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thedistantdusk · 3 years

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Arcadia, Chapter 1

My submission for the 2021 Hinny birthday challenge for the HG discord! Thanks to Liza for organizing, to @accio-broom for the Brit-pick, to @secretkeeper13 for the beta, and to anyone else who helped (I'm probably forgetting a few folks, apologies).

The challenge theme this year was content based on TV! This is an (extremely loose) X-Files AU, but you absolutely don’t need to be familiar with X-Files to understand this :D

TW (spoilers): swearing, references to (severe) mental health concerns, (eventual) consensual relations

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D A Y + O N E

The woman probably finds herself charming as she stands in their driveway, her hands clasped in frozen excitement.

But Ginny just finds her creepy.

Really fucking creepy.

Harry drops hired car into first gear as they pull in. This woman— the head of the village council, Ginny reckons, the one she spoke to on the phone— wears perfectly-pleated Chino pants with a lavender jumper draped across her shoulders.

Her attire is standard for a posh village… especially a new-build village, one with a covenant and loads of stupid rules. It’s the woman’s eerie, opened-mouthed grin that shoots a chill up Ginny’s spine.

Her stark white teeth glint in the sun, but her smile doesn’t move an inch… and the longer Ginny stares, the more unsettled she grows. The only thing larger than her grin is the mane of yellow hair that surrounds her face like an ersatz halo.

Harry clears his throat as he turns off the car; Ginny realizes this is the first sound either of them has made since leaving London.

Awkward.

She reaches for her door handle, but the random woman gets to it first.

“You must be Jenny and Henry!” she shrieks, yanking on Ginny’s shoulders before she’s even unbuckled. “Oh, sorry! Love, do let me get the strap!”

Ginny’s on her feet and pressed to the stranger’s perfumed bosom before she has a chance to tell her she can manage just fine herself, thanks.

“Lovely to meet you in person!” the woman cries, nearly shaking with enthusiasm. It’s not until Ginny’s returned a weak squeeze that the vice-like grip around her middle weakens.

Rubbing her aching shoulder, she sneaks a glimpse at Harry; while she fought for air, he apparently climbed out of the car, only to stare at the two of them like a deer in the headlights. Now his elbow’s at an awkward angle, his hand behind his back, which could only mean one thing: he’s reaching for the wand in his back pocket.

Shit.

Ginny shakes her head and hopes her eyes convey what her lips can’t: She’s just a standard Muggle weirdo. Relax.

“I’m Jane. Jane Connors. In the flesh!” The woman (whose voice Ginny now finds painfully familiar) throws her hands in the air and twirls on the spot. “I take it you’re Jenny and Henry Petri!”

Harry interrupts with a booming chuckle before Ginny says a word; in three quick steps, he’s wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “That’s Pee-tri, actually. Like the dish,” Harry— Henry— adds with a wink. “And speaking of dish…” His eyes travel over Ginny, his voice going all deep and silky.

She bites back a shudder, hating the way her stomach drops as his fingers graze her arm. All that keeps her grounded is knowing the truth: Harry’s good at his job, nothing more. The only reason he’s suddenly become a skilled actor is that his career demands it.

Hers does too, she reminds herself firmly. And if she has any intention of successfully completing her first solo mission, she needs to get her shit together. Now.

Ginny blinks up at Harry, appropriately sobered; his eyes glimmer with mirth. As suspected, he’s only doing his job. Touch is just part of the assignment description. He has no way of knowing what it does to her— because really, truly, it shouldn’t.

And maybe if she keeps telling herself that, it’ll eventually come true.

Harry winks at Jane, tugging Ginny against his side. “My new wife and I had a long journey from the city! We were hoping to get some alone-time before tucking in, I’m sure you understand.”

Jane looks puzzled. “You— but it’s 5:43!” An uncomfortable giggle burbles from her lips. “You must be moved in by 6. Surely you’ve read the covenant rules?”

“Erm… may have missed that one,” Ginny lies. “There’s quite a few, see. We’re used to—”

But Jane shoves her fingers into her mouth, cutting her off with an ear-piercing whistle. Just as quickly, another chill races up Ginny’s spine. People up and down the street emerge from their semi-detached homes and race towards them, their faces in downcast unison.

They’ve all been watching. Waiting for the signal. Ready.

Ginny’s not sure how long ago the Department of Mysteries delivered the moving van and left it on the street, but the horde of random people aren’t fussed with the details, either. Within five seconds of Jane’s whistle, the strangers throw open the back door and begin an unloading process that reeks of military precision.

“Here’s the house key!” trills Jane, pulling it from her pocket. “Oh, and Petris!” She turns to Harry and Ginny, wagging her finger. “I’ll also need a copy of your car key, ASAP. We’re firm believers in the buddy system here in Arcadia.” She returns her attention to the stone-faced neighbors, who are now scurrying to the door. “This way, friends— right this way!”

“I— that’s really unnecessary,” Ginny says, bewildered, as people rush inside their new house, boxes in arms. “We’re perfectly able to—”

“Nonsense!” cries a man with grey sideburns as he takes a box from the back. “We’re neighborly here. You’d better get used to it.”

“Yes!” chimes another voice. A chubby man wearing a Polo and a golden necklace emerges from behind the lorry, hurrying up the walk. “We’re like a family here. We all— oh no!” He lets out a startled cry as a box labeled FINE CHINA topples from his arms and lands on the pavement with a thump.

He rushes towards it, face falling, but Ginny’s main concern is the box’s silent descent; she runs over, making a mental note to have a word with the designer of these props. Would something noisy and fragile have killed them? For fuck’s sake...

“Sorry,” the man says with a pained wince. “I’m just so clumsy. I-I promise, I’ll—”

“It’s fine,” Ginny soothes, dropping to her knees. “Don’t worry, really. We aren’t too big on dishes.”

Maybe if she keeps him talking, he won’t realize it’s bloody empty. Seriously, this is amateur shit. Luckily, he’s too distracted to notice.

The man offers a sheepish smile. “I’m Mike. Mike Snodgrass. You may have seen Mike and Jess in the resident guide, but erm…” He trails off, sadness in his voice.

Ginny cocks her head to feign confusion, but of course she’s familiar with Jess Snodgrass, 25, reported missing last November. Her photo’s been on Ginny’s desk for almost as long. Even now, Jess appears in Ginny’s mind with such startling clarity that she can almost see her beside Mike... all 5 feet of her, with curly red hair, bright blue eyes, and a lopsided grin.

Jess Snodgrass… Arcadia’s third missing person. The first to disrupt the couples-only disappearance pattern.

Mike shrugs. “But erm… it’s just me now,” he repeats. “I’m a primary teacher at Saint Julian’s, just up the road.” He nods to his left. “So if you’ve got any homework or school questions, give me a ring!” He pastes on a smile that doesn’t match his eyes; it’s an expression with which Ginny’s well-acquainted.

“I’ll have to remember that, Mike Snodgrass,” Ginny says, shaking his hand.

She immediately regrets it.

Seeing Mike Snodgrass on paper is one thing, but touch makes him human. His hand feels big and warm, his smile earnest and sweet; he reminds her so strongly of Neville that her stomach aches. Ginny breathes through her nose and focuses on the way his necklace — a medallion of Saint Julian, appropriately enough — sparkles in the sun.

“Like I said, I’m all alone,” Mike repeats, offering his hand to help her up. “If you ever need anything, Jenny, don’t hesitate to ask!”

Ginny taps her chin. “Actually, I do have a question! I reckon it’s just a rumor, though. You don’t have to confirm or deny.” She winks at him and leans in as a woman in a fleece jumper rushes past.

Mike’s smile widens, his face brightening… and ah fuck, that one hurts, because she’s about to break his heart.

“Mike…” Ginny murmurs, studying his expression. The more she says his name, the less he reminds her of Neville; she wants to keep it that way. “With everyone being so bloody hospitable here, how come there are so many disappearances?”

Mike stops bobbing. His smile vanishes as quickly as the former occupants of Jenny and Henry’s new home. When Ginny looks back into his eyes, her gut plummets with a sensation of wretched familiarity.

Because she expected sadness on his face… the same type she saw when he mentioned Jess’ name. Sadness she can deal with; sadness is painful, but she sees it all the time.

She sees something worse, though.

Fear.

And not day-to-day fear. This isn’t like hating needles or avoiding clown movies. Mike’s face is filled with the sort of wide-eyed, gripping, primal terror that seizes your insides in a vice. This is how you’d feel if your entire family were held captive in a dungeon, and a single word to the wrong person would spell their deaths.

Or how you’d feel if your ex-boyfriend were the corrupt government’s most desired fugitive… and you still fancied him very much, indeed.

“I… n-no idea,” Mike finally stutters, blinking. Then he sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his expression brightening again.

“So what do you and Henry do for work?” he asks in a booming voice, his grin now unnaturally wide. “We’ve got a carpool to the city if you’re interested. Reducing our carbon footprint is of utmost importance here in Arcadia!” He finishes by spreading his hands in each direction before placing them on his hips, that shit-eating grin still plastered across his face.

In another life, Ginny might’ve laughed. There certainly would have been a lot to cackle over, if she had the luxury of easy laughter. After all, she may as well be living in an am-dram nativity performance, complete with an overeager Joseph beckoning her to the stables after her harrowing desert journey.

Now, though, his reply only fills her with sad, professional detachment. Because fucking hell, how much did this poor man rehearse to get that line right?

She takes pity on him and snaps the bait. “My husband and I work from home,” she says, matching his volume. Someone’s clearly listening; it’s the least she can do. “You won’t see us out much.” Ginny brings the box to her hip. “And seriously, don’t worry about replacing the dishes, either. We mostly do takeaway.”

“No, let me bring you new ones,” Mike insists, his eyes pleading. “Tomorrow? Would that be—”

“What is this?” a voice demands from the back of the truck. Ginny peers around Mike’s shoulder. The man with the gray sideburns stares inside the lorry with a look of disgust.

“A trampoline!” Harry says, stepping aside as another neighbor races past. “We’re thrilled to put it in the garden, aren’t we, Jenny Cakes?”

Jenny Cakes. Is he fucking serious? Two can play at this game, prat.

“Indeed we are, Hen,” she croons, leaning into his side. “Jen and Hen.” She heaves a dreamy sigh and stares into his eyes. “We even rhyme!”

“Rhyming or not, this isn’t allowed,” the man barks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d have to apply for a special exemption with Mr Gogolak, but in the meantime…” He checks his watch. “5:53. Seven minutes. It’ll have to go in the garage tonight. I’m Oliver, by the way— Oliver Skinner.”

Harry gives him a theatrical scowl. “I’d say nice to meet you, but those who are enemies of trampolines are generally enemies of mine.”

Ginny bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing, but Oliver remains unamused. He raises his pointer finger as if to say something, but Harry gets there first.

“Onnnnly kidding!” Harry winks and claps his shoulder. “Hope we can be fast friends, Oliver.”

Oliver just glares back. “Count on it.”

_______________________________________________________

Ginny’s taking this whole thing very seriously. Not that Harry blames her.

Her voice echoes against the walls of the empty home as she paces around the sitting room, her camera flipped outward to record.

Despite his five-year Auror career, Harry has no real concept of what Unspeakables do. Which, he supposes, is by design. He knows they… know things. Secret things. Things you’d be happier not knowing. He also knows that Kingsley isn’t fond of them. Or perhaps it’s Attica Monkstanley, Ginny’s boss, who King dislikes in particular. Attica’s famous for her refusal to disclose anything — ever. This ranges from potential terrorist plots to her favorite type of sandwich. Thus, Attica isn’t particularly popular. After a career built on helping absolutely no one outside her department, the request for Auror backup on an undisclosed, top-secret endeavor went over about as well as a hippogriff stampede in a posh tea room.

Harry sighs at the blank walls of their would-be living room. King’s in charge now. Big in charge. He or Robards were the obvious choices to accompany Ginny — sorry, Unspeakable GW — on this mission, but when you’re Big In Charge, you call the shots. The shot King called was to pass the assignment to Robards, who in turn passed it to Harry; Robards decided he didn’t need to (direct quote) “take off a week from pre-existing assignments for some fake marriage, new-build village bullshit in the arse-end of Muggle nowhere.”

Admittedly, Harry’s in a bit of a lull at the moment. He’d been assigned to track and recover Yaxley, but that trail went cold on the border of Romania. Harry’s certain he’s just beyond their reach, maybe hiding in a cave, but seeing as how Harry’s not Big In Charge, his opinion doesn’t exactly matter.

Which is precisely how he’s found himself in this bland house in the village of Arcadia, pretending to be married to his ex-girlfriend… who, incidentally, he’s still hopelessly infatuated with, even five years after he ended things.

Because Harry Potter is nothing if not pathetic.

There’d been no realistic way to decline the assignment, though. Not that he’d tried. Seriously, imagine explaining that to your boss: “Mm yeah, sorry King, I can’t do my job because I still wank to the memory of Unspeakable GW riding my—”

Ginny’s narration jerks him from his thoughts. “It’s 6:15 PM on our first day of the assignment,” she dictates into her phone. “Auror Potter and I are secured in the home, posing as Muggle couple Jenny and Henry Petri.”

“Pee-tri!” Harry corrects, throwing his voice across the room.

He hopes he’s loud enough for the camera to detect, but he isn’t exactly brave enough to find out. Harry picks up their empty curry boxes and scampers into the kitchen without so much as a backward glimpse. He may have been forced into this assignment, but he’ll be damned if he can't have a bit of fun.

Her narration stops as he dips out of sight; if Harry were the gambling sort, he’d bet all the gold in Gringotts that she shot him a two-fingered salute away from the camera.

For some fucked up reason, the thought stirs something warm and exciting that lies dormant in his stomach. What’s worse is this feeling almost makes him smile.

No.

Harry draws a breath as he enters the kitchen.

As Kingsley’s told him several times, this arrangement is strictly business— regardless of his past with her. And in retrospect, yeah, the whole setup is an easy way for King to A) refuse responsibility himself, and B) put Monkstanley in a tough spot if it goes pear-shaped.

Harry pops open the rubbish bin. This is just the sort of liability King’s always looking to avoid, really, but— wait. He blinks down into the bin to make sure he’s not just seeing things, but nope… for some reason, the interior is divided into three sections, each in a different color.

Huh! Harry mulls this over before picking the blue bin at random and tossing the containers in. Maybe he’d know what each color meant if he bothered to read the covenant rules. Fortunately, he had much more exciting plans that particular evening involving Ron, loads of butterbeer, and a Canons/Falcons match from hell.

Whatever. Surely Arcadia would make an effort to clearly explain their recycling system if they really cared about the planet.

He returns to the living room just as Ginny’s providing a more in-depth introduction. “Right. I’m Unspeakable GW, badge number”— her voice becomes garbled gibberish, an extra level of concealment, before slipping back to normal speech— “and we’re here to investigate the series of unexplained Muggle disappearances in the village of Arcadia. As this may involve a potential escapee from the Thought Chamber, the Department thought it best for me to investigate. The Thought Chamber’s been my area of expertise for four years…”

Harry sinks into the sofa as she continues; he’s unsure if he should be sad or impressed that this is teaching him more about her job than she ever shared. Not that she did this for long while they were actually together, mind. Nonetheless, his chest flutters again with that stupid bittersweet pride as Ginny scans the room with the phone camera. All of this pageantry is necessary for her job, he knows. Careful documentation. Detailed recordings.

But for fuck’s sake, look at how much she’s done! She’s the youngest Junior Unspeakable in history, soon to become Senior, if this mission works out. She’s composed, she’s eloquent, she’s graceful. Another smile threatens to break through before Harry suppresses it; he just hopes that there’s someone in her life to remind her of how special she is.

She’s really dressed for the part, too. Harry’s certain that none of this is actually in her wardrobe. Seeing her out of jeans and a jumper is off-putting, but she’s done it so damn well. She once told him that most of her clothing choices were based on how easily she could wear them flying.

He swallows the sadness creeping up his throat. He doesn’t even know if she still flies, but she doesn’t in this outfit, that’s for damn sure. Her trainers are impeccably white, with a floral button-up blouse done up to her neck. She’s a bit like a young, beautiful Aunt Petunia; Harry reckons this is more or less the goal, but when she turns around to describe the stairwell, his eyes drop to her arse.

Shit.

He glances away as quickly, but he got a good look. Her casual trousers are rolled at the ankles, but they’ve done nothing to make her look… plain. Harry shuffles on the sofa, desperate for anything else to think about. Somehow, Aunt Petunia’s face still puckers in his mind’s eye, but now he can’t escape the mental image of her bent over the oven of 4 Privet Drive, only this time sporting a round, perfect—

“Potter’s here for backup,” Ginny says, returning to the sitting room. “I’m on primary investigation.”

Thank God; he sighs at the welcome distraction before remembering that bantering with her has always been an effective palate cleanser. So he does that, instead.

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry calls, leaning back against the cushions. “There’s nothing less interesting than the suburbs. Which is why I could never do your job, Jen.” He ends with a wink, resting his hands behind his head.

Ginny arches a brow, holding the camera in front of her. “And please take note, Attica, that the next time this happens, I’ll be the one to choose the names.”

She means it casually… he knows she means it casually. But something in her words pricks him. Irritates him. Wedges beneath his skin.

“Quite an assumption I’ll ever spend this much time with you again,” Harry mutters under his breath.

Shit.

He freezes. He didn’t mean to say that out loud, at least not so… bitterly. Once upon a time, he possessed the social graces to think before replying like that— but days of interpersonal nuance are long gone. They belonged to a carefree teenager with few thoughts aside from the next time he’d run his fingers through the thick, red hair that currently swayed in a long ponytail.

By the time he looks back up at her, Ginny’s face is filled with disappointment. And she’s closed her phone.

“I’ll have to redo that last bit of filming,” she says with a sniff. “But for what it’s worth?” She raises her chin. “You didn’t mind spending time with me in the distant, distant past, Auror Potter.”

Ha!

That was a tremendous understatement.

He’d been in love with her. Stupidly. Disgustingly. The first six months after the war were a blur of sex and mourning. They’d been so punch drunk and delirious that they probably used each other’s bodies more than either of them knew. He really thought they’d have a future, though… that they’d end up getting married and buying a house. Except theirs would have been different than this one. Filled with far more character and history and warmth. Their home would have smelled like baking bread and sounded like kids giggling and felt like a soft blanket on a cold night.

But none of that had anything to do with the way he snapped. So why bring it up, really?

