves spending time in his penthouse just baking or cooking for friends whenever he has free time.

a shopping FREAK, he's on shopping sprees at least three times a week, and if he isn't, he gets grumpy & snippy.

will buy you things, constantly. loves the fact that he can spoil people with whatever they want.

also LOVES to be spoiled ( hello sugar baby life ) and loves to show of the new things he's been gifted to anyone who's down to be shown.

still goes to parties almost every weekend, still gets just as fucked up as he used to as a teenager.

a lowkey petty bitch with a love for revenge, even if that means helping a friend get it.

loyal af to his friends, he'd do anything for them tbh.

not into relationships or the idea of love, will legit laugh in your face if you say something about him settling down eventually because he doesn't believe that will ever happen.

spoils the FUCK out of his cat,,,, i'm talking got the cat a CUSTOM diamond collar & soooo much other stuff it's unreal.

can be clingy & touchy, esp when drunk or high... he just loves skin to skin contact, it doesn't even have to be sexual.. he just thrives from it.

plot ideas.

someone who frequents the club that haeil works at and has never approached him but one day haeil finally finds the time to go over to them & wow he's really interested in getting a friendship out of this person.

someone who doesn’t care about haeil’s lifestyle but is there for him constantly, aka his rock that he can go to any time he feels like he might need to.

will add more as they come to mind !

#kumiho.intro #*: ･ﾟ∙ * ⁕ this is a mcdonald's drive thru. ┊ ❛ out of character ❜

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bisectionalbisexual · 6 years

Text

Feathery Wings

This fic is directly inspired by the song of the same title by Aurelio Voltaire, and any words that are in italics are lyrics directly from the song. Please give it a listen! It’s a really beautiful song!

Word count: 5,322 Pairings: Moxiety TW: oh boy here we go… suicide, suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts, etc. Blood, swearing, descriptions of Pain, Major character death, burning, overall just a lot of bad and I’m so sorry. (Let me know if I need any more!!! Plz!!!) A/N: I cannot apologize enough for what you are about to read, but THERE IS A HAPPY ENDING, so that’s a good thing. Also, this story is in no way trying to promote any religious agenda or make fun of anyone, I didn’t look anything up, everything is from my own knowledge, and my own made up stuff I just pulled out of thin air. Summary: Virgilius (pronounced with a “V” sound, I know it wasn’t back then but we’re sticking with it) was an angel who had fallen from Heaven for crimes against God. He is now burdened with the task of trying to save “The Lost Ones” over and over and over again until finally, he meets a young man with a spark. A young man that just might make Virgilius’s time on Earth just as divine as Heaven.

