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elizadoll · 9 months ago

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A doll who serves, but is never seen.

Charlotte pulled her front door open with an exhausted yawn. It had been yet another long day at work and she was about ready to collapse into bed. The pay was nice at least, and the job itself wasn't too bad, but there was no doubt that the long hours had had an affect on her. She switched on the living room lights and glanced around the place. Much to her chagrin, her home was becoming visibly sloppy. A pile of discarded dishes had accumulated on the coffee table, the shelves had become noticeably dusty, and she couldn't remember the last time she vacuumed. She wanted to clean the place up, but she'd never been an early riser, and her job left her too tired to do much of her chores even during her off time.

It wasn't worth stressing out about it though, not right now at least. Charlotte was far too tired to bother with any housekeeping; what she needed to do was grab a snack then go to bed. And so, she did just that, trudging over to the pantry in a sleepy daze, switching on the overhead light to ponder her selection of food. That was when she noticed that the box of tea biscuits had been raided again. Charlotte breathed an aggravated sigh. She'd had this mouse problem for weeks now but had still not caught sight of any sign of the creature. Why did it only go for the tea biscuits anyway? Maybe the mouse had a particularly sweet tooth or something? Why had it never touched any of her other sweets then? Why was she pondering the eating habits of a mouse?!

Charlotte slammed the pantry doors shut. She was just stressing herself out looking at it. Maybe she could grab something out of the fridge instead. Yawning once more, Charlotte turned to head towards the fridge when she caught sight of something strange out of the corner of her eye. There, on her ding table, one of the teacups that had belonged to Charlotte's late mother sat alone, and next to that, a tea biscuit, bitten in half. Charlotte jumped back with surprise, thinking, just for a moment, that she might have been haunted by her mother's ghost.

But that made no sense. Ghosts weren't real, and they certainly didn't eat biscuits or drink tea, so that couldn't be it. Was somebody else living in her house without her knowing? No, that couldn't be it. The only things that ever went missing in the house was tea and biscuits along with the occasional cup or platter. Unless her unseen housemate was somehow subsisting entirely off of sugar and had the smallest appetite known to man, it couldn't be another person... but come to think of it, that did line up with something she knew. Charlotte had learned growing up that dolls of all things had famously tiny appetites and tended to stick with one or two mainstay food options when possible.

Okay, so it wasn't a mouse at least, but a stray doll really wasn't much better. Charlotte had come from a family with its fair share of witches, and that had proven a problem when it came to light that she had a case of severe pediophobia. Nobody was ever able to figure out why, but the sight of dolls always sent a chill up her spine and made her freeze up stalk still. Of course, Charlotte knew they meant well, she did not fear dolls necessarily, but she could not stand the sight of them. And now she had one living in her house, and somehow not seeing it made her feel even more nervous. The absolute last thing she wanted was to come home from work to see a doll lounging on her couch. She just might throw up at that point. No, she needed to get this doll out of here, preferably soon.

And so, for the rest of the week, Charlotte tried to do just that. Every day she'd come home with a new trap, lure, or repellent, each of which promised guaranteed results for dealing with stray dolls, and each of which proved ineffective. Whatever was living with her, it was good at staying out of sight. By the end of the week, dealing with the doll was practically all she thought about. Several times, she contemplated calling doll control services, but she could never bring herself to do it. She knew what happened in those facilities, and while she didn't want the doll living with her anymore, she didn't want the poor thing disassembled either. It had never been violent or troublesome to her, only stolen her sweets, it didn't deserve to have its core silenced.

Maybe, it occurred to her, she was being a bit selfish. She knew how hard life could be for stray dolls who lost or were abandoned by their wishes. There weren't many people willing to take a stray in, and fewer still who were suitable witches or owners. Really, this doll hadn't been disruptive in the least, compared to what it could be, and now she was setting up traps and attempting to scare it out of her house. The poor thing must've been so lonely and scared, and she was only antagonizing it. No, that wouldn't do.

There could be a better way to do this, there had to be. One day, Charlotte had an idea. She placed a brand new box of tea biscuits on the dining table before she went to work as a peace offering, placing with it a handwritten note. Charlotte told the doll of her phobia, and how desperately she did not want to see the doll around the house, but she also told that it was welcome to stay, so long as it didn't cause trouble. She wouldn't call doll control on it, she wouldn't set anymore traps. She'd provide a box of tea biscuits whenever the doll ran out, and she'd buy extra tea and stop attempting to hide either of them. She encouraged the doll to try and find a witch when it could, but explained that she understood the trouble.

When Charlotte got home at the end of the day, she noticed that the box had gone missing, but her note remained on the table. Charlotte went to grab the note and dispose of it when she noticed that in large, squiggly letters at the bottom of the page, a reply had been written. "OK." With a heavy sigh of relief, Charlotte couldn't help but smile a little. Maybe, she hoped, she could finally get some sleep without worrying about waking up to the sight of a doll.

The next morning, though, something curious happened. When she went downstairs to prepare for work, she noticed the mountain of bowls and cups on her coffee table had disappeared, and that in fact, all of the once dirty dishes now sat in a pristine state, lined up on the shelves exactly where they belonged. Charlotte looked around, finding no sign of the doll, but still decided she needed to express her gratitude somehow. So, when she brewed a fresh pot of tea for herself, she poured an extra cup and set it on the dining table, exactly where she'd put the biscuits the night before.

That evening, she found the cup empty, just as she had expected, but she also found that all of the shelves, once besieged by an army of dust bunnies, were now entirely spotless. "Oh, well, thank you!" Charlotte spoke into her house's empty halls, hoping the doll would hear her words, wherever it was.

Thus it was that things continued. Charlotte would leave in the morning, come back at night, and find that her chores for the day had always miraculously been finished for her. Occasionally, she'd stumble upon an empty box of tea biscuits sitting in the open, and she'd drive down to the supermarket to buy a fresh supply, always of the same brand. The house had once been lonely after Charlotte lost her mother, but now, no matter how long it had been since she had company home, there was always a hint of companionship in the air that lightened Charlotte's heart.

Sometimes, Charlotte and the doll would write notes to one another. Charlotte always ended up rambling in her letters, talking about work and her attempts at a love life, and thanking the doll again and again for its hard work. The doll's replies were always succinct. Simple responses summed up in three words or less, but eventually, they began to be accompanied by drawings. They weren't the highest art, in fact they resembled doodles by a child more than anything, but they still brought a smile to Charlotte's lips nonetheless. The majority of the drawings were of a woman that vaguely resembled Charlotte herself.

One day, out of curiosity, even despite her phobia, Charlotte asked the doll if it could draw itself, to which the doll politely declined. "I don't like being seen." The reply said, the single longest sentence Charlotte had ever received from her companion, clearly something the doll felt strongly about. So, Charlotte asked the doll its name, embarassed she had never learned over the two months they'd lived together. "I don't want one." The doll replied.

Over time, Charlotte began to feel quite attached to the doll, despite never seeing its face. There were days that she considered asking the doll to never leave, but she could never bring herself to do such a thing. A doll deserved a witch, not a silly woman who couldn't bear to so much as glance at a doll without feeling ill. Still, she appreciated the doll's help immensely, and exchanging letters with it was a delight, even if the Doll wasn't very talkative. It was nice.

It was only when that sank in did the day Charlotte had begun to dread came to pass. She came home one evening to a note on a table, a surprise considering she had not written that morning and the doll normally only offered replies. The note read in one single sentence. "I found my witch." Immediately, Charlotte began to cry. While of course she was happy for the doll, and she knew it deserved a happy home, but she still didn't feel like she was ready to say goodbye. She knew it was selfish, the doll deserved better than her, but truly, she couldn't quite help it. Though it had been a few short months, she'd grown accustomed to the doll's presence, and she knew that with it gone, the house would feel lonelier than it ever had before. But it would be okay. The doll would be happy, Charlotte knew that, and that made her happy in return.

One could imagine Charlotte's shock then, when she flipped the note over to be confronted by the sight of the witch the doll had chosen. There, drawn in uneven squiggly lines, was a shape that Charlotte had seen more than a dozen times over by now: herself, as drawn by the doll. Just like that, Charlotte had begun sobbing once again, this time with tears of joy. Never had she imagined that of all people, the doll would choose her to be its witch, but here it was, plain as day. Really, Charlotte still wasn't sure she had it in her, what it took to be a witch. She didn't know the first thing about doll care, and she'd never casted a spell in her life...

But really, the doll never asked for much. Besides tea and biscuits, its only requests were to be unseen, and to not be given a name. Maybe that's really all it wanted. Maybe that's what made it the most happy. It took a while but once Charlotte was through crying, she stood up from the table, and turned to sing through the house a joyful "thank you," hoping, nay, knowing that the doll—her doll—would hear her, wherever it was hiding.

#dollposting #empty spaces

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studentinpursuitofclouds · 2 months ago

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Okay so i had this in my mind, so do you know about moominmamma from moominvalley, just to summarize her shortly, she's described as a calm and comforting caretaker, who has a odd way of doing housekeeping and seems to always be calm, always making the tastiest foods, always carrying around a handbag that seems to have everything, and also knows the slight changes in the moomin house after her hibernation, and also might have been hiding a criminal (Stinky) from the police.

Soo i have a fun idea of the farmer being exactly like moominmamma, they do an odd way on doing anything, giving off strong parental figure vibe, always know whenever someone move or took their stuff, even a little, and maybe even befriending monsters( i can imagine them simply hanging out with Apophis or even having tea with Gabrielle).

How would all of the RSV characters react to a Moominmamma! Listener?

Hell yeah, Moomin mentioned! :D

I really like that idea for Farmer ❤️ Thanks for your ask, dear anon, and enjoy!

_________________________________________

Trinnie and Keahi adore Farmer and will never miss a single opportunity to visit them on the farm. After all, the kind Farmer always treats them to something tasty (Keahi sometimes even thinks that Farmer is a little better cook than his father), always lets them pet the animals, and even ride a horse (not without a protective helmet and supervision from Farmer, of course), and also never refuses the energetic children in advice if they are worried about something. Admittedly, if Farmer gets Keahi and Trinnie up to mischief, it's not without a dose of light scolding (who uses a bomb for a prank?), but on the whole, Farmer is a favourite adult for the kids.

Maddie, Flor, Kiarra and Paula decided to make a little experiment at their leisure in Stardew Valley, and asked Philip to move some things in Farmer's house while Farmer themself was standing with the girls (Farmer allowed it). When he returned to his friends, however, all four girls waited to see what Farmer would say in reply. "Philip moved my coffee mug in the kitchen a little to the left of the sink." The shocked man nodded his head in confirmation. "HOW?!" "It's always like that. Anyway, who wants some berry pie?"

Aguar has an experiment of his own on Farmer as well... Only in this case, it will also involve the dangerous monsters that lurk in the depths of Ridge forest. Why are they aggressive to everyone but Farmer? What kind of aura do they exude that monsters obediently stand near them and willingly accept... cookies in their clawed paws??? He can use their power to his advantage. For the defence of Ridgeside Village, naturally (well, and other purposes...).

Farmer has practically replaced Yuuma's parents while they have to travel for work. The boy was at first uncomfortable with Farmer's care and didn't want to impose on the adult with his chores and thoughts, immersing himself in taking care of his older brother. But it was Farmer's help, kindness and care that allowed Yuuma not only to have free time to be a child, but also to vent his accumulated emotions to someone, about his fears and worries for his brother and how much he missed his mom and dad.

No, Jio doesn't need anything from Farmer. And no, he doesn't need woollen socks, it's not cold in the woods- no, he doesn't need it in any way at all. Elf doesn't need a warm hat either. Why is Farmer chasing him like a protective mama hen? He's an assassin, this is ridiculous- No! For the last time, Jio doesn't need this- !!! Okay, he'll take the plum pudding, it looks delicious. Thanks. And go away.

The kindness and parental care from Farmer is just a breath of fresh air for the Amethyne family, whose members sacrifice almost everything for the legacy of their family name. Louie clung to Farmer like a magnet, wanting to spend more time with them. He even stopped calling them a servant and started working on his behaviour thanks to their advice and help. The advice was especially accepted by Ariah, who was already freaking out due to a nearly failed exam and a lot of pressure. The faithful servants Irene and Sonny themselves were not left out of Farmer's attention, they were even a little unaccustomed to it - usually they take care of family and guests, but here it was somehow the opposite. Zayne is a little shy, but very grateful to Farmer for everything and for always listening to him and helping him in difficult decisions. Maive is just happy with Farmer and appreciates them for everything they have done for her family, sometimes being surprised that Farmer sees only good in her too, even though the head of the Amethyne family herself knows that she can be strict and even unpleasant.

While the grumpy elf is trying his best to hide from Farmer, Daia is taking full advantage of this. Who could say no to a delicious cranberry cheesecake, especially since Farmer makes it just perfect! The ninja has never known family and parental care, having been raised from an early age with only one job - to kill anyone her Lady points her finger at, so Daia doesn't mind feeling cared for, if only for a little while. Though she admits it's a little strange.

"Farmer, we need to have a serious talk." Belinda doesn't even know anymore whether to be angry at the careless Farmer who approached Gabriella's closest minions unarmed, with intentions of "settling the conflict," or surprised at the minions agreeing to peace and having a tea party??? with Farmer. Can damned monsters even drink anything? It's as if Farmer has some sort of aura that makes all evil spirits calm down. At her mute request for help in this strange situation towards Raeriyala, the fox spirit only laughed softly at what was happening. Her deceased friend had been such a caring mother, and it was rather amusing to see Farmer adopt those traits of their grandmother. Maybe it's a hint that the damned souls can still be saved, since they're treating Farmer peacefully at least.

Olga has become resistant to Farmer because they are spoiling her husband Bert (who really doesn't mind a tasty sweets from Farmer) and daughter Trinnie with their maternal care. She is grateful to Farmer for their recipes for culinary masterpieces, sweaters and, though a little strange, very useful advice about the house, but Olga repeats time after time that these two need a stern hand.