“Sorry,” Harry whispers, tucking his hands beneath his bum. “That… I didn’t mean. I’m sorry. I just meant that we don’t see each other much, and…” He lets out a slow breath. Best to stop talking before he digs himself deeper.

“I forgive you,” Ginny says quietly. A full second passes before she offers him a smirk. “As long as I can still call you Pookie Pie in front of the neighbors.”

Harry blinks at the carpet with a sad smile. “Deal.”

#harry/ginny #harry/ginny fanfic #fanfic #x-files #harry potter fanfiction

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myfeetkeepdancing · 4 years

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Saint and Sinner | Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Summary: This continues where the movie ends. You pick up Arvin as you are on your way to Cincinnati. But he’s awfully quiet, haunted by his past. Not the ideal companion for a long journey, but you make most of it.

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut

Words: 7814

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The orange glow of his cigarette illuminated the features underneath the cap for a brief moment. The cindering bud scattered across the tarmac as it parted with an almost spent cigarette. A puff of smoke blew from his lips. Carried away by the wind, into the forest beside him. Another car drove past him. A visible sigh racked his frame as he dragged his feet back into action. You spot the man from miles away. His appearance became more apparent the closer you got.

His intentions didn't change; you see his hand signal coming into view again. With his cigarette almost burned up, you leave your foot off the gas, and you let the car roll to a standstill a few yards after him. His jeans were dirty, torn, and worn long last past its intended lifetime. Just like the loose shirt hanging around his frame, the collar broad and wide. Blown by the wind. Spots of grime, sweat, and soil soaked in. A few locks of brown hair protruded from beneath his cap. Worn and colors fading. His expression was tired, and features that were gaunt like. Roadworkers were common in the area. And he sure looked the part.

"Hey there, where you be headin'?" You ask as he walks up to your window.

"I… haven't figured that out yet." He said in a beaten-down tone. "I was thinking somewhere north."

"I'm heading towards Cincinnati. You can travel along that way."

You could see him pondering, looking back down the road the way you came. If something was keeping him here. Reminding him of something. Before looking back at you. "I've been meaning to get up there."

"Well, hop on in." Leaning over to unlock the door. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Thank you...." Taking the last pull of his cigarette before tossing the smoldering remains on the floor. Closing the door behind him. "I didn't think anybody was gonna pick me up." Cradling the knapsack in his lap. And sharing a glance at you, forcing a small smile. Tightening his arms around his bag. His voice is dark and heavy. Carrying a sense of grim. "I'm Arvin."

"Rough day?"

"Hmmhm." He confirmed, avoiding any further eye contact. "Yeah…" Mumbling under his voice. Locked in a cold stare, reserved and absent.

There wasn't much to talk about. He sat there beside you, staring into the distance. You put the car into gear and steer back onto the road—a two-way road dissecting the large looming forest. Tall pine trees scattered up and beyond the horizon. As far as the eye can see. In the distance, a single-car drove ahead of you. A loaded truck passed by, and that was it. And as you pick up speed, a cool breeze of air began circulating through the open rolled windows. Following into the bending road, you spot the lay of the land ahead of you. A long stretch of road, rolling over the hills and valleys of the countryside. The branched off dirt roads dotted here and there all connected to a long stretch of road—a single lane connecting the smaller settlements to the cities. The road was uneven like most of them. The journey was going to be long. With the nob on the radio, you turn the volume down, the local radio broadcasting nothing noteworthy other then news and music replayed over and over again. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the road, you can't help but notice the boy's head bobbing. He must be the same age as you. Maybe a bit younger. His features were young, yet his expression was grave. He'd been through something. The way his eye pierced through the windshield. Roughed up by the countryside.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll wake you up once we hit town."

He just shook his head, fighting to stay awake. Arvin didn't want to fall asleep beside a stranger. Things were keeping him awake. His head heavy with sleep, burdened by his thoughts and deeds, bobbing on his neck. Swaying to the bounces and rockings of the car. His mind occupied elsewhere. Taking him back to times that were.

You weren't entirely sure if he was awake or not. He breathed somewhat heavily, and his head jerked back once in a while. "You… joining me?" You ask, motioning to the diner opposite the car. You hear a few grumbles, the sleepyhead still fighting to stay awake. His eyes small and narrow. With your coat hanging on your lap, ready to go, you give him some more time. He had been dozing off for little moments during the ride. But something was keeping him away, he'd jerk back into life, awake again and again. As if his nightmares were pushing him from his sleep. You slip open the pack of cigarettes and offer him one before taking one yourself. Something he didn't decline.

"I'll wait." He grumbled, voice hoarse and dry. "I'm not hungry."

"Hmm…" You watch him with interest, slowly awakening himself from the small naps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, you notice the long brown locks of hair as he readjusted his cap, racking his fingers through as he coughed a little. Both still seated in the car, you quietly offer him a light. He leans over to you, catching the flame with his cigarette. "Something troubling you?" The question got out before you knew it.

The small flame of the lighter gave his appearance a somber look. He looked at you briefly through his lashes before seating back up. "It's nothin', just a… busy day." Pulling a big one from his cigarette. You remain seated like that for a while. Smoking a cigarette in peace and quiet. The parking lot at the dinner was almost empty, two cars and a lorry. From the car, you both watch the few customers dine and the young server walking up and down the diner. The sun was setting on the horizon, darkness slowly creeping into the surrounding woods.

"Here." Tossing the pack of cigarettes his way. "Just make sure no one gets into the car." You say and step outside, putting on your coat as the cold breeze crept upon you. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't worry about me." Sinking back into the chair. Taking another cigarette between his lips as he watches you enter the diner. Drawing a long pull and releasing a plume of smoke together with a long sorrowful sigh. Arvin was all alone in this world. Sitting in a strangers car, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't help but feel pity for himself. More and more questions began flooding his mind. Where should he go? What should he do? Would they be looking for him? And most importantly, did he do right? He rolled up the windows more to block out the cold wind blowing in. Arvin was alone once again. He wanted to. It's what he choose. Trust was hard to come by. Especially after all that had happened. He couldn't trust anyone. He sank deeper into his seat. His gaze stuck in nothing but mindless thoughts.

"Shit!" Arvin cursed, jumping in his seat. His instinct kicked in, holding a charged fist at whoever tried to get to him. But as he looked better, he could see a familiar face beside the car.

"Sorry, didn't mean to." You apologize while opening his door. "But I was wondering if you brought your jacket? Didn't see it on you, and you know, since you won't join me, you better get dressed. Gets pretty cold outside."

"Have my denim jacket with me." He said. Looking a bit puzzled by your concerns. "I'll be fine."

"Here." Slipping off your coat and handing it to him. "That denim jacket won't keep you warm. You sure you're not coming with me?"

He shrugged it off without even looking at you. You also let if go, and continue inwards. Like a typical diner, seating benches row after row. There was space for no more than fifteen to twenty people. At the end of the path cutting across the diner sat a jukebox. A nifty apparatus that was popping up everywhere. Even in small places like this. Behind the small bar with stools in flashy red and white accents all over stood the young server. She gave you a kind smile. Through a small gap in the wall, you could see the kitchen. The smell of bacon and fries welcome you—a sure pleasant one since you were in need of a good meal after such a long drive. A few seating away from the door sat an older couple, behind them, the lorry driver—just a quiet evening in the diner. You take a seat further up, close to the window to keep an eye on your car. And most importantly, your passenger. At first, he sat in the car, smoking one after the other, before finally dressing himself in your coat. Cold must be creeping into the metal.

In your mind, you couldn't understand nor figure out why he'd stay outside. He stretched his legs outside the car several times but regretted it moments later. The weather is getting a grip on him soon enough. Surprisingly enough, sleep didn't bother him anymore. Dinner alone didn't take long. The meal was good, a nice piece of tender meat with fries and a coke—a real classic. When you dine alone, you tend to finish quickly. Some small talk with the server might drag it out. But not tonight.

During your meal, you browse through the local paper. Read in upon the local and national news. Check the adverts and job offers. Ponder about work, family, and other matters. But somehow, your thoughts keep getting pulled away—more than once. And when you look up from your meal, your eyes automatically divert to your car. Catching his eye. The distance wasn't that far. But the contact was there. And feel caught nonetheless. He wasn't staring at you. But you keep catching each other's gaze—more than once. Your meal was interesting, but outside was something more worth your attention.

The red neon lights illuminated the entranceway and part of the parking lot. You were flooded by it once you stepped outside. In the small cluster of buildings on this side of the road, this one stood out the most. A local watering hole further up was the only other noteworthy building. The rest was wrapped in darkness. Two lamp posts illuminated the main street. Furthermore, no light. Just quiet and darkness. All in all, the small place was a sad display; most buildings were dilapidated, poorly maintained, and without much charm. Life went one elsewhere, but here, somehow, time seemed to stand still. A chill ran up your spine to tell you it was time for another stretch on the road.

The windows were rolled up all the way, except the one on his side—a small opening near the top, big enough to rid excess ash from his cigarette. You take a seat behind the wheel again, placing the paper bag beside him. A look of surprise shoots across his face; the smell must have caught on. "It's for you." You say while starting the car. The headlights illuminate the parking, and it's silent metal habitants.

"You didn't have to." Coughing his smoker's breath away, peaking into the bag. "But 't smells good."

"Dig in, my friend." Pushing the bag further towards him. "Can't imagine you're not hungry." A thin, forced smile softened his otherwise tired and lackluster expression. "It'll do you good."

"Thank you." He says while looking up at you. You feel the words carry their message across. The way he looks at you, straight into your eyes. "That's... real kind of you." Taking the contents from the bag. He carefully begins to unfold the wrap from the steaming hot burger on his lap. A sip from the cold milkshake seems to make him whole again. So did the first bite into the burger, leaning back as he slowly lets the flavors overwhelm him. "That's real good." He nods. "Yeah..."

"Good to hear…" Giving him a smile as you bring the car into action. The road ahead was dark and still so many miles to make. "Still got plenty of miles to go."

With the headlights of your car being the only source of light in the vicinity, driving became a tiresome experience. Staring ahead of you. No proper focal point. Just the road, two beams of light, and a pitch-black horizon. The sound coming from the radio was nothing special, pretty much the same as the jukebox from earlier. Your back began to feel sore and worn, annoying you. Small talk had been minimal. Arvin wasn't much of a talker. Not a storyteller. He kept his answers short. Therefore the whole chatter didn't have any deep subjects. Just plain chit chat about work and life. The work he did. The news. Yet, not mentioning his family. He avoided it. For a reason, you guess.

"What's there for you in Cincinnati?" He asked. For once, you were taken aback by his interest. Managing to speak a whole sentence. You chuckle to yourself lightly. Arvin noticed but didn't react.

"Home." You said, giving him a smile as he looks at you. "Been on a family visit for a couple of days."

"Hmmm…" He shifts his gaze from you back to the road. "Parents?"

"Yeah, I... used to live there. Farm life wasn't for me." You said. "Have you figured out where you're going?"

"Not yet." He sighed, sinking back further down in his seat. "Thank you for the coat. Glad the heater is back on again." Warming his hands in front of the vent. "It's cold."

"The least I can do."

The drive from the diner to the motel was a mere four-hour drive. Again in full darkness, only with a few more cars here and there. You knew the route for a certain bit. Arvin didn't pay attention to the road numbers when you tried to recall the last one. Arvin just raised his shoulder questionably. He didn't know. And it wasn't his fault, but you were trying to involve him in the process nonetheless. At least try to make the best of your company. When you stopped, he did join you looking on the map. Decked out onto the hood of the car, finding your way across the spiderweb of roads. He did look. But didn't say much. Smoking a cigarette, nothing more. In the last miles fifty or so miles, you made a stop to refuel, bought another pack of cigarettes, some small snacks, and went on for the final stretch. Arvin was said very little. Like before.

"Alright... so." You said, waiting for Arvin to catch up. "I've booked a room for the night here, perh-"

"I better go." He nodded, with a notion of defeat in posture. Adjusting his cap over his long curls again. With his gaze to the floor, he throws the knapsack over his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant." You chuckle out laughter, scratching yourself behind your ear. His eyes widen as he looks up, you see the grip on the strap tighten. "It's not that late." You say. "How about a beer? I know a bar further up. On me."

His pursed lips and a downcast glance told you enough. One hand on the strap of his bag, he tucked the other away in his pocket. A sigh followed that was louder than even he expected. The shadow created underneath his cap by the lamppost was enough to be unable to read in expression. Or see his eyes.

From what you have seen from this man, this Arvin. The words he spoke were few. Very few. But the eyes didn't. Once you looked into those eyes, they didn't deceive. They tell you more than his words could make out. He removed the last cigarette from the package you gave him. "Got a light?" He asked with a heavy voice. From your pocket, you flip open your lighter. Before giving you one more look. "Thank you (Y/N)." And with that, he starts walking away from you.

"Arvin." His steps slowed down before glancing back in your direction. Not at you. "Take good care of yourself."

He simply nodded, blew the smoke from his lips, and walked away. You try to shake it off and continue to check-in. The small room was furnished like any other. A small room centered around the bed, a tiny bathroom in the back, a wardrobe to one side, a chair to the other. Colors were near the same throughout the rooms. This was simple, dark, and drab greens. An old model of a television stood on a wooden counter near the wall. You seat yourself into the chair and tune into the first channel of only six. There wasn't much time that went by as sleep began to creep in. Eyelids heavy with sleep. Thoughts turned to none. Gazing mindlessly at the black and white images dancing on the screen.

You veer up in your seat, completely awake—two knocks on your door, loud and powerful, resonated through the room. You didn't have a bad conscience, as some would suggest. But this was far from expected. With your eyes wide open, heart beating in your chest, you approach the little spyhole in the door. Focusing one eye on…

"Arvin?" You pull open the door with a more than a surprised look. "How' d-... W-...?"

He'd clearly been beaten up by the weather. His breath fanned out before him like a small cloud, the cold from outside, riding up against you. Bringing your senses back to life again. It must have been more than an hour since you last saw him. Outside was cold, like before, windy and above all dark as the night could be. He reeled from the cold. Shaking to his very core. "Can I come back on that offer?"

"Of course." Taking a step back and holding the door open to him. "C'mon in."

"Thank you." He said, rubbing his hands together feverishly. "Tis damn cold outside." Standing uncomfortably in the room. Rocking on his heels, trying to warm himself up.

"It is…" Closing the door behind him, you don't know what to expect. But a sense of relief did surface for a brief moment. Something about him made your heart flutter. "So... what happened?"

Arvin didn't look pleased with himself. Sighing deeply, forcing his gaze to the floor if he was about to confess something. "Nothin' happened. That's the problem. I..." He shook his head, as if conflicted by his train of thought. Embarrassed to admit something.

"I'm just curious, Arvin. No more."

"I... didn't know where else to go..." He confessed, shoulders sinking, head hanging low.

"It's ok." Feeling pity for the man. What you didn't know was that Arvin had been standing there, in the darkness, for a long time. He'd walked the streets alone. Trains weren't there. Money he didn't have. Nor any family. Lost in his thoughts. Alone and cold. Without anything but a knapsack filled with old belongings. What was he going to do? He was a lost cause either way.

What he needed was hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. So he returned, standing in the distance, shivering from the cold in some alleyway. Catching the last glimpse of you as you unloaded your suitcase. Arvin had wondered for how long he should stay there. Was ten minutes long enough? Half an hour, maybe? He troubled himself with all sorts of thoughts, as he observed the small window which a little bit of light shone through.

"You mind if I...?" Pointing at the glass and bottle of liquor beside the chair—another reason for you why sleep began to set in earlier than usual.

"No, not at all." He handed you the glass with your remaining bit, downing it in one go. "It helps me sleep from time to time." Releasing a small hiss as is burned down your throat. Watching Arvin putting his lips to the bottle. Downing a few good swigs. "Might help you as well."

"Hmmm... I sure could use it." He looked at you with dreary eyes. "Sure could use it..." Wiping the drool from his lips with the back of his hand. His whole body was still shaking and shuddering on his legs. The glass trembling in his hand. You could see the pale white skin of his fingers gripping the glass. They were whiter than his grime stained shirt.

"So, what's your plan?" You ask, taking a comfortable position leaning against the wall.

Arvin had thought about the question beforehand. If he was going to escape the former life, he needed to go far away. Somewhere where he couldn't be found easily. The city was a good start. "Could I… travel with you… to Cincinnati?" He asked with a slight hint of hesitation in his voice. "If you don't I…"

"No problem." You said, cutting him off. He might not have been the perfect companion from the start. But you have to start somewhere. Not everyone earns their trust as quickly. "If all goes well, we'll hit Cincinnati tomorrow around noon. You can figure out what to do next on our way down there."

"I appreciate that." He smiled thinly. "Thank you, mister."

"Alright, alright." You nod and head for your suitcase. "And it's (Y/N). No more mister." You warn him with a raised finger and a smile. "I think we might be of the same age."

"Twenty-two."

"See." Confirming your suspicions. From there, you sort some clothing out. A clean white shirt, pair of jeans, and a sweater. You walk over to the door and take your coat from the hanger. "Go take a bath, freshen up. And those are yours." Pointing to the fresh pair of clothes on the foot end of the bed. You slip on your coat and pull a cigarette from the pack in your pocket. "I know what you're thinking. I'll wait outside."

Arvin looked at you with suspicious eyes, as if you had a whole different intention. He stared at you while you unlocked the door and took the keys. "Are you gonna call the cops?" His entire body stiffened as he asked the question. Terrified of the answer.

"What?" You chuckle into laughter. "No. What makes you think that?"

"Then why are you doing this?!" He shot back. "Why do all of this?! Why give me clothes?"

"You came back for a reason, Arvin." You didn't need to think about it long. One of two things was possible. Either good or bad. And soon you would find out which. “I'm just trying to help. But feel free to leave..." Taking a step aside, holding the door open for him. Letting the cold wind wash in. "You may have trust issues. But I don't." Revealing your wallet from your back pocket. "I know exactly what's in here." Tossing it on the bedsheets. "If you change your mind, or have a suspicion..." Nudging towards the wallet. "Have a go, might survive a couple days on it. Figure things out."

"I won't." He said resolutely. Taking a stance.

"I know." You nodded. "But I'm trying to make a point here. I'm not bad, either. And I know you're a good lad."

He stared at you with troubled eyes. "You don't know that." Shaking his head, his jaw locked, and lips pursed thin. "I have done things." His voice was dark, and spoke with a sense of guilt. "I have sinned." He spoke it like some warning.