Gonna put the “Keep Reading” right here in case someone accidentally reads what they don’t want to.

~~~

It burned so badly.

The feeling of falling from his dimension was unbearable. At least it used to be his dimension. The pain was scorching hot through his wings, tears were streaming down his face and floating up into the dark abyss that was the cosmos. He used to think the stars were beautiful, now they were only dim light. He was approaching Earth, he could feel it, the burning became so searing that it almost felt cold. The fall to the ground caused the ground to shake violently, but he couldn’t feel it. He only felt the numbing pain throughout his entire body, not to mention the aching tightness in his chest. An unfamiliar metallic taste arose in his mouth. Was it blood? It had to have been.

By using what strength he had left he turned his head to see what had become of his elegant pure white wings. The sight he was met with elicited a shrill ear piercing scream. His wings were tainted with black, scorched by flames, and covered in Ash. What made him beautiful was gone, he was cast down by what he loved, and now his pure blood was soiled. He laid there and sobbed for hours, to him it felt like a couple millennia before the rain came down. He figured it would bring relief, but it only brought the stinging pain of a thousand needles piercing through his flesh. He needed cover, he needed safety, he needed warmth. But none came, he tried lifting himself up just to fall limp, he was too weak, and therefore useless to help himself. He was now one of the fallen, an Angel cast down from heaven as punishment for unspeakable deeds. He went by many names through his many years of existence, but those he cared for had called him “Virgilius.”

Virgilius had grown to like his name, it made him unique against other Angel’s whose name’s had meaning of righteousness and Holy Value. But he also feared his name, because it felt as though it meant he didn’t fit in up in heaven, he was unknown, he was a mystery. His name landed him here, on Earth, to suffer amongst the mortals for all eternity. So, The Dark Angel laid there for weeks, he could have remained for years, hopeless in going back home, he could never regain his pure wings once more.

One day, however, he felt a strange pulling at his heart. Something beckoning him to get up, to move, and it felt urgent. He didn’t know why he was forcing himself up for the sake of this unknown force, but he had no choice, and before he knew it he was rising to his feet. It took him a while to gain his footing, but once he was steady he managed to gently outstretched his wings, wincing at the stiffness coursing through his entire being. His strength had returned, and the pain was lessening, so without a second thought, he began trudging his way on foot towards the tugging in his chest. The feeling became stronger as he grew closer to what was calling to him, and the stronger it became the more intense pressure his body was being put under, he felt himself swaying in and out of Earth’s plane of existence and he wasn’t sure if anyone could even really see him, but he didn’t care, he needed to stop whatever was going to happen. He found himself on a bridge above an aggressive body of water. The waves were crashing and slamming into the sharp rocks below as if the height wasn’t deadly enough. Virgilius’s eyes landed on a young boy standing beyond the barrier of the bridge, and if he were to let go of the platform he would surely fall. But maybe he intended it to be that way.

This young boy was 18-year-old Logan Pierce, senior in High School, straight-A student. He had a very bright future, he was going to be a brain surgeon. That thought alone left a sour taste in his mouth, he hated the idea of cutting people open and holding the fate of their lives in his hands. But there was no escaping his fate, his family was putting so much pressure on him to be successful and have a wife and children, but that’s just not him. He wanted to be an astronomer!… He wanted a husband!

But it didn’t matter, what he wanted didn’t matter, it never did. Virgilius felt this young man’s pain deep in his soul, no one understood him. His family had shunned him. He managed to face the puppet master and cut his strings, but now he had nothing. Logan stood there looking down at the water below him, it was almost calming. The sound of the waves almost brought a smile to his face as he breathed in the cool crisp fall air, but then a honking car drove by interrupting his blissful silence. That’s it, he can’t take it anymore, there was no such thing as silence, everything was so loud-!

“You, there on the bridge,” Logan paused, looking around only to see no one, the only sound being the wind, whistling by as it sang to him. “Where have you been? What’s your name?”

There it was, some kind if voice calling out to him but he just couldn’t find the source.

“Hello?” He rasped out, his grip tightening on the concrete platform, “Who’s there?!… I-I’m Logan…” ‘You’re going crazy, Pierce,’ He thought to himself, ‘there’s no one there. You’re all alone…’

It didn’t take Virgilius long to realize that his celestial status prevented the mortals from seeing him, his existence only coming off as an illusion, his words becoming a song in the wind. He tried to get closer, to somehow grab the boy and pull him to safety, but it was too late. With a slip of footing creating a scraping sound on the concrete, the boy had fallen off the bridge.

“No! Wait, please!” Virgilius ran to the edge of the bridge, watching the boy’s silhouette fade away, and the pain in his chest abruptly stopped.

He failed.

He saw that boy’s future flash before his eyes, he would have minored in Astronomy in college, he was going to meet the love of his life in the hospital he would work in, a charismatic grief counselor named Emile Picani… but now Logan Pierce ceased to be.

Tears began to stream down the Angel’s cheeks, and his breath picked up to a frightening pace. He was so unfamiliar with crying, but he seemed to have been doing it a lot lately. Something about this planet was giving him this sensitivity to human emotion that he had never felt before. Why was this happening? Why was he connected to this boy? He felt the dreaded tug in his chest again, but this time he didn’t know where it would lead. He took a deep breath to calm himself as he outstretched his wings feeling his feet lift up off of the ground. At least he was still able to fly, but he could no longer soar as he used to.

He drifted down from the bridge, he needed to find this boy. If the pain came back then he must still be alive, he had read of humans performing miracles all the time.

'He must be here. He had to be here!’ Virgilius quickly saw the dark red liquid polluting the water as the stream carried on undisturbed. He followed the flow of blood to the source to find the broken and battered body, his face pale and cold, and not even a glint of life was left behind in his eyes behind his shattered and bent glasses. Now Virgilius knew the pain in his chest, it was mourning, heartache, loss, however you want to describe it. He knelt down next to the body, praying the soul be sent to heaven regardless of how he died, he wished mercy upon this boy. Voices beginning to accumulate above him broke him away from his thoughts. He looked up to see a crowd forming on the bridge with what he assumed were what the humans used for communication, and he saw flickering lights of red and blue.

The guilt that plagued his being hit him like a strike of lightning, but the crowds of people coming to observe the boy told him that it was his time to leave. He just needed to get out of here. He needed to go home. There was too much pain here, he just couldn’t take it. He stood and ruffled his feathers as he rose to reach the stars. But his efforts bore no fruit when some invisible force kept him from leaving Earth’s atmosphere. His wings were not gone, but they were no longer of heavenly divinity. Like any fallen angel he must earn his wings back, he must redeem himself for his sins, but-

“I failed…” A soft whisper escaped from his lips as he fell back to the Earth’s surface.

That was the tug, what lead him to poor Logan Pierce, he was fated to save that boy’s life, and he failed.

He landed somewhere different this time, rather than the softness of Earth, he felt cold hard asphalt beneath his feet. He tore his eyes away from the sky to see that he landed atop a building. His chest became tight, his heart pounding against his ribcage telling him that something was wrong. 'No… no, not again, please!’ His head whipped around left and right, he was alone on the roof. The pull was coming from below, and he rushed down the stairs to follow it. Whoever this person was, Virgilius needed to save them, this was his second chance. He scoured every floor until he got to the very bottom, and the pain only worsened as he got closer. But as soon as his hand touched the door the stiffness abruptly stopped.

'Oh no. God no.’

He barged through the door to find the body of another young man, hanging from the ceiling by a rope made with scarves tied together. Virgilius’s hand was brought up to cover his mouth, silencing the audible gasp slipping from his lips. He took slow steps further into the room, as he looked around he saw a rejection letter from a popular Performing Arts school, as well as an open laptop with a note typed on the screen.

“Dear Valerie,

If you are ever able to read this… I’m sorry. I just wasn’t strong enough. You were the only one that was there for me, you were the only one who never rejected me. After my parents kicked me out, and what happened to Thomas… I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this pain, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. You’ll move on, I’ll become a faint memory in your amazing mind. You’ll lead a wonderful life.

-Roman.”

As Virgilius read the letter he saw the life of young Roman Murphy, he saw his past, present, and future. This letter was to his childhood friend, Valerie Taylor, she was the one who stuck with him through every part of his life. The good and the bad. She was there when his parents disowned him after he came out about his sexuality, after his older brother Thomas was killed by a drunk driver in an accident, and she would have been there to console him through the rejection of his dream college. Roman Murphy would have lived to become a High School Drama a teacher after a semi-successful career as an actor. He would have been a devoted husband, and an even better father, and after every show, he would have been greeted by his son Remy and “Auntie Valerie” backstage while his husband, who went by “Dee”, waited outside with roses.

Virgilius knelt once more and wept, holding his head in his hands. He wasn’t fated to save these humans, he was fated to suffer as he watched the life drain from their face, to know he couldn’t do it.

He would never be able to save them.

This torture continued for years. The pain in his chest migrated into his entire being the longer his punishment went on, and he always remembered the names and lives of the souls he couldn’t save. In the times he wasn’t too late, he would urge them to stop as he tried to do with his very first, Logan Pierce, only for his voice to get lost in the air.

He wanted them to realize the permanent consequences to what they were doing.

“You, there on the wall, where will you go to once you fall?” He needed them to see that there was help! Just waiting for them. Waiting to be seen. “You, lost at sea, do you need me? Do you need directions?” But they were all lost.

Virgilius felt entirely broken when he came to the home of a Patton Matthews, a 26-year-old college dropout just struggling to get by. Today was a bad day.

Patton had come home to an empty house, empty being that his dog Skip had somehow gotten out and ran off somewhere. This wasn’t the first time, but Patton just aimlessly wandered around the apartment until he stumbled into his bedroom. He felt numb, he hadn’t genuinely smiled in forever, the only thing keeping him here walked out of the door a long long time ago.

Virgilius was desperate to save someone, to just tell them to stop, and he was saying anything to try and get them to snap out of their toxic state of mind, just for a second, just to listen to him. He walked in on Patton loading a revolver and aiming the barrel at his head. This boy’s life came to Virgilius in a flash, just as all the others did. He needed to act fast, but he felt just as hopeless, his voice kept breaking as his sobs slipped through his voice.

“Hey… put down the gun… what were you thinking?!… You were someone’s son!”

Patton tensed, dropping the gun into his lap and he looked down at his hands, “what… What am I doing?!” The numbness subsided, and the heavy reality of what he was doing set in as he began bawling into his hands. He needed to go, he had to find his dog, he needed to call his mom! He needed help. He stood and turned to completely dispose of the gun only to freeze, seeing the mysterious figure standing behind him.

“What the-? W-who the hell are you?!” Patton gripped the gun with shaking hands, pointing it to the stranger in his bedroom.

Virgilius seemed just as shocked as he looked around, then down to himself, “wait, wait, you can see me?” He asked, the tears streaming down his face coming to a halt.

“Of course I can! Why… why wouldn’t I?”

The Angel slowly raised his hands to show he wasn’t a threat but Patton’s grip on his gun never softened. Making sure to be gentle, Virgilius outstretched his wings for Patton to see. Patton’s jaw nearly dropped all the way to the floor and his hands fell to his sides,

“you're… you- wha… what are you?!”

“I’m an angel, from heaven, and I’m here to help you.”

This all sounded like complete and utter bullshit to Patton, but he couldn’t deny what he was seeing. There was an angel, right in front of him. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t intrigued, and he was curious enough to set down his gun to ask his questions.

Watching Patton put down his weapon made Virgilius nearly hysterical, but the tears welling up in his eyes were now of joy, he finally stopped one, he did it… 'I did it!’

“Uh, hey? What’s wrong?” Patton tilted his head wiping his own eyes with his sleeve, as the Angel dropped to his knees.

“Thank God!!! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Um… okay? You want some water or something?”

Virgilius assured the human that he was alright, he simply had to explain. He told Patton the story of how he began his attempts to save who he began calling “The Lost Ones” in order to earn his wings after he had fallen. Patton was amazed as he heard his tale, but it made him wonder all different things about angels and heaven and hell, to which Virgilius responded with “You were lost, but now I have found you, I finally found you.” He’ll get his answers later.

Once Virgilius had finally calmed down enough to rise back to his feet, he spun around to see his white feathery wings, to feel the wind in his hair once more as he ascended to heaven… but they weren’t there. They were still dark, torn, and burned. He was still broken.

“No… no, no, no, why aren’t they fixed? Why can’t I go back?!”

His breath became frantic as he desperately kept fluttering his wings to see some kind of change but he was left with nothing. Patton watched as the angel nearly descends into madness over his wings, and he couldn’t help but step in.

“Hey, hey, calm down. I-it’s okay,” he took careful steps forward, “it’ll be okay, alright? Just take a deep breath.” ‘Well this just did a 180,’ Patton thought.

“No! It’s not okay! My wings, they’re the same, they didn’t change back… they were supposed to change back!…”

Virgilius had worked himself up so much that he just melted into Patton’s arms once he was close enough. He hugged him tight muttering into his shoulder as Patton hushed him as his mother used to when he would get all worked up. He led Virgilius to the living room and sat him on the couch then got him a glass of water.

“Just keep breathing, okay? You can crash here until you get this whole wing thing figured out.”

He gulped down the water and took a deep breath before speaking, “you… would do that for me?”

“Well, sure,” Patton shrugged, “I mean you did just save my life… I don’t got anything better to do anyway, so… -Hey, I never caught your name.”

“They, um, they call me Virgilius.” He answered, wiping his eyes and relaxing into the soft couch.

“Virgelio-?”

“Virgilius.”

“Vertigo-?”

“Virgilius.”

“…”

“I’mma just call you Virgil,” Patton said with a snap of his fingers.

Virgilius pondered the name choice for a moment before nodding, “that sounds like it would work, and you are Patton.”

“Yup, you got it,” Patton smiled softly, a small smile that “Virgil” happily returned. Patton plopped down next to him with a heavy sigh, needing to just contemplate all that’s just happened. He wanted to die, and that feeling hasn’t really left him yet, but this miraculous creature just appeared to stop him… that had to have meant something, right?

“So, tell me, what is an angel doing down here?… And what would an angel be doing saving a nobody like me?” Virgil pondered his question for a moment, leaving back to stare at the ceiling.

“Well… A long, long time ago, I fell to this place from another dimension. And thrust amongst the beast, and the way they behave, it borders on dementia…” Virgil closed his eyes shaking his head with a wince, “And now after all these years I can barely take it, I don’t think I can make it.” He opened his eyes and stared up as if he wasn’t even speaking to Patton anymore. “Take me away from here, I wanna go home… I’m so sick and tired of, the taste of tears. The sting of pain. The smell of fear. The sounds of crying… I just wish I could have saved them.”

Patton watched as the Angel turn away to collect himself, he thought for a moment in hopes to comfort him, so with a sigh, he rested his hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, those are, uh… some pretty wise words. Ever think of writing them down?”

Virgil turned to look at Patton’s attempt at a small smile with confusion, “write down my words?”

“Yeah, totally,” He got up and rummaged through some drawers before pulling out a notebook, “let me show you.”

He came back to the couch and sat down, flipping to an empty page and starting to write down while murming the words to himself. “Okay, what’s next? Just relax and tell me what comes to mind.”

Virgil stayed quiet as he thought, but he couldn’t think of how to put words together now that he was put on the spot. Patton frowned and tapped his chin with his pencil, he perked up with an idea the tossed a pillow over to the opposite end of the couch, “lay down and rest your head a bit, been a long day.” Virgil nodded and laid back, resting his head on Patton’s lap nonchalantly. He froze holding his arms up watching Virgil kick his feet up on the pillow.

'Well then…’ he thought to himself before sitting back with a sigh, ‘I guess it’s not so bad…’ “Anything?”

“Well,” Virgil spoke up, “I just… I wish that I could really speak to these people, I mean, they were at the edge of their lives, but isn’t a life supposed to be fulfilling? Was it all really the way they wanted?”

Patton scribbled down in the notebook for a moment before tilting his head in thought, “in my case? It was because my life wasn’t fulfilling… I would always try to smile at the end of the day, make everyone think I was okay, but I really never was.”

“But you are so young,” Virgil sat up and turned to Patton sitting criss-cross, “sure you don’t have eons, but you have an entire lifetime to grow and change. To make your smile genuine…” His eyes darted downwards as he came to a realization, “to earn your wings.”

Patton felt a faint smile tug at the corner of his lips, “huh, never thought about it that way.”

Virgil hadn’t either, but it seemed to had just occurred to him. He studied Patton, seeing his life just as he did the others, “this… wasn’t your first attempt, was it?”

His face flushed red in embarrassment then he let out a nervous chuckle to hopefully defuse the growing tension, “I- um, yeah… but I wouldn’t really call what I did a suicide attempt, right?” Virgil just stared at him, knowing fully well that purposefully walking in front of cars caused more than an adrenaline rush.

“Okay yeah it was, but things were really complicated. Being 15 was hard, you know? Well, maybe you don’t know, but things were really complicated. My parents split when I was 7, and for over half of my life, I had to watch my father just… slowly kill himself in front of me. He’s alive, mind you… but in jail… so that’s fun.”

Virgil listened carefully, understanding why Patton would be hurting in that time, but he didn’t want to press the issue further. Virgil saw something else, this time Patton’s future, but somehow… it was Virgil’s as well. He saw the two of them living together for quite a while, he saw Patton, Virgil, and a small dog named Skip living happily in a tiny apartment. He seemed content, comfortable… human.

“So, um- listen to what I got: As you stand here at the edge of your life, what do you remember? Was it all you wanted? I’m trying to earn a set of feathery wings. I wish I could protect you here, please don’t cry now. Smile, as you stand here at the edge of your life, your troubles are over, mine are just beginning. I’m trying to earn a set of feathery wings. To take me away from here, it’s me you leave behind.”

“Well, then,” Virgil said putting on a small smile, “sounds like you’re the poet, not me.”

Patton couldn’t help but chuckle weakly before shaking his head and going back to scribbling down in the notebook.