Lenny sat on the picnic table with the rest of the adult residents of Ridgeside Village and was dying laughing when she saw Farmer, with arms full of sweaters, almost running after anyone they thought was not dressed appropriately for the cold weather. "Ay, ay, ay, are you jealous because you don't have a sweater either?" slyly quipped Carmen, who however was also amused by the scene. Especially since her daughter Blair was perpetually dressed lightly and had a good chance of catching a cold (despite her mother's scolding), so Farmer, who had persuaded her to wear sweater they had tied, was her salvation. Shanice, Naomi, and Malaya giggled quietly at what was happening while Richard with Pika and Lorenzo explained to a confused Kimpoi that Farmer had always been like this. Even though they all laugh, everyone knows that Farmer is the kindest soul, best friend and just a blessing from Yoba.

On the one hand, Faye is a bit annoyed by Farmer's care and advice, because she can take care of herself, you know (ugh, they are like her parents!). But later the waitress realises that they do it out of kindness, not because they think she is incapable of independent life. Plus she can't turn down Farmer's food (their cauliflower with cheese is delicious!).

"Aw yeah, free lunch!" Ian gave Sean a stern look after his not too polite comment when Farmer's stopped by their workplace with a hot meal for the boys. But the ginger man himself couldn't agree more with his friend: Farmer cooks so gloriously that it's impossible to refuse. They have become a frequent visitor (not even a customer anymore), just to make sure that both Ian and Sean don't forget to eat after their hard work. Ian is especially grateful, as he can save more money for his family.

Anton has already come to terms with his failures in life, believing that the only thing he has left to wish for is to numb the pain with cider and sleep. However, Farmer appeared in Anton's life and became a friend, a counsellor and a shoulder to cry on. And they always have plenty of tissues in their handbag after crying.

After the whole damn thing with that Jio and "Gabriela's followers", Corine is surprised at how calm Farmer acted at the sight of danger. Wait, don't tell her that Farmer didn't take up arms just because they want to be friends with these... creatures and live in peace like in fairytale. With all due respect to her good friend, Corine doesn't think just words will solve anything here... whatever that was.

Alissa and Ysabelle are going to be a little confused. It's not that Farmer's attention and care makes them uncomfortable, not at all. It's just... They're not little kids anymore, and they can take care of themselves. Alissa is a bit shy to say it directly, so as not to hurt Farmer's feelings, while Ysabelle said in plain text that if she needs help, advice or warm socks, she will ask directly. Luckily, Frmer understood both girls perfectly and is in no way offended.

Shiro was so happy when before his eyes Farmer cared for and helped Yuuma, allowing the boy to enjoy at least some free time like a child should. Even chuckled a little when his younger brother was a little shy of care from Farmer. Laughing until Farmer's attention turned to Shiro himself. He was a little shy too, but was grateful for the help and care, occasionally reminding him that he could take care of himself too. Heh, why does he need so many woollen socks?

"Don't you think I'm too old for all this?" Kenneth, June and Jeric in no way meant to insult the Farmer or their gift of a knitted jumper. It's only that such overprotection causes them a little confusion and misunderstanding. All those sweaters and- oh, ok, that cheesecake looks delicious. They'll accept that. Thanks Farmer.

For Lola and Freddie Farmer is the kindest, most polite and calm youth they have ever met. All their deeds, all their concern for the other residents of this town has not escaped the eyes of the retired assassins. And of course, two elderly men will not refuse the knitted socks that Farmer has put their care and love into (especially they are woolen - just the thing against the cold wooden floor in their house!). Lola is a little worried, though, because of Farmer's desire to solve all matters only in peace and even be friends with monsters. She's afraid lest Farmer's get in trouble because of it.

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lomlhwa · 2 years ago

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only your scars (c.bg)

pairing: fiancé!beomgyu x fiancée!reader

preview: beomgyu struggled with self harm for a long time. all of that changed when he met you. he hasn't cut in ages. but now that you want to be intimate, he has to confess about his past.

warnings/tags: fem reader, mentions of self harm, mentions of scars on thighs and wrists, WOLFCUT GYU, scar kissing, praise, lipstick marks, mutual pining, pet names (my love, mommy, momma, my beomie), subby beomgyu oml, so much kissing, hand holding, crying (kinda the sexy kind, kinda not), riding yay, lots of ass grabbing, unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampies

trigger warnings: there's only one brief description of active cutting and that's it. the scars are an active mention though.

wc: 2.0k

song recs for this fic: o sole mio by sf9, blame me by monsta x, she's the one by monsta x, fairy of shampoo by txt

a/n: i didn't plan this but i'm dedicating this to @toxicccred because she's so sweet and i think she deserves some comfort (before anyone attacks me, i struggled with cutting.)

beomgyu has never loved anyone more than he loves you. his love for you is immeasurable. you keep him grounded and make him feel safe just by being in the same room as him. you remind him why he’s still fighting for himself. fighting to keep going.

honestly, beomgyu used to cut himself. wrists, thighs, pretty much any open expanse of skin that he could cover up with clothes and/or jewelry. as much as he hated the sight of blood, and the way the scars changed his skin, he did it all the time. he was ashamed of his coping mechanism but honestly, it worked.

he slowly accumulated a plethora of scars over the years. some faded, some still bright red. whenever there were just too many healed ones, he’d feel the compulsion to make new ones.

but all of that overwhelming negativity came to an abrupt halt the day you confessed to him. the day you told him how your heart decided to perceive him. tears filled his eyes and his lip quivered as you spoke to him.

“i like you, choi beomgyu,” you said. a smile spread across your beautiful face and he could tell that you meant it. you looked deep into his soul that day and found something in him to fall in love with.

“i like you too, y/n y/l/n,” he had responded. you almost didn’t hear him when he told you he reciprocated. his voice was so shaky and he had spoken quietly to try and keep his voice steadier.

once you knew it was mutual, you spent every waking moment together. you went on every date imaginable with beomgyu. you went to dinner, on walks in the park, took vacations together and even just had movie nights at one of your houses.

eventually, beomgyu had enough of having to leave his house to see you. so, the next time you met up, he popped the question. “will you move in with me?”

of course you said yes. the feeling of not wanting to be apart had always been mutual. you hated leaving him alone in his house. you always worried about him. you wanted to constantly check up on him and make sure he was okay.

you didn't know why you worried so much though. at this time, you didn't know about his past cutting habits. he kept that a secret from you in fear that you would find him disgusting or end up dating him just because you pitied him. you had yet to be intimate therefore his secret was kept pretty well.

one time, you almost caught a glimpse of some of his scars. you came home early, unannounced. he wasn't expecting you for at least 2 more hours. but here you were. thank god you called out for him before entering the room. he hadn't been wearing a sweater over his tank top, leaving raised scars exposed. he threw on a hoodie just before you opened your shared bedroom door. he was sure you'd caught a glimpse of his wrist based on your widened eyes. but, to his relief, your eyes were widened because his fast movements had scared you.

after that close call, he made sure to always be wearing enough clothes to hide the scars, even if you weren't home. he didn't know when or if he'd ever be ready to admit his shortcoming to you. he wanted to, but it just felt like your opinion of him would change.

now, 3 years after being together, he popped the real question. the one that he almost thought would turn you away. but, yet again, you proved him wrong.

“will you marry me, y/n?”

with tears filling your eyes, gasps coming from your mouth, you agreed. “oh my god, of course i’ll marry you!” you pressed your lips to his and you swallowed all his sobs. you said yes to marrying him despite the flaws that he still has hidden.

okay, fast forward to now.

you’ve finally confided in him that you want to have sex. you’ve been together for long enough that you feel it’s time. you’ve expressed your concern about why he hasn’t asked you to be intimate earlier.

so, here he is, panicking while waiting for you to get home from work. today is your agreed day to finally sleep together. he’s been counting the seconds ever since the clock hit 6:00pm. you’re due home any moment.

beomgyu has gone through every possible reaction you could have to his skin. disgust, sadness, pity, anger, anything. he doesn’t know if he’s ready for any of your reactions. he doesn't know if he’s ready for any of today’s events.

his panic is interrupted by the jingling of your keys outside the front door. he debates running out the back door and hiding from you. but, it’s too late. you’re here and it’s time.

“hi, my beomie,” you say, your voice sweet and soft. he looks at you with a twinge of fear in his eyes. you place your bag down on the bench by the door and slide your shoes off. you walk over to him and sit next to him on the couch. you take one of his hands into both of yours.

“are you ready?” you ask. you lift his chin with your index finger, forcing him to look at you. his lip quivers and yet he nods his head. he wants this.

“i need to tell you- well show you something first,” he says. he gets up from the couch and pulls you to your shared bedroom. he ushers you to sit down on the foot of the bed. the look in your eyes tells a story of confusion and concern.

he takes a shallow breath before hooking his fingers on the hem of his shirt. “no, wait, gyu, you don’t have to strip yet,” you explain. he shakes his head. he needs to do this and now. before you decide you want to strip him yourself.

he closes his eyes and lifts his shirt over his head and discards it on the floor. he shimmies out of his pants as well, adding them to the small pile of clothes. he keeps his eyes closed as he waits for a sound to come out of you.

when nothing happens, he opens his eyes slowly. he makes eye contact with you and his heart immediately breaks. your eyes are watery, tears already staining your flush cheeks. he already regrets stripping.

“y/n, i-,” you wave him off. you wipe your face and get off the bed. you take his face into your hands and smile softly, wiping his tears with your thumbs. “you’re still beautiful, my love,” you press your lips to his a couple times. you look at him in the eyes as more tears fall.

“please, lay on our bed,” you move out of the way for him to get on. he settles, leaning against the headboard. you sit on his right side, on your knees. you take his right arm into your hand and run your fingers over his scars.

you raise his wrist to your mouth and place a kiss on one of the scars. you scan his face for a reaction but you don’t think he’s registered it yet. so, you kiss another one. and another one. until you’ve trailed all the way up his arm.

you look up at him again and he’s fully blown sobbing. his other hand is covering his mouth as quiet sobs take him over. you continue your process despite his crying.

you lean down and kiss the scars that litter his right thigh. you use your right hand to massage his other thigh. you press kisses to every scar that covers his skin. reddish lipstick marks remain on his pinkish scars.

by the time you’re done with his right side, he’s bordering on inconsolable. he’s making you start crying again. “beomie… are you still sure you want to sleep with me? we can wait for another time,” he shakes his head.

“i want this,” he wipes his face and takes a deep breath. he grabs you by the back of the head and brings your face to his. he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to straddle him. his hands rest on your clothed ass, massaging it.

he tugs at your shirt before disconnecting from your lips for a moment to get it off fully. he traces your hip bones lightly as he kisses you deeper. you grind down on him subconsciously, earning you a soft moan against your mouth.

“my beautiful beomie,” you say as you pull away. you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “can i ride you, my love?” you ask him so tenderly that it almost throws him off. he shakes his head yes. you smile softly and mumble ‘okay.’

you get off of him and pull your pants off. you tug your panties off to follow your pants. your only remaining clothing item is your bra. you crawl onto the bed and hook your fingers on the waistband on beomgyu’s boxers. he nods at you and lifts his hips.

as soon as his boxers are off, he tries to hide himself with his hands. you remove them carefully and go back to straddling him. you reach down to align him with your entrance. you sink down slowly and beomgyu throws his head back.

“ffffuck momma,” he whines. you rest on him for a moment, getting used to his size. his legs shake slightly under you. he’s wanted this for so long and now that it’s happening, he’s full of every emotion in the book.

“i’m gonna move now, beomie,” you tell him. you lift yourself up and down slowly on his length so he gets used to the movements. he bites his lip, almost hard enough to break the skin. his eyes roll so far back into his head that he fears they might get stuck.

you bring his left wrist to your mouth and place kisses on it like you did with his other one. you tongue at the raised marks, the lipstick covering his arm. “why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you finally ask. through shaky breaths, he tries to compose his thoughts.

“i t-thought you’d leave me,” he confesses. “i thought y-you’d find me repulsive,” his voice is weepy and it breaks your heart. you kiss the tears that leave his eyes as you pick up the pace. his hands find your ass again, this time being able to knead the exposed skin.

"i would never," you say, a hint of shock painting your face. how could he think so lowly of you? why would you leave him for something that was entirely a result of him coping? he deserved to be comforted.

"i love you, mommy," he says, his hands gripping your ass tighter as his high creeps up on him. he lifts his back off the headboard to kiss you softly. he plants kisses all over your face and neck.

"i love you too, my beomie," you gasp and whine as he ignites the fire in your core. "please, cum for me, momma," he begs. you nod as he takes over your movements, snapping his hips up to meet yours.

your eyes roll back and your high crashes into you. your hips stutter as beomgyu continues thrusting to meet his high. you whine from overstimulation as he snaps his hips one more time before spilling into you.

you collapse onto him, nuzzling your nose into his neck. you peck his sweaty skin lightly before moving to get off. "no, not yet, wanna stay inside you," he pouts. you could never say no to him. you get comfortable cockwarming him.

"you can stop dressing like it's winter all year round now," you giggle. he shrugs. he's not comfortable in his scars yet, but he's sure he'll get there.

he loves you more than anything.

#lomlhwa #txt #tomorrow x together #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt smut #tomorrow x together smut #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut

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moonlightisdancing · 1 year ago

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The Gallery/ s.f.k

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader

Word Count: 3650

Warnings: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI light arguing, mentions break-up, emotional and physical intimacy, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!)