"We all have." You preached wisely. "And you don't need faith to do it."

"What did you just say?!"

"You have no faith, Arvin. At least, not anymore. You either lost it or… something happened." The tension was thick. The way he looked at you. A sight that made you shudder. If he might turn hostile at any moment. Yet the more you look into his eyes. The more lost you feel yourself. Something was amiss with him. "You don't thank the Lord for your food. Nor mention him in every third sentence like those folk down in the countryside." Arvin's nostrils flared as he listened and let the words sink in. "I've seen it without my own family. Everyone there puts their trust in faith. But it only gives false hope."

"You don't know." Averting his gaze. "I'm not like one of them."

"That's my point."

"What about all this?" Throwing hands at the clothes. "Won't they miss these at home?"

"My wallet would be worse." You shake your head while suppressing laughter. "There's also a lock on the door in the bathroom. If you don't trust me, that is." Taking the cigarette in between your lips. "Which is up to you." And step outside. The howling wind welcoming you as you struggle to catch the flame. Turning your back to the wind, facing Arvin again. "Also, I live alone. They… don't give a damn for giving away a pair of clothes." Shooting him a smile. "I'll be back in thirty." Closing the door behind you.

Forty minutes had passed when you returned. With caution, you unlocked the door, careful not to scare or walk into him. Not to your surprise, Arvin appeared in a better-suited attire than earlier. Standing beside the bed with his denim jacket on. His hair freshly combed, and the dirt and stains removed from his face and neck. In his hand, he held a cigarette, the other tucked into this pocket. He looked so much better. Cleaner, fresher and more man than before. You both locked eyes on each other. Still not sure whether the tension had cleared from earlier.

But the cold had done enough on you, your nose was running, and the wind had found every little inch of exposed skin. Freezing you to your very bone. "Good God…." Cursing something more while sniffing your nose. "I'm freezing." And close the door behind you. Warming your hands together while looking at Arvin. "You look much better." Reaching for the bottle for a swig. "Hope it did you good." Sneezing your nose after in your handkerchief.

An adorable smile cracked his features as he flipped away the half-smoked cigarette onto the street. Chuckling to himself as he closed the door, stepping into the room. His smile brightened the room. "It did." He said with a terribly precious smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"You're welcome." Planting yourself on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleepers from your eyes. The room had warmed up adequately since you turned up the radiators before you left for a cigarette outside. The warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Feeling your ears glow like never before.

"I was about to come look for ya."

"Oh..." Releasing a long stretched yawn. "Well, I'm here." You rub your face wrecked with sleep.

"This is yours." Handing back your wallet.

"Thank you. What'd you do with it?"

"Nothing. Like you said."

"I knew you would." Flashing him a smile. In that short moment of eye contact, you notice a small shimmer in his eyes. It was brief. Something had happened.

"Thank you (Y/N). And my apologies."

"I'm just glad you're still here."

"I owe you that beer." He said, nudging towards the door. "Should we?"

"We'll figure that out later. I'm feeling tired." You knew full well Arvin had changed for the occasion. You detected a hint of disappointment in his reaction—the snort of air through his nose. But sleep had set in. With the cold crept into your bones, you longed for the warm sheets of a bed. Not a cold, stale beer in some backwater bar. "I've been to the reception… and uh... there's another room available. But…-"

"I don't want you to go through that much trouble for me." He raised his voice.

"I only wanted to say, I just... don't have that kind of money to spare right now. And-"

"I don't expect you to. You've already done enough." He smiled thankfully, but unexpected. "It's my own fault. I'll sleep in the car, or on the flo-..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." You cut him short. "Is that the alcohol talkin'?"

"There's only one bed for the two of us." He said, his thin smile more of a joking kind than anything else. "It has the space, but…"

"As long as you don't elbow me. I'm fine with it." You yawn out loud, stretching your limbs. "I just need some rest. I'll take this side-" Patting the cushion beside you. "-you the other."

"Fine." He snorted and sat on the other side. "Fine…" With the switch on your side of the bed, you dim most of the lights. Turning up the heat slightly on the thermostat, you make sure neither one gets cold in case someone pulls the cover from one another. The sheets were big enough, but just in case. You thought about sleeping in the chair, or the car. But neither of those were good options. As far as you know, a cheaper motel was miles ahead. Not that you had the money to spend on another room. But…

"G'night." Arvin mumbled while pulling his socks off. You glance back as his comment pulled you from your thoughts. A shudder of some sort short up through your spine. Followed by a growing glow of warmth. Boiling your insides slowly. Churning your stomach. In that instance, that moment you glanced back, Arvin sat at the edge of the bed. Just like you, but without a shirt. His broad shoulder and masculine back did something to you, you couldn't describe. The air stocked in your throat. Your eyes meet, sudden and short, as he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking into yours momentarily as he glanced back over his shoulder. The brown locks of hair dangling in front of him.

"Goodnight." Stripping yourself of the remaining pieces of clothing. Feeling the motion of Arvin shifting on the mattress, slipping himself under the covers. You turn the lights off with the switch beside your bed. Letting your eyes adjust to the darkness, and slide under the covers on the opposite side. Arvin lay on his back, gaze to the ceiling. And join him in doing so. Leaving a small space in-between. Like a neutral zone. It was mutually agreed without exchanging a single word about it. One arm propped under your cushion, the other resting on your stomach. Yet your heart hammered in your chest. You were glowing, cheeks burning. Not from the alcohol. Not from the cold. You were far more awake than you ever have been that day. Eyes wide open. Swallowing the lump down your throat. You just keep your gaze to the ceiling, but you wanted to… to look beside you.

"At what time do you want to leave tomorrow morning?" He said quietly, feeling his gaze shift towards you. Every bit of movement on the mattress made your heart pump harder. Laying on your back, the bed wasn't small. You made yourself small, close to the edge, a bit of cover draped over you. Yet he felt so close by. The sound of him breathing alone made you…

"I… I... d-don't know… We'll see…" You clear your throat, keeping your eyes in afront. "We'll see." The everlasting silence returning again. The night turned dark and quiet. No cars driving past. No birds singing. No music from across the street. There was nothing, just silence. You don't know how long you've been laying there, staring at the ceiling. The tension building up. Listening to his breathing. You can't help it; you're too focused on it. Only the howling wind outside, the rustling of branches outside, brought a change of sound—every lick of lips, movement of his tongue in his mouth. You could hear it.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, rolling his head on the cushion, meeting your gaze for a second as you looked over. The cushions touched each other, that wasn't the problem. They were big enough, but the space between the two of you. That wasn't. The touch of arms was enough for you to jump a little.

"Yes… I'm awake." You sighed and continue to spit out a lie blatantly. "It's the weather. I always have trouble falling asleep when it's windy." You glance at him. "And you?"

"I don't know..." He said, bringing the conversation to a dead stop. You swing yourself onto the edge of the bed and lift yourself onto your legs. Making your way to the bathroom and lower yourself on the throne. Relieving yourself of the necessary. Before rounding the corner of the room, you halted for a moment. Standing there, several meters away from the bed. Even in the dark, you could see Arvin lying on his back. The outlines of his body, masculine shapes draped under the covers. You wish he didn't see you standing there. But you could feel his eyes shifting towards your direction. You shuffle back towards the bed and crawl back under. A sigh escaped you, trying to focus your mind on something else. The rustling leaves of the trees outside. The ticking radiator. The rumbling clouds. Time crept by slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, yet sleep didn't seem to set in. "I can feel the sheets… shaking. You ok?"

"Oh, yeah...I' m-... I'm fine." You said with a sigh. Scratching the back of your head. "It's cold." Tugging the sheets in and around you. "That's all."

Everything beneath you moved and swayed. You expect he must have rolled onto his side, perhaps facing your way. The thought alone made you… warm. His breathing again remaining the only sound you could focus on. Added to that, the increasing warmth radiating from his side of the bed. You could still feel your toes being cold, hands numb, and ears glowing. Yet the heat was creeping into you. As if the radiator had crept under the covers. Was it Arvin…? Was he closer? The thought alone was tantalizing. Sending the hairs rising on your harm. You notice your breath becoming irregular, shuddering even.

"I should-...You tried to say, turning towards him by rolling onto your back. But you let out a small gasp in a semi terrified, panicking state. It all went so fast. You bumped up against him. Body against body. Warm and inviting. Yet in your reflex, you try to roll back on your side.

But his hand… His hand held in your place, resting on your hip. "You're freezing..." He breathed heavily, fanning along the skin of your neck. Shivers rushed across your spine as his hand lowered. Feeling your cold body with his hands. Shaking lightly as he touched upon your frame. Trailing up and down with his fingers. Your senses were in complete overdrive. Every point of contact was intensified by your mind. Slow and careful. You were numbed on the spot. Feeling your shoulder resting against his chest. Strong and masculine, like you glimpsed upon earlier.

"Y-Yes… Ar-... Arvin…" The words came out stuttering. You couldn't help it. Your hands shook, and your body was heating up quicker than ever before. "M-Maybe I… I should g-g-get a b...b-ath."

"You could have..." He said as his breath fanned against your neck. Sending shivers down your spine. The mattress moved again, Arvin began closing the distance between the two of you. If you had a chance to stop him now, it was right here. His hand moved from side to your stomach, his arm wrapping around your waist. Behind you, you feel the heat literally rising. His entire body came in contact with yours. Torso flat against your back, legs cupped by his. "But there's a reason you didn't..." He whispered into your ear. "It's the same why I came back." Before you had a chance to react, let alone sigh of relief. His lips followed, nose trailing along the back of your neck. You could feel the sloppy kiss burning on the skin of your neck. “Isn’t it, (Y/N)”?

It made everything different. All this strange tension that had circulated for the past hours had manifested in this one kiss. It burned barriers, tore down walls, and fulfilled your wildest thoughts. You let out a groaning moan as your body stiffened as he moved closer onto you. Sliding his hand further across your stomach, pulling you in closer. Feeling the warmth and curves of his body, pressed against you.

You try to regain your senses, not resisting his hold on you, but instead, turn towards him. And he let you, his hand that pulled you in, now slid along your frame, fingers roaming from your stomach to your back. Finally coming even with him. Even in the dark, this up close, you see the stunning outlines of his features. The dimples on his cheeks and freckles dotting his skin. Leaning into his lips, the kiss was everything you wanted. Soft and warm, but a particular ferocity to it. A gasp escaped your lips as you parted, cupping the back of his head with your hand. "Say it…(Y/N)" He said with a slightly shaking voice. The very mention of your name, in that harsh tone, made you shudder in excitement. "-tell me I'm right..." Pulling your lips back onto his. Arvin was the moving force in this; he could play you like anything else. And you would let him. "Say it… (Y/N)...You wanted this to happen..."

He still continued to advance on you. "I've been through enough…" His one hand touched on your inner thigh. Moving up every so slowly. "I've seen so much darkness." He said, pressing a kiss to your chest. Looking up at you as you groaned. "I don't want to anymore." Pushing himself further onto you. Shifting his weight towards you. And you let it happen, rolling onto your back. His lips take the skin of your shoulder for granted. Leaving behind hickeys. "I want it to change." He muttered in between the kisses, moving further along with the lines of your body, from the shoulder to your collarbone and chest. Forcing the wind from your lungs as his body followed along, resting on top of you.

"Shit, A...A-Arvin." You freeze on the spot, feeling his member pressed against you. Long rigid and firm, poking wantingly into you. The nerves in your system get the better of you. "I...I...I... can… help…and…a-and... I want to..." Every word took an effort to speak as he grinded against you slowly. Searching for friction, taking every ounce of concentration to utter a word. "But… B-But there a-are... other w-w-ways?!"

"No... The way you look at me." At the same time, his hand found its way to your pelvis. You had felt yourself growing in mere seconds. Blood racing your system. And now, those outlines, throbbing in your shorts, were traced by his fingers. "You make me feel like… like... I've never felt... in years." He groaned.

"Please A-Arvin... Don't mistake my kindness... f-for love. I… I-..." The touch of your cold hands on his warm, nurturing skin was everything you could ask for. His touch rocking your very being. The feeling of his naked body on yours. Your mind is almost blank. Captivated by his motions. Wanting more.

"Say it… (Y/N)..." He growled while kissing you hard. Your lips trembled upon his, shaking from pure ecstasy racing through your system. You can't help but kiss back. You wanted more. But you didn't have the courage. Thank God he did. “Tell me I’m right.”

"Y-Yes…A-Arvin…" You confirmed wholeheartedly, with a full-fledged groan of excitement. “Yes!” But were silenced in the moment again by his lips. Cradling your cheeks in his hands. Your heart fluttered, leaving you absolutely breathless. A smile grew on your face. And you could feel his growing against your lips. "Arvin... P-P-Please..."

"You either stop me if you want me to...." Hooking his finger on the band of your shorts. Adding finger by finger, until his entire hand slid in. He looked at you with small eyes, a flicker of innocence shining through. “Or you help me...” He growled. "But… what I'm about to do... I do because I want to." A smile showed on his otherwise troubled face. A smile you had never seen before. So soft, so kind. So loving. It showed a side of Arvin, you didn't expect to see. "Not because I have to… I… want to." Smacking his lips on yours. His hand palming your boner. Your breath stoked in your throat, feeling unable to respond. His fingers sliding along the pulsating flesh of your cock. Initiating the first strokes as he forced away your shorts. The covers were no longer there, and your eyes had accustomed to the darkness. The little light that the moon shone into the room was more than enough. His body resting against yours, feeling the heaving of his chest and the moving of his body. Every heartbeat, every breath he took. You felt it.

He stroked rough, with an intensity you couldn't match as your shaking hand reached for his. Even in the darkness, it stood out. The stiffness poking into your side, reminding you. His groaned breaths said enough as you brought them together. More than a handful for him. It's thrilling and highly intoxicating, invigorating, flesh against flesh. There was nothing else but his member on yours. His cockhead rubbing against yours. His shaft rock hard and wet. The veins and ridges of his, pulsating and desperate. Craving for more. A sensation you wish would never end.

The position was awkward at first. Arvin laying half on top of you. Cocks brushing in the middle. But as the heat rises, the momentum picks up. It all fell in place. With his one hand, he stroked, long and hard. The other arm, wrapped around your neck. Holding onto you.

His moans were short but charismatic. Your eyes get drawn to his every growl. Massaging your erections together in a lustful vigor. Everything was intensified. The veins on his arm showed. The muscles rippled in motion. The pressure of his worked masculine chest forcing into you. His glances helped you work together to a common goal. A shuddering touch of your fingers along his frame forced out more sounds than you could bear. Droplets of wetness shimmer in the moonlight. Holding them together in perfect pairs.

The shaking intensified, for both of you. Groaning to each other's touches. Senses rising beyond the unthinkable. As Arvin came first. His motions became sloppy, irregular, and twitching. His grip faltered as he came. His body trembled on yours, groaning as he held onto you for dear life. It's quick and messy. As you take over his grip. Struggling with the wetness and hard sensations in your hand. But it's helping you reach your high even faster. The reality of your hand holding them both together is hypnotizing. Even more when you feel him reaching his climax. He held you, with his strong arms, tight against his body. Groaning your name as all looked up at you. Locks of brown hair, tangled and messy, hanging before his eyes. His eyes widened, big and full of emotion. Gasping for air as you stroked harder. You bring your lips onto his, closing his gasping mouth. He moaned and shook through and through. The fierce kiss interrupted by his climax, he parted with a shuddering gasp as you both glanced down in between you. These boys did look at explosions.

And it sure was mesmerizing. His pulsating and jolting climax spilled over the pair. From the slit, a string of cum streamed from his cock. The first shots went airborne, splattering your pelvis and stomach. Each stroke of your hand initiates another wave. It began to cover your hand and both lengths. It's slippery, wet, and extremely satisfying to force out of someone else then yourself. Especially when he took over once again. You didn't need much more. The firm grip of his hand returned once again. He was strong. And his grip was more than satisfying. Heavenly. Regaining his breath on your chest. Focused on one thing. You suck the air into your lungs, almost if you need that to force your load out. The pressure builds up fast enough. And Arvin went for it. Stroking every last drop from you. Turning everything in a panting mess of growled, exhilarated lovemaking and passion. You both heaved for air in silence. Arvin still on top of you. In turn, stealing kisses from each other.

"I… have…" You muttered through your heavy breathing. "so... many questions..." You caught a glimpse of a smile on Arvin's face as he moved off the bed. Returning moments later with a towel. Hunched on his knees beside you, he cleaned every drop from you. With a careful finger, he inspected your areas to see if there was any left. His touch is slow and somewhat sensual. Dragging his finger over your, now, glowing skin. "Arvin?"

"Hmmm." He hummed softly, pulling the covers towards himself and began to cuddle up to you. Arvin completely naked, slowly cradling onto you. You can still feel his member rubbing into your skin. "Your warm again." He said while looking at you. His eyes had more life to it. Slowly putting an arm around your neck. Cuddling himself up on your chest. Pulling the cover along with him. Resting his head on your chest. You can't resist the temptation to twirl your fingers through those brown curls. Long and beautiful.

"What happened to you?"

He sighed and sank deep into your embrace. Folding himself around you. Embracing you. "I have sinned… and lost my faith." He said peacefully. "You were right." Pressing a small kiss to your chest. "Parts of me have died… and more. But here… today... I found a piece of me… I didn't know I lost."

You didn't expect those kinds of words from him. For a man with as few as his, this had emotion. For once you didn't have to read his eyes, or his expression to know what he meant what he said. A slight snore shook you from your thoughts as you trailed your fingers through his hair, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position. Arvin didn't move. He snored softly in your embrace. He looked peaceful. At ease. Curled up to you like that. You didn't track time, but you had a feeling, deep down inside of him, something was healing. He was sleeping, without being awoken by his nightmares. At least not yet.

Only the name remained, muttered softly from his lips.

A girl?

#arvin russell x reader #arvin russell x male reader #arvin russell x male!reader #arvin russel x y/n #arvin russell tom holland #arvin russell #male reader #male!reader #male reader smut #smut #tom holland #tom holland x male reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x male!reader #mlm #one bed trope

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chloe-bourgeois-is-big-gay · 3 years

Text

// Day 6 //

// Fame //

Tikki was pissed. Her holder had been bullied mercilessly by Lila and due to the spell cast, her Ladybug's friends can't see it.

If only she could cause the lies to backfire.

Of course!

…..