~~~

Virgil and Patton grew very close over the years, and with the chest pains suddenly stopping, Virgil almost forgot about the arduous task of earning back his wings. He almost wanted to stay on this miserable planet, just to be with Patton. He had taught him the ways of humans, and he introduced Virgil to the interesting form of expression that he would learn to love deeply- Poetry. Virgil wrote his thoughts in a notebook that Patton gave him, and at the end of every week Virgil would read his new poems to Patton whenever he got back from school. After dropping out of college, Patton thought he was a complete and total screw-up, but once Virgil came into his life he had an entirely new outlook on the world. He enrolled in a small beauty school and is on his way to becoming a licensed cosmetologist. All the while using Virgil to practice as much as he can.

Whenever Patton was away at school, Virgil was at home taking care of Skip and working on his writing. Virgil spent hours scribbling down what he was feeling with Skip resting in his lap. Through all his time with Patton, he learned what friendship was, he learned the true value of a relationship with somebody. But as Virgil learned more about human feelings, the more he began to feel. The majority of his poems seemed to be all the pain and fear he saw in the human race, but now all he thought about was Patton.

He had a good understanding of friendship, but whatever he was feeling felt like it was more than that. So he did the only thing he knew how to do to express himself, he wrote a poem for his Patton.

‘You were once lost, but as was I. When seeing your pain, it made me cry. But now through all these years, I’ve seen you grow into a man, one you were fated to be. But never in my wildest dreams, would I see you here with me. You gave me a new purpose and cared for me in sickness, I need you as you need me. Together we have no weakness. You are my wings.’

Patton came home with boxes of takeout for dinner, making him have to shoo away Skip who was whining for a taste at the smell. Virgil got up with a smile to greet his friend and eagerly showed him his new poem.

He usually wasn’t worried about Patton’s opinions on his work, because he always loved whatever he wrote, but now Virgil seemed to be nervous.

Patton read the poem carefully, unable to hide his blush as his lips turned up in a smile. When he was finished he immediately hugged Virgil, squeezing around his waist tight. Patton was a hugger, Virgil learned that the hard way, but he was starting to get used to it.

“I love it, Virge,” Patton murmured as Virgil hugged back.

That was another new occurrence over the years, Patton had already come up with the nickname of “Virgil” from his previous name Virgilius, but he started making his shortened name even shorter through other similar variations. “Virge, Vee, Virgie,” and so on, but Virgil preferred to call his friend just Patton, which was fine by him.

Eventually, the hug broke away, and they spent the whole night just talking. Patton told Virgil about his day, and Virgil told Patton about his. Virgil’s were always less eventful, but Patton still listened intently.