PLEASE TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!!

playlist of songs inspiring this (x)

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p.s. im sorry for the lack of “black swan” feeling like i lost the plot a little:(

There’s two types of goodbyes. One where you know they’ll come home after a long day and tell you all about it over dinner, and one where you don’t know if or when you’ll see them again. Two weeks ago you fell victim to the second goodbye, except you were lucky enough to know the next time you’d see the “former” love of your life. You still had to pick up some of your belongings from the space you both used to occupy. Although you both claim it was a mutual breakup, it feels very one sided on your end. You couldn’t handle the lack of physical touch while Sam was away for work. He’d been on the road for some time with his brothers doing small gigs across the country while working on some new music. More so, you couldn’t handle the lack of communication while he was gone. You’d worked all day and he worked well into the night, leaving little to no time for the shortest of phone calls. With the band just starting to take off, you couldn’t afford not to work. After a while you found yourself pushing Sam away for reasons unbeknownst to you. Were you trying to be content in the lack of contact? Or were you trying to make the inevitable decision easier? You didn’t know but god did you fucking hate it. All you did know is that you would have given anything in this world to be with Sam while he was away. From the moment he stumbled into your life you were confident he’d be the only one you could entirely and unconditionally love, him being the only one to love you the same. His love was otherworldly, always loving big and often, always loving every aspect of you. If it weren’t for the complex work lives of both, you’d easily spend the rest of your days sharing every intimate detail of your lives together. The fear of holding him back was the only thing to make you pull away.

The pit in your stomach only grows deeper as your feet find their way up the driveway to the door of a home you once called your own. You knock on the door and wait anxiously for Sam to answer. You hear footsteps padding through the hall before hearing the door unlock, watching as it slowly creeps open with Sam’s tall figure peering behind.

“Hey, come in.” He spoke timidly with his voice hoarse from crying, the evidence of emotions solidified by his dark and swollen eyes.

The house was still organized with the exception of a few boxes filled with your belongings strewn about the living room. Sam has always been a very clean and organized person, you were just glad to see he’d been doing okay enough not to allow that aspect of his personality falter.

“I think that’s the rest of it.” He points his finger across several boxes resting in different parts of the room.

“I really appreciate you finishing the packing, thank you.” You walk towards the box next to the coffee table.

You notice on the coffee table still resides a framed picture of your first winter together when Sam had taken you to a Christmas store in Frankenmuth. An aching feeling moves into your chest as you try your best to hold back tears. You ultimately fail when you look around to see he still hasn’t taken down any of the pictures accumulated over the years.

“Sammy, did you want me to take these down for you?” You timidly ask pointing to the photos.

“Nah, I was gonna take them down when I was ready, I guess. The room’s just gonna look really empty without them.” He walks over and lays the picture frame face down on the coffee table before grabbing some boxes.

He helps you bring them outside and load them into your car, you follow him inside to grab what’s left. You pick up the last box, trying to fight the unfamiliar feeling boiling inside. A feeling of emptiness, sadness and guilt washes over you.

“Again, I really appreciate you finishing the packing, this week has been hell.”

“Tell me about it,” He takes the box from your hands and places it on the old piano bench. “Can we talk before you go?” Sam was starting to get teary eyed.

“Of course we can.” You reassure him.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there for you when you needed me. I always would have done anything you asked me, even if it meant getting hurt in the end. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and I wish I did a better job at that.” He places his hand on your cheek and kisses you on the forehead. “If you ever change your mind, I’ll always be right here, waiting for you.”

He pulls away but you’re quick to reconnect the point of contact, not wanting him to leave. You still love him but you know this is for the best. You wrap your arms around his torso as he hugs you back, resting his chin on your head.

“Sammy, it’s not your fault. None of it. I should have said something sooner instead of pushing you away. I still have so much love for you, and I hope we can still be friends. Maybe even more again? Once we figure ourselves out?” You let the tears roll down your cheeks, soaking the front of his shirt.

You peel yourself away from him, catching a familiar look in his eyes, one of sadness. In your three years together you’d only seen him like this not even a handful of times, and never by the grace of your own actions. Being in his arms made everything for the first time in two weeks feel so right, but you knew it shouldn’t have. Unsure if anything would ever feel right again, you place your hands on Sam’s cheeks, rubbing a thumb over his bottom lip before kissing him one last time. You’re not sure what overcame you, quickly pulling away to apologize.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- I shouldn’t have done that.” You go to move your hands away from his face, but he gently grabs your wrists to keep them there. “Sam I should-”

He cuts you off to pull you in, connecting your lips to his once more, deepening the kiss. Your hands find their way tangled in his hair as he rests his hands on your hips. Sam slowly drags his hands up the side, dipping his fingers under your dress, feeling you however he can before you’re gone for good. You place your hands on his wrists and slide them out from under your dress, placing them between the two of you with a squeeze.

“Sam, we shouldn’t do this…” You look into his eyes, a place you once found solidarity now filled with nothing but hopelessness.

“Fuck, Y/N, stop doing this to me. You do one thing and say the other. Just tell me, what do you want?” He brings his hands to his face. “Please, just tell me?” He’s begging for an answer.

“It’s just going to hurt you more and I’m tired, Sam. I’m tired of hurting you.” Admitting it was enough to make tears swell in your eyes.

“No! No, not knowing the last time I held you in my arms and told you I loved you was the last time is what hurts. You don’t get to decide what’s going to hurt me!” The tears that threatened his lashline now start to spill over, running down his reddened cheeks. “I’m just supposed to continue through my days knowing you’re not here anymore? Knowing I will never come home to the love of my life again?”

“Sam… don’t do this, don’t say that…” You reach your hand up to wipe the tears from his cheek. If he asked, you’d bleed yourself goddamn dry to give him everything, you just can’t stand the thought of hurting him again.

“Please, Y/N? Just one more time where I’ll at least know it’s the last? I miss you.” He leans into your touch, nervously playing with the hem of his shirt between his thumb and index. “Even if you just spend the night next to me, if nothing else?”

You missed him too, having gotten hardly any sleep the past two weeks on a twin-sized mattress in your parent’s anything but heated basement, the harsh cold of a spot next to you that had been filled by Sam for the better half of some odd years.

“We can do that.” You defeatedly sigh walking towards the bedroom, your inability to deny his natural pull was a spell you knew you’d always be under.

Two weeks ago this would feel like any ordinary night. Coming home from work and hopping into the shower before bed, maybe even a nice bath. Every day for 3 years you did the same routine, and most times you were lucky enough to have Sam throw it off balance, to which he simply became part of the routine as opposed to a distraction. You cherished every moment you had with him because no matter how short or stressful it was, the good always outweighed the bad. Sam shuffles through the drawers and pulls out a pair of shorts and a shirt for you to wear. As your feet make their way into the room you see the bed is still made the way you’d fixed it when you left.

“Have you been making the bed?” You ask hesitantly, knowing he never made the bed because he liked how you fluffed the pillows better.

“No, I just haven’t been sleeping in it. Well, or at all really.” He shrugs as he hands you the clothes before pulling the covers back.

“What? Why not?” You go to walk towards the bathroom to get changed.

“Because it still smells like that perfume I like and I didn’t want it to go away.” He slips under the covers and lays facing the ceiling. “You can get dressed in here, I’ll turn around.”

You look at him with a frown on your face. “You don’t have to do that. Besides, I need help with the zipper on this dress.”

Sam sits up at the edge of the bed and you walk up in front of him. He takes a second to run his hands down your frame before he screws his eyes shut and rests his forehead against your sternum. You find yourself getting lost in his addictive presence, snapping back to reality as you hear him sniffle. You watch as he swipes tears from his eyes with his index and middle finger.

“Hey, you okay?” You place two fingers under his chin, pushing his face up to look at you.

“Far from it, I miss my girl, need my girl.”

“Need?” You ask, placing your hand on the space against his neck and collarbone, your thumb resting on his face.

Need. The thought of him needing you as opposed to wanting you breaks your heart more-so than it already is. The nail in the coffin of your unrecoverable heartbreak.

“I just need you one more time, before it’s really over?” His grip on your waist tightens but is still gentle.

“Sammy…”

“Nevermind it was stupid to ask again, I’m sorry.”

“No, not stupid. I need you, too.” You hesitate as the words leave your mouth, fingers twirling the ends of his hair. “I just can’t hurt you again, Sam. I won’t.”

“Missing you is what hurts me and I’ve done that every day since you left. This…” He pauses to point back and forth between the both of you, “isn’t gonna hurt me. It’s closure.” He pulls you closer to him, your legs naturally parting around his own as you fall into his lap. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Hi, Sammy.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“Cute, I still make you blush?” He runs his hands up your thighs until they meet at the small of your back.

“Shut up and kiss me.” You place your hands gently on the sides of his face, the two of you staring into each other's eyes as you rub your thumbs over his damp skin.

Only in this moment does the weight of your fucked up reality finally relieve itself from your shoulders. Nothing else matters completely dissolving around you as your lips meet his, perfectly fitting like a key to its matching lock. He brings one hand from your back up between the two of you, placing your chin between his index and thumb. You place a hand to the back of his neck, pushing him closer to you. The kiss grows in lust and fervor as Sam slowly introduces his tongue into your mouth. You lean into him until he falls back onto the bed, never allowing your lips to come apart from one another.

“Excited?” He asks between giggles, allowing you to feel him smile against your lips.

“You always get me excited.” You whisper.

“Is that so? Still give you butterflies?” He wraps his arms around you, rolling over until he’s on top.

He positions himself with an arm on either side of your head, looking down to you as his hair cascades around your face. He shakes his head just enough to tickle the tip of your nose with the ends of his locks.

“Sammy, stop! That tickles!” You giggle, reaching your hands up to push his hair away from your face, pulling him into you to reconnect your lips with his.

As the kiss deepens, Sam lowers himself on top of you, pressing his hardened length against you as his fingers tangle themselves into your hair.

“Excited?” You quip, bucking your hips up against his length.

“Always, around you at least.” He looks at you with the look he’d given you thousands of times, like you’re the only girl in the world.

You stare into each other's eyes for a short period, his body still pressed against yours before he breaks the silence.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

“Yes?”

“You ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

Quickly following your response, Sam reaches his hands behind you to free you of your dress, pulling it over your head and tossing it to the floor. He unclasps your bra and hangs it off the headboard. You eagerly reach down to rid him of his clothing, with a little bit of help he’s kneeling completely uncovered over you. Sam takes his time planting heated kisses down your sternum, moving his hands to your hips as his lips trail to your center until they meet your aching bud. He presses a soft kiss to you before working his flat tongue over your clit, committing the feeling of you writhing beneath him to memory. He watches your movements through his dark lashes, every detail of the moment permanently etching itself into his mind. He removes his mouth from your mound, moving a hand from your hip to run two fingers through your folds. Sam presses his middle and ring finger teasingly against your entrance without giving you the pleasure of insertion.

“This okay?” He rubs the pads of his fingers against you, waiting for your response.

“Mhmm, now stop teasing me…” You snake a hand down to try and push his fingers into you, but you watch the muscles in his arm flex as he works against your desperate attempt for relief.

“Slow down, angel. If it’s really the last time, I’m gonna make it count. Make you remember me.”

“Do you think I’d ever forget you…?” You furrow your brows.

“I don’t know, you might. I feel like I don’t know anything when it comes to you anymore.” He removes his hand from your heat, sitting back on his calves.

“I’ll always remember you, Sammy.” You sit up on your elbows to keep eye contact. Of all times to have this conversation you weren’t expecting here or now.

“What if you don’t? What if you forget me while I’m gone and I never get my girl back?” His eyes grow with sadness as tears well up again.

“Have I forgotten you the other times?” You push yourself up entirely, crossing your legs and sitting in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.

“No…” He pauses for a second as you watch the thoughts cross his mind, a tear finding its way down his cheek. “But what if you figure yourself out and I’m not there?”

“Not where?” The intimacy in the room shifts to a different form, tears building up inside as you choke through your words.

“In the picture. What if figuring yourself out removes me from the picture?”

“Sammy, you’ll always be in the picture.” You squeeze his knees before hesitantly mumbling the next part. “You created the picture…”

“Created?”

“Sammy, everything we had… everything we wanted, I never wanted before you. I’m not sure there was ever a picture until you came along and painted one…”

“Was it a good picture?” He places his hands over yours.

“The most beautiful, and it still is. But sometimes we have to step away from the picture before it’s finished so we know how to approach it, make it look exactly how we want.”

“I want to fill a gallery for you. Paint every picture just how you imagine, down to the last detail.” He leans forward to plant a needy kiss on your lips, making any words you found quickly leave your mind.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slowly start to pull him on top of you, resuming what you had started, shifting the intimacy once again. As the kissing grows more heated, your legs find their way around his hips, pushing his length against your center once again. Sam buries his face in your neck, sucking on the skin below your ear as he rubs himself against you. The need for some sort of greater contact grows inside of you and with no words spoken other than sweet moans, Sam picks up on your natural cues. He brings his face to yours, meeting your lips with his as he slowly drags himself between your folds, teasing your aching clit with the head of his cock.

“Let me paint you one more time.” He whispers into your ear as he slides himself inside of you.

You can’t remember the last time you had Sam like this, the slight burn from him stretching you perfectly being a more emotionally painful reminder of the one you loved. Sam’s barely 3 inches in, but his pure width makes you hiss at the sensation. He pauses his movement, moving a hand to your cheek.

“You okay? Does it hurt?” He furrows his brows.

“A little, but I’ll be okay.”

“No, no, no, don’t wanna hurt you. Do you want lube?”

You nod yes as he sits up and places his hands on your knees, slowly removing himself leaving you empty. He reaches over into the nightstand on his side of the bed and shuffles around the top drawer.

“I have this strawberry flavored lube we got a little bit ago…” He presents it to you followed by giggles.

“Works for me, I just need you.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh.” Sam pops the cap off the bottle and you take it from his hands, pouring some onto his hardened length.

You take him into your hand as you work the lube down to the base of his cock until he’s fully covered in the sweet substance. You guide him back to your entrance and he pushes into you slowly, watching for any further signs of discomfort.

“Does that feel better?” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs as he slowly works himself further.

“Feels so good.” You moan, wrapping your hands around his wrists that are now planted on your hips.