Lila giggled as the swarm of admirers asked her for another story.

"Oh. I have this story about this family from Gotham. You probably haven't heard of them, but they're a big deal over there. The Waynes. I even dated one of them. Tom."

Marinette rolled her eyes. Of course she'd go for Gotham socialites, just before the class heads to America.

"Oh it's such a shame that you can't see them on the trip."

Their class had been planning this trip for months. They raised enough money to spend a few days in a city and two or three towns. One of the cities that were excluded due to budget was Gotham. But this was so very convenient to Lila.

"Actually," a mischievous voice piped up, "Daddy graciously agreed to match the money we raised and double it. Just so we won't miss out on anything America has to offer. So we will be able to go to Gotham."

A few of the girls in the class smiled.

"That's so kind of you and your dad, Chloé," Lila said, "But we wouldn't want to be abusing your friendship."

Marinette laughed slightly as Chloé's shark grin widened, "Oh it's no problem. I've changed for the better now! And what's a better way to prove it than providing for our class. I mean Marinette does so much for this class, what's a little money?"

…..

As it turns out, the 'little money' was not little. At all.

Chloé's dad didn't just match and double the money raised. Adrien's dad added to the pile, too! Although probably not out of devotion to his son, more like devotion to not being shown up by André Bourgeois of all people. The class itself raised over a thousand more than they needed to, anyway.

Now the class budget for visiting America was worth over 10 times as much and both Bourgeois and Agreste had to be asked to stop giving money, because Marinette couldn't think of any other activities or places for the class and they couldn't reasonably spend that much.

…..

The day after summer break started, the class arrived at the airport, ready to get their trip started.

The only problem was that Marinette's ticket was missing. The whole class looked for it everywhere. Only for Rose to find it ripped up in the bin.

"Oh dear, Marinette," Lila said, feigning innocence, "It looks like you can't come!"

Alya rubbed her friends back in comfort, "Don't worry, girl. We'll figure something out!"

…..

In fact, they did figure something out. Mlle. Mendeleiev explained the situation to the front desk.

"I'm sorry ma'am, unfortunately we can't reissue you the ticket for the same seat. But there is a seat in first class free. We can upgrade Mlle. Dupain-Cheng."

Marinette scratched her neck, "I don't know. That sounds expensive."

Adrien and Chloé met each others eyes, a silent agreement was made between the two ever since Lila's spell broke. To help Marinette whenever they can.

He walked forward, "Don't worry. I'll pay."

Marinette scrunched her eyebrows, "Adrien, no! That's too much"

The lady at the front desk grinned, "No need to worry, sir. The airline will provide the seat free of charge. Have a good day!"

…..

As the class boarded the plane, Lila feigned ear pain.

"Mlle. Mendeleiev! I'm having a tremendous earache! Maybe sitting in first class will help? They have hot towels."

The teacher looked alarmed, "Lila if you have an ear infection, it can be dangerous to fly. You could burst an eardrum! Maybe you should stay here and fly out when you're better."

Lila's eyes widened, "Oh, never mind! My mind must be playing tricks!"

…..

The class landed in LA and collected their bags from the carousel. Except Marinette.

Lila, once again, faked concern, "Oh Marinette! All your clothes are gone!"

Chloé grinned, "No worries, Marinette can borrow some of mine until she figures something else out."

Alya nodded, "Mine too!"

There was a chorus of agreement from the girls (and from Kim who wasn't listening but still agreed when he realised what was happening).

Marinette smiled kindly, "It's fine guys! I appreciate the offers but that was just my night bag! I sent my bags ahead just in case something like this happened. There were only old pyjamas and a few toiletries in there."

Lila let out a low growl that nobody noticed. Except for a little red bug rat who's mischievous grin spread wide.

…..

When they reached the hotel, the class looked around in awe of the fanciness.

Marinette collected the room keys and assigned rooms to everyone, making sure to hand the Los Angeles itineraries out as well.

"Feel free to get something to eat before going to bed and meet here at 8am.

…..

Marinette woke up feeling refreshed, she checked her phone and found it was only 6am local time.

"Hmm, I'm never up this early. Must be luck!"

She opened her door to see if anyone else was awake, but on the floor outside were her suitcases.

"Oh, how fortunate! The hotel must have sent them up a few hours early."

…..

Lila looked all over the lobby, feigning concern, "Oh, it looks like Marinette isn't here. Maybe we should go ahead without her. She's probably sleeping in. You know our Marinette."

Suddenly, the automatic doors of the lobby opened to reveal Marinette carrying a coffee and wearing some of the most stylish clothes Lila had ever seen.

Her eye twitched.

…..

The class was about to climb off the bus before Marinette stopped them with an announcement.

"Okay, everyone. I need you all to listen because this is very, very important. Today we'll be visiting many attractions, including a tour of some of the studios. I tried to get tours of places that will interest at least one person. Please remember that these are places of business even if it doesn't seem like it with all the costumes and acting."

…..

Lila couldn't believe her misfortune. None of her attempts to hurt Dupain-Cheng have worked and some have even backfired right back on her.

She tried to push Marinette onto the set of a show filming live. But she just tripped herself and had to face the humility she tried to subject Marinette to.

She couldn't even pin the blame on Marinette because there were cameras pointed at the audience and if they checked they would see her failed attempt.

Lila couldn't have that.

…..

A few days later, the class packed up and headed to Anaheim, so they could spend a few days in Disneyland before heading to the next state.

The result was not great for Lila.

…..

"Oh thank you, Marinette, for saving my space, you can go now."

Marinette's face scrunched up and Adrien and Chloé were about to pounce.

But someone else bet them to the punch.

"Um… Excuse me, miss."

Lila turned around only to be met with a hair bob.

"There aren't any cuts allowed."

Lila smiled beautifully at the woman, "Oh my friend was saving this space for me."

The woman didn't look impressed, "No, cuts. Do I need to get an employee over here? I've been waiting in this line for three fricken hours, because my kid didn't wanna go on the Teacups, if I have to wait three hours to get on the Tower of Terror. So do you."

Lila was pushed out of the line by the Karen.

…..

While on the bus to Arizona, Lila got herself thinking.

'Why are my attempts of ruining Marinette, not working? Am I losing my touch?'

…..

For the next few weeks, the class had the trip of a lifetime. They visited many attractions, including the Grand Canyon, the Kennedy Space Centre and they saw alligators in Louisiana.

The class were delighted to learn that even though the road trip portion of their trip was over they still had a lot left.

They flew up to Massachusetts and spent a few days visiting tourist sites in Boston, whilst others took college tours.

Everyone was excited to visit their colleges of choice and luckily Marinette was able to arrange for train and bus tickets for day trips for anyone who wanted to visit any colleges in the second part of the trip.

Lila made it her mission to take up Marinette's offer whenever possible, just to slightly inconvenience her, but no matter what Marinette seemed happy to help. It infuriated Lila.

Every time she'd get off a bus or train, Lila would walk around the town, shopping, instead of going to colleges.

…..

Soon, the class arrived in Gotham, Lila was worried.

For some reason, people would pass by Marinette and ask for selfies, which greatly confused the class before Max found out that MDC was very famous and popular in Gotham. Apparently, the Wayne's were big fans of MDC's work and they owned several originals. Unfortunately, for Lila they were also the family she lied about and they had a connection to Marinette, her one rival.

"Oh Marinette, isn't that swell! I did mention you in passing to Tom, but he must have looked you up and liked your work!"

She knew that the likelihood of running into a Wayne was low, so she had no problem lying. But, on the day Marinette announced to the class that she and the entire class was invited to the Wayne Gala, Lila felt a pit in her stomach.

…..

Luckily for Marinette, her fame in the city got her some discounts in fabric and supply stores, so she was very easily able to get what she needed for her friends outfits.

The class was supposed to be in Gotham for a month in order to attend some summer classes in Gotham University, so Marinette (who only signed up for 3 classes) was able to get a lot done.

In fact, by the time the Gala came around she had all the outfits ready.

She made everyone an outfit.

A bouncy pink dress for Rose and an elegant but dark coloured dress for Juleka. For Alix, she made a suit that would match her favourite sneakers.

Alya had a high-necked burnt orange dress that went to her knees, whilst Chloé's high-low amber dress brought out her eyes.

Sabrina had a purple two-piece and Myléne had a green floor-length dress.

For the boys she made suits with their own flare, to avoid a uniform look.

She even made Lila a dress, but the girl refused to wear it in favour of a dress she bought during one of her 'college tours'.

…..

"My father will be furious when he learns that I went to a Wayne party in clothes that he didn't make," Adrien joked with Marinette and Chloé.

Lila let a shark grin take over, "Oh, Adrien, you shouldn't let Marinette get you in trouble. They're only clothes. Maybe you should change. Maybe we should all change, just in case."

Adrien shook his head whilst waving Chloé off, "No, Lila. I was only joking."

(For once, Lila was right. Gabriel was furious that his clothes didn't get into a Wayne party but a teenage girl's did. But it wasn't like he could do anything about it, while they were in America)

…..

When the class exited their stretch limo. The paparazzi outside the Manor ooh'd at their clothes. Lila decided to go last just so her outfit can have the most climactic admiration.

When Marinette stepped out, wearing a navy halter high-low with sparkly stones sewn in a way that emulated the night sky, the crowd shushed.

Marinette was about to hide her face in embarrassment, 'They don't like my dress.'

Suddenly, the crowd broke into whispers of curiosity and admiration.

"Look at her dress. It's gorgeous."

"Is that an MDC original?"

"Is that MDC herself?"

Lila smiled, 'If these guys think her dress is nice. Wait till they see mine.'

She stepped out and, well, it was anticlimactic.

The praise slowed and turned into more of a polite murmur.

"Oh her dress is… nice."

Her dress was a grey spaghetti strap that went to her knees. It was actually a nice dress but it was not formal at all and made Lila stick out like a sore thumb.

'I should have just taken Dupain-Cheng' s stupid dress.'

…..

As the class entered the Manor, they were greeted by a young man, who Marinette and Chloé both recognised from their Business class in Gotham U.

"Tim? I didn't know you'd be here?"

Tim laughed gently, "Well, it's kind of my family's party so I have to be here. Trust me I'd rather be anywhere else."

Chloé smirked, "Oh, you're a Wayne? Lila here, used to date one of you. Tom was it, Lila?"

Lila shrunk back, "Oh no! You must have misheard me. I never said I dated a Wayne."

"Yes, you did."

Everyone turned to look at Max, "I have an eidetic memory and you definitely said, and I quote, 'I have this story about this family from Gotham. You probably haven't heard of them, but they're a big deal over there. The Waynes. I even dated one of them. Tom'."

Tim scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion, "Well actually that's a coincidence, I also have an eidetic memory and we don't have a Tom. We have a Tim, and that's me. And I've never dated a Lila."

The class had varying facial expressions, but all of them had one emotion in common. Hurt.

Rose gently pushed out, "Were you… Lying to us, Lila?"

"No, I-I wasn't, I just-"

Alya almost cried, "I almost cost my whole journalistic career for you! Marinette stopped me from posting about you onto the Ladyblog. If she wasn't there, I would be ruined!"

The class all came to their own realisations.

"If Marinette didn't send off my application, instead of letting me rely on you--"

"If she didn't push us to continue--"

"Marinette knew and we didn't believe her," Nino said, "I'm very sorry, Marinette."

"Me too!"

"Same."

"Yeah."

She smiled at them graciously, "It's alright, guys! You learnt in the end and you didn't know any better."

Lila looked around frantically, "Why isn't the spell working? It should be working!"

"Spell?"

Alya walked forward, "Lila, what spell?"

Chloé spoke up, "She was given the power to make anyone believe her lies, unless they have been given undeniable proof."

The class looked at her in confusion.

"Hey, I actually knew Ladybug, remember! Unlike her."

…..

Tim sat beside Marinette, "So…"

"My classmate has been lying about famous people including your family for years?"

"And…"

"She keeps her victims under a spell, so they can't learn the truth."

"... Ladybug?"

Marinette grinned, "One of our superheroes. Chloé used to be one and revealed her identity. She isn't anymore."

His face was scrunched in confusion, "You know, Gotham is really fucking weird but I've never heard anything like that."

"Eidetic memory?"

Tim sighed, "I am technically, kind of, very much knowledgeable on… Things."

She smirked, " 'Things'. Timothy you are so very specific," She teased, "I don't even need you to clarify."

He knocked her shoulder against hers, "I've been meaning to ask…"

"Oh more than usual?"

"Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Marinette. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance."

He held out his hand.

Gently she took it, "I'd love to!"

Tim looked down at Marinette's dress, "Is that an MDC original? I love her work! Where did you get it?"

Marinette deadpanned, "What are my initials Tim."

"... OH!"

"Do you not have Twitter? People have been tagging me all month."

Tim smiled sheepishly, "Okay to be fair, I'm a dumbass and my pregame to any events like this is to drink a shit ton of coffee every day for a month."

A man who very obviously knew Tim walked by and looked at him incredulously, "Tim, that's your pregame to waking up every morning!"

Tim glared at him, "Fuck off, Jason!"

@timari-month-event

Buy me a coffee?

#i spent so long on this #*throws this into crowd* APPRECIATE ME!#timari #Timari January #Timari Month #Day 6 Fame #buy me a coffee #Pls #i'm poor #Commission me if you like this lmao

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essaysbyciara · 3 years

Text

Old Habits Die Hard | Part Nine: Stuck In My Ways

Warnings: Language, lightweight mentions of sexual situations, mention of marijuana use

The penultimate chapter of Old Habits Die Hard! Whew, this has been a long one but we’re down to the final two parts of a story that kicked my ass lol. Taglist is STILL OPEN for the finale if you want to get in while it’s hot! Love you all, you beautiful people.

STUCK IN MY WAYS

“Aye, yo shor- how long you in the city?”

Maleek’s -- or Leek -- introduction last summer was a scary one. Standing outside of papi’s, draped under Dave’s arm, Dave and his crew stopped their conversations as a midnight blue Caprice classic creeped up to the edge of the corner. Everyone, including Dave, grew on guard, their demeanors ceasing to exist at the drop of a hat because a never-before-seen whip with barely-legal tinted windows came to a complete stop. As the passenger’s side window dropped, Dave whispered to you to go inside of the store to grab him something to eat, his favorite: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You could hear the growl in his undertone as if it was an order. You obliged out of a fright only to hear laughter mere seconds later once Leek’s solid body came bouncing out of the sunroof to one of his latest tracks.

Leek was the neighborhood rapper. He spent thirty minutes or so showing his videos on YouTube the one night you were in the studio with him and his crew. He was dope, you couldn’t lie. Built like a linebacker, Leek’s full ahki beard and super tatted-up upper body was a bad one. You caught yourself fantasizing about how bad Leek could really be but quickly remember that Dave got to you first. Thank God.

“Only for today, Leek. I’m heading back down tonight.”

“Damn. Dope of you to come up for your mans.”

You’d small talk Leek except he’s cutting into your homework of trying to figure out your getaway from this party to wherever Dave wanted to take you. Dave still lingered upstairs as you bobbed and weaved through the party to find Yahya. You were hoping that in the time it would take for you to get through Dave’s extended-extended family, you could come up with an excuse to get away for a few hours.

You could fake a run to the beauty supply store for some braiding hair but the stores back home were good and hood enough to find the yaki you needed. You promised to take Yahya to papi’s for that hoagie, so no store run could be in order. Your entire family is at Pardi’s house so no “run up to my cousins house right quick” would work. You keep thinking of what to say as Dave rips another message through your DMs. It’s an address and an agreement to meet in thirty minutes.

“Oh, Dave? Yeah. I’m happy he’s home.”

“Who else you think I was talking about? Y’all still down, right?”

Leek’s inquiry throws you off guard. You knew he had a lightweight crush on you -- Dave once joked that he could see Leek’s mouth hit the floor when you walked into the studio that night -- but now the boldness to ask your status in this moment is taking you back to a DM from Leek that you deleted but never told Dave about.

“Dave and I? We’re cool. We ain’t down like we were but we’re cool. My fiance’ helped Dave with his case. That’s why I’m here.”

Leek notices the blinding engagement ring you ignored up until this moment and suddenly, so do you. It’s the first time in hours that you remembered your man at home and like Chante’ Moore said, “he’s been good…” to you. Your conscience hurries you to dead your quest to find quiet time with Dave. You wouldn’t be on your best behavior; there would be no guarantees that Dave would stand on the right side of history. Upstairs, for that brief moment, your lips touched Dave’s neck and almost caught a bite. Dave used to love that move, digging deeper into you as you almost broke skin so he could commence to breaking your back. You fell into his body by mistake but his hands knew what they were doing. Tracing your stripes down to the seam of your panties was intentional. You pooled at the idea of him taking them off.

You aren’t naive. You wanted Dave and he wanted you. The moment was beyond brief yet beyond impactful. Leek’s unforeseen act as an impromptu guardian angel stops you from making the worst mistake of your life.

“Ahh, congrats ma!” Leek reluctantly goes in for a brotherly-esque hug. You give him a church hug in return, that side hug catching Yahya’s attention as he exits the backyard area to look for you. He grabs your wrist as you release Leek from your innocent clutches.

“Excuse me, brotha ... [Y/N], you ready to go?” You quickly nod your head up and down in the direction of your forever. Leek didn’t like the way your man cut into his moment but he hastily concedes after you tap your hand on his chest and send your well wishes.

“We still heading over to that hoagie spot, right?” Yahya tapping his stomach as he grabs the car keys from his left pocket. “I’m dying. And Ms. Gwen’s food looked smackin’. Took me a lot to not go in, baby girl…”

“You could’ve ate. We’ll be up here again.”

“Nah, nah. The way you were talking about this damn sandwich. I want a hit.”

Dave’s message feels like an afterthought as you jump into the passenger seat. Your meetup was only twenty minutes away but you broke the spell of Dave and tried to forget. A light tap on the passenger side window wakes you up.

“Y’all leaving already?! Damn.” Uncle Trace daps Yahya through the car window, a mix of weed and Polo Red wafting past your nose.

“Yeah, Unc…” Yahya’s salutation makes your heart smile. “...we gotta get back to homebase.”

“Aight, king. Get my niece home safe. Love you, [Y/N].”

As you direct Yahya to the cornerstone named papi’s, you couldn’t help but stare at the way he commanded the streets. The potholes that got the best of him the last time he came here are no match for him today. He’s even driving with one hand, something he never did before -- or that you never peeped. His level of comfort on the side of town that you also call home is reminding you right before your eyes that you’re the luckiest girl in the world. All from calling your Uncle Trace by a pet name.