And so began their flourishing relationship, it started out slow, but they both got a handle on it. Patton taught Virgil how to hold his hand when walking together, and made the rule that Patton had to always sit on the right of Virgil, since he was left-handed, so his dominant hand would always be free when their fingers would be intertwined. It was the little things like that that made their relationship special, it wasn’t that Virgil was an angel at all. In fact, he became more human every single day, eating regularly, and sticking to a healthy and normal sleep schedule alongside Patton. But Virgil could pretend to be human all he wanted to, but that wouldn’t change the fact that he was an angel. Patton was fated to live a long healthy life with Virgil, but they could never grow old together, Virgil could only watch as Patton grew slower with each day. Patton was now in his early 70s, but Virgil hadn’t aged a day. Their relationship went from Patton taking care of Virgil, to Virgil taking care of him up into his last moments on Earth…

Patton Matthews

January 15th, 1992- May 29th, 2065

Aged 73

You may be gone, but you will never be lost.

It looked as if Virgil was the lost one, standing in front of his love’s grave, gripping a crumpled piece of paper in his hands as he tried to fight back the tears.

“Y-you'll… you’ll never be lost again…”

His voice broke before he immediately broke down in violent sobs, falling to his knees to clutch onto Patton’s gravestone, pulling himself closer to it. He would be lying if he were to say Patton was gone too soon because he lived a long happy life. He became one of those “sassy gay hairdressers” as he would say, who didn’t have to retire due to arthritis. And the light of his life was an angel in the darkness, a being not meant to be on our planet but was there indefinitely, a free-thinking individual who decided to stay and live his life with this one human. Virgil wrapped his black, torn, and burnt wings around the grave as he wept. He hadn’t cried like this in a very long time, and now it’s possibly even harder than when he was first cast down onto this planet. He sat there for hours until his tears ran dry, forcing him to let go, unfolding the piece of paper that was crushed in his grip.

He kept swallowing the lump in his throat as he tried to speak, it was the end of the week, and Virgil had to read Patton his new poem. “I’m trying to earn a set of feathery wings, to take me away from here… It’s me you leave-” He stopped closing his eyes tight, fighting down the urge to cry tears that weren’t there. “You’re gone from here. Don’t leave from here… Don’t leave me here! I hate it here! You’re gone from here, don’t leave me here. I need you here… I need to see you smile…”

He dropped the paper to hold his face in his hands, now that his Patton was gone, what was he to do with his eternity here on Earth? The coldness of the rain coming down was interrupted by the feeling of a warm hand on his back.

All of his senses were suddenly in a haze. He wouldn’t dare move his hands leaving his eyes useless, and there was a deafening ringing in his ears and all he could feel was the heat of an unknown light. Then all at once came back to him, he removed his hands to see a sight that was all too familiar. He was home, he was nearly blinded by its heavenly glow. The feeling of joy washed over him as he looked from side to side to his clean, fluffy, and pure white wings making him turn around fluttering and flapping them with a smile. He froze when his eyes landed on the familiar figure in front of him, with their soft cuddly pet cradled in his arms.