Sam continues thrusting into you slowly, watching your eyes flutter each time he enters you fully. He brings a hand up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. You grab his wrist with your hand to hold him there, allowing the warmth from his hand to keep you grounded. He wraps his fingers around the side of your head, rubbing circles on your cheek with his thumb. You trace his knuckles with the pads of your fingers, taking in every minute detail of his hand. He releases his other hand from your hip and brings the pad of his thumb to your center, working tight, fast circles over your throbbing bud. You begin to tighten under his touch, so tender and sweet with each movement as he brings you closer to the edge.

“Sam, I-”

“I know, baby. It’s okay, me too.” He finally starts to pick up speed as both of your emotional releases come crashing down, tears swelling in his and your eyes.

His cock twitches as he empties every last drop of himself inside of you, painting your walls the perfect shade of white. His body falls defeatedly on you, forehead pressed against yours. After coming down from your highs, Sam removes his now soft member and rolls over next to you. He places gentle kisses along your face before meeting your lips once more.

“I missed you.” You run your fingers through the hair framing his face, looking into his big brown eyes. God those fucking eyes. The realization that you might never have someone who cares for and loves you so much hits you like a train. Your hand moves down to lay on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath as it enters and exits his lungs.

“I missed you, too.” He mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut. “I hope that makes it into the gallery.”

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #greta van fluff #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van smut #gvf fic #gvf smut #one shot #greta van fanfic #sam gvf #sam kiszka #samfkiszka #sammy kiszka #sammy gvf #fanfic #sfk #sam kiszka gvf

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totowlff · 11 months ago

Text

chapter forty-five — a little reason

➝ the turn of the events make elisabeth realize she needs to give something for her father to fight

➝ word count: 2,7k

➝ warnings: health issues and hospitals

➝ author’s note: happy birthday to elisabeth!

JULY, 2018

It all started with a cough.

Every now and then it would interrupt conversations and make humorous comments about cigarettes and smoke surface, only to be countered with acidity. It didn't take long for it to become part of the garage's ambient sound, along with the pneumatic pistols and engineers' codes, as well as the way he announced his arrival in the spaces, accompanied by a loud throat clearing.

Then came the slightly labored breathing, as if he had been running all the time, which wasn't far from the truth. He was unable to walk at a normal pace, even when his daughter asked him to wait since she was wearing heels.

However, it was Marlene's call, the morning after the German Grand Prix, that made Elisabeth jump out of bed, feeling her heart sink inside her chest.

— What are you saying, mom? — she questioned, part of her begging that what she thought she had heard was a lie.

— It's your father, Elschen — Marlene replied, her nasal voice confirming that she had cried before making that call — He coughed up blood tonight...

— What? Blood? Coughing up blood? — Elisabeth asked, as she sat on the bed.

— When I went to see him in the bathroom, there was blood in the sink and he was choking, Elschen. He just couldn't breathe...

— Mom, where are you? Where? — Elisabeth questioned, her feet leading her to the closet to get something to wear, everything seeming like a big blur because of the tears that accumulated in her eyes.

— We're in the hospital — her mother said before her voice broke. After a heavy sigh, she continued — At the AKH.

— Do my brothers already know? — she asked, grabbing a pair of jeans and a white shirt.

— Yes, I sent them messages. Lukas and Mathias will see if they can leave Ibiza later.

— Okay, I'll leave in a little, I'll be there in half an hour.

When the call ended, Elisabeth was shaking and her cheeks were wet. It was as if the world had stopped spinning in those few minutes, fear gnawing at her chest like acid. That couldn't happen, it simply couldn't, not at that moment, without him knowing that he would be a grandfather again.

— Liesl? — Toto asked from somewhere behind her — Was that your mother on the phone? Did something happen to Niki?

Turning to him, the team principal soon realized that something was wrong.

— He's in the hospital �� Elisabeth stammered, drying her face.

He pursed his lips for a few seconds, before running a hand through her messy curls. The look they exchanged was enough for him to understand the gravity of the situation.

— Dress yourself, I’ll take you there — he said, before turning around and going to the bathroom.

Within minutes, the two were already in the car, traveling through the streets of Vienna in the direction of Alsergrund, where the AKH was located. The tension was palpable in the silence that hung between them. Staring at the movement on the sidewalks, Elisabeth could only think about what her father was like at that moment. Would he be conscious or completely unconscious, with a tube stuck down his throat?

It reminded her of her mother talking about the fluid aspiration sessions they did at the hospital right after Niki's accident. Even though doctors said it was not recommended to do the procedure so many times in a row, he insisted, saying that it would help him recover more than waiting for his body to do the work on its own. Niki had already suffered so much in hospitals that the idea of seeing him return was agonizing, not to say desperate, for Elisabeth.

— Liesl — Toto murmured, placing a hand on her leg — Is everything okay?

— Yes, I’m just — she hesitated, placing her hand over his — Worried.

— Did your mother give any details about how he is?

— No, she just asked me to go to the hospital — Elisabeth said, before remaining silent for long seconds — What if he's really sick? What if he's dying?

— Your father isn't dying, Elisabeth — the team principal said, emphatically — He just had a setback, that happens.

—Toto, coughing up blood is not a setback.

— Setback or not, doesn't matter at this moment — he replied — What matters is that you need to stay calm, not just for yourself, right?

Looking at her own abdomen, Elisabeth took a deep breath, pursing her lips. The baby definitely didn't deserve all that load of tension, even though it was the only thing she was capable of feeling at that moment.

After going around the AKH complex, Toto found a space near the hospital entrance, parking the silver Mercedes with caution. As soon as he turned off the vehicle, Elisabeth unfastened her seat belt and opened the door, placing her bag on her shoulder and walking towards the front door.

The automatic doors opened and she headed towards the reception, where a woman was typing something on the computer, her expression not very interested.

— Hi, I would like to see a patient.

— Name? — she asked, without looking up from the screen.

— Oh, it's Andreas. Andreas Nikolaus Lauda.

The woman made a few clicks and typed something on the keyboard.

— Relative?

— I'm his daughter.

— And I'm his son-in-law — someone said behind her. Looking over her shoulder, Elisabeth saw that Toto had arrived, still a little out of breath.

— The patient was admitted to the emergency room and is currently being treated — the woman said, without any emotion in her voice.

— Can I see him?

— Visiting hours are from three in the afternoon — the employee replied, without looking at her. Suddenly, Elisabeth felt her throat tighten, the anguish of not being able to see her father for so long making her eyes fill with tears.

— My mother is inside, she asked me to come — she stammered.

— I am not authorized to allow visitors to enter outside visiting hours.

— But…

— Sorry, these are the hospital rules and…

Toto stepped forward, interrupting the woman.

— Look, my fiancée is pregnant, her father was admitted coughing blood and the only thing we want is to have access to her mother and the doctors who are taking care of my father-in-law — he said, in a serious tone — If you don't want to have problems with barring Niki Lauda's daughter from seeing her father, I suggest you let us in.

The woman looked at Toto in surprise.

— Sir, I…

— Will I need to talk to your boss about this?

Pursing her lips, the employee picked up the phone and dialed in some numbers. After a quick conversation, she went back to typing on the computer, printing two labels with the word 'visitor' written in bold letters.

— The emergency department is right ahead, it's marked with a sign — the woman said, holding out her fingers with the stickers towards them.

— Thank you very much — Toto said dryly, taking the stickers.

As she put her identification on her blouse, Elisabeth couldn't shake the horrible feeling that had come over her the moment the hospital employee denied them entry into the emergency room. It was as if all the fear she had managed to keep bottled up inside her was released at once, causing her hands to feel cold and her lower lip to tremble.

Following the signs that hung from the ceiling, she was already imagining the worst-case scenario when her eyes caught a woman with her hair tied in a somewhat familiar way sitting with her back to her.

— Mom? — she said, causing Marlene to turn her face back. Upon realizing that it was her daughter who was there, she jumped up, going over to her and hugging her tightly.

— Elschen — her mother stammered, as the tears finally ran down Elisabeth's face — I'm glad you're here, so glad...

— What happened?

— Your father — Marlene began, her voice becoming too choked to continue for a few seconds. After taking a deep breath, she managed to speak — He has a serious problem with his lungs.

— But, how? He was fine, mom, he was at the race with us...

— It seems that his lungs were already weakened and the cold he caught made everything worse. The doctor said something about bleeding, but I didn't really understand, I was so nervous. He was out of breath, Elschen, completely out of breath...

The description of the moments before her father was hospitalized made Elisabeth's stomach turn. She couldn't imagine the despair Marlene had felt when she saw Niki feeling bad, much less when she received the news that he was in fact sick. It must have been like reliving everything that had happened at the Nürburgring, but with the added factor that she was the one who needed to save him.

Drying her face, Elisabeth allowed Toto to greet Marlene and question her about Niki's health. Upon realizing that she didn't have a lot of information, he decided to go after the doctor in charge of Niki’s treatment, while the two sat in the waiting room, hand in hand, facing the agony of waiting for more news from Niki.

— Mom? — Elisabeth murmured.

— Yeah?

— Do you think my father will…

— No — Marlene interrupted her sharply — You're not going to finish that sentence, Elisabeth.

— But…

— I've seen your father in a worse situation than this. I saw your father completely burned, his skin swollen and blistered. I saw him ask for a priest and tell him to fuck off when he heard the man praying over his bed — she said, seriously — Your father is strong, Elisabeth.

She lowered her head, sniffling. It wasn't the time to think the worst, but she couldn't help it, especially when she thought that maybe he would never meet the granddaughter he had dreamed of so much. When she felt her mother's free hand wipe a tear from her cheek, Elisabeth raised her head.

— Don't worry, darling — Marlene said, caressing her face — He's going to come out of this even stronger.

She limited herself to a smile, as she saw Toto walking towards them with a serious expression on his face. As soon as he sat down, she questioned him about Niki's situation, as well as when they could see him.

— You know that Niki's lungs are not very strong due to the smoke he breathed in at the Nürburgring. And because of this, the flu he caught in recent weeks evolved into inflammation in his lungs and airways. That's why he was short of breath and coughing so much — the team leader explained.

— When are we going to see him? — Elisabeth asked.

— When he is stabilized — Toto replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face — But doctor Idzko is very optimistic, he said that cases like this, no matter how delicate they are, are simple to solve.

Nodding, she just hoped the doctor was right.

A few hours had already passed when a man with white hair and thin-rimmed glasses approached Elisabeth, who was alone in the waiting room, as Marlene was in the bathroom and Toto was in the hospital cafeteria, looking for something to eat.

— Miss Lauda?

— Yes, it's me — she replied immediately, jumping up.

— I'm doctor Christian Hengstenberg, head of internal medicine at the hospital and responsible for the team taking care of Mr. Lauda.

— Did something happen? Is my father okay?

— No, I mean, beyond the obvious, no — the doctor said, smiling — Mr. Lauda is responding well to our interventions in these first hours, which is good news.

That was a relief for Elisabeth, who put her hand to her chest as she let out a heavy sigh.

— Is he breathing better?

— Yes, with assistance, of course, but he is stabilized.

— Can I see him?

The man hesitated for a few seconds.

— Well, I believe we can make an exception for you, but, due to immunosuppression therapy, we will need to take some precautions. Can you come with me?

Elisabeth waved, following the doctor through the hospital corridors with her heart pounding in her chest. After putting on a mask and washing her hands, she was finally led to the door of her father's room.

— A moment, please — Doctor Hengstenberg said, before putting on his mask and opening the door — Mr. Lauda, there is someone here to see you.

She walked in slowly, finding Niki lying on the bed, a catheter in his nose to provide oxygen and an IV access in his arm with medicine slowly dripping out. Without the red cap on his head, Elisabeth's father looked like a different person, much more fragile and delicate with the scars exposed on his head.

— Mauslein — Niki murmured hoarsely. That word was enough to make her eyes fill with tears, while the doctor said he would give them space to talk.

— Hi, dad — Elisabeth replied, approaching the edge of the bed. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, scold him for scaring her. However, she simply took his hand, caressing her skin with her thumb — How are you?

— For a half-dead man? Pretty good.

She giggled.

— Mom said you felt bad last night.

— Yeah, I coughed a little.

— Coughed up blood, I mean.

—That's just a detail...

— It's not a detail, so much so that you're here — Elisabeth countered.

Her father just gave a small smile.

— You know I've been through worse, right? — he asked softly.

— Yeah, I know, dad.

— Then, don't worry. This is a vacation in comparison to those 42 days.

— But that's precisely why you should be more careful — she said, looking at their joined hands — We still have so much to live, dad.

Niki squeezed her fingers lightly.

— And we will, Mauslein. Don't think I forgot I have to take you to Toto next month.

Elisabeth smiled beneath her mask.

— So, about that… It won't be next month anymore.

— What do you mean by that? — Niki questioned, the beeping of the machine that monitored his heartbeat becoming more frequent — Did he break up with you? Or was it you who ended it all? If Toto did anything to you, Mauslein, I swear I will...

— Dad, please, Toto didn't do anything — she said, trying to calm him down — Actually he did, but it's nothing like what you're thinking.

He blinked, confused.

— But…

— When I said that we still have a lot to live, I wasn't just talking about the two of us — Elisabeth whispered, bringing Niki's hand to her belly. As he pressed the skin lightly, he felt the firm spot under Elisabeth's shirt and raised his blue eyes to hers.

— Are you serious? — her father stammered, looking shocked — You mean you two finally decided to give me a granddaughter?

Elisabeth nodded, the words catching in the lump that had formed in her throat. However, it was not the time to cry, not when there was nothing but joy on Niki's face, as she stared at her belly in an enchanted way.

— We still don't know if it's a girl — she finally managed to say.

— Too soon to know? Or is she not cooperating?

She laughed.

— We decided that we will only find out on the day the baby is born.

— Why?

— Because we don't want you to be upset if it's not what you want.

Niki gave her daughter a loving smile.