You find a spot close to papi’s and walk in with enough time. Yahya commands for you to order for him and you obey: turkey hoagie, everything on it. You order a chicken cheesesteak, wrapping your arms around Yahya’s waist as you both small talk about the week ahead. You weren’t letting go for anything in this world. Yahya briefly lets go to grab two Tahitian Treats out of the cooler. His big hands grab the drinks, hoagies and you up to the counter.

“Let me get two vanilla dutches, please.”

“Yah- what you doing? You don’t smoke.”

“I usually don’t. Don’t mean I haven’t. I’m tryna finish this weekend out right. We still celebrating.”

“That’s fine but who the hell you get the weed from?”

“Unc.”

Unbeknownst to you, that dap between included an eighth of silver haze.

“Oh, this is it. You ain’t coming around my family anymore. Nope.”

“I’m Jerri’s favorite. You can’t do that…”

Dave doesn’t know what to do. It’s been some time since your message and you haven’t sent an “OK” or any signal of your arrival. He paces down the steps and out the door, running into Trace talking on the steps to Dave’s uncle, Clifford. He tries ignoring them both but Trace isn’t having it.

“Yo, you leaving your own party, man?”

“My bad, Trace. I gotta make a run up Olney real quick for something. I’ll be back though…” Dave’s last words trail in the air as he walks down the street toward papi’s. Somehow Trace’s old self catches up to him.

“Bruh, slow down. You just got home…” Somehow Trace’s reminder does indeed slow Dave down. He’s been moving too fast since you agreed to meet up with him. He can’t keep up with his mind.

Dave didn’t know what to do when you sent that message. He felt a semblance of guilt for touching your spot, for letting your body fall into his, for staring at you as if he wasn’t going to see you again. For all the thoughts he had as you both sat in the same room where he’d coax the devil out of your body night after night. He was willing to risk it all only if you wanted it. Your message answered his prayer.

“Yeah, Trace. I know. I just gotta get out the house for a second too…”

“Oh, no doubt. They think that once you out, you wanna see the world. You just want the world to know you good, that’s it.” Trace’s wisdom plummets Dave.

It’s been his truth since he got home from jail. He didn’t want to be surrounded by the people who didn’t check on him or his mother; the people who ignored Pardi’s angered Facebook posts about Dave’s situation. People who donated to the bail fund out of guilt, not out of care. The only people who cared to know his fate were his mother, Pardi, Trace, Yahya and you, even if you never reached out. He knew you to be the catalyst to his freedom even if you at one time secretly fought it.

You walked up those steps to his old room to see if he was okay. You knew that large crowds made him skittish. Something within you broke the rules to see if he needed a safe space to be. That summer, you were that. Dave unleashed his heart out to you in ways that even his mother would never see. Despite what seemed different about you, you weren’t afraid of his story. He felt close to you, letting you into a world that you didn’t know but could feel.

Dave wanted one more chance to feel you. Yahya be damned.

Watching Yahya yell salutations to him and Trace from his car window as he drives by gut checks Dave. And makes him wonder if you’re with him. That would deviate from the plan that you created and Dave was on his way to fulfill.

“This is the best shit I’ve ever had, [Y/N]. You weren’t lyin’. Bruh…” Yahya delightfully wipes the last of the mayonnaise from the side of his mouth.

“Told you!”

“They should cater the wedding. I’m not playing.”

The unseasonably warm evening meets you and Yahya as you stare across at Camden’s waterfront. The pier is popping with families enjoying the last bits of early winter before the clocks strike back and school gets into a full swing. It’s a bit of calm before you two hit I-95 back to what sadly isn’t Chocolate City anymore. Yahya caresses your right knee as you stare over the Delaware. You were beyond ready to get home. Your future husband breaks your gaze. “I meant to ask you. Who was bruh all hugged up on you in the house?”

“Heh. Why?”

“You were church huggin’ him to death but he wasn’t getting a clue at all.”

“Oh that was Maleek, a friend of Dave. No big deal.” You play off Yahya’s somewhat jealous disposition even as it humors you. You rather him ask about Leek than Dave. “Let me find out you jealous? Look at you.”

“Nah. I just know mad dudes are on you. I trust you though.” Up until an hour ago, he didn’t have a reason to do that.

“Dave was too, to be real.” You decide to break down all of the walls. The case was over. You think you’re over Dave. Yahya is minutes into a food coma.

“Well yeah, Jerri told me. Some teenager stuff. I saw those pictures. I’d be chasing you down the hallway too.”

“Boy, please. But no -- remember I told you about that lobbyist dude I dated who damn near ghosted me before we went to the Bahamas? I ended up coming up here for those weeks and Dave and I messed. Nothing serious.”

“You sure? Dude was eyefucking you real crazy at Jerri’s house last Summer.”

“Hold up? You saw that?!” What you thought you hid from Yahya, he saw in plain sight.

“Everybody could, damn. Heh. It’s all good though. So was I.”

You joust your fingers into Yahya’s side causing him to fall into laughter. Four words suddenly send you into an orgasmic-level of relaxation. Yahya didn’t seem to care. Once you ride off the orgasmic high, you feel insanely stupid. One conversation lessened the guilt of a relationship that lasted two weeks but imprinted onto you for what felt like forever. A moment of repentance overdue coaxes witty banter out of Yahya, not the dissolution of a relationship. It shouldn’t have been this easy.

That’s how u feel?

Your walk back to the car is broken up by a message from Dave. Your lack of a response to his earlier texts told him that you were in the car that Yahya yelled his love from. Your broken promise to break up a happy home slowly breaks Dave’s heart even though he knew better than to break the rules.

You don’t know what to say in response, turning your phone on silent not to alert Yahya’s attention. There’s nothing for you to say. Dave does all the talking for you.

Yo. I’m not some snake ass nigga. I wasnt doin anything with you that you didnt want

You came lookin for me.

I can’t be friends with you?

You wake up to see Dave’s last message sent hours ago. Before you walk into your front door and out of Dave’s life forever, you send your final goodbye.

I don’t think it’s best. I’m sorry.

Taglist: @harleycativy @twistedcharismaaa @dorkskinneded @need-my-fics @ghostfacekill-monger @writerbee-ffs @chaneajoyyy @amyhennessyhouse @blackburnbook

#dave east x reader #yahya abdul-mateen ii x reader #yahya abdul mateen ii #dave east fic #dave east #Old habits die hard #2017 Dave East was a STUNNER

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dropsofletters · 3 years

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how to lose someone in seven steps? | prologue

— summary: love-induced heartbreak is one of the most overrated things to ever be talked about, and she doesn’t get why most of her friends take up on such conversations with sighs following every statement. relationships aren’t something to linger on—but when one of her friends dares her to make one of their infamous exes, whom they had a hard time getting over with, fall in love with her, she takes up on the challenge. earning them? easy. losing them? even easier.

— title: how to lose someone in seven steps? — pairing: wayv x reader (depending on whose route you select) — genre: bet!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; love experiment!au (and other au’s depending on the routes) — type: fluff ; romance ; humor ; drama ; angst (varying according to the route) — word count: 2,821

She once said she’d die the day she fell in love.

It’s one of those rare concepts that her literature teacher loved gushing about when she wrote them on paper. Dying for love, actually, has been romanticized for as long as she can remember. Think The Notebook or Romeo and Juliet—hell, even The Walking Dead could enter in this category in some of their episodes. The toxicity of such matter, however, goes past what she has ever wanted to portray when saying those words. She’d die if she ever were to fall in love.

Because, falling in love feels like dying, and though she hasn’t lived it, she can tell by the look on her friends’ eyes whenever they got their heart stepped on, munched, bitten, spat out at their feet—whatever. Promises of never going through the same thing lived inside her head when she had to push one of her friend’s hair back to have them throw up on the club’s flooring, crying after a break-up. Or, rather, when she saw one of her friends skimming through Instagram for the twelfth time that day and, yes, absolutely, her boyfriend is, still, liking the pictures of a bunch of women with cup sizes bigger than hers.

It’s unnecessary. People dream about it, hear songs about it, but they never quite think about how much they could avoid if they didn’t go around seeking for love, or for one-time-things that will only end up in another person getting entangled. It’s the common mistake of never getting to know another person well, and hence, never getting to know oneself nicely enough. Love starts from the moment we give our first breath.

As of currently, her friend Ada can’t breathe. Or, well, she can—but she chooses not to as she downs yet another shot and weeps at the memory of her latest break up.

The food settled on the table in between the group of eight women smells delicious, but no one has payed enough attention to the meal itself and rather, downed a few drinks for the sake of making Ada feel better. With her makeup running down her chubby cheeks, her once long brown hair cut into a bob after the break-up that has kept her crying for the past two days, and her hands shakingly reaching for the soju to pour some more, she finally takes the first bite of the salad she had ordered, eyes glimpsing at what she never wants to have.

Heartbreak is the ugliest, yet most overrated, thing that could ever happen in this world.

The kind of beauty a woman possesses when getting into a relationship erases itself when she’s out of it. It’s momentary, sure, she’s well aware that Ada will go back to her bubbly, adorable self one of these days, but it’s neither tomorrow nor the next day. “I—I just don’t get it—” And, preferably, the people on the table next to them must not get it as well. They have been snooping on what Ada has been worrying about for the past thirty minutes. “The sex was good. The kisses were good. I just—Why did he have to be such an asshole at the end?”

Ada believes in happy endings, though. When they were children—and she’s one of her oldest friends—, she’d always dress up as Cinderella on Halloween, throwing her shoe around in hopes of someone catching it and looking for her. No one did, but one can only dream. “Baby,” Elena, the classiest of the group, takes out a small handkerchief from her purse before patting it against Ada’s moist cheeks. “That’s what you get for dating an exotic dancer. Who thinks an exotic dancer is going to settle down for them?” She pushes her long black hair away from her shoulders, her porcelain skin matching the deep burgundy of her plush lips. Elena’s beauty is unmatchable.

“I did, b—but…” There it is, the worry, the excuses that come with dating a man. “But Yukhei just seemed different. He always talked about his dreams…and about how pretty he thought I was. It just—” Before she could refill her glass with soju, she takes the bottle away from her.

Heartbreak may have never reached her, but she’s not letting it affect her friend. “Ada, stop it. Enough alcohol for today. Grab a bite or something.”

“Ah!” Ada, as dramatic as always, pushes her head back. “Stop babying me, you’ve all been in this position. Just let me motherfucking drink—!”

Elena sighs from her spot, fingertips running over the glassed table of the restaurant they’re in. Red curtains over glassed windows who trail over the lightened-up city, matching the champagne colored walls. “I didn’t act like this when I broke up with Kun.”

Yifei, who has just come back to the table after a smoke break, ruffles the curled up strands of her bleached blonde hair before scoffing. “That’s because you didn’t love Kun, honey.” Taking her bomber jacket off, she lets her tattoos be on full display, roses and thorns the most outstanding one. “You’ll know what real love is when they leave you for someone else, not when you’re the one leaving.”

“…Damn.” Ada whispers from her spot, licking the outline of her shot glass before sighing. “Did Kun Hang hurt you that much?”

Yifei has thick skin, hurts in ways that no one ever notices, and her love affair from four years ago still lingers within her. “It’s not exactly pain, but when your high school love admits that he’s been in love with this old ass businesswoman for the entirety of your months-long relationship, it hurts.”

“That was four years ago,” Elena answers, swatting her hand in the air. “Besides, I was in love with Kun, but contrary to your two guys…he loved too much. I felt like I was being constricted and, girls, I am a chef—” Pride bleeds from her every word when she takes a sip of her pink champagne. “I know when bad things are cooking up, and Kun was a big red sign for clingy.”

A hiss leaves her lips then, rubbing her hands together. “Oh, damn, we’re getting good spice today, aren’t we? Tearing your exes apart!”

It’s fun—it’s the kind of activity they have to do to have Ada smiling at them. “Well, Ada, now that you’re single, some advice:” Liying speaks from her spot, fixing her perfectly sleeked back bun just to grab a bite of the immaculately prepared carbonara pasta in front of them, twirling her fork in the air. “Never go for younger guys. I went for a college guy, thinking that because he didn’t have much experience, he’d go to me, and because he was rich as all hell, I thought he’d pay for everything…” Liying’s voice trails dangerously, her face without an ounce of makeup scrunching up in disgust. “But younger guys? They’re insecure, end of story.”

It’s a bit difficult to remember who had swept Liying off her feet, considering she’s now happily in a relationship with a journalist. “Who was that again?” She asks, well aware that she is the only one who has stayed single for the majority of their friendship, and Liying turns to the side to look at her.

“Liu Yangyang. Rich nightmare.”

Yifei whistles from her side. “But he was rich. That’s always a plus.”

“Not when he’s always texting you, Yifei.” Liying conquers, pursing her lips in the process. “Like, babe, like, are you sure that you didn’t, like, sleep with someone while I was in Germany? Like, babe, really, like, it is better if you just tell me. Like. Like. Like.” She repeats over and over again, and it’s at this moment that her brain clicks. Right. Liu Yangyang…Liying had introduced her to him once at her birthday event, but she doesn’t remember much from him.

The women around the table burst with laughter, and she looks towards another one of her friends, trying to make Ada feel better. “This group of friends was formed because we all have shitty tastes in men,” Angela instructs, moving her bangs off her forehead to showcase her big eyes, wetting her lips with her drink before hissing. “You remember my ex Ten, Ada? Sometimes, when we slept together, I used to think he was actually getting off to the thought of himself.”

Elena actually snorts at those words, and to have elegant Elena Wang give such reaction means that it is something truly interesting. “No way!”

“Yes! He was too vain. Everything he said was amen.” Angela raises her hands in the air, sighing deeply. “I was saved the day he decided to break up with me.”

She turns to the quiet woman to the side, Shishi’s platinum hair cascading down her back, her thick eyeliner definitely something outstanding about her. “What about you, Shishi?”

“I broke up with someone not too long ago…” The quiet woman says, though the entire table already knows about that.

Yifei groans. “Come on, Shishi, let it out!”

“Fencer asshole.” Shishi, who rarely cusses, lets it out in the air, wrapping her hand snugly around her fork. “Xiao Dejun liked every woman who had good makeup skills. Wear red lipstick and you’re ready to get on his good list.”

Someone lifts their gaze from her phone—Bingbing, happily in a relationship for the last two years, lover of men with smart mouths to carry on with her perfect texting skills. “Can I talk shit about my ex, too?”

“Aren’t you happily married?” She questions, only to have Bingbing waving her phone in the air.

“And I’m keeping my relationship alive because of what I learned.” Bingbing replies, pushing her body forward and resting her head on her interlocked hands. “If a man is hard to decipher, he’s just not that into you. Men are simple creatures, you see.”

“Word to that!” Ada says from her spot, a hiccup following soon after. “Men are simple creatures, because they can’t be considered human.”

For a moment, silence falls around the table and she takes this time to lose herself in the taste of lettuce, tomato and onions sliced together into a perfect concoction with rosy sauce on top. Only when she takes a big bite, downing it with a bit of water, does she realize that all pair of eyes are settled on her. Fourteen eyes capturing her every move is already enough of a terrifying visual.

“What?” Her voice lifts a bit after she says those words, patting a napkin against her lips in case there is something on her lips.

Ada rolls her eyes, too much alcohol taking away her dulcet features. “Babe, tell us about your biggest heartbreak. The biggest asshole you’ve met.”

For a moment, she tries to think. The last date she had was over a year ago…and after losing her time with someone who actually didn’t want to be with her, she cut things off. Not that it hurt, just that she simply decided not to continue dating. It’s a waste of time, seriously.

“I’ve never…had anyone break my heart. If you don’t let anyone do that, it doesn’t happen.” Or so she wants to believe. She never wants to give anyone the benefit of the doubt.

“Come on,” Ada replies, taking her phone out of her pocket and looking for something before turning the screen to her. “Tell me you wouldn’t fall for someone like this. You just have dated people who are not worth a heartbreak, I guess.” A golden skinned man meets her vision, and it’s the first time she has seen Yukhei. His brown hair parts naturally, the dimly lit room letting her see the curve of his plush lips, the straightness of his nose and his big, almost doe, eyes. A glint of sweat trails up his biceps as he places one hand on his head, his collarbones on full display on the picture, and though the image does not go lower, she can tell he’s shirtless.

Attractive and yet, she shrugs. “Too typically handsome. I wouldn’t consider him my type.”

“What she wants is the absolute opposite,” Elena says, already rummaging through her social media. “A goody-two-shoes who would leave everything behind for you: Qian Kun.”

This time around, she gets to see a picture directly from Instagram. This guy’s hair is darker, sporting a chef’s uniform as he lifts a tray of food up into the air. Exquisite at its finest, but he’s not bad looking in any way. Slim lips welcoming a big smile, eyes twinkling in innocence, looking too posh to ever make a mistake. “…Not bad, I like the dimple. He seems too good to break your heart, though.”

“What about an artistic guy?” Angela says from her spot, showing her own phone but from another account. This breakup must’ve been messier, she guesses. “I’m sure you’d get your heart broken by Ten. He’s just…too risqué, you fall for him without thinking.”

This man is seated on a leather couch, a camera up to his face, one of his eyes squinted but the one that is opened lets her see the cat-shaped form of them. His lips are slim, though the glimmer of his cheeks is the perfect highlight, tattoos shaping his form, his legs ones to desire. “Nah, he couldn’t break my heart even if he wanted to.”

It becomes a competition, with Shishi rushing to find the pictures she saved on her phone of her latest relationship, clinging to the side of a man in a white uniform. His eyes are an enigma, though the smile on his face is sweet, his brown hair pushed away from his face. “What about the fencer asshole, Xiao Dejun?”

“He’s okay.”

Then, Liying refreshes her memory of Liu Yangyang. Seated in between a big group of people with a smile on his face, his surroundings rich enough to point out in what kind of party he is, the suit on his body deep blue like the ocean. “What about younger guys? Maybe, she just needs someone who is reckless—”

“I’d crush his heart.” Overconfidence starts to take up on her, taking a sip of her drink. “Give me a better shot.”

Yifei, one of her latest options, pushes her phone forward. “What about Kun Hang?”

She remembers Kun Hang, and the man may be gorgeous—but his goofy ways don’t figure him out as a heartbreaker. “We’d be great friends. I doubt we’d even get together.”