“There’s my Angel.”

~~~

OH MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?! If you read this and actually enjoyed it, thank you so much. I worked really hard on it and I was in a place where I just really had to get out all the dark stuff in my brain. Love ya!

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #sanders sides angst #patton sanders #winged virgil #sander sides au #moxiety #heed my warnings

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nottooldforthisship · 6 years

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*CHEF fics*

- Learning to Eat by @mbpgku : Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?! Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY) (38k, M)

- Every Good Boy Deserves Cookies , by @stunning-stylinson : “Y-yeah?” Louis asks breathlessly, “And then?“Harry giggles and moves his bum back to meet Louis. “Add the vanilla and crack the eggs, beating it all in with salt,” Harry says.Or where Harry is a chef who teaches a class and Louis swears it’s only Harry’s bossiness that turns him on, not the recipe for cookies and Harry likes being praised. (8.5k, E)

- Feels Like Coming Home , by @phd-mama: The last thing Harry Styles expects when he’s hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that’s exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn’t heard one word from Louis, and he’s moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he’s a chef, isn’t easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he’d left turn out to be not so easily forgotten. This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives. (60k, E)

- Before We Evaporate , by crimsontheory : Louis Tomlinson; executive chef and owner of his own five star restaurant, been voted one of the top chefs in London, and has won several awards for his work in the kitchen. He’s always dreamed of being on Chopped, but never believed it would actually happen. Until it does. Now that he’s officially made it onto the show, there’s one tall, curly haired distraction that might just ruin everything for him.Or the kinda sorta enemies to lovers Chopped AU with far more smut than necessary. (37k, E)

- Fool's Gold , by @freetheankles : Or the Arnacoeur AU in which Harry is scheduled to be married to Liam in 10 days and Harry’s mother hires Louis and his team to break them up. (55k, E)

- Check Please by zedi : Louis has a shit date. Harry offers to cover the bill. They maybe fall in love. (2k, NR)

*BAKER fics*

- Relief next to me , by @haydolce : AU. What happens when a baker and a graphic designer meet via a very specific Craigslist post? Fate, friendship, food, and maybe more. (333k, E)

- leave it to the breeze , by @hattalove : or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people’s business. also featuring liam as louis’s best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur. (81k, E)

- shine by @lourrynavy ; Louis is an actor who needs to get away from the real world. He does the only thing that he can and runs away, finding himself in a small town where he happens upon Harry. What Louis doesn’t expect is to somehow fall in love and end up having to face what he was running from all along. (40k, M)

- Tis the Season for…Love? , by @afangirlfantasy: Prompt: Harry seems to have it all: A successful career as a pastry chef, a Victorian home in London, and a dedicated boyfriend who he's been with for years. One day he stops by his boyfriend's apartment to surprise him and finds out that he's not so dedicated to Harry after all. Shocked and too depressed to celebrate, he decides to skip Christmas and on a whim leaves on a plane to New York. In New York he meets Louis… Or...Louis might just be what Harry's needed all along. (27k, M)

- Flour and Chocolate by teaandtumblr : Then he approached the display cabinet. And the foreboding slammed into him. Because every product had letters next to it. Letters. GF, DF, V, O, VGN. What. The. Fuck? Lifting his eyes to the chalkboard menu spread across the back wall Louis felt physically ill. ‘Gluten-free’, ‘organic’, ‘vegan’, ‘paleo’, ‘dair-…’ Wait, what the fuck was a paleo? He had entered some hipster-trash establishment and it was more than time to get out. OR Louis is a single dad and Harry works at the newly opened bakery down the street.(145k, M)

- Float Down Like Autumn Leaves (Stay Now) , by @getmesometacos : The AU in which Louis has a 6 year old daughter with a costume emergency that puts her school’s annual Halloween party at risk, Halloween decorated cupcakes are hard to find and tall men look absolutely ridiculously cute in giant vegetables costumes. Co-starring Harry, who makes really good food for the kids. Featuring Niall, who works in a bakery but has a part time job as a babysitter. And as much as he doesn’t believe in love at first (or second) sight, Louis is really infatuated and really wouldn’t mind seeing Harry again.(16k, M)

- we’re still going, eight in the morning , by @nooelgallagher and @yoursongonmyheart : Harry washes his hands quickly before grabbing his phone. His screen lights up to 3 notifications.DJTommo is now following you!@DJTommo mentioned you in a tweet!Direct Message from @DJTommo!Harry yelps, throwing his phone to Niall who just barely catches it.Niall looks down at the phone, seeing first the tweet, then the DM. He tosses the phone back to Harry, who nearly drops it. “What are ya doing, mate! Answer him!”Harry thinks for a moment about what he wants to say. This is his chance to actually talk to Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson messaged him directly. He can say anything he wants. He begins typing, his fingers shaky.Niall comes over to stand next to Harry and peers down, looking to see what he wrote. When he does, he lets out a groan….Or, the one where Harry owns a bakery, Louis is a radio DJ, and Niall and Liam roll their eyes at their incessant flirting. (31k, E)

- taste on my tongue , by @bethaboolou : Louis Tomlinson, second place winner on TXF four years ago, is looking to reinvent his career. Harry Styles is a baker who is desperate for a bakery of his own.Louis doesn’t bake. Or cook. Or know how to use an oven.Take Louis. Take Harry. Add in a heaping cup of sexual tension. Another cup of delicious (and not so delicious) food. A smidgen of competitive spirit. A dash of hopes and dreams. And you get Kitchen Wars, a TV show that promises to be the must-watch event of the fall. (77k, E)

- come away with me , by @suspendrs: Or, Louis has to pick up the pieces of his and his daughter’s life after his wife dies, and Harry is a beautiful stranger that just wants to help. (80k, NR)

- Whether Clouds or Clear Skies , by @onewasturning : “You, young Harold, are a baker among curry houses and vintage clothing stores,” Louis says, and it forces a bark of surprised laughter out of Harry. “I’m a— sorry, what?” “Harry,” Louis says, “last night I had an experience bordering on profound.” “You’re making it sound like you did something sexual with my muffin,” Harry says. Or, Louis gets into the habit of stealing baked goods while Harry’s busy keeping tabs on the weather. (25k, E)

- Every Story Ever Told , by @all-these-larrythings : Becoming a best-selling author isn’t as difficult as Louis would have guessed. It seems all you need these days is the perfect blend of alcohol induced philosophy, complete disregard for one’s dignity, a live blog about how fucked love is, and a bored publisher interested enough to offer him a deal. (54k, NR)

- Skin New, Hands True, My Hands All Over You , by PearlyDewdrops : Harry designs wedding cakes, so of course meeting blissfully happy couples every day is part of his job description. Unfortunately, it’s caused Harry to perpetually hope each new day is the one he’ll find love, too. That is, until Harry realises everything he’s ever wanted is right under his nose in the shape of his best friend, Louis. But predictably, Harry only comes to this epiphany when Louis starts seeing someone else. And this is not a John Hughes movie as far as Harry is aware. Everyone else is pretty sure, though. Featuring a heavy dose of pining, copious amounts of alcohol, drunk dialing that results in a situation reminiscent of Rachel Green’s, a ginger cat that likes to interrupt intimate moments, and a Halloween party that changes everything. (44k, E)

* RESTAURANT OWNER fics*

- all the lights are full of colour, by @infinitelymint : So, fast-forwarding eight years from the day Harry met Louis, he is now a twenty-seven year old owner of one of the most up-and-coming eating establishments on the London restaurant scene, father of two wonderful boys and… separated from his husband. Now, that last part definitely was never a part of the original plan. Or, Harry and Louis are separated, but for the sake of their two sons, they choose to spend Christmas together. It may just lead to a Christmas miracle. (26k, E)

- You'll Hear Me Calling for You , by pinky_heaven19 : OR the one where Harry is an Alpha and Louis has a problem with it - until he doesn't. (42k, E)

- Let's Go Get Away , by @letsjustsee : Or, a fluffy AU in which Louis owns a restaurant that's next door to Harry's shop, and Louis is completely unaware how smitten he really is. (7k, NR)

* FOOD BLOGGING fics*

- 'Til I Tasted You , by @icanhazzalou : Louis is Harry Styles' biggest fan. It doesn't matter that Harry is famous for being a food blogger and Louis can't cook to save his life.At least, until Harry offers to give Louis a cooking lesson. Then it matters just a teensy bit. (14k, E)

#mine #fic rec #my fic rec #I probably missed a lot of them #in the chef part #anyway #here you go anon :)

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writingkeepsmewhole · 6 years

Text

What Would You Fight For?

This is part 5 to Feel Like Talking. Sorry I haven’t updated in forever I’m gonna try be good okay? I hope y'all like it at least let me know what you think please and thank you.

Leach wakes up at Negan’s them talking about the stuff the really matters.

AU Negan x OC Leah

Warnings: Negan’s potty mouth and I think that’s it

Let me know if you wanna be tagged.

Part 1 Part 4

I woke up the next morning the sound of pans clanging an the smell of bacon filling my nose.

I sat up remembering that I fell asleep on Negan yesterday.

"Good morning." he calls from the kitchen.

I look at him feeling completely awake.

"Morning." I say moving to tuck my legs under me.