— I won't be upset — he explained — I'll just be even happier if it's a girl, but what matters is that I'm going to be a grandfather again and...

Her father's voice broke, partly because of the hoarseness and partly because of the emotion that had finally overflowed in his eyes, the tears shyly running down her face. And seeing Niki so moved by the new addition to the family made her sob, tears wetting her mask.

However, there was no sadness. Just happiness.

That moment ended up being interrupted by doctor Hengstenberg, who stated that he needed to take her back to the waiting room to allow Marlene to enter. Looking at her father, Elisabeth ran a loving hand across his forehead, feeling the texture of the scars beneath her fingers.

— You know we can't keep Mrs. Lauda waiting, right?

— Indeed, we can't — Niki smiled at her daughter — Take care of my granddaughter, okay?

— I'll take care of it — she replied, laughing — Any messages for Toto?

— Tell him I'll keep an eye on everything and that I'll be in touch. Oh, and it's better for him to have made a girl, otherwise I'm going to rip his balls off.

— You can't rip his balls off, how will he be able to try to make a girl again if it’s a boy?

Niki was thoughtful.

— Yeah, you're right. But I'll give them at least one kick.

— No, you won't.

— Let's see if I won’t, Mauslein.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #scwlff #toto wolff fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfic

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d1s1ntegrated · 1 month ago

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okay guys so. here's some updates!

-my grandma died. (not sigma.)

-i got the infinite hours glitch at work (im working sm now)

-i'm broke af still cause i honestly genuinely truthfully laurv grocery shopping too much (the horrors of the economy are incomprehensible)

-i love homicipher!!!!!!!!!!!!!

anyways. that's basically it. i'm trying to get back in here cause i feel so bad for all the unanswered prompts and asks in my inbox. i know i kinda flopped. im doing my best!!

also small announcement below the cut!!! especially considering ive been experimenting more with dead dove/nonconventional topics and themes.

first thing; i made a side blog for my dead dove and other extreme fics. the reason why i'm doing this is bc some people don't want to see that kind of stuff- and that's totally okay! and ik the filtering/blocking tags thing doesn't always work, especially for more "niche" topics.

i plan on branching out my repertoire by writing about topics that are "scary" or "new" to me- so this little counterpart to my blog will make it easier for me to post things that aren't typically sought after by the gen. pop. things like sickfics, whump, noncon, and other graphic or heavy themes.

in addition/addendum to that:

idk if this is common knowledge for any of my followers, moots, etc, but i have a severe phobia of vomit. like. huge. and at my big ass age of 21 (lol) i think it's time to start...getting through that fear. i've struggled with contamination OCD for a really long time and it's something i never thought id even try to overcome- but then i came across a creator on here who makes fetish art- which def wasn't something i was looking to encounter. but like a car crash, i couldn't stop looking at their work and i ended up coming across a post of theirs where they explain that they do what they do to get over their fear. at first i was fucking baffled as to how they couldn't manage to do that, but i get it now. taking something innately fucking horrifying and flipping the narrative so casually can be cathartic, and i finally after over a year of contemplation, gave it a whirl in my own writing. i mean, what better way to get over something by attacking it from my best angle??

typically this isn't something i'd ever consider doing. but...here we are. and i feel like im doing myself, and other people who feel the same way, a disservice by hiding this type of content in my notes app, never to be seen by anyone but me.

my blog has always been a safe space for the freaks and weirdos, and i want to keep facilitating that space while also keeping it enjoyable for all crowds. so by keeping a little separation between the two blogs, it'll ensure i feel comfortable, and others do too. i'm not gonna force everyone who follows me to come across some crazy fetish content they didn't sign up for, especially when previously i'd stated i don't write that kind of stuff. but alas people change and grow and i don't want to stifle myself from writing good things because im too afraid of judgement or my own insecurities.

i think kink is a very important thing in the fanfic world, because it allows the writer, as well as the audience, to connect on an even further level through the delivery of fetish content. as someone who hyperfixates on the development and accumulation of fetish and kinks, especially from a psychological level, this is something i was considering in the past- but not to this level, yk? like yeah, i could continue to just write sweet little hcs of softgaraki, and i love doing that, but also...like, i need these freak ass men to live their truths, and i need to live mine.

with that all being said, @compendiumofdecay is where these nasty fics will be for any and all who are interested.

#myposts #myupdates

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coveholdenmyluv · 9 months ago

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R. Braun - Honey Soaked Promises

synopsis. In which you reminisce on your quest for revenge, irrigated with broken promises and fermented with betrayal, allowing you to act as the judge between life or death for yourself and the viper dressed in the skin of the love of your life.

— or alternatively, in which you make the stupid decision to fall in love with the wrong person on your journey to freedom...

Oh well, you'll just have to kill him now.

Series masterlist

chapter warnings. none! oh, also there's no reiner this chap, sorry :(

chapter sypnosis. Unexpected visitors, unexpected topics. Conversations that dictate the outcomes of many events to come in the future.

A/N: okay! I know this took forever and a day, but it’s here… though it is rather short. Nonetheless, I love how it turned out and I hope you do too, I’ve already begun working on the next chapter a while ago so fingers crossed it doesn’t take another century!

VII. The Dawn of the Ocean. Word count: 6.1K

“If what Armin had shared with you happened to truly exist, you feared that fact would change more than you wanted it to. The mere possibility forged a newborn pavement road in your vision of the future. A path that your heart called for, but if you acquiesced and indulged, that would mean sacrificing your long term goal.”

Teetering the edge between indulgence and selfishness.

You were never a morning person.

At one point you had even abhorred the time of day and regarded it with such disdain. That day was not disbarred from your wrath as you twisted and turned in your sheets in search of a position in which your covers were not far too warm for your taste; but alas to no avail, you were left frustrated. You groaned in discomfort and kicked the sheets off of your body as you internally berated yourself for seeming so ungrateful — for just a few years prior you hadn't had the privilege to do so. The mental scolding delivered by yourself only worsened your disposition and you huffed.

Light footsteps reverberated throughout the wood that fabricated the barracks you stayed in and a familiar voice followed.

"Y/N, are you awake?"

You sat up, albeit as sluggishly as possible, and blinked your tiresome eyes at Krista who had climbed halfway up the ladder to peer at you. "No." You stated.

The girl giggled, "Oh? Are you sleep talking then?" She teased with a grin.

"Yes, but I don't know how to sleep walk so whatever you need, it'll have to be done from here."

"Unfortunately, that's not do-able. You have visitors!" She informed you enthusiastically. Her words caused your brows to furrow in confusion — you had no plans to your knowledge and no one had mentioned that they needed to see you so soon during the day.

"Is it Jean? I already told the guy, I don't want him showin' me his coin collection again, it's really not as cool as he thinks it is." You perfunctorily guessed.

The boy had plenty to display to you in those regards, though you didn't think you could have endured an additional three hours of the delineating of the differences between pieces of metal that no longer held any value. Though, he had sworn up and down that was not to be the case in the near future; you surmised his idea of near differed from your own. Although, if his words had held merit and he indeed accumulated wealth off of his chunks of junk, perhaps you would have eaten your words.

You hoped he would have still paid you frequent visits at the very least, or extended an invitation to take a tour around his home located deep within the interior. You had entertained the idea of him becoming a noble, as brisk as the humored thought existed, and resolved that such a thing could have only been plausible when the walls fell — which, in your mind, was equivalent to the word never.

"It's not Jean this time, you should come down to greet them." She informed you and descended to the ground where she presumably went about her day.

'Them?'

Her phrasing piqued your curiosity and you swiftly slipped on your brown sweater before you followed her actions and arrived on the ground. As you stepped up to the door of the barracks, you were met with two gentle and amiable faces.

"Marco and Armin? To what do I owe the pleasure of your sudden visit this morning?" You asked with an inquiring tilt of your head.

Marco had become one of your dearest friends since the day you joined the Cadet Corps, he had welcomed you into his coterie with open arms and a warm grin. You spent most of your meals in his company, with the addition of a certain tall and long faced fool.

Truly, your question had been directed towards the latter of the pair.

You had the chance to acquaintance yourself with Armin and determined he was an altruistic person. You had no issues with the blonde and didn't mind his abrupt visit, for you entertained the idea of growing closer. Though, you had not reached that stage of your relationship yet. He was merely a friend of a friend, so there was no pondering on why his visit had came as a surprise to you.

"Good morning, Y/N!" Marco greeted and his bright grin caused your insides to warm at his affability. You couldn't help but to smile in return.

"Mornin', Marc." You replied.

Armin spoke next with a wince, "Good morning, Y/N. I'm sorry to bother you on one of our days off, and so early too. I hope we don't burden you too much."

You reassured the boy with a dismissive flick of your wrist, "Nah, it's fine. I had to get up soon anyway, I should thank you for giving me a reason to quit lazying around."

"It wasn't without reason either, I promise." Marco told you, "Basically, we were wondering if your services were still available?" He asked with a hopeful light in his eyes.

Your brows furrowed in question, "Services?" You repeated. The pair nodded in unison and pointed a finger towards their own heads of hair. The realization struck you then, and you sighed in resignation. "Alright, talk. Who was it?"

Armin chuckled sheepishly, "Do you even have to ask?"

You scoffed playfully and decided he was absolutely correct in that judgment. "That girl is gonna be the death of me." While no spoken words had confirmed it, there hadn't been a need for them to. Sasha was, indubitably, the suspect who spilled your competence as a hairdresser. "Come on in, you can head all the way towards the back." You instructed, and stepped aside to allow them to enter the girls space. Both boys acceded, and by the time you had drawn out your supplies, Armin sat prettily on the wooden chair; albeit slightly stiffly considering how intrusive he felt to visit a space intended for the opposite gender.

Hesitatingly so, he strained his neck as to peek at the tools you had laid out on the surface of Sasha's bed. It was the least she could have offered, considering her blabbering words had led them to you in the first place. Not that you minded it much. "Uhm, so, what exactly do you use, anyway?" The blonde asked.

Unsheathing the blade that had continued to lay in your pocket for years, you presented it proudly. "For the most part, this small thing." The case was worse for wear, though still intact enough to be useful, but the cunning edge had still held its pristine and threatening shape; curtesy to your thorough care. "Recently though, the girls have gathered their own tools and let me use them when I need to. I'm sure they won't mind." You explained.

The array of instruments that laid before you had consisted of shears, bristled brushes, wide tooth combs, sectioning clips, and some hair ties. While it hadn't been the most adept collection, it held some merit and did its job.

Marco sat beside the layout and fiddled with whatever had piqued his interest. "This is impressive, I didn't know this was an actual thing." He uttered in awe.

His words had caused you to chuckle lightly, "Me neither, I was under the impression it was a one time occurrence. I guess I can make some exceptions," You teased, "I don't mind, really." You finished, and it was the truth. It bore you no hassle for the movement of your fingers was as instinctual as wielding a blade. Ironically, both skills worked in your favor in that moment. "Anyway, what are you looking to get done today, Armin?" You asked.

He seemed to have had needed a moment to mull the ideas over in his head before he resigned and explained his decision. "For today? Just slightly more than a trim, if possible. Perhaps some time in the future I'll grow the balls to go shorter." He tittered, before apologizing. "Sorry."

His tone had indicated that he bore some embarrassment for his decision, which you felt the need to soothe. "That's fine with me, hun. It's far less labor on my part." You reassured.

"Thanks," He sighed in relief, "My hair has always been a part of me that is intertwined with my confidence. I guess, sort of like a security blanket? Something that I'm not so sure if I'm ready to let go of yet."

You nodded understandingly, for that sentiment was something the both of you had shared. "I get it, that's pretty common." You were sure that many more cadets in your class had felt the same, or perhaps thought the opposite and wouldn't mind leaving that security blanket behind. "Can I begin?" You asked, to which the boy accepted.

You brushed through his aureate strands first — an action you found had hardly even been needed in the first place. It seemed as if he heeded his golden locks enough to treat them with the utmost care, something you found that you admired and decided to provide the corresponding amount of effort from your own palms.

His eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of your fingers parting his hair, alike a garden-fresh breeze towed in with the springtide. The lashes that feathered his cheeks had made it apparent that he found your gentle touches comforting.

"I was wondering, how did you learn to do this type of thing? Did someone teach you?" He voiced suddenly.

You pondered your response rather than uttering the bare truth that came to mind, ran your words through a mental sieve and culled your phrasing. "You could say that, I guess. Though, I'd call it sittin' around and watchin'." You chuckled at your vague reply. "Perhaps the skill rubbed off on me, which I reckon wasn't such a bad thing."

"Well, it worked out for us either way." Marco added with a warm smile. You knew then that he had to have sensed there was more you were reluctant to share, and as always, the freckled boy never pried but instead attempted to alleviate your stress; never intensify it.

You hummed softly, "Very true. Thank you, slothful ten year old me."

Apparently, the early hour was not a nuisance to solely you, for Armin released a large yawn. Though, that action was not what had your eyes broadening as you staggered.

It was the glassy appearance of his cerulean irises once his eyelids had peeled away once again. The blonde was gifted with wide and round shaped eyes, which weren't the greatest contradiction to the ones that arose in your mind, though you would not classify them as similar either. You had guessed it was the gleam they harbored that sparkled alike the millions of lanterns that flickered about every night, or perhaps it was simply the way in which they appeared when soddened. Most likely, it was the doe eyed stare he peered at you with — so alike, yet dissimilar.

Your breath hitched and you implored yourself to analyze the details that made them distinct, instead.

Cielo's weren't as wide as his, and they certainly were not the same shape. They had also differed in shade, disparately so — whereas Armin's mirrored the sky during midday, Cielo's were reminiscent of the opposite. You supposed Mikasa's irises bore the most resemblance, considering they resembled in shade and shape. Though, if you had the obligation to choose, she was most definitely not the person you would have compared his to.

But, that raised the question: what was it that had made you envision the small boy?