“Last chance, ladies!” Bingbing stands from her seat to get over her, wrapping one arm around her shoulder before showing her the screen. This man is more simplistic, his black hair covering most of his forehead, though the prettiness of his face is not to be missed, plump lips, nicely rounded cheeks, and a look on his eyes that screams ‘boy-next-door’. “Is Dong Sicheng the kind of guy who’d break your heart?”

“Girls,” She says, pushing Bingbing’s phone away before chuckling. “You just give people the power to hurt you. I could make any of these men cry for me if I just put my mind into it. Heartbreak is mental, no matter how much people try to say it isn’t.”

Shishi deadpans, then. “Break one of their hearts and we’ll believe you.”

Ada must have seen a goddess right at that moment, with wings and promises that have her widening her eyes and smacking her hands against the table. God, she’ll be lucky if people stop looking at them for once tonight. “Yes! You can pick someone and break their hearts, and teach us your ways!”

“I doubt this is a good idea…” Elena whispers, though Ada shakes her head.

“Raise your hand if you want her to break your ex’s heart.”

Six hands are raised, and Elena raises it with one final sigh.

It’s one of those ‘a rush in the moment’ things, when adrenaline pumps inside her body too quickly and she’s overexcited. Very rarely does someone feel like this in adulthood—as if youth and power lasts forever, so she puts one hand forward. “Put all your phones down with the pictures of the guys whose heart you want me to break, and I’ll pick someone.”

Cheers fill the air for the tale of a bad idea given by alcohol, but she feels powerful, staring at a group of men that she doesn’t know—men she should hate for breaking the hearts of those whom she loves. It shouldn’t be that difficult, right? If they were able to break her friends’ hearts, she can do the same thing.

Her hand hovers in the air, pondering, seeing, letting her mind choose who would be the easiest, who deserves it the most. A challenge, that’s what she wants—

And a smile appears on her face when she grabs certain phone.

want to pick a route? check out the masterlist

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sometimesiwritebadly · 4 years

Text

Doctor Agent Super Genius (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Summary: You’re in a band and you wrote a song about Spencer.

Warnings: Language.

Notes: Not me going from posting nothing for months to posting two fics in one day. Nope, I’d never do that. Also this is kinda a Dumbass!Reader x Spencer, but like not really. That’s how I started it but it didn’t really end like that so whatever. Fluff, as usual. Spencer blushes way more than any normal person.

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

You and Spencer couldn’t be more different.

Well, that’s not entirely true. You’re the same age, live in the same city. You both like reading and sci-fi. You both listen to a lot of music and love your jobs.

Of course, you can’t agree on any of those things. He reads classic novels in their original languages, and you read cheesy romance books. He likes Star Trek, you like Star Wars. He listens to classical music, and you listen to rock. He’s an FBI agent with multiple doctorates, and you’re a part time bartender/part time lead singer of a not-so-famous band who barely graduated high school. By all accounts, you two shouldn’t work. But somehow, despite all your differences, you’ve been dating for nearly a year now.

Your relationship really couldn’t be stronger; you live together, you’ve met his mother, he’s met your parents- but there was still one line the two of you hadn’t crossed. Meeting his coworkers. You know that he’s told them he’s dating someone, after all, they’re profilers. They could tell he was with someone after your first date. But for some reason, Spencer was still hesitant to introduce them to you. You tried not to let your insecurities cloud your thoughts, but well, how could you not? Was he embarrassed by you? Did he think they’d judge you for your lack of education and career? Would he break up with you if they didn’t approve?

You’d brought up meeting his coworkers on multiple occasions, of course, but he always had a reason to put it off.

“We’re all so busy, we’d probably get called off to a case before they even get to know you.”

“They’re just gonna profile you, Y/N, trust me, you don’t want that.”

“It’s a team bonding thing, I don’t want you to feel left out. Next time?”

So, when you found out the entire BAU was getting a week off after almost non-stop cases for the past two months, you knew this was your chance. You didn’t care if they were going to judge you, or profile you, you wanted to get to know the people closest to Spencer. So, when Spencer came home that night, he was met with you, holding a flyer for your band’s next gig.

~~~

“What’s this?” He asked, taking off his bag and putting it on the ground next to the door. Normally, you’d scold him for that - “There’s a perfectly good hook right there, Spencer.” - but you let it slide this time.

“Band’s doing a gig at the bar on Friday. And you have this week off, which means you get to come!” You handed him the flyer, and planted a kiss on his cheek as he answered.

“Of course, you know I never miss your-”

“And so can the rest of the BAU!” You cut him off with a sweet, and convincing smile on your face.

“Honey…” He started, but you wouldn’t let him talk you out of it this time.

“C’mon Spence! We’ve been together for almost a year now! I want to get to know these people, they’re basically your family! What’s the harm in having them come to the bar?” You paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before your next words, “Do you really think they’ll hate me so much?”

“What?” Spencer was shocked you would even suggest that the BAU wouldn’t like you - how could they not love you? “No! They’ll love you!”

“Then why won’t you let me meet them?”

Now it was Spencer’s turn to share his insecurities. “W- I just...you and I are so different,” He started, before you scoffed.

“Yeah, no shit, Spence. Unless you have secret nipple piercings too.” You said sarcastically, enjoying the redness that covered Spencer’s cheeks at the mention of your piercings.

“Anyways...you and I are really different, and they’ll point it out. And make fun of me. And..and probably make you realize that you could do better than nerdy old me.” Spencer let out a breath at his confession, feeling a weight leave his chest that he’d been carrying for months.

“Are you insane? Spence, if anyone can do better it’s you!” Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but you kept talking, “I mean really Spencer, you’re a badass FBI agent! You’re a doctor! You’re a genius! Any girl would kill to have a guy like-” Spencer cut you off with an intense kiss. When he finally pulled away, just for a moment, he spoke quietly.

“So Friday, huh? You really wanna meet them?”

“Yes, you idiot. I really wanna meet them.”

~~~

When Friday came rolling around, you were both extremely excited and nervous. On one hand, you were meeting the BAU, who are practically Spencer’s family, and you knew their opinion of you could make or break your relationship. But, you’d written a song this week that you had yet to show Spencer, and you couldn’t wait for him to hear it at the gig. Again, you were nervous for him and the team to hear the song, but part of being a musician is being vulnerable.

You’d been rehearsing the song with your band all week - they were a little mad that you’d wanted to add a brand new song so last minute, but they all agreed it was good enough that it had to be on the setlist - so you hadn’t gotten to spend as much of Spencer’s week off with him as you’d have liked. Hopefully when he heard the song tonight, he’d forgive you for it.

“Why can’t I go to your sound check again?” He asked you for the fifth time that day, as you were getting ready for your gig. Normally, you’d love to have Spencer at sound check, and he much preferred watching you perform when there wasn’t an obnoxious crowd surrounding him.

“I told you, I have a surprise for you during the show, and if you come to sound check-”

“It’ll be ruined, I know. I was just hoping you’d change your mind.” He pouted, making you almost regret saying no to him. Almost.

“Trust me babe, it’ll be worth it. Go to dinner with the team, and I’ll meet you all at the bar at 8.”

“Are you sure you want to meet them?”

“Yes, genius, I’m sure. 8 o’clock.”

“Okay, 8 o’clock.”

~~~

When you walked onto the small stage with the band, you could immediately spot Spencer and the BAU in the crowd. There was a decent turn out, but Spencer stood out like a sore thumb. At least, he always stood out to you. You gave him a smile and wink, before standing in front of the mic to introduce the band.

The set started like normal, playing the songs Spencer knew by heart (of course, he only needed to hear the songs once to know them by heart, but it still made your heart soar when you saw him singing the lyrics in the crowd). You noticed the other members of the BAU enjoying the songs as well, which settled your nerves greatly. You saw who you could only assume to be Garcia and Morgan dancing provocatively together, the two other women - probably Prentiss and JJ - dancing modestly together, pausing to talk every now and then. You recognized Rossi from the back cover of his books, enjoying the music with a scotch and a slight bobbing of his head to the beat. The last person, from the process of elimination, Hotch, didn’t appear to be enjoying himself at first glance - but you could see a hint of a smile on his face as he lightly swayed to the music.

When you got to the final song in your set, you were looking right at Spencer as you introduced the song. “So, this next song is gonna be the last of the night -” A roar of upset came from the crowd, causing you to laugh as you wiped the sweat from your forehead. “I know, I know, I’m not happy about it either guys. But, it is a brand new song, and the inspiration for it is right here in the room.” The crowd grew in excitement this time, looking around at each other as if they could figure out who the mystery muse was. Spencer already felt a blush growing on his cheeks as he realized what your surprise was going to be. “This song is called Doctor Agent Super Genius!” You said with a large smile on your face, as the guitarist began playing the beginning chords.

Spencer’s blush was even more obvious now, especially since all his coworkers had looked away from the stage and towards him. He only shrugged in response, trying to show that he knew nothing about it. Before any of them could question him, you began to sing.

Most girls go for tall, dark, and handsome

But that’s not how I’d describe you

You’re a little scrawny,

Your hair is kinda funny,

And you’ve got enough brains for two

The music began to build, and you were looking right at Spencer as you sang.

You talk my ear off about random facts

That I don’t give a shit about, but,

I’ll smile and nod

As you go on and on

Cause I want you to take me out

You laughed a little, then began playing your own guitar along with the lead guitarist before the chorus hit.

You see he’s got

1 2 3!

PHDs, and he knows exactly what I’m thinkin’ just by lookin’ at me

He knows everything about everything

Especially what to do in between the sheets, hey!

As you played your guitar and did your best to interact with the crowd before the next verse hit, Spencer’s blush had hit an all time high. The team, clearly enjoying the suggestive lyrics and the way Spencer had reacted to them, were now all dancing. Well, except Hotch. He was just laughing at Spencer along with the team.

You claim that you don’t have luck with girls

But I don’t see how that’s true

Cause those ladies are insane if they don’t want an agent

Who’s as fucking cute as you

Yeah, you talk my ear off about random facts

That I don’t give a shit about, but

I’ll smile and nod, ask a question or two,

Cause I’m kind of in love with you

Once again, you played guitar as the crowd got ready to sing along, now familiar with the words to the chorus. Spencer wasn’t looking, but Garcia had pulled out her phone to catch his reaction. (She already had plans to play the video at your wedding one day)

You see he’s got

1 2 3!

PHDs, and he knows exactly what I’m thinkin’ just by lookin’ at me

He knows everything about everything

Especially what to do in between the sheets

Because he’s got

1 2 3!

PHDs, so he shoulda known better than to be with someone like me

He’ll never forget a single moment of it

I just hope he won’t regret it…

Dear God, please don’t regret it!

Doctor Agent Super Genius,

It’s time to be an idiot and,

Fall in love with me

The lead guitarist had one last moment to shine as the song ended, and the crowd went wild before the band exited the stage.

~~~

It had been 15 minutes since your show had ended, and you finally made your way out of the back. After a change of clothes, and a small pep talk from the drummer in your band, you spotted Spencer and the team at a table in the back. As you made your way over, you caught the eye of Penelope Garcia, who immediately stood up and pulled you into an unexpected hug.

“Y/N Y/L/N! I am so excited to finally meet you!” She said, letting you go for only a brief moment before pulling you into a chair between herself and your boyfriend. He only got to give you a brief hello before Penelope began introducing you to everyone. “This is Derek, Emily, JJ, Rossi, and Hotch. Oh! And I’m Penelope, your new best friend.” You laughed at her excitement, taking it all in stride.

“Hi everyone, I’m Y/N. I hope you liked the show!” At the mention of the show, Spencer’s cheeks, which had only just begun to resemble his normal skin tone, turned red again.

“Oh trust me, Y/L/N, that was the best concert I’ve ever seen.” Derek said, laughing at Spencer’s reaction.

“You did amazing, as always.” Spencer said, glaring at Derek briefly before planting a light kiss on your cheek. This time, it was your turn to have your cheeks heat up.

“Please tell me you guys have a CD or something I can buy, I mean honestly, I’d be listening to your music even if it wasn’t for you dating the super genius.” Emily said, causing your face to light up.

“We don’t have any physical CDs yet, but all of our music is on itunes and spotify! We’re hoping to put together an album soon, once we record Doctor Agent Super Genius and a couple other songs we’ve written recently…” And you were off, talking about your music was always something you could do for hours.

As you got to know the team, and they got to know you, Spencer realized how stupid it had been of him to put this off. Sure, you and Spencer were completely different, but you fit into his life perfectly. He could already tell the team loved you, and knew you’d be a part of all of their lives for years to come.

~~~

When you got home after a long night of talking at the bar, you were surprised to immediately be pulled into a kiss by your boyfriend. When he finally pulled away from you, your could only laugh before you spoke.

“What was that for?”

“Doctor Agent Super Genius.” Was his answer, before he pecked your lips one more time.

“Oh yeah? Did you like the song?” You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

“I loved it. Although, you got something wrong.” You laughed lightly, expecting him to correct some grammar or fact from the song. “Falling in love with you wasn’t stupid. It’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done.” You beamed before kissing him this time, pouring all of your love into it as best you could.

“But you were right about me knowing everything. Especially in between the sheets. Care to let me prove it?” He said once you pulled away.

You happily let him prove his genius all night.

~~~

taglist: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac @andreasworlsboring101 @rexorangecouny @rosyskies

#spencer reid #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fic #the bau

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seacottons · 4 years

Text

Rewind.

▷ pairing : yunho x reader

▷ genre : fluff

▷ wc : 1.4k

summary : a compilation of yunho’s favorite moments captured on film.

APR. 16 2018 08:32 P.M

Despite the first video being merely a few seconds long, it was enough to capture the chaos that ensued in your apartment at the sight of a large flying beetle. The camerawork is shaky and extremely unstable in Yunho’s hand, his other within frame and grasping a neon yellow fly swatter. Your blurred, panic stricken face was captured for a brief second, along with the sounds of a shrieking Jongho and San, who dramatically threw off their headphones and gaming consoles to the floor in search for safety behind you. Yunho’s laugh rung out along with the deafening sound of rustling clothes and heavy footsteps.

MAY. 19 2018 07:06 P.M

Long fingers worked on adjusting the lens of a camera, and the blurred image of colorful bokeh dots focused to reveal your form in between the many booths of an amusement park, arms struggling to carry the human sized carrot plushie Yunho won for you. As you waddled after your tall boyfriend, your goofy grin flashed with every bob of the carrot’s leaves, eyes sparkling underneath the various flashing lights, “You’re the best boyfriend in the entire world.”

“Why? Because I won you a carrot?”

“Yes.”

JUN. 03 2018 04:47 P.M

“I think I did something wrong, Yunnie,” you grimaced as you eyed his slicked back hair. Your gloved fingers hesitantly rubbed a patch of his hair, the pink and orange product in his locks staining your gloves easily, “I think we should wash it off and start again.”

He hummed and rested the camera onto the bathroom sink to go wash off the dye. You handed him a towel to rub the excess water out of his colorful locks, and you gasped audibly as soon as he revealed his damp hair, “Oh my gosh.. it’s bad. I didn’t think it was that bad- I told you to not trust me with your hair-”

“I love it!” he cut you off with a laugh, hands working on filming a 360° of his pink and yellow tresses, “I look like ice cream!”

JUN. 27 2018 02:03 P.M

Yunho’s wheeze was the only thing you were able to detect in the next video. The black screen then flashed white, before the lens adjusted to the brightness to reveal your scurrying form and frightened face, hands clutching at a bag of corn kernels and a small flock of geese angrily chasing after you, their loud honks and your whimpers joining in with Yunho’s laughter, “I don’t know what’s wrong with them! I think they preferred the rice we bought them last time!”

“Poor baby,” Yunho snickered as a goose hissed and attempted to bite the hem of your coat.

“Yunho! Stop laughing and scare them away!”

JUL. 01 2018 09:00 P.M

Yunho blinked down at the camera, brows rolling into a subtle wave, before he turned the device to pan the room filled with commotion and bickering as the rest of his friends joined together in one of their apartments for a game of mafia. The camera zoomed in on your disgruntled expression as Seonghwa and Wooyoung bickered back and forth on either side of you, before panning to San who repeatedly slammed his hands onto the coffee table in protest, and finally resting on Yeosang’s calm form as he dipped his hand in Hongjoong’s bag of chips.

“So you’re saying you think I’m the mafia because of clothes I’m wearing!?”

You eyed the camera and then up at Yunho’s face, pleading for him to butt in.

“That makes absolutely no sense—”

Wooyoung practically leaned over onto your lap as he squawked incredulously, accusing finger pointed at Seonghwa’s face.

“Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying, but you’re all a bunch of cowards who are— ”

“Please, let’s play another game?”

JUL. 07 2018 07:05 A.M

A gentle finger poked your cheek. Rays of morning sunlight peeked through the gaps of the blinds, and Yunho’s finger continued to poke and draw circles onto your sleeping face, “Baby, wake up.”

Another poke.

“Baby.”

The camera leaned in towards your cheeks as Yunho made smooching noises from up above your sleeping form.

“Did you have to to party that hard last night, love?”

He zoomed in on your nose as he prodded it upwards to reveal your nostrils, “Little piggy, wake up.”

You snuggled closer to the carrot plushie in your arms, eyelids fluttering open to send a mocking glare in his general direction, “Little piggy?”

“Be flattered. I love having bacon for breakfast.”

The camera zoomed in uncomfortably close at your flustered and flabbergasted expression, “Jeong Yunho!”

JUL. 09 2018 05:45 P.M

Yunho’s fingers wriggled into frame as he made peace signs around your figure. The video displayed your concentrated expression as you carefully dotted black icing along the edge of the sugar cookie. The shiba inu cookie was soon starting to look well put together.

“Let me see, baby,” Yunho chimed in. You shook your head, mumbling something about it not being ready.

He grumbled and walked over to where Yeosang and Mingi had their respective plates and bags of different colored icing, “Make sure these are perfect for San’s party. I have more ready made eyes incase you need mor—”

The video blurred as Yunho‘a grip accidentally slipped around the camera. The device smacked onto Yeosang’s nearly perfect cookie, his startled hands accidentally squeezing around a piping bag, orange icing spurting onto his arms and clothes, “Yunho!”

Frosting smeared onto the lens of the camera, and Yunho worked in circular motions of wipe the surface clean, his distorted and blurry face flashing clearer with every few wipes, “Sorry, sorry!”

You and Mingi cackled in the background, and Yeosang had a difficult time deciding who to attack first.