"You sleep well?" he says getting a mug out of the cabinet over the coffee pot.

"Yeah better than I have in a while."

"Good. You still like coffee right?"

"Of course." I say smiling watching him move around cooking.

He was dressed in sweats. Them sitting low on his frame letting me see the V in his hips. He was shirtless showing me the tattoos littered over his body.

I couldn't help but think of the first time he made me breakfast. It the morning after the first night we spent together.

It's been a month since my kiss with Negan. Everything was different but not at the same time. He acted like nothing happened expect not being alone with me.

I tired to talk to him at my pappy's farm at school even in town but he greeted me as if nothing changed then would leave.

I felt like I was going crazy. I was used to the boys at school but Negan was another ball game.

Fall was coming in fast and it was our schools last football game was tonight and I new Negan would be there. Even more so he wouldn't leave given the fact he was the coach.

I went with Tommy him being on the team I was expected to sit in the front row which I happily did.

I sat through the whole game trying to catch Negan's eye.

I wasn't desperate but I needed answers. How do you just kiss someone and act like it didn't. But every time he looked at me he would quickly look away.

It wasn't until my sister elbowed me and pointed out that he kept looking at me did I realize that he kept doing it.

He was trying to catch my eye as well.

At half time when he slipped into the school I quickly followed him telling my sister I had to use the bathroom.

I didn't think anything of it as I went to Negan's office next to the gym.

Knocking I planned on waiting here for him but when the door opens I feel my hands start to sweat seeing him standing there.

"I thought you would follow me." he says smoothly.

"You did?"

"Yeah I mean you were drilling a damn hole in my head out there."

“Sorry I want to talk to you.”

“Well it’s gonna have to wait till after the game. Think you can wait that long?”

I bite my lip wanted to say no but I give a kert nod and spin on my heel to start walking down the hall.

I sit threw the rest of the game nerves with what I’m going to say to Negan. When our team gets the last touchdown winning the game I easily slip thru the crowd.

I plan on walking back to Negan’s office but Tommy stops me.

“Hey where are you going?” He asks smiling at me.

“I-.”

“There is gonna be an after party at Jake's you are coming right.” He says not giving me a chance to respond.

“I don’t think I’m the party type.”

“Come one we won’t stay that long.” He says slipping his hand into mine and pulling me with him towards his friends.

“Jake I can’t.”

“You got somewhere better to be?” Jake says just reaching the group of teens.

“I needed to talk to Negan.”

“Negan since when are you on a first name basis with coach?” Jake asks smirking.

He was a jerk because he felt like he needed to be.

“He works for my family from time to time.” I say shrugging trying not to get worked up.

“Maybe she has the hots for him.” Sherel says giggling.

I clenched my fist my stomach flipping with nerves since I did in fact have the hots for him but they didn’t need to know that.

“Like I said I’m not a party person.” I say pulling my hand from Tommy’s and taking a step back.

“You came here with me how are you gonna get home?” He asks clenching his jaw clearly not happy about me leaving.

“I’ll walk.” I say taking a few more steps backward then turning to walk off the field.

I headed towards the parking lot happy shoats and laughs dancing in the air but I didn’t feel that way. I was cold and stressed out. Sherel's comment only adding to the pile.

I guess it wasn’t normal to like someone twice your age even more so if he was your teacher. It’s not like Negan liked me back. But then again why did he kiss me.

I jump when a car horn toots next to me while I walk down the sidewalk. I easily recognize Negan’s truck so I don’t stop to think before I climb in.

I let out a huff when I get in looking over to see him looking at me.

“What?” I ask feeling like I’m about to get lecurad.

“I knew you didn’t care about what others thought but standing up two people in one night is a little cold.” He says driving once again.

“What are you talking about?”

“You come here with Tommy and don’t go to the after party then on top of that you ask to speak with me but don’t show up. It wasn’t until Tommy comes to my office asking for fucking advice did I even know you left.”

“Sorry I was gonna come but I got side tracked and what did Tommy want?”

“You dumped him in front of his friend what the hell do you think he fucking wanted?”

“I didn’t dump him we were never together. I don’t even like him.”

“Then why come to the game?”

“Why do you think?”

“Oh not to see little old me?” He asks smirking.

“I needed to talk to you yes.” I say blushing looking out the window as we roll down the street.

“What about?”

“Guess.”

“Because I kissed you?”

“Yes because you kissed me!” I say turning to look at him.

“You act like nothing happened.”

“Nothing did. We kissed doll.”

Sighing I feel a lump in my throat but try not to think about it. Not wanting to admit Negan had that much of an affect on me.

“I’m sorry Leah, but I’m old enough to be your daddy.”

“So? I’m eighteen you know. Not that it matters you most likely see me as a child.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” He says pulling into an ally way.

“What are you doing?” I ask looking at him.

“Your fathers radio station is just a block from here. I figured I could walk you too it.”

“Oh…”

“You don’t want me to?”

“I just wish we could talk like we used to.” I say shrugging and grabbing the handle.

I don’t get to open it Negan’s hand grabbing my other wrist.

“Then lets fucking talk.”

He cuts the car off and turns to look at me making my cheeks heat up.

“What cat got your tongue?”

“No, I didn’t make it this far in my planing.”

Chuckling he rubs his face.

“You had a plan?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

“To talk to you.”

“About the kiss?”

“Yes.”

“Because you want to do it again?”

I blush my palms getting sweaty I nod seeing no point in lying about it.

“Come on let's go inside.” He says pulling the keys from the ignition.

“Inside?”

He smiles and points at the steps on the side of the brick building.

“That’s my place you are welcome to come in or I can take you to your dad.”

“Lets go inside.”

“Cat got your fucking tongue?” Negan says pulling me from my thoughts.

“Sorry what?” I ask watching him walk to me holding two plates.

“I asked if you liked the coffee.”

Lifting it to my mouth I take a sip and nod.

“You remembered.”

“Well half coffee half hot chocolates kinda hard to forget.” He says smiling and handing me a plate of bacon, eggs and toast.

“I guess so.”

“So what were you thinking about?”

“You. Us? Memories, ya know.”

“Come now doll share with the group.”

Smiling I take bites of my toast.

“You remember after the game when you gave me a ride but I ended up staying here for the first time?”

“Yeah, we fucking talked all night.”

“Did you expect more?”

“I wouldn’t say more. I didn’t expect sex but the way you were I was surprised you didn’t try for more.”

Shaking my head I smile.

“I just wanted to be around you. I know that seems mushy but I was so confused by you back then I wanted to understand you.”

“There ain't much to fucking understand. I’m not that interesting.”

“Yeah right. What did your time away make you less cocky?”

Chuckling he makes his dimples show him reaching over to take my bacon which I didn’t mind.

“I wouldn’t say that but we both know I would be lying.”

Smilin I nod my head.

“At least your honest.”

“Gotta have something going for me.”

“True.”

Our conversation was interrupted by my phone ringing.

It took me a moment to find it buried in the couch but when I did I saw it was my sister calling.

“Where are you?” She asks before I even get a greeting out.

“Relax i’m fine.”

“Fine? Your not fine you didn’t come home last night you never do that.”

“Wow way to make me sound boring.”

“You know what I mean tell me what happened.”

Rolling my eyes I hold my finger up to Negan asking for a minuet and getting off the couch.

I barely think about my feet heading to the steps leading up to the roof.

“I’m at Negan’s.” I say once I stepped out on the flat rooftop.

“At Negan’s? I thought you were not talking to him?”

“I never said that.”

“Well it was implied. What are you doing there wait did you sleep there last night?”

Smiling at the excitement in her voice just from her thinking something happened.

“Yes and before you ask no I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Fine don’t tell me.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Sure, anyways not the point. Everyone is looking for you but if you are fine I guess I can tell everyone-.”

“Don’t tell them where I am.” I say interrupting her.

Leaning on the wall I overlook the view and town below.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need them to know.”

“Are you and Negan secretly together?”

“No.” I say swearing I had the same conversation with her years ago.

“Then why can’t I tell?”

“Because I need to figure out what I’m doing okay?”

“Your no fun but fine. Call me when you are on your way home.”

“Yes mom.”

“Haha bye.”

“Love ya.” I say hanging up and dropping my head down.

“Bad news?” Negan asks from behind me.

I look over my shoulder at him, him leaning on the door frame.

“Nah, just my sister being her crazy self.”

“Well at least she hasn’t changed.”

“What’s that mean?”

Pushing himself off the wall he walks over to me only to lean next to me.

“We both fucking changed.”

“Everyone changes.”

“Do that? Everyone seems pretty much the same to me expect you.” He says looking at me his hazel eyes meeting mine.

I shrug and look away from his gaze.

“We both know it’s fucking true darling.”

“You left. Everyone moved on and I still feel like I’m in the same spot.” I say not seeing the point in hiding it.

“Everyday is the same and the drives me crazy but everytime I think about something new I freeze up. I like my bubble.”

“Damn that don’t sound like the Leah I know at fucking all.”

“Because it’s not… Half the time I don’t know who I am. Mom blames it on the lost of the baby and that’s part of it but I think the other part is you. I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t realize you were gone until you left. I hate myself for that.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that doll.”