"Y/N?" Armin called in concern.

You blinked harshly to release yourself of your trance and noticed that your palms had remained stagnant in their previous movements, right before his face. "Oh, sorry." You apologized and sluggishly resumed his trimming.

"You're fine, I was just worried. Is something the matter?"

You shook your head slightly, "You just- you kind of reminded me of someone just now."

His brows rose with curiosity, "Oh, who?" He asked.

You allowed yourself to respond at your own pace, not intending on ignoring the boy, but as well as refusing to force yourself to speak in vulnerability. "Just someone that I used to know." You replied shortly.

Your dry response had caused the blonde to reappraise his inquiry, for he feared that he had trekked over a line that he wasn't aware existed.

Marco remained quiet, instead opting to inspect your expressions closely. There was an aura to your words that created an air of uncertainty. He realized that it wasn't that you were uncomfortable speaking about the mystery person on your mind, it was that you simply did not know how to. There was conflict in your eyes reflecting a storm that brewed anew. He was certain that, that storm had not previously been there nor did it deserve its place; for it replaced the usual crisp draft that swept away the sepulchral tones.

You berated yourself for behaving so uncongenial towards the boy. He should not have felt poor for asking genuine questions.

"He used to love clouds." You offered as compensation. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. You chuckled airily, "Sometimes, it looked as if he wanted to nap in'em."

Armin smiled fondly, "Did he love to spend his time outside?"

You gulped down a whimper, "You could say so."

The boy beamed at your confirmation, "Me too! I love a lot of things about the outside worl- er, I mean the outside. Like nature!"

Though you had caught his hesitation, you hadn't called him out for it, figuring that if you had your own secrets, others were allowed to have theirs.

"Me too." You giggled. "While I didn't see my expression, I know that I probably looked like a lunatic the first time I saw a river. Not to mention, the first time I held snow." Your eyes softened in their reminiscent state, "This might sound cheesy, but it was life altering. In some abstract way." Your voice dwindled into a whisper.

"It was the same for me," The boy related, "I mean, I know that snow isn't living, but it felt like I was holding life directly in my palms." His fond stare had moved to poke and prod at his own hands.

Your eyes widened in recognition, a flicker of excitement igniting in your chest. "Really? I felt that way too."

He hummed in agreement, "It was..." He sighed in resignation after a moment of deliberate dwelling on words. "I don't even know how to describe it, or if I'd ever be able to."

That had been one of the very first instances in a while where it was as though someone had understood or viewed what the world had to offer in the same light as you had — placed those offering as high on a pedestal as you had. An emotion that you had not felt so much of in ages bubbled up in your throat, as though there was so much that you yearned to say, but the weight of your tongue would not allow it to spill so haphazardly.

You felt exhilarated. Exhilaration you couldn't contain, so you disregarded the hamper in your mouth and allowed those retained words to soil your clothes.

"I-it was like, in that moment, even with my fingers so stiff from the cold, when I watched the snowfall melt on my skin I felt... everything?" Your words tilted in question, before you decided that what you spoke was the truth. Whether it made any sense didn't matter at all. "Everything all at once, it was pure rapture. As if being there in that second, hour, and day to witness the miracle of literal fucking ice falling from the sky meant that it didn't matter whether I lived or died because simply being there, then, a part of this universe was enough. Whether I did something abstract with my life or spent it in the slums was arbitrary, because in the end I held that snowfall for myself. My joy. Not anyone else's, it was me."

All was quiet once your proclamation had came to a close, and Armin gaped while Marco gazed at you with an admiration full of affection. You heeded their expressions and abashedly cleared your throat. "But, uhm, anyway..." You continued and moved to begin the last section of Armin's hair.

Armin's pending eyes moved to his lap, before they flickered towards the brunet that sat on Sasha's bunk. He seemed to be pondering a thought that he wasn't sure he should elucidate or not. After a few moments of strenuous silence, he began, "Can you guys keep a secret?" He asked hesitantly.

You looked to your friend, still sat comfortably with his arms supporting his weight, with questioning eyes briefly before you settled your gaze on the blonde once again. "Sure." You admitted.

"Of course." Marco reassured.

The boy inhaled deeply, as if steeling himself was necessary in order to utter his next words. "Do you know about... the sea?"

His foreign words had caused your head to cock in perplexity, "The sea?" You repeated.

Marco hummed, "I'm almost sure that I've heard you talk about it with Eren before, though I feel that it's rude to eavesdrop." He added.

You chuckled, "Of course you would, Mr. Nice guy." You teased, to which the boy rubbed his neck with a sheepish grin.

"Yes, the sea!" Armin exclaims, "It's the reason I'm here, as a cadet. You guys probably won't believe me, but the sea is a huge body of salt water." He beamed.

Your brows furrowed, for his words had rung no bells in your mind. Though, they had raised alarms that blared at you to tread carefully. "Wait, salt water? As in, merchant salt?" You reiterated.

He bobbed his head enthusiastically, "Mhm! But, it's so big that merchants can spend their entire lifetimes attempting to remove it and still wouldn't even come close to rendering it empty!" He vehemently informed you.

"What?!" Marco freaked in his seat, his brown eyes as wide as saucers.

You hastily moved yourself to stand directly before the blonde and firmly placed your hands atop his shoulders. "Armin, say that again." You urged. Your ears couldn't believe what they had heard.

"I know! It sounds crazy, but it's true! I know that it's somewhere beyond the walls with other places we couldn't ever think to imagine exist. I haven't even told you about the fire water, or the lands of ice, or even the fields upon fields of sand!" He added brightly. The fascination in your eyes did not allow you any other option than to believe his words ring true.

It was then that you realized just what it was in him - that wide eyed dreamer that you had met serendipitously in your time as a cadet - that had reminded you of your Cielo.

It was the way in which he viewed the world in wonderment; as if he had worshipped all that the world he was born into had to offer him. It was a sentiment mirrored in your own irises, as well.

He treasured life, or rather, the things that came with it.

"Fire water? Lands of ice?" Marco repeated incredulously, for his mind seemed to have the same amount of trouble conceiving such ideas as yours did.

"Armin, where did you hear about this?" Your eyes pleaded for his answer.

While you were sure his words had registered in your cerebrum, it did little to aid in the construction of the scene they painted behind your eyes. Fire water was otherworldly even in its name, could it be liquid or plasma? If you dipped a palm in, would your fingers grow wrinkly or charred? How would it form? Would it be tangible? What variety of colors would it present itself in? Not to mention the fields of sand? Where would such a thing even originate from?

"My grandfather had a book stashed away with a plethora of ideas such as these. When we were younger, Eren and I would spend all day looking at the pictures." He explained.

"A book?" Marco tittered lightheartedly, "Armin, anything detailing the outside world is illegal. No MP is gonna come knocking on our door, are they?" He jested.

Armin gasped at the notion, "No! I swear, they won't. Don't worry, Marco." He reassured.

"Well, I was joking, but thanks for the confirmation anyway."

"Do you have it with you?" You asked.

The blonde's brows met and he gazed at you sympathetically, "No, not anymore. I'm sorry, it's back in Shiganshina." He informed you.

You hid your disappointment well, though you knew that Armin did not require physical hints to understand your feelings. "Oh." Was all that you replied.

"That's okay, though. Right, Y/N?" Marco suggested.

"Yeah, of course, it's just that..." You trailed off, before your lowered gaze lifted itself back onto the catalyst of the incoming downpour restraining itself in your still young body. "Armin, are you sure that this is the truth?"

"Well, that's what I'm hoping to find out once I join the scouts. So that one day, I'll get to see it for myself."

You were hesitant, it was as clear as the night sky after a sweltering summer day. You pondered if your question was truly worth asking, before you determined that your body would not allow itself to rest so easily if it went unanswered.

"Armin..." You uttered weakly, to which the boy in question hummed attentively and your brows knitted with apprehension. "You're willin' to risk your life for a dream? A dream that you're not even sure truly exists?" It was patently such a genuine question, for the notion was inconceivable to you.

He wasted nothing but his breath in replying, "That's the thing! It's not just a dream, it's more than that. So much more that I can't even begin to explain. I guess I've never been well with words." He chuckled sheepishly before earnestly contemplating his reply. While he knew it would bear value, you had great doubt that he had ever truly comprehended the weight at which it would tug at your heart in the near future. "It's as if there's a part of me that demands it. A significant part that I can't bear to ignore, because doing so would be ignoring myself. I could never treat myself that way, and I'd even go as far as to say that I pity anyone who does." He stated fervidly whilst his bright lazurite eyes shone with as much verity as a pastor citing the gospel. "So yes, I'd be willing to join the scouts if it means seeing what's beyond the walls."

His words had snapped you out of a daze that you couldn't remember when you had entered. It prodded at your bare soul and cried out, as if your inner self had just registered how unjust it had been treating itself and would allow it no longer; causing a turmoil to ravel itself further in their chambers.

"The scouts... the outside world." You muttered absentmindedly.

If what Armin had shared with you happened to truly exist, you feared that fact would change more than you wanted it to. The mere possibility forged a newborn pavement road in your vision of the future. A path that your heart called for, but if you acquiesced and indulged, that would mean sacrificing your long term goal.

"Well, when you do find it - go ahead and send us an invite alright? We'll travel all the way from the king's side just to see it." Marco insisted, never being the one to dim anyone's light, even if he didn't fully believe the proclamation.

"Of course!" Armin agreed, before he attempted to peek at the length of his hair. "Oh, are you finished, Y/N?" He asked.

"Oh, yeah. You're all done. Sorry if it isn't perfect, I'm learnin' as I go."

His head shook rapidly, "No, it's better than perfect! Thanks a lot, you've got a really handy skill. I've never seen anyone wield a blade as proficiently as you."

"No problem, and this is free of charge Armin, so there's no need to flatter me." You jested, and then looked towards the brunet at your side. "You ready?"

Marco nodded in confirmation and both boys traded spots with a slight bounce to their steps, you delighted at their infectious demeanors, "So, what'll it be today sugar?" You asked.

"I don't need much done if I'm being honest. These front pieces are just about to reach my eyes though and I really don't want that. It's probably a job I could have done myself, but I don't trust my inadequate skills." He chuckled at his admission.

"That's alright, this shouldn't take long at all." You said and began to stroke your fingers through the short strands you aimed to cut, for preparation.

"So, you're an outdoors kind of gal?" He asked suddenly.

Though it was an unexpected observation, that didn't thwart the formation of your fond smile. "Yeah, nature is beautiful. I can't help but to admire it."

"I can see that, that's admirable in itself as well, you know? Life is a beautiful but fickle thing."

"Fickle?" You asked, one of your brows bent with interest.

He nodded as best as he could have without causing you to accidentally nick at his skin. "It's transient, and the role we live in can be snatched away in an instant. I can't imagine living it in any other way than chasing our dreams. Otherwise, what's the point? Was all of it for naught?" He explained.

You hummed softly, "Perhaps it's far more complicated than that."

"I think it's as complicated as you make it to be." He suggests without doubt to his words.

Your brows furrowed in contemplation once more, for what he said had made sense to you, but of course you chose to stubbornly deny to accept the insight and clung onto the thread of fate coiled around your throat. Marco saw how heavily you struggled with your own self, however he recalled how that had always seemed to be the case when it came to you.

You had always been locking horns with a miscreant you yourself had concocted.

"My point is - life is short. Make of it what you can, and if that means chasing something you see as intangible, then that's all the more reason to keep trying. A reason to live." He continued even when the furrow in your brow had only seemed to deepen. "What is life without a destination, and what is a destination without some sense of accomplishment? You never know what chapter is on the horizon."

"I don't want a strange author dictating where my life goes and what I accomplish." You stated as the mere thought of such an idea brought distaste to your tongue.

You were reminded of Stefan and Cielo.

What kind of author had written and devised their deaths for the sake of accomplishment? Not one you were willing to adhere to.

You were no Icarus and would not bear to allow yourself to burn for ephemeral bliss by gliding far too near the sun. It was inconceivable to you.

Marco merely laughed in the way that made his head move from side to side, the same way you had every time you had caught Sasha purloining food from Connie's tray at lunch. "Silly. You are the author." He rebutted with shaking shoulders.

Your fingers grew stiff and subconsciously withdrew themselves from within his dark hair. Your breath was nowhere to be found, and even your chest had halted its rise and fall. You were caught entirely off kilter, not having expected him to have a rebuttal on hand. Though, you supposed it was more so how correct he was that caused you to enter a state of stupor.

Marco's words were nothing but the truth — you had the baton to conduct the ensemble of your life. Dictating its path, one that could either bring your disgustingly selfish and vindictive goals to reality, or allow you the ability to feel free; to experience eternal bliss.

You, who is forever fizzing, frothing, buzzing, and exploding at your core. You, a human, who is bubbling over and blooming wide. You, who is your own solar system, galaxy, and universe. You, the conductor, the orchestra, and the choir. You who would be eternally grateful if all you held was yourself, the trees, the skies, and the seas — that would be enough. Whether you stood over the corpse of a mere MP or a million Titans was insignificant.

Your voice was raw, raspy, and true. "What I would pick wouldn't make any sense. You'd think it's stupid, hell, I think it's stupid. Which is why I won't go down that route."

Marco remained quiet once more, presumably to collect his own thoughts, to choose and pluck them individually. His head tilted to find your lowered gaze as he told you, "It doesn't have to make sense to anyone but yourself. If simply being happy is what brings you peace, then that's a good enough reason to listen. Forget needing or deserving, do you want it?"

You did, more than you had ever wanted anything else in your life. "It doesn't matter if others don't agree, they aren't you. You're allowed to make your own mistakes, you might even find that there are none."

Your head shifts to the side and you release a sigh of defeat. Though, unfortunately, not towards Marco. It was an exhale of submission to the implacable voices in your mind that thwarted your ability to pursue anything other than what you carved in stone on the day of both Stefan and Cielo's deaths. Mere words of affirmation would never be enough to spur you into an alternate direction.