JUL. 10 2018 06:09 P.M

“Happy birthday, dearest Sannie,” eight voices sang in a dimly lit room. You, along with Wooyoung, scooped frosting onto your fingers and smeared it on San’s visage, earning you a soft yelp of protest in return.

The camera zoomed in on the birthday boy’s grimace as he sent the device a look of disbelief, “I even get bullied on my birthday, can you believe it?”

“Make a wish, you bum,” Hongjoong smacked the other’s behind encouragingly.

San tipped his head, cheeks puffing over-exaggeratedly as he took aim. The fire from the candle ever so slightly licked the streamer strands on the tip of his party hat, and a series of gasps from the others startled the boy upright. The tip of his hat burned and if Yunho hadn’t captured the moment, you would’ve forgotten it just from how fast the events played out in front of you. Wooyoung’s shrieks and Seonghwa’s panic stricken expression were the only things your mind registered before Jongho determinedly and impetuously splashed the large bowl of cider onto San’s head, the soda distinguishing the flame and also soaking your frame.

“Did you wish for us to die!?”

SEP. 06 2018 01:36 A.M

The city lights were a blurry mess in the video as Yunho’s ran with audible footsteps and boisterous laughter, “Baby, why so slow?”

Albeit the shakiness, you were seen scrambling to catch up after him, the plastic bag filled with snacks and strawberry flavored milk swinging rapidly in the air, “Why are you too fast!?” you wheezed, gripping onto your cap with your other hand, the cold night wind leaving a subtle flush onto your cheeks, “We weren’t all born with skyscraper legs!”

He suddenly paused and turned to face you just in time for you to collide with his chest. You nearly smacked into the rolling camera if it wasn’t for his quick instincts, “Want a piggyback ride, piggy?”

OCT. 24 2018 08:00 P.M

“Jeong Yunho! Jeong Yunho! Jeong Yunho!”

“(Y/n), your cheering is distracting me from winning!” Wooyoung cried as he attempted to steal the basketball from Jongho, “Cheer for me instead!”

You held onto the camera and zoomed in much too close to capture the determined expressions and grimaces of the eight boys as they passed the ball from one to the other. Their sweat slicked skin glistened underneath the fluorescent street lamps.

“Jeong Yunho!” with every cheer of his name, you quickly zoomed in and out on his grinning face. He sent a hasty wink in your general direction before jumping up to pass the ball towards Mingi.

“Who the hell put all towers in one team!?” San cried as nearly toppled over from Hongjoong’s foot.

“Hongjoong! He needed to prove height isn’t a factor in sports!”

“Yes, it damn is!”

You cackled and zoomed out to pan around the surroundings for a brief moment, before returning back to the battleground. Your grin faltered as your eyes trained on the screen to watch the basketball rapidly flying in your direction.

“(Y/n), move!”

327 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

17 chosen and 20 lunar for Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go!

Lieutenants Log, stardate 10015, Joseph Stern recording

We’ve finally arrived at an agreement with the Aquariads, the species who control this moon. They will allow our research team unfettered access to the planet, but at an odd price. They requested one of our crew agree to be married off to a high ranking member of their governing council.

I suspect, but cannot prove, that this is not a desirable being to be married to. He’s a revered seer, and yet they’re willing to couple him to a human and not one of their own? Suspicious.

Myself and the other single members of the crew were all given extensive questionnaires on everything from our sexual preferences to our daily habits. It took me a good hour and a half to finish it.

After a full earth day of waiting, we received word that chief astrobotanist Duck Newton was the chosen human. I have no idea how this happened, as Duck has little tolerance for what he views as “woo-woo” things like precognition. But he was chosen all the same.

Because this is Duck, he grumbled a bit, but cheered up when he learned he would only be required to stay with his new husband for three weeks before joining us on our field word, and that we can send him specimens for identification and research. If we decide Aquaria is the planet we’ve been looking for and establish more permanent research stations here, Duck will be expected to spend at least a few days a month with the seer. Mama made it clear that if the idea was truly not something he could agree to, she would call the deal off and we could try another approach. Duck said that wouldn’t be necessary, and that he could think of far worse things they could have asked of us.

We deposit him at the seers home tomorrow. After that, we begin our exploration of Aquaria, fourth moon of the plant Oceana and (hopefully) the home of the antidote we’ve been searching for.

Joseph Stern, Lieutenant on the spaceship Amnesty, signing off.

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

Duck waves to the skiff as it pulls away, his planetside bag slung over his shoulder. There’s only one way to go; down the single stone levee, decorated with beautiful tiles, to the massive mansion at the end.

It reminds him of the photos of Venice he’s seen in old National Geographics, beautiful buildings floating atop a planet of water. He knows Aquaria has islands, but the majority of it’s cities are on or near the water because most of its residents live beneath the waves. They remind Duck of mermaids, with scaled tails and fins giving way to humanoid upper bodies and faces. As far as creatures to get politically married off to, he could be staring down worse.

There’s still the problem of not knowing why this mer is off by himself and without a partner. Or, as becomes obvious once Duck is inside, any company at all. The other high-ranking aquariads they’ve met come with miles of attendants; here there’s only the high, curved ceilings and rippling water. Maybe the guy is shy? Or maybe he’s a dick? Or just real fucking scary to look at?

As he walks further into the house, he notices the tiled walls are covered in striking murals that, when coupled with the odd half-light allowed in by the green glass windows, makes him feel as though he’s wandering through a dream. The pools and canals criss-cross the floor, and really the ground is more water than concrete, the fact he’s able to walk at all is a concession to the fact some aquariads evolved to be land dwelling.

A splash makes him turn, and in the pool to his right a black fin cuts the water. He steels himself to not insult the alien he’s now legally attached to. The figure rises from the water, setting his arms on the edge of the stony floor and Duck steps back as a wide, toothy smile appears in an angular face.

“Hello, Duck Newton.” His tail is the same black as his fin, and his silver hair is tucked behind ears of the same color, which Duck has learned can fan out as a way of communicating.

“Uh, hi. You must be-”

“Indrid Cold, yes. Apologies, a peril of my profession is that I will always be a little bit ahead.”

“Right. So, uh, guess we’re gonna be seein a lot of each other the next couple of weeks.” He aims for a joking, nonchalant tone.

“Yes, as we’re married.” He cocks his head, confused, then grins brighter, “Oh, oh I see, you are attempting levity because this is all very awkward. I, ah, I appreciate that. Here, let me show you where you’ll be staying” Indrid pushes off the wall, swimming gracefully on his back as Duck follows him down the hall. The center of the house has more skylights, allowing him to see that his host’s fins aren’t pure black; small silver and white dots are scattered across it. He wonders if he could find constellations in them.

“Here we are.” Indrid gestures to a room, one where the only water is in the form of two deep blue half-circles on the left and right walls. The center of the room is a large bed, linens gleaming whites and pale greens, and the skylight nestles against a chandelier of finely detailed rosey glass.

“Holy shit.” Duck sets his bag down on a trunk near the door.

“Do you like it?” A flash of yellow up Indrid’s fin, echoed in the dots on his tail.

“I mean, anythin looks ritzy after months on a spaceship but” he turns, smiles, “yeah, I do. Thanks for giving me such nice digs.”

“You are most welcome. Now, this room is designed to give guests privacy. See that red panel on the wall? If you press it, it opens the pool on that side up to the rest of the house, allowing myself or servants to come in and help you.”

“So you do have staff.”

“They’re, ah, more like errand folk. None live here.” Indrid clears his throat, “I can show you the rest of the house, although if you need to sleep I can let you be. I am, ah, not entirely clear on where your internal clock sits now.”

“Aquaria’s days are about four days longer than earth’s, so I ain’t too thrown off. Happy to see more of the place.”

Indrid nods, and Duck follows him out of the bedroom. Most of the other rooms they pass are sparse squares of walkways and still water, under which lies the parts of the house Indrid uses. When they reach Indrid’s quarters, he spots what looks to be an artists’ studio under the clear blue water.

“You paint?” He kneels and peers down for a better look, Indrid bobbing nearby.

“Indeed. Art helps me make sense of my visions, and I enjoy it besides. In fact, all the murals you see in this house are my doing. There are even more under water.”

“Damn, that’s fuckin incredible. If I get my SCUBA gear rigged up, maybe I can get a tour?”

“Scu--oh, yes, an underwater breathing apparatus. We have a much smaller device that can help you breathe and sea down here” he dips his head at the pool, “unfortunately, the one I commissioned for you will not arrive until close to the end of your stay. They, ah, did not give me much time to prepare. Hence the lack of many comforts I might otherwise give, as well as places for you to and I to talk, eat or do, ah, other activities together.” The yellow intermittently flashing up his fin gives way to a burst of pink.

Oh, right. Duck pulls up his infopad (given a generous waterproofing treatment prior to his leaving Amnesty) and opens the contract he signed.

“Yeah. About that. Says here they expect us to, uh, ‘consummate’ the marriage.”

“I’m aware” Indrid’s voice creeps up.

“Do you...wanna do that now?” He spins a finger in the water.

“I, ah, I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, seems like we could just get it outta the way, rather than have the fact we gotta fuck someone we didn’t pick hangin over our heads?”

“This...this is not at all how I wanted this to go.”

Duck looks up and immediately wishes he could reverse time; Indrid looks genuinely hurt, ears flicked back like a scolded dog.

“Duck I, ah, well, you did not choose me, that is true. But I chose you.”

“Well, fuck.” He sits down with a heavy sigh, “figured some big wigs used those surveys to pick me out. Guess what they say about assumin things is true.”

“.....”

“It makes an ass outta you and me?”

Indrid blinks, then snickers, “Your humor is part of why I chose you. It is very bad, but also extremely good.”

“Glad you think so. Pretty sure Mama was ready to blow me out the airlock for some of the ones I made on the way here.” He knows he’s dodging the conversation they should be having, but how the fuck is he supposed to respond when an alien mermaid tells him he picked him to be his husband?

Indrid swims over so he can rest his arms and chin on the stone, glancing shyly up at Duck as he says, “I suppose I also made an ass of myself, as you would say, by assuming you would not see this as an obligation.”

“I mean, even if you chose me, don’t this feel like an obligation to you?”

“No. For me, it is a reminder that most of my kind are too afraid of me to even give me a chance to court them. And that the council thinks I will get into too much trouble without someone to distract me now and then, and decides the company I am worthy of is an alien explorer with no interest in me.”

“I mean, the only reason we agreed to this is because there might be a plant on Aquaria that can treat the illness runnin rampant back home. So at least it’s for a good cause?”

Indrid flicks his ears, red running up his fin, “What you are doing is noble. What I am doing is being used as a way to keep your exploration team in line.”

Duck winces, “Fuck, I’m, uh, I’m just gonna stop talkin now.”

For an agonizing five minutes they sit there in silence, contemplating their situation and stealing glances at each other. Duck always tried to do the right thing, tried to live an honest life and treat the people in it with respect. He’s been kind and polite to beings up and down the galaxy. He can extend some of that to his own husband, can’t he?

“Indrid?”

The alien raises his head.

“Can we start over?”

“Yes. But I do not see how-”

Duck holds out his hand, “Name’s Duck. Thanks for invitin me in and lookin after me the few weeks.”

Indrid’s smile widens as he understands the game, and he takes the human’s hand, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Indrid, seer to the court of Aquaria, and your anxious husband in spite of the now-changing, much more pleasant futures.”

They finish their tour, the humid air less stifling in the wake of their confessions. Indrid shows him the kitchen, the sitting room, and the gardens which, to Duck’s delight, are as much above the water as below.

After that, Indrid excuses himself to attend to seer duties and Duck goes back to his room to unpack. As he’s putting away his toothbrush and razor near a large, elaborate tub carved from golden stone, one of Indrid’s admissions from earlier floats through his mind, bobbing there like a buoy until he gets a chance to ask it.

When they’re in the gardens, Duck taking notes as Indrid dives and surfaces with new things to show him, the human slips his feet into the water and says, “Indrid? You said my offerin to fuck you wasn’t what you wanted. What, uh, what did you want?”

The alien blinks, slowly, pink and teal flashing in his tail, “It is a bit silly in retrospect, but since I knew we would not have time for a proper human marriage courtship, I thought I could mimic the process leading to a one night stand; that way you would be romanced in a manner that made you both comfortable with me and the concept of sex with a relative stranger.”

Duck chuckles, “Always wild to find out how human stuff gets interpreted by the rest of the galaxy. How’d you even come up with what you were gonna do?”

Indrid crosses his arms, mock affronted, “I will have you know I have seen a great deal of human media, courtesy of our minister of defense.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck shifts onto his stomach, sends a small splash Indrid’s way, “what was this night gonna involve, then?”

“Food, dim and therefore, apparently, romantic lighting, dancing to sensual music, and then hopefully some kissing.” The pink in his tail intensifies, “and then working out exactly how to have sex human.”

The mixture of enthusiasm and being utterly out of his element charms Duck to no end; not to mention it’s the most thought someone’s put into a hook-up with him in the last three years.

“Seems to me you got the gist of it. Though I really wanna know what you picked out for ‘sensual music.’”

A playful glint enters Indrid’s glowing eyes, “I will show you, but we must go through the whole evening, otherwise it will seem like a disjointed choice. With, ah, with the understanding that you are not obligated to kiss me at the end.

“You got a deal.”

“Wonderful” Indrid claps his hands together, “wait right here.”

Indrid disappears in a whoosh of black and silver. When he returns, he hoists six opaque domes onto the floor in front of Duck, “I initially planned to eat in the sitting room, but you like this room much better, so we can have dinner here.” With that, he double-taps the top of each dome, revealing a confusing buffet.

“Uh, are those french fries?”

“Yes. You are from the United States of America, and so I chose foods that would make you feel at home.” Indrid points to each plate in turn, “french fries, steak, a turkey with cranberries, lobster, macaroni with cheese, and an apple pie.”

The pie is covered with an odd, yellow meringue, the turkey is the size of a quail, and the black shell suggests this is not a kind of lobster he’s eaten before, but Duck can’t stop smiling.

“Also I took care to be sure none of the necessary substitutions were poisonous to you.”

“Thanks, Indrid.” He means it; in their travels they’ve learned it’s not only humans who think everyone lives and eats exactly the way they do.

Everything except the french fries tastes strange but he finds the meal, like it’s orchestrator, intriguing in it’s oddity. Indrid brings two cool, white bottles from below, offers Duck tastes of each. One is like the celery soda he drank on a dare, the other like root beer if it wasn’t gross. He keeps the second one next to him as the meal progresses, Indrid asking him all kinds of questions about botany and himself. When dinner is over, Indrid guides him two rooms over, grinning excitedly.

“I will start the music; one moment.”

A few seconds after he dives, a chrome cylinder descends from the ceiling and music fills the air.

Ninety-nine red balloons

Floating in the summer sky

Panic bells, it's red alert!

There's something here from somewhere else!

He giggles, sits down so it’s easier to call, “Indrid? Not sure you got the right song bud.”

A silver-haired head pops up, “Not romantic?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmmm” He lifts a small, white rectangle and the song changes.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He's in the army now, a blowin' reveille

He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

“N-not quite” The laugh is stronger now.

“Drat. How about….”

I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell

I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way

Indrid looks hopefully at him.

“Ain’t what I’d call sensual, but you’d hear it at the kind of place you’d pick up a date.”

The alien beams, starts shifting back and forth to the beat, “shall we dance?”

Duck blushes, pretends he doesn’t know why, “Uh, probably should have said this earlier, but I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Indrid swims to him, stopping close enough that Duck can see the lines on his face that reveal they’re close in age, “That’s alright. Sometimes conversing while having a drink is acceptable behavior, correct?”

“Yeah.” Duck doesn’t bother to hide how intently he’s watching as Indrid dives, his form elegant and ethereal beneath the water.

They sit sipping a hard cider that tastes of papaya and flowers instead of apples until the three other moons glow bright in the skylight. Duck yawns, and excuses himself for the night.

“Thanks for a great evenin, Indrid.”

“You are most welcome. A pity I could not make the music work.”

He’s here for another three weeks at least. And Indrid is floating through the darkening water like a dream he’s tempted to chase.

“Guess you’ll just have to try again.” Duck winks.

Indrid’s ears frill slightly and he flashes bright purple, “Yes, my dear husband, I suppose I will.”

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

Duck’s routine is not the one he usually has while docked on a planet. Every day for the last week, he wakes up, joins Indrid for a leisurely swim, works on his research, and then spends his evening with a weirdly cute alien trying to accurately recreate the earth dating experience for him.

The second night, he asked if Indrid would bring him some of his favorites for their next meal. The steamed coconut crab was a hit. The mantis-squid served still swimming, less so. From then on, when Indrid put in his food orders to the cooks at the main court, it was for a mixture of earth and Aquariad dishes, each one leading him or Indrid to share an anecdote from their time on their home planet.

For the last two nights, he’s lifted the partitions on the pools in his room so Indrid can talk with him until neither of them can keep their eyes open. He wonders if it would be rude to ask him to stay, to sleep in such a small space just so he could be the first thing Duck sees when he wakes up.

There must be floating beds he could put in Indrid’s room, or maybe a hammock he could hang in the garden.

Duck now understands that Indrid’s powers make him politically valuable, but also mean his fellow residents of the lunar city see him as dangerous, as knowing things they’d rather keep secret. Duck understands, especially if their only time encountering the seer is when he glides his formidable, dark body from the depths of his inner sanctum. But all he can see is his Indrid, awkward and well-meaning, whose fear of Duck disliking him has given way to genuine affection. His Indrid, who now pulls himself up onto the stones so they can sit shoulder to shoulder after breakfast or before dinner, whose tail Duck’s fingers beg to caress.

His Indrid who is, at this moment, continuing his losing battle with earth music.

“How about this?”

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Thank you for all the joy and pain

“Oh fuck no” Duck guffaws, “anything but him, ‘Drid, he’s a boner killer if there ever was one.”

“I don’t think he’s that bad, but I will be speaking to Vincent about his human music suggestions.”

“For the love of god, turn it off.” Duck flails for the remote.

Indrid sticks out his tongue, “Very well, but I am this close to pulling you down here and seeing if you can do any better.”

“You wouldn’t dare” Duck is still laughing, eyes closing as he does, which means he gets only a splash of warning before he’s yanked into the pool. He comes up giggling and spluttering, “now, is that any way to treat your husband?”