“Why?” I ask looking up at him.

“I pushed you away. I don’t even know why anyone. I think now it was because I loved you and didn’t want to lose you even though that is pretty messed up.”

“A lot of heartache is because of me.”

“That’s bullshit.” He says shocking me my head snapping to look at him.

“The only person that has ever truly cared about me has been you. I used to hate when you would bitch at me over something till I realized you did it for my own damn good. You may be the only good thing I've done with my life.”

“Really? Losing your job over me was a good thing?”

“Fuck yeah! I got closer to my dad because of it. Saw my mom more, saw you more. It made me see the important things in life. Not whatever the hell people think it is.”

“So you got it all figured out huh?”

“Nah any prick says that has their own head shoved up their own ass I just know what I’ll fight for.”

“I wish I did.”

“Have you bother to fucking ask?”

“Ask what?”

“What would you fight for? If you could only keep one thing, your car, the shop, friends, money, family, what would it be?”

“You.” I say supiring us both my the answer.

“Damn didn’t fucking expect that.”

“Why not?”

“Like you said I left.”

“You always come back.”

“Well I miss ya.” He says winking.

Smiling I nod.

“I missed you too.”

We let the silence fall around us until I decided I should leave. We both had our own lives to get to but it felt different maybe because I knew what I wanted to fight for..

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ideas-for-you-to-adopt · 6 years

Text

Of Masks and Hatred pt. 5

A/N: Hey guys. I have a confession to make. Despite writing a Riverdale fanfiction, I have never seen an entire episode of the show so please forgive me if the details aren’t really that accurate. Also, this is the longest part I’ve ever written for a story. Ever. I didn’t even notice it had already gotten so long. I had so much fun writing this so I hope you like this one. Enjoy Word count: 3.3k

You can hear whispers and feel stares as you walk away from Weatherbee’s office, not that you can blame them. You’ve been away for a whole week after the scene with Veronica and you come back showing up with a cast on your right hand. They look away and scramble faster than you can think once they see you looking back at them. You internally sigh as you make your way to your locker. You hear loud masculine voices as you drop your stuff and make sense of your schedule. Closing your locker, you’re met with a trio of grinning jocks, looking at you like Christmas just came early. You narrow your eyes at them which didn’t seem to help and just made their grins wider. On the corner of your eye, you see Toni and her friends who you remember Cheryl called Sweet Pea and Fangs, seem to tense while watching. “What are you three imbeciles smiling about?” You notice the middle one glancing at your cast smirking before taking a step forward making you frown. You then notice how quiet the hallway seems to be. You see Toni and her friends being held up by a familiar guy in a beanie. “Seems like little Y/N/N got herself in trouble.” “You’ll be the one in trouble if you don’t stop using that ridiculous nickname on me, Reg-reg.” The two jocks flanking him tries to keep their snickers in but failing. “Oi! That is so not cool!” Reggie crosses his arms while narrowing his eyes on you. The action causes you to smirk. “I see you’re still a big baby, Reg-reg. And seriously, it fits you. You were never cool to begin with.” The two jocks can’t help but guffaw in laughter as Reggie began to stomp. “Damn it, Y/N. You’re still as annoying as ever,” Reggie resigns and raises his hands in defeat before looking at you, face softening. “It’s great to have you back, Y/N/N.” “It’s good to be back,” you turn your gaze to the two other jocks. “Chuck, Moose, you’ve grown!” “Hey, Y/N. It’s been a while. We wanted to say hi to you last week but you weren’t around,” Chuck says while he pats your head. “I remember you used to be taller than us.” You groan as you swat his hand away. “I can still kick your arse.” “Now you got the cool accent too,” Moose chuckles. “We thought you weren’t coming back. I never had the chance to thank you for the bike you got me before you left.” You sigh before lightly punching his stomach, something you used to do to them when you were kids. You may not be as friendly as your twin but you still made friends when you were kids. Instead of playing with barbie dolls like your twin, you’d rather sit on a park bench and read. That was until you met the boys when you were nine after you threw the football that landed on your foot back to Reggie’s face. At first you apologized but he thought you were cool for a girl and so he introduced you to his friends. “You boys aren’t giving Y/N here trouble, are you?” You hear a feminine soft voice ask. Reggie takes the new comer into his arm. “Well, well. Look at that. Reg-reg found himself a girlfriend,” you and the boys snicker as Reggie blushes. Josie looks at you all in amusement. “No need to worry, Josie. I can keep these boys in line.” “Glad to hear that. Reggie alone is hard to look after,” she grins as Reggie looks at her with a pout to which she kisses his cheek. “Okay lovebirds, that’s enough. We’ll see you later Y/N.” Chuck leads them away before you hear your name being called. Turning around you see Cheryl striding towards you confidently being followed by Toni and the three boys. She kisses your cheek before glancing at your cast. “You did not drive that death trap you call Midnight to school, did you?” “No. I drove the Bugatti.” Instead of appeasing her as you expected, Cheryl looks at you as if you’re the biggest idiot she has ever seen and considering her rant about Riverdale High being filled with brainless imbeciles, that’s quite a feat. “On one hand?” You nod meekly as she huffs. On your peripheral vision, you take in everyone looking at you two either in amusement or confusion. “Y/F/N. Y/M/N, Y/L/N!!! With a Superior IQ of 127, please explain to me what on this trashy hideous giant piece of terrestrial plane we call Earth made you think that it is perfectly alright to drive a freaking Bugatti with only one perfectly functioning hand?” You take a step back before sending a pleading look towards Toni who winces at you shaking her head. You rub your nape with your hand and smiles sheepishly at Cheryl before taking a deep breath and giving her a soft smile. The smile you only give to her and Elena when you were kids. “I’m fine, Cher. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll hire a chauffeur to drive me around.” She softens her gaze at you and in that moment you know you’ve won. “Fine. You better make sure you already have one by tomorrow. I’ll be driving you home later after we go to Pop’s.” Toni clears her throat making Cheryl jump a bit. By the surprised look on the redhead’s face, she must’ve thought they left you alone by now. “We have cheer practice later, Cheryl.” Cheryl sighs before turning to you. “Mind waiting for me? We can get milkshakes after practice. Then we’ll stop by Thistle House so I can get some things then we’ll have a sleepover. Since y'know… you’ve been gone for a week.” You notice Sweet Pea and Toni exchanging a weird look making you furrow your eyebrows. “Oh these are Sweet Pea and Fangs,” Cheryl points to the two before landing her eyes on Jughead. “And the hobo-looking one is Jughead.” Your eyes take in Jughead’s appearance, a spark of recognition finally hits you after staring at his beanie for a bit longer. “Forsy? Forsy Jo?” He groans then rolls his eyes. “Ry-ry,” he says with a straight face making you cringe. “Okay, ‘Jughead’,” you use your good hand’s index and middle fingers to make quotation air marks. “Let’s drop the childhood nicknames. You’re still scrawny.” The Serpent boys doesn’t even try to hide their snickers as Toni looks at Jughead with a smirk while Cheryl is just plain bored. “Now if you’re done with your reunion. It’s about time we get to class,” her red manicured thumb and index finger meticulously picks up your sched. “Why do you have basic introductory subjects? Algebra, Biology, English I, et cetera.” “Grandpa made me take all the advanced ones at London. So I’m already done with calculus and whatnots. I asked Weatherbee if I could have as many classes crammed on the first two days. I’m taking extra classes online.” “This, my dear, is the reason why you need a social life,” Cheryl rolls her eyes. “C'mon, Toni. Let’s head to class.” She quickly slips her hand to hold Toni’s as they both confidently stride through the hallways. “So you’re the owner of the Ducati?” The guy called Fangs asks. “I told you it was a Harley,” Sweet Pea retorts before you can even answer. “It’s a Ducati,” Fangs rolls his eyes dramatically as he crosses his arms. “It’s a Harley,” Sweet Pea. “Why don’t you let the owner speak?” Jughead grumbles. The two serpents quickly turn their attention to you looking at you in anticipation. “It’s actually both. I like the Ducati design and Harley’s motors so I figured I’d cross it,” you shrug as you make your way to your class. The boys following you like some puppies. “You made a hybrid…"Fangs looks at you with a dazed expression,“out of a Ducati and a Harley?” “Yes, it was hard at first. Trying to work on making them compatible but it did work so….” you try to explain nonchalantly even if you’re geeking out inside. You’ve always been in love with motorcycles. The thrill of it really. And knowing people are enthusiastic about it as much as you are makes you quite excited. “We should race,” Sweet Pea decides. “Once your hand heals.” You don’t even think about it before you answer. “Yes, sure. I’d like that. I miss racing. You better prepare though. I haven’t lost a race yet.” “Don’t cry once you do then,” Sweet Pea smirks. “Seriously, you two?” Jughead rolls his eyes. “Y/N, you know Cheryl’s gonna kill you once she finds out, right? And Sweet Pea, did you really have to? She hasn’t even healed yet!” “Good thing she’s not going to know, right Jughead?” You look at him with a mischievous smirk. “I’ll see you boys later. This is my stop.” You quickly took off even before Jughead can retort.