For the sake of your future, you wished they had been.

"It's convoluted." You determined with a wince. "I'm sorry to waste your wisdom." You said as your disheartened gaze met his tender and empathetic one.

Those raw umber eyes had told you they understood, and although you knew it was quite impossible for that to be true, you believed their whispers.

"Nothing could ever be wasted on you, Y/N." He assured.

You chuckled at his habit of making it his priority to dispel any worries his peers might have created for themselves, "Charmer." You teased lightheartedly.

You had wished to be even the slightest bit as optimistic as Marco had always presented himself as. The thought of his mien being a sort of veil had occurred to you, perhaps the boy hadn't truly believed his own words and simply uttered them with the hope of speaking them into existence. A wish to change the future.

Or perhaps he had thought them to be true, and in that case, you knew you could never compel that mindset to be your own.

"Alright, this marks the end of my coiffeuse career, for today at least." You announced as you completed the final snip of bark colored hair.

"Wow, thanks so much for entertaining our abrupt visit! You're amazing, Y/N." Armin praised vehemently.

"I am, aren't I?"

"Not too much commending for this one, Armin. Her ego inflates as rapidly as Jean's does." Marco jested as he ruffled your hair, "Look, her head's already grown and you've barely begun your applause."

Your eyes rolled at his obvious taunting, "As if yours isn't ten times worse." You goaded in return. "Anyway, I'll walk you two out. If you don't mind, I'd love to return to my attempts of peaceful slumber and I still have to clean up."

"Kicking us out already?" Marco feigned offense.

You laughed at the notion, "If I don't, Armin will chew all of his nails off by the time he musters up the courage to dismiss himself." You gestured to the blonde who, ironically, was doing just that.

"I feel like I'm invading a space that I shouldn't be." He muttered in embarrassment.

Marco guffawed at his discomfort, "Alright, let's go before you bite your fingers off." He agreed and led your group towards the door where he took ahold of the knob and twisted.

But, before he allowed himself to leave you to your midday napping, his hand hesitated on the glossy metal. His brows furrowed and an expression hindered by his pensive thoughts formed on his soft features. Before you could have uttered any word of concern, he spoke what you had assumed to be the thoughts plaguing away at his mind.

"Y/N, you're allowed to take your time. Especially so considering how young we are, but... if I may?" He asks and you couldn't tell whether his hesitance was caused by mere caution or scruple. "Life as we know it ends, at some point. And in many cases, it's highly unexpected."

You hadn't heeded how adept the freckled boy was at reading people, or perhaps it was you specifically that he had grown accustomed to that had allowed him to peruse your soul so easily. Conversely, the thought that maybe you had always simply worn your emotions on your chest and laid them all bare was what had permitted the boy to skim your thoughts.

You never responded and you doubted he had ever expected you to, though you wish you had, for perhaps future emotional turbulence could have been avoided if so.

So, he proceeded with his departure, though as soon as the door knob twisted and unveiled what awaited you on the other side, the gush of polar and dampened wind fled into the cabin alike a cold bucket of water.

"Ack!" Marco grimaced at the alteration of atmosphere. No longer had he felt cozy and safe, instead his shaking bones curled in on themselves to shield his body from the chill that invaded your senses.

"Oh wow, it's raining!" Armin examined.

"How didn't we notice that before?" You asked as you braced yourself to step out onto the wooden porch. Your sock clad feet felt the moisture instantly, though the temperature only spurred you to inch closer to the railing. After a deep inhalation that cleared your head, you surmised, "It smells like it's gonna rain all day."

Armin takes it upon himself to stick a palm flat in the air not shielded by the large awning that thwarted the water from meeting your heads. "Oh, but it feels very refreshing." He announced with a fond smile as he stared at the droplets that littered his hand.

"There are already so many puddles, I wonder how long the rain has been here for. It wasn't here on our way to the cabin." Marco wondered.

Mimicking the blonde's actions, your skin feels the frigid water that falls from the sky, the sensation not at all deterring your good mood. In fact, it seemed to have cleared your mind of any tussle of thoughts that sat on the forefront of your head.

Almost as if under a spell, Armin haphazardly stomped his foot into a small pool of water that had accumulated by his boots, soddening the pants of the boy beside him in the process, the blonde seeming to not know the reason why he did it, if the perplexity on his face had any telling of the truth.

"Oops, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"

Before the worried boy was able to complete his apology, his friend repeated his actions in retaliation, though he failed to notice that you too were in his range of fire. He didn't seem to have any regrets either way. Only amusement detected in his guffaw as you squealed at the sudden dampness of your pants.

Of course, ever the challenging spirit, you did not allow the misdeed to go unpunished, and even as you reciprocated, neither boy granted you the courtesy either.

Before you knew it, all three of you had somehow ended up out from under the awning and instead, under the open sky catapulting throngs of heavy droplets your way. Not halting the splashing and kicking of your legs further soiling your clothes, incautiously permitting the buoyant giggles and chortles to fill the air and irrigate the strands of your hair along with the rain. Not that any of you had cared.

In that moment, you weren't soldiers in training, awaiting the fortuitous day that you too would perish from the world you were born into. A world that was unjust, inequitable, and bore many secrets. You were dreamers who had came upon other dreamers on your paths toward your individual goals. Dreamers latching onto the feelings that allowed them to feel alive.

Or perhaps you weren't something as abstract as that, chasing a will to live. Maybe you were just kids.

Kids who grew to love mornings a little more after that day.

Fun fact: maia and arlo are both sick and honey is not helping.

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terrence-silver · 6 months ago

Note

Beloved finds out she can't have children and the doctors tell her that there is no cure in her case. She makes the decision she can't destroy Terry's dream of having a legacy and one day when he's working late at the dojo again she packs her things and leaves. Terry comes home and finds a letter from her, she apologizes and asks him to forget about her and find someone who will give him family. How would he react?

I once wrote how I don't think Terry Silver would necessarily adopt because he's too much of an egoist to do so and an anon sent me a message threatening to kill themselves (hope they're okay) so, yeah, don't do that, because I'm saying it again --- if beloved couldn't have children, I feel he'd just swear off the notion, in fact, in his old age, one gets the impression he long since swore off the notion. He's regretful, yes, but he isn't out here actively doing anything to change it. He wants those kids to be him. And beloved. He wants a mixture of his and their eyes, their skin, their blood, their character, their habits, their mannerisms, their everything reflected in his heirs and if he can't have that, he'll be damned, he doesn't want it at all. If beloved was barren or reproducibly impaired in any way, Terry would prolong his legacy in other ways. Through business. Enterprise. The accumulation of power. Expansion. Control. General takeover. You name it.

Because, consider it.

Terry Silver's an extremely wealthy man. If he wanted children all these years, he could've had them. Powerful people adopt and hire surrogates all the time. Constantly, in fact. The very fact he didn't means something. It means he wants his kids to be his in every way they possibly can be and he wants them to come from someone he's devoted to as much as it is humanly possible. Everything or nothing. Hey, that could be a selfish or even smallminded notion, but when was Terry Silver ever a saint? Beloved packs their things and leaves because they fear they're causing Terry to be bereft of something by being unable to give him his (biological) legacy and it only has him going after them and retrieving them home where they belong because they are already his family, as they are. His name will echo across the world. He will make sure of it. And he will be remembered long after he's gone and he'll achieve this with beloved firmly by his side. His legacy will be his power.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #tw; all the triggers #tw; adoption #tw; surrogacy #tw; reproduction problems #terry silver x reader #terry silver x beloved #children

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britswriting · 1 year ago

Text

Fallen For You H.S | AU - Six

Fallen For You Masterlist - find description here

Read on Wattpad

Rancher!Harry x Plus-sized!OC

🦋Delaney🦋

"How's it going with the cowboy?" Wren asked, the two of us sat in the Bunny Pen.

"I think I need to give it up" I confessed, regretting ever throwing myself out there.

I mean, how many times does a guy have to ignore you, turn you down, and blatantly tell you he wants to be left alone before you finally leave him alone.

Wren's eyes narrowed, "You said dinner the first night went well?"

"He doesn't want to be around me" I sighed, "I need to respect his boundaries. If he doesn't want me, I need to leave him alone. Plus, he seems to have the farm stuff figured out" I shrugged, softly petting one of the bunnies that had hopped over to me.

Wrenlynn leaned back on her hands, looking over at me, "I think he's just nervous, Laney"

"Harry? Nervous? Please" I scoffed, Wren grinning at me. "What?" my eyes narrowed, "Why are you smiling?"

"You're so cute, Laney"

"You never say that with intentions of it being a compliment" I stated, already sussing her out.

"Remember all the stuff we used to hear about the Rickman's?" She asked, my head nodding, confused as to what she was getting to. "They're not nice people, Lane. I'm sure coming here, and being treated differently, is a lot to take in. Think about it, you spend god knows how long over there, then come and work for dad. It's hard to change expectations. I already told you he doesn't socialize with the employers. — I'm not saying ignore his boundaries, but maybe.. I don't know, Lane, maybe just approach him with caution? You really like him. You really like him" She repeated, "Unless he's mean to you, show's behavior you don't like, or tells you he doesn't like you.. I think you just need to be patient" She shrugged, falling back against the grass. "Maybe he just needs a friend right now"

"I'm not going to ignore his boundaries, Wren. He said he likes eating alone"

"And yet you've had dinner with him twice"

"Well, not really. He sort've kicked me out; and honestly Wren, I think the first time was a fluke. I think he wants me to leave him alone, and I need to respect that. We can't lose him" I sighed, wishing I could just outright ask if he liked me at all, even if it went nowhere; but the fear of rejection - even at 26, and the likeness of him fleeing was too much of a warning sign that I needed to tread carefully.

"I just think you need to keep shoving yourself at him. Obviously, not in a way that's going to get you hurt, or upset him... but like, be around? Ya know? Befriend the loner" She said with a teasing undertone.

I groaned, feeling like we were going to go in circles.

Instead of replying, I just nodded and sighed, letting the silence fall between us.

All day I had an internal conflict about if I should just pretend Harry never existed, or if I should put more effort into it. It was a blurry line I was dancing on.

I was struggling to find an organic way for our paths to cross, the evenings being the only open area I could mess with, yet he likes to eat alone. So how was I supposed to try and hang out with him?

We're both busy all day long, there is no room for me to wiggle myself into his day even if it was to be his friend like Wren suggested.

"What if I cooked him dinner?" I asked Wrenlynn; following behind her through the market as we accumulated the things off my Grandma's shopping list.

"You threw a whole fit about how he eats alone" She numbly replied, my dreadful sigh making her look at me, "What? It's true"

"But, he can eat alone. I said make dinner. Not eat it with him"

Wrenlynn stopped, turning to look at me, "Delaney, what's the purpose of that?"

"To hang out with him?" I questioned, confused.

I thought that was obvious?

She suggested I be his friend. Isn't this literally her advice?

"Laney, I love you. You know that. I support you being happy, and loved, and successful. I just.. I don't want you to get hurt, okay? I know I was practically shoving him at you, but he seems troubled, Lane. I don't think overdoing it on your end is going to end well for you. Mom likes making dinner, Harry eats it. What's the point of doing all the work to just hand it over? At least mom gets a family dinner. I think you need to be there, but give him space." My face fell, Wren's facial features softening, "Delaney, I want you happy, and healthy, okay? If that's something he can give you, go for it, but don't let him walk all over you. Don't let him use you and don't let your overthinking lead you down the wrong path"

I frowned, "It's just dinner, Wren"

"It always is, Lane. You saw how beat up Morgan was with her ex. I just, I don't want that for you. Just be careful, please?"

"Always am"

We carried ourselves throughout the store when a lightbulb went off in my head.

"Cowboy Casserole" I blurted, Wren turning to look at me, her brow furrowed.

"What?"

"What if I made him Cowboy Casserole?" I suggested, mentally figuring out all the ingredients I'd need.

"How is you making food for him any different than mom making food for him?"

"Because it'd be from mom" I stated the obvious.

"I thought the purpose was to spend time together?"

"God, Wren! Throw me a bone here!" I urged, Wren's eyes rolling.

"You do you, Laney. Just be careful"

"I'm trying here! You said be his friend! Isn't this friendly?" I scrunch my face, frustrated by the whiplash that was my sister.

Her eyes rolled, "You seem like a desperate girl trying to impress a guy with her cooking skills. Being a friend isn't making him a five course meal with the hopes of him eating you out for dessert at the end"

My eyes widened as I smacked her arm, "Wrenlynn! We are in public! I don't need to be the talk of the town" I hissed.

"Chill, no one is around. Plus, you don't like being in the kitchen? Why are you wanting to make him dinner?"

"He needs to eat right?" I shot back, wincing slightly.

"How considerate" She snickered.

We continued walking, collecting our ingredients, and I decided to say fuck it and make Harry dinner anyway.

Who cares how it comes across. He'll at least be fed, which was a rule he made.

I carried my ingredients into the kitchen, seeing the clock read 4:39pm.

Pulling out a pan, I started browning the ground beef, listening to the ruckus that was my family members walking in and out of the house.

"What are you making?" My younger brother Keegan asked, hoping up on the barstool.

"Nothing"

"Doesn't smell like nothing" he shot back, an annoying smirk evident in his tone.

"It's not for you, so it doesn't matter"

"What is it?"

"Cowboy Casserole"

"Oooooo" His voice peaked.

"Don't even think about it" I shot down, draining the grease from the meat before pouring it into a baking pan.

"Why can't I have any?" He huffed, climbing on the chair and leaning over the counter, getting closer to my food.

"Because it isn't for you"

"Then who's it for?"

"None of your business"

"Tell me!" Keegan whined as I pulled out a cutting board to chop up some green beans onto smaller pieces.

"No. Go away" I huffed, rinsing the fresh produce and placing it on the cutting board.

"Since when do you cook?" He asked as I started the chop the green vegetable.