Time seems to pass slowly as classes commence. Betty and Jughead make their way to the cafeteria when Archie rushes towards them and leads them to an empty classroom. “What the hell are we doing here?” “We’re waiting for Veronica. Oh, here she comes,” Archie responds as Veronica hurriedly rushes in. “God, this is a nightmare,” Veronica grumbles as she approaches the trio. “Okay, what’s this about V?” Betty exchanges a look with Jughead. Veronica slips her hand into her bag and takes out a cellphone placing it on top of a table. “What are you doing with Cheryl’s phone? I heard she lost it last week,” Jughead eyes the phone with trepidation then turns his glance on Veronica. “Eversince what happened last week, people would glare at me, talk behind my back or outright ignore me. It’s like Ethel giving out those flyers over again but worse,” Veronica huffs. “And what does that have to do with Cheryl’s phone?” “Jughead, people say that Y/N’s bestfriends with Cheryl and Cheryl’s not exactly the best person out there. For all we know they could’ve been planning something behind my back.” “What exactly do you have in mind, V?” “Well, Betty, now that you’ve mentioned it….."Veronica trails off as she looks at Betty with a hopeful look. "V, no! I’m not doing it!” Betty moves a step back and bites her lip “Betty, look, I know this sounds bad but there is absolutely no way that Y/N won’t do anything about me. You’ve seen how she reacted last week. And have you seen her hand? It’s on a cast! And there are rumors that she went to Greendale. She must’ve done something there! She left the first day of school instead of staying until the weekend. It must’ve been something important. Or dangerous. Or… or whatever. Something she couldn’t do here because my mom is mayor here in Riverdale? Something that can possibly be a danger to me… to my family.” “Veronica, aren’t you getting a bit paranoid?” Jughead carefully questions her “No, Jughead. Don’t you get it?I need to know what possible things she’s hidden. Any possible weakness. Anything I can use to strike against her before she strikes first. I need to know how to defend myself from her and the Rileys,” Veronica all but screams. “V, I think Jughead’s right. You need to relax,” Betty tells her bestfriend. Before Veronica can answer, a loud thud hits the door causing them to spread apart and grow silent. Trying to hear what could’ve possibly made the noise, an influx of students pass by. Veronicagoes and locks the door.“I must’ve not locked it properly.” Betty and Jughead exchange a look before Jughead sighs. “Whatever it is you’re planning, count me out,” he heaves out making everyone look at him. “It doesn’t seem like a good idea to me. Plus that’s invasion of privacy. And it’s not even Y/N’s privacy.” “Jug, we’ve literally done this before,” Archie reasons out. “It’s different. We were after murderers then. Looking for clues, solving mysteries. But this,” Jughead motions to Cheryl’s phone. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.” Betty looks at Archie who moves closer to a distraught Veronica. She can see the dark circles underneath the other girl’s eyes and takes careful note of how exhausted the raven-haired girl looks. “I’m sorry, V, but Jughead does have a point. This is too far.” She reaches for Jughead’s hand and intertwines their fingers before leaving the room. “What are we going to do now, Arch?” Veronica clings to the gingerhead boy. “I don’t know, Ronnie,” Archie answers as he kisses the top of her head. His eyes landed on the phone on the table. “I don’t know.”

The remaining hours of the day seem to trickle down slower than usual. When the final bell rings, Archie makes a beeline for Jughead. “Archie, you can’t make me do something we’re not sure what the consequences will be without enough evidence. Have you really seen Veronica lately? Like really seen her?” “She’s exhausted, Jughead. She broke down earlier when you and Betty left.” “And what’s the cause? Paranoia. Why? Because she’s afraid. Again, why? Because she’s guilty.” “Jughead….” “Archie, I’m not saying that she’s a bad person because we can clearly see how she’s been trying to atone for all her and her family’s mistakes. I’m not judging her. I’m only stating the facts. Anyway, have you at least persuaded Ronnie to get rid of the phone?” As they reach the music room and before Archie can respond to what Jughead said, the sound of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata reached their ears. Due to curiosity, the two entered the room only to see you playing the piano. Your uninjured hand pressing on the keys as the other rests on the side, eyes closed as if feeling every note of the melody. Gently but surely, your fingers hit each note, your head lightly swaying to the beat. They watch you until you finally stopped. “Piano Sonata no. 14 in C# minor, op. 27 no. 2 or more popularly known as Beethoven’s The Moonlight Sonata. Shame I can’t play it with both hands but this have to do for now,” you turn your attention to them as you began playing, albeit more softly than earlier. You gave each of them a nod. “Archie, Jughead, it’s been a while since the three of us had time together.” “Yeah, things have… changed… a lot… since the last time,"Jughead tilts his head, trying to study you. His eyes landing on the cast wrapping your injured hand. How you can still play well with only one hand is a mystery to him "Ahhh… changes,” the corner of your lips upturns a bit. “It’s inevitable, and yet…."you press unto the keys faster and firmer. Your face seemingly morphing in a daze as you play. "Did you two know that the Moonlight Sonata has three parts? Most people don’t. They only seem to remember the first one. I can’t blame them. The first one’s melody is relaxing. Peaceful. Hypnotic even.” “Y/N—"Archie tries to speak but you cut him off. "The second movement sounds like a walk in the park if I think about it. A bit energetic. Quite the change after the first movement, but not unwelcome.” “Y/N. I need to speak to you about Veronica.” The moment you heard her name, you press the wrong key making it offtune. “Please, Y/N. Hear me out,” Archie takes a stool and places it in front of you. “I’m sorry about Elena but you can’t put all the blame on Veronica.” You stare at the piano keys blankly before slowly settling your eyes on the boy in front of you. You also feel Jughead moving closer to you. “Tell me, Archie. Who am I going to blame then?” “No one!” For a while you kept your gaze locked on his face. But then you turn your attention back to the piano, this time your injured hand hitting the keys on certain parts. “The third movement–fast, and ROUGH. A seemingly inappropriate change to accompany the first movement. It seems wild. It seems clamorous. A chaotic melody.” You turn to Archie whose face has become pale. You grit your teeth as you slam your uninjured hand on the keys creating off-key tones instead of music. You feel Jughead’s hand on your shoulder. “Enough, Y/N.” You stop completely out of breath clenching your free hand. You try to regulate your breathing. Closing your eyes, you will yourself to calm down before opening them again and fixing your stare into Archie’s own eyes. Your eyes soften at the sight of him. You suddenly remember all those memories you once shared with him when you were children. You were saddened by the memories of how you used to be friends. You, him, and Jughead. And even Betty on occasion. “You’re comparable to the Moonlight Sonata, Andrews. You’ve changed. But unlike the sonata, yours is a melody I do not recognize anymore.” Jughead squeezes your shoulder causing you to look away from Archie. “Arch, you should leave. I’ll just see you later.” He immediately rushes out of the room. “You okay,Y/N/N?” He takes the seat Archie vacated. You nod as you ran your fingers through your hair. “Archie’s…. just worried about Veronica. I don’t know if Cheryl told you but he’s her boyfriend.” “She did tell me. And you’re Betty’s,” you smirk at him. “Betty’s a good catch. I approve.” “Yeah, she’s great.” “Okay loverboy. Don’t gush over her now. God, I remember having a crush on her,” you casually say taking in his stunned expression. “W-wait. What?” Jughead stutters. “You heard it right. I did have a crush on Betty. I came into terms with my sexuality two years ago,” you shrug. “So you’re what now?” “Human, of course,” you chuckle making him scowl. “A (Y/S) to be specific.” “Whoa. That’s cool. I mean, you being open about it,” he stammers. Your phone rings causing for you to take your attention from him. “I have to go. Cher’s been waiting for me at Pop’s... strange. I thought she has practice,” you tell him as you stand up. You give him a nod before getting your things and walking out. Jughead makes his way to the Blue and Gold.

After closing the room, Jughead sees Betty at the student lounge. “Hey.” “Hi,” Betty kisses his cheek as he sits down. “Cheryl’s a nightmare today. She and Toni made a new routine and my back’s killing me.” Betty feels Jughead tense. “What time did your practice end? Was Cheryl with you all throughout?” “It just ended a while ago. And yes, Cheryl’s been teaching us all throughout. I think she’s still in the locker room.” Jughead quickly stands up and breaks into a sprint causing Betty to run after him. “Wait, Jughead! What’s all this about?” “Y/N. She received a message from Cheryl earlier saying she’s waiting for her at Pop’s!” The door to the locker room slams as Jughead and Betty comes in. “Hobo, if you’re brain hasn’t figured it out yet, this is the vixen’s locker room! Aka sonewhere you shouldn’t be!” Cheryl’s voice can be heard in the four sides of the room. “Did you or did you not send Y/N a message telling her that you’re waiting for her at Pop’s?” Jughead unabashedly asked while the other undressed girls in the locker room tightens their hold on their towels except Josie who scrambled to get her phone after it rang signalling an incoming call. “No, I didn’t. I lost my phone last week. I already have a new one but the only time I’ve seen her after the time she left for Greendale was this morning and I forgot to get her number,” Cheryl crosses her arms. “Now what is this about?” “I was in the music room with her earlier when she received a message from you. You, Cheryl. It says you’re waiting for her at Pop’s but if you had practice with the vixens then that means–"before he can finish, he got interrupted by Josie whose words made all of them turn pale. "Cheryl, Reggie’s on the phone. He says Y/N got into an accident on the way to Pop’s.”

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