"Don't you have chores to do? Or homework?" I grumbled, sliding the cut green beans into the pan.

"Nope!" He grinned, knowing damn well he was annoying me.

Aren't little brothers great? Sigh.

"Mom's gonna be pissed if your dirty clothes aren't in the laundry room" I reminded him.

Mom hated searching the house for the clothes, so if it wasn't in the laundry room it wasn't getting washed; little younger boys were really bad about doing it until they were almost out of things to wear.

Keegan's eyes widened as he scurried off the barstool, rushing down the hallway.

Ah. Peace and quiet.

I finished adding the cut carrots and the corn; pulling out a can of chicken noodle soup to pour over it when another voice was heard, followed by the slam and rickety hinged storm door.

"God have I had a damn day" Morgan huffed, taking the bar stool that was recently abandoned.

So much for peace and quiet.

"Why? What happened?" I humored, mixing the soup around in the pan before popping open a bag of tater tots.

"What are you making?"

Oh my god

"Nothing"

"Smells weird"

"What do you mean? Mom used to make it"

Morgan's nose wrinkled. "Maybe it's just the pregnancy. It doesn't smell good" She huffed, my eyes rolling. Then leave? "Anyway—"

Morgan proceeded to tell me about how hard it is to do shit whilst you're pregnant, followed by the complaints of doing the simple task of walking. Apparently our driveway was too long.

With the dish in the oven, I cleaned up after my mess just in time for my dad and one of the barn cats to stroll in; my dad covered in dirt.

"I'm showering, no one flush the toilet or use the dishwasher or you're going to be in for it!" He called out, walking down the hallway.

The storm door opened once again; the annoyance that was probably seeping out of me would be a clear warning sign for anyone but my family.

"Whatcha makin' now, Laney?" Wren asked, sitting down next to Morgan whom opened her big fat mouth before I could.

"Dinner that we can't have"

"Ooh" She dragged out, "For the cowboy?"

"The cowboy?" Morgan questioned, my eyes shooting daggers towards my twin sister.

"Laney here—"

"Wrenlynn, shut up" I warned, wanting to smack the smirk right off her face.

"Lane has a crush on the new rancher" She said anyway, my body collapsing against the counter as my arms stretched out and head rested against the cool countertop.

I hate my life.

"Oooo! The guy I had to give dinner to?" Morgan asked, a hum followed up by Morgan.

Can the ground swallow me whole? Surely I've already dug my grave at some point in my 26 years of life.

"You like him, Lane?" Morgan's brow furrowed, judgment evident on her face.

Here we go.

"She's smitten" Wrenlynn egged on, my head whipping up to glare at her.

"Shut up, Wren. It's none of your business. What are you? Twelve?" I snapped; Wren grinning, pissing me off as Morgan continued.

"He didn't seem very nice Lane. I've heard he's very arrogant" Morgan put in her two cents; as if I asked for it.

"What's wrong with having self worth?" I questioned, Morgan's head shaking.

"Having self worth and being full of yourself are two different things. Remember The Housley's talking about how his rate was outrages?! What did dad even pay him to begin with? We're broke as it is. He's just milking us for everything we're worth" She scoffed, clearly having distaste for a man she's never talked to.

"I'm sure he has his reasons, and honestly, he's deserving of it. He knows his worth and he uses it"

"But what about the occasional helping hand? Doing it out of the goodness of your heart? He's greedy Delaney; and arrogant, and quite frankly rude"

"Rude?!" My mouth gaped. Wren watching us like we were the best reality tv show out there.That sneaky bitch. "You delivered food. That's it. You can't take tired for rude. He's not very talkative" I defended, Wrenlynn snorting; my head whipping to face her, "What?" I snapped, before glaring, "You know what, no. Screw you both! I didn't put myself in this situation! Wrenlynn, you're my least favorite person today. I hope mom serves you cold peas and Morgan? Stop fucking judging people based off one interaction" I snapped, quickly exiting the kitchen towards my bedroom.

I heard Wrenlynn yell out, "Gonna need some ice for that burn!" Only making my blood boil even more.

What was their fucking problem?

So what if I liked a guy who maybe can be rude to outsiders; or knows his worth and uses it two his advantage? It's not like they're saints themselves! Who knows why he needs the money. It's not like he's living in a really nice house on his own property! Why is it such a big deal if I make dinner for him? Part of his contract is he has a fresh warm meal each night. He never said it had to come from my mom.

My trickle of tear drops quickly became a full sob as I laid in my bed hurt, overwhelmed, and flat out tired of everyone's opinions.

I'm not a child anymore. I can make my own choices; whether they like it or not.

A knock on my door followed by a whine made me groan, yelling for whoever it is to come in as I wiped at my face.

"Lane?" My dad's voice called out before he walked through the door, Opal right behind him, ready to hop on my bed and provide snuggles. "You're crying pretty hard in here. You alright?" He asked, shutting my door behind him, standing in front of the closed door; a look of concern searing into me.

"I'm fine" I mumbled, accepting Opal's love and affection.

"Would you like to talk about it? Maybe vent? I can offer some possible solutions if you want?" he offered, my head shaking. "Alright. I'm sorry you're upset, honey. My ears are always ready if you need to talk, okay?" He reminded me and I nodded, hiding my face in my beloved Bernese Mountain Dogs fur.

"I love you" I murmured into Opal's neck, running my hands through her thick fluffy black fur. "I know, you hate seeing me sad" I giggled, feeling her warm wet tongue lick against my skin. "You're such a good girl" I sighed, staring into her beautiful brown eyes. "If only animals could talk. I'd have so many more friends"

Opal was getting older. She's a retired working dog; she helped pull carts on the farm, helping us transport stuff. With her old age came medical issues which contributed to her lack of energy, so for the best interest in her, she is now simply a family bet who loves to be a rug on your floor, steal scraps you may have dropped whilst cooking, and offers the best hugs whenever you're feeling down.

She truly was one of my favorite dogs, and it saddens me to think about losing her.

Eventually the timer rang and I grudgingly got out of my bed, pulling out the hot casserole to let it cool.

Am I crossing boundaries again? Is this a bad idea? Am I chasing him away?

"What did you make Lane?" Grandma asked, opening the fridge and pulling out a covered bowl.

"Cowboy casserole?" I stated, although it sounded more like a question as I prepared for 20 questions.

"Sounds yummy. Wasn't your mom and dad doing steaks? Did the plans change?" She asked, reaching up to fix her headband that held back her short, fluffy, silver hair.

"No, they're doing steaks. I uh, need to just um.." shit, how to I tell her I need to take this to Harry without telling her I need to take this to Harry?

"Are you joining us for dinner?" She asked, ignoring my stumbling.

"I um.. yes, I believe so" I stumbled once again.

"Then what's that?" She nodded towards the steaming hot casserole.

Shit. Would Harry have rather had steak? He would've, wouldn't he.

"Oh um.. just uh.. meal prepping for this week ya know? Busy helping Mimi. Gotta make sure we have something grab and go" I lied straight through my teeth.. or did I?

Should I just deliver the steak and potatoes to Harry?

"That's smart. Your grandpa used to do that. He hated packing lunch" She chuckled, a soft smile filling my cheeks.

Grandma doesn't talk about Grandpa very often. Especially when they got divorced, but ever since he died, he's become a sore, sad topic; so I welcomed the topic with open arms whenever I could.

Dinner time rolled around; my dad bringing in the freshly grilled steaks as Morgan, my mom and grandma finished up on the sides.

"I'll dish Harry's plate in a moment, Delaney" Mom informed, Wrenlynn quickly chiming in with the fact of "Laney made him dinner", mom looking up from the cutting board, questioning me.

"I um.. burned it. Steak's fine"

"See! I told you you can't cook" Wren laughed, chin quivering a little as I nodded.

"I uh — yeah. You were right" I muttered, watching dad place a steak on the white plate, followed by mom adding sides and a napkin; sending me on my way.

Since when did I become the designated delivery service? Not that I'm complaining..

I knocked on the door, staring at my sneakers when I heard an "It's open!" yelled from the other side.

God damnit.

I was really hoping I could just hand the plate off and be on my merry way.

Shuffling inside, I gently closed the door behind me and just stood on the welcome mat; not wanting to take off my shoes.

"I uh.. have your dinner?" I stuttered, huffing at the fact I could hear my voice wobble.

He's just another person, Delaney. He has to eat too.

"Sorry" Harry said, walking out of the bathroom in dark sweatpants and a red tight t-shirt. Water droplets from his hair fell onto the fabric covering his shoulders, Harry running his fingers through it before looking over at me — our eyes met, then the plate.

"You're here" He stated, licking his lips.

"I am" I nodded.

"You weren't here the past few days" He continued, to which I nodded again; not offering a deeper explanation.

"Your dinner" I held out the plate, Harry's brow furrowing before he relaxed his face, taking the plate and sitting down.

He looked back at me as he sat, lips pursed, picking up his knife and fork.

I guess I should go.

I turned on my heel, twisting the knob when I heard; "Why?"

What?

I looked over my shoulder, "Why, what?"

There was silence for a moment.

"Why weren't you here?" he finally asked.

"You said you wanted to be alone" I stated the obvious, confused why we were doing this song and dance.

Doesn't he want to eat his dinner in peace like he asked? Shouldn't I be leaving now?

"I said I liked eating alone" He corrected, my shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Why is that?" I questioned, rocking slightly on my feet.

"Why is what?" he hummed, taking a bite of his steak.

Alright, this is getting annoying.

"Why do you like eating alone?" I asked in my best — my patience isn't running thin —voice.

He just stared at me. Blank stare. No emotions or thoughts behind those beautiful green eyes.

A few seconds passed and I turned around, opening the door, expecting him to stop me; but he didn't. He let me walk out the door.

I walked back into the kitchen, racing thoughts of what could possibly be through his head getting drowned out by the conversations my family were having, already eating.

"Did he say if it was cooked how he liked it?" Dad asked, my head shaking, "Ask him when you see him next, please"

"Why can't you ask him?" I snapped, taking my seat at the table.

Dad's head tilted, "Because I'm going out of town tomorrow morning"

"Out of town? For what? What does that mean for all the chores—"

"We hired Harry for that reason, Delaney" He interrupted.

"No. We hired him to help us. Not take over. What about your jobs?" I asked, my mom side eyeing us before continuing her talk with Grandma, Wren and Mimi.

"Delaney, it's one weekend—"

"We're not the Rickman's!" My voice raised, "We can't do th—"

"Damnit Delaney! It's one weekend! We need the money so we can fucking pay him! I don't know what else to tell you" Dad snapped, everyone going quiet.

"We can't overwork him!" I argued back, knowing that picking up dads slack means even longer days.

Dad took a deep breath, eyeing my mother then looking at me, "It's one weekend. He'll live"

"Does he know that you're leaving?" I questioned, feeling my blood boil. How can he just leave everything to Harry? "What about the hoof cleaning at the neighbors?"

"Yes, he knows; and they've assigned someone else to it for the weekend" He told me, my cheek between my teeth becoming sore from how hard I was biting it.

"So we're losing money there, too? Where are you even going?" I pressed, confused why no one has told me anything. "Is it just you going?"

"I'm going to the homestead near Fawn Lake"

Fawn Lake? That's three hours away!

"For the weekend?"

"For the weekend" He confirmed and I just nodded slowly.

I continued to grill him. Asking how much he's making; to which he said he doesn't know yet since it's hourly. I guess he's doing some sort of maintenance and helping out with a few of their horses. I also asked who all was going. Apparently my dad, mom and grandmother. Which was followed up by, whose cooking? To which Wrenlynn oh so happily piped up to say that I burn things, to which immediately signed her up for the job to which she protested about.

I couldn't help but have this nagging feeling in the back of my head telling me;

He's going to think we're the Rickman's and we're now overworking him, and we can't pay him.

We're fucked.

I laid in my bed after showering, Opal on a pile of dirty clothes on my floor, fast asleep, when my a message popped up from an unknown number

010-342-8759: Where do you keep the toilet paper?

What?

I quickly replied; "Who is this?" watching the three bubbles pop up.

010-342-8759: Harry Styles.

Oh.

OH.

Oh.

Oh my god.

I quickly changed his contact, replying "Toilet paper?"

Harry: I'm out

Me: There's none under the sink in the cabinet?

Harry: No

Me: Oh. Um.. we have some? You can come get some

The three bubbles popped up for a while before a message finally came through

Harry: I can't. I'm preoccupied

Preoccupied? Is he texting me from the toilet?

Me: Preoccupied?

Harry: Bring toilet paper over

Me: Please

Harry:

What?

Me: Say please

Harry: Please.

I grinned, getting out of bed to grab some spare toilet paper, slipping on my flip flops and quickly leaving out the back door, Harlow eyes opening, looking at me.

"Shh" I held my finger up to my lips, slipping out the back and quickly walking down the dirt path to Harry's home.

"Landshark!" I knocked on his door, grinning as I held the toilet paper.

"It's open!" He yelled, welcoming me in.

I walked in, taking in the pull out couch that was made up for bed, the table lamp on next to it; the sheets folded over, appearing ready for Harry to crawl into. His kitchen was clean. Not a dish in sight. I scanned the floor as I slipped off my flip flops; no laundry here.

Either he didn't live here, or he was very tidy.

I looked to my right again, my eyes widening.

"Are you pooping with the door open?!" I shrieked, terrified to walk over there now.

"Toilet paper, Delaney" Harry huffed, and before I knew it, his hand poked out from the door.

Oh my god.

OH MY GOD.

"I uh.. um.. I.. okay" I stuttered, quickly walking over, keeping my eyes on the ground as I shoved the bag into his hand. "I'm just gonna go" I rushed out; wondering what the fuck just happened.

Mental note; Harry needs more toilet paper.

On the side bar.

He poops with the door open?!

* * * *

Written on: October 2nd and 7th 2023

Published on: October 8th 2023

Word Count: 3.9k

Seven

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