Indrid’s laugh is a siren song, “No, I suppose not.” The music clicks off as Indrid steadies him by curving his tail behind his legs, “how should I treat you instead?”

Duck drapes his arms over Indrid’s shoulders, “You been treatin me pretty damn well, dunkin me aside.”

A flicker of pink and yellow as Indrid rubs their cheeks together, “And if I wanted to be even better?”

“I, uh, I mean if you wanted to we could tryYYYYohfuck” he hunches forward as Indrid’s tail drags across his dick. The clothing on Aquaria is thin, so he can feel the cool scales tease his skin.

“Oh, oh dear, apologies, I was only trying to embrace you further, I forgot yours do not stay concealed until they’re needed.”

“You, you keep doin that and it’s gonna be needed real quick.”

“Oh?” red eyes narrow wickedly, “does my sweet husband need attending to?” Another drag of his tail, much more deliberate, and Duck grinds his hips in reply.

“Only if you want to.”

“I do, so very badly.” Indrid nuzzles his nose, “may I take a little while to acquaint myself with your wonderful body?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tugs his shirt off, throwing it onto the land and then giving his shorts the same treatment.

“Ohhhhhhyes.” Indrid purrs, fins and tails shimmering purple and gold. Then he sinks down, swimming in a slow, tight circle around the human. Pleased chirps and trills bubble up to Duck’s ears. Cool fingers play along his legs and belly, eventually finding his dick and offering an experimental stroke.

“Fuck” he groans, and Indrid does it again, kissing his navel as both hands rub and tease his dick and folds. Indrid is clearly experimenting, maybe even using his visions to guide him, and Duck eagerness to get off succumbs to just how fucking hot it is to have a partner this enrapt by his body, to have them explore it like some awe-inspiring landscape.

He spreads his hands out and runs them along Indrid’s torso and tail; the scales are just as wonderful under his fingers as he hoped, and he can feel Indrid sigh happily as he pets him.

Then lips close around his dick and he makes a series of undignified noises, digging one hand into Indrid’s hair to encourage him.

“Ohmyfuckinchrist, Indrid, yes, fuck please keep suckin like that.”

Indrid wiggles his whole body in response, happy trill underscored by a firmer suck. Duck can’t get enough of his body beneath his hands, of his mouth on Duck’s skin, and he wonders if someone can black out from how good a blowjob feels.

Indrid’s fin breaks the water and Duck runs an appreciative thumb along the top. Funny, there’s a little depression between it and the membrane of the fin. Curious, he drags his pinky along it.

The alien bursts upwards with a loud chirp of joy, “Ohgoodness, yes, oh that feels nice please do it again.”

“Yeah? My cute, needy husband need me to play with his fins to get off.”

“Not, not technically by my gods does he want you to.”

“Don’t worry darlin, I will--uh, ‘Drid? Is, is that your dick?”

Indrid follows his gaze to the thick, bumpy shaft emerging from his tail, it’s tip crowned with short, searching tendrils.

“Yes. Also an ovipositor, hence those lumps.”

“Holyfuck. Uh, I, I ain’t sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“That’s perfectly alright. Though it does mean my cock is not going into you tonight; I’m not sure I can control my bodily responses enough to avoid ovipositing accidentally.”

“Lots of others things we can do.” Duck bites the tip of one ear, making the other flare out.

“Indeed. I say we start with this.” Indrid’s tail encircles his waist just as Indrid shoves his cock between his thighs.

“Like, like the way you think sugar. Fuuuck, fuck that’s good.” The bumps from the eggs have just the right amount of give as he humps them, Indrid matching his tempo with his thrusts. He keeps his arms around his husbands neck, kissing him furiously. Indrid kisses back with a chirp, gold flashing in his scales, and Duck knows he won’t want to kiss anyone else for a long, long time.

The tip of Indrid’s cock bumps his ass and he groans at what that suggests about it’s size.

“I’m, I’m takin this fuckin perfect thing all the way before I go.” He bucks his hips harder to make his point, “gonna let you fuck me open on it, fill me up, wanna know what it’s like to cum with you inside me.”

“Oh gods” Indrid whimpers, hiding his face in Ducks neck as he squeezes his thighs together.

“And, and you’re gonna be a dutiful fuckin husband and fill me however I say, ain’t you?”

“Yes, yesofcourse, goodness Duck I, I’m-”

“Heh, you like that, mr high and mighty seer likes bein bossed around. Well, lucky you, because now that I know just how fuckin good you are at fuckin me, gonna have you doin it ever, fuckin, day.” He jerks his hips hard, three times, and Indric cums with a cry, cock pulsing as he sinks his teeth into Ducks shoulder. Duck doesn’t let up, chases his orgasm over the bumps and ridges until he nearly whites out with pleasure, clinging to Indrid tighter as his body gives up on supporting him.

After his cock retracts Indrid, still holding Duck up with ease, swims to the button that orders a cleaning cycle on the pool and deposits the human back on the stone.

“I dearly hope your team finds what you need on this planet so that I may see you beyond these few weeks.”

“Sex was that good?” Duck teases, petting Indrid’s hair as he lays his head in his lap.

“No. Or, well, yes, but more than that you are so, so very wonderful. I wish to get to know you more, to show you even more of my world and my skill in bed.”

Duck kisses the top of his head, “I hope so too.”

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

Communication log between leader of Amnesty Mission at Astrobotanist Duck Newton.

Mama: Got some promising leads. Will be back to pick you up in three days.

Duck: Glad to hear it. But take your time, no need to rush only my account.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills #alien au #terato

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astromechs · 3 years

Text

keep whatever it is (that's compelling you on)

HERE IT IS, my matrix resurrections spec fic, completed and in under the wire before the trailer! i think i'm ready to quit fussing over this, and i'm really excited to get it out into the world!

also here on ao3!

01.

Every single morning, Thomas A. Anderson is jolted awake at approximately 8:15 AM by the shrill of the same alarm, shovels in the same shitty cereal before stumbling into one of the same five shitty suits that he has to remember to get dry-cleaned, takes the same seat on the subway on the way to work — where he sits in the same chair for eight hours straight with minimal breaks, staring at his computer screen (or, more often, out into nothing) until it’s time to take the same subway back to his shitty apartment, order from the same rotation of shitty takeout, and find some mindless, banal distraction while he ignores texts that don’t even matter anyway before he falls asleep to eventually wake up and do it all over again.

It’s nothing special — just the average life of an average mid-grade programmer at the average tech conglomerate. Comfortable, sure, and a dream many would kill to achieve; he knows this, knows this every time he passes the poor old woman who’s feeding pigeons in her ratty coat from the battered metal bench on the sidewalk in front of his apartment building. He slips her whatever spare change he has on him — a $20 bill, on the days he’s lucky, but often less than that — and, without fail, she always accepts, with a warm smile and kind eyes that seem to stare right into his soul, seeing the deepest parts of it.

Like she knows him. And that’s what’s weird.

He tries not to put too much thought into it, because, honestly, he tries not to put too much thought into anything at all; he’s found that to be the most effective way to navigate the machine that systematically runs his rhythmic, mundane life.

But even so, there are things that he knows he can’t shake.

One afternoon in late February, when the cut of the wind had not remotely suggested that spring would just be a month away, he’d passed the woman on the bench as always, but he could’ve sworn that the whole flock of pigeons scattered on the sidewalk at her feet had frozen for a split second. Like they’d been… glitching. In a blink, everything had returned to normal, and he’d spent about three days (and three sleepless nights) trying to convince himself he’d been seeing things, that he’d just been spending too much time actually working on his assigned program for once and that maybe he should take some of his accumulated vacation days? And the following week, he had, but….

No time off to try to clear his head would ever change the fact that this hadn’t been an isolated incident.

Because sometimes — he swears he sees pieces of code fall through his field of vision; a blink and then they’re gone, but it happens too often not to be a pattern, and no matter how much he might want to for the sake of his own sanity, he can’t just brush that aside. Sometimes, flashes come to his mind like barely-remembered dreams, in idle moments and just on the edge of the line that separates sleep from waking consciousness, so real that he knows they’re memories. Dark tunnels that haven’t seen the sun for centuries. Cold, so cold that no amount of warmth, human or otherwise, can really combat. Running, desperately bounding up the fire escape to the third floor of a rundown motel, three men in sunglasses and perfectly-tailored suits in close pursuit, his heart pounding in his ears so loudly he can barely hear the phone ring from Room 303, the place he has to get to, because everything depends on it. A barrage of bullets in his chest, one right after the other, back slumping against the wall as his heart gives out, vision fading to grey and then to black, but a voice, reaching through it all to call him, tether him….

Neo.

There are things that he knows he can’t shake, and sometimes, he thinks he had another life. Another name.

Another purpose.

He’s haunted by the ghost of it.

It’s the second of April — at least, that’s what the screen of his phone tells him, because otherwise he wouldn’t know, or care to know. A Friday, and all the faceless commuters are packed like sardines into this subway car, headed home for weekends that are sure to be as inconsequential as his own. Today, he has to stand holding the rail for the ride home; a woman trying to juggle both a baby and two bags of groceries had just barely managed to stumble onto the train before the doors had closed, and he’d sprung up, more than glad to give up his seat to someone in greater need.

She tries to thank him, profusely and repeatedly, but with where he’s standing, he would have to twist to keep facing her, so, with a nod and the barest hint of a smile, he turns away to spend the trip the way he always does: in solitude.

The route back to the station just down the block from his apartment building is never smooth, by any stretch of the imagination, but today, it’s bumpier than usual; the train car jerks and jostles, until, eventually, it sends him colliding into back of the passenger standing next to him.

He’s just about to stammer out some automatic, awkward apology, but then —

Blue eyes meet his, clear, crisp blue, and a jolt strikes him right to the core.

He thinks — no, he knows, he knows — he’s seen these eyes.

Neo. In the darkest corners of his mind, the voice whispers again.

Time freezes, glitches, around him, around him and this stranger with familiar blue eyes. He sees the light leave them, and then come right back. He sees warmth, what something is telling him had once been the only thing able to keep the cold of the real away; that warmth spreads through now, to the tips of him, and he has a sense, one he doesn’t entirely understand, that something has just clicked into place.

Behind sunglasses, another pair of eyes watches them from across the car.

“You all right?” Neo.

He sees brows knit in concern, and for the first time, he pays attention to the face that the eyes belong to. Probably the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in… more than one life, he’d have to guess, is now in front of him; he isn’t so detached and disconnected that he doesn’t notice that. Her short dark hair is cut into a severe bob, and she’s dressed in black from head to toe — from her coat and gloves, to her boots. It suits her, somehow.

After a beat, he finally remembers to speak. “Yeah. I — sorry.” The subway jerks to a halt; he glances up, and adds quickly, after clearing his throat, “This is… my stop. Excuse me. Sorry.”

Pushing past her, pushing past everyone in his way, he disembarks to the station, and when his feet touch solid pavement, he takes off at a sprint. Up the stairs (third floor… Room 303….), down the sidewalk (agents, just behind… he can beat them, if he just runs faster than he ever has…), not stopping until the mundane certainty of his shitty apartment building is within his sights.

Just before he makes it safely inside, he catches a glimpse of the old woman on the bench watching him, her smile wider than he’s ever seen it. Maybe, even, almost inhumanly wide.

10.

Her name is Natalie.

That’s what he learns about a week later, when he bumps into her again in front of the grocery store on the corner down from the subway station, the one he always chooses out of convenience. Quite literally; he’s distracted, disconnected, and before he even knows what’s happening, he’s collided with another body, contents of the two bags under his arms spilling out onto the sidewalk. His apologies are hurried and stammered, but her hands are gentle as she moves to help, brushing his more than once. Her smile is soft when their eyes meet.

Over the next several months, he learns a lot of other things, too.

He learns that she takes her coffee with cream and no sugar, and that she always leaves the barista a generous tip. He learns that she’s a genius with tech, better than him and his two computer science degrees and half-cushy corporate job could ever hope to be, and has his whole apartment practically rewired in an hour one day. He learns that if he’s quiet and still, her black cat has no qualms with being his friend. He learns that her lips curve up in just a certain way and her eyes crinkle when she’s just about to laugh.

And he learns that kissing her feels like coming home, as familiar and peaceful as it is new and strange. He learns that with her, coming together, becoming one with another person, is like nothing else.

For the first time in what he can remember, he knows what it feels like to be alive.

(Only it isn’t… is it? The first time. Somehow, just like he knows that he sees the same person walk past him twice, like he knows that those glitches start happening on a near-daily basis, like he knows that the old woman on the bench is smiling at him more broadly than ever….

Their lives have collided, and given each other meaning, purpose, before.)

11.

In his dreams, he sees a city entirely built from light. Spires touch the sky like fireworks, blindingly bright, and with every step, flames ripple out from his feet, making the next one all too clear.

Inevitable.

This is where his path had always led.

In his dreams, he can’t see her face. He can only hear struggling gasps for breath, and a voice that only grows shakier. He can only feel the metal that pierces her stomach, the blood that pools on her shirt. The faint heartbeat he can do nothing to restart.

Inevitable.

(You were right, Smith. You are always right.)

He wakes with a start, drenched in a cold sweat (as cold as their last kiss), gasping for breath. Next to him on the bed, Natalie stirs and shifts closer; when he reaches out a tentative hand, lets his fingers graze over her stomach, she’s warm.

His eyes scrunch tightly shut. Code falls behind his lids like the rain that patters against the windows outside.

100.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary on this day in early fall. A breeze rustles the trees as they walk hand in hand through the park, and provides the first hint that cooler weather is on the way. Children’s laughter from the nearby playground fills the air. Dogs chase each other on the grass. Natalie sips her coffee, cream with no sugar; they enjoy the contented silence that falls between them, only punctuated by her soft smile.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary — except for everything that is.

They meet each other’s eyes, her blue to his brown, and in an instant, everything changes.

It’s hard to tell who sees it first, but — the flash of recognition envelops both of them. Vague memories, the ones that have floated over him like a constant cloud, just out of reach, are in his hands, in his brain, in his heart. He’d had another life once, another name. And it’d been —

“Neo.”

She whispers it on an awed breath, tears forming in her eyes. The coffee cup slips from her grasp, long since forgotten; she lifts that hand to his face, fingers tracing the rise of his cheekbone.

Tears swim in his vision, too, tears and strands of code, falling. Falling. Nothing makes sense and yet everything makes sense, no more so than when the name falls out of his mouth, the last piece of a particularly jumbled puzzle: “Trinity.”

But a thousand words he doesn’t know how to say don’t even begin to get a chance to form. He feels the eyes watching them more than he sees them; both hands drop to his sides, and he tenses, ready to fight.

He’s barely aware that the old woman who’s usually on the bench near his apartment building approaches on the sidewalk. She looks between them, nods, and:

“They’re coming, kiddo,” she tells him, voice severe, with none of her usual warmth, as she grips his arm. “You need to run.”

101.

At sunset, a man in a white suit, tall and imposing, joins the old woman on a park bench near the playground, but says nothing; from all appearances, it looks as though he barely acknowledges her at all. They remain, just like this, as people filter out one by one under the steadily darkening sky, returning to their lives.

They always remain through every iteration, the Mother and Father of the Matrix.

Preoccupied with purpose and the inefficiency of wasting time, as is his programming, the Father is the first to break the silence.

"I informed you it was a dangerous game.”

The Oracle says nothing in response.

She merely smiles.

#neo x trinity #the matrix #the matrix resurrections #neo #trinity #* fic #song title is from cascades by metric #which for some reason just feels like a ship song for them #anyway i'm so hyped for tomorrow!

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cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Kiro’s Memories of Summer Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 忆夏之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

References are made to the following unreleased and likely cancelled content, so please read them before this date, or you might get lost at certain parts:

> R&S - Stunning Young Idol

> R&S - Youthhood

> Greenhouse Date (IMPORTANT)

There’s a call BEFORE the date: here

[ This date was released in CN on 21 October 2020 ]

[ PRESENT - Location: MC’s house ]

MC: All right, I’ve read through the scrapbook. Are you satisfied now?

Kiro and I are sitting shoulder to shoulder, flipping to the last page of the scrapbook.

Kiro : Did you leave something out?

MC: Hm? Did I miss out an itinerary?

Kiro takes up a pen. In the blank space on the page, he draws a slightly crooked, but adorable teddy bear.

Next to it, he draws a speech bubble: “I have a secret to tell you!”

[ FLASHBACK - Location: MC’s house ]

“I have a secret to tell you”...

MC: ...

While absent-mindedly having my breakfast, I ponder on what Kiro’s “secret” could be.

A few days ago, I suddenly received a call from Kiro while he was filming outdoors. We agreed that today would be left entirely up to his arrangements.

"Ding dong--”

MC: Coming, coming!

I run over and pull the door open. Behind the door stands Kiro, wearing a baseball cap and looking very relaxed. Several strands of golden coloured hair disobediently curl upwards underneath the brim of his hat.

When he sees me, he immediately reveals a happy smile.

Kiro: Miss Chips, are you ready? We can set out!

MC: You haven’t told me where we’re going?

Kiro: Since it’s a secret, how could I divulge it from the start?

He shakes his head firmly, and even uses his fingers to make a ‘X’ in front of his mouth.

Kiro: This time, I’m not going to soften my heart and divulge it to you first!

MC: All right...

Seeing how he’s rarely this serious, all you can do is smile and agree.

This “secret” - it’s probably a visit to another secret haunt to view the scenery, right?

Kiro: You definitely wouldn’t be able to guess it this time!

He blinks and grabs one of my hands, his tone as lively as a dancing musical note.

Your mood is also influenced by his, and the corners of your lips involuntarily tug upwards.

MC: I’ll just wait and see then?

Kiro: In the name of donuts, I guarantee that you’ll definitely like it!

Even though the sky outside the window is filled with dark clouds, Kiro’s smiling face seems to light up all of the gloom.

No matter where we go, and no matter what view we see, as long as we’re together, it’s good enough.

--At least, that’s what I initially thought.

[ Location: Kiro’s car ]

MC: Where exactly are we going?

When I notice the car gradually ambling onto an empty trail in the outskirts, the confusion in my heart becomes more evident.

Pattering raindrops continuously pelt onto the window of the car. Outside the window are large plains of greenery which are being cleansed by the rain.

Kiro turns his head to look at me, and it’s as though his eyes are filled with stars.

Kiro: Miss Chips, I once promised that I’d give you a garden belonging just to us.

Along with Kiro’s voice, a small garden teeming with blooming flowers appears in our line of sight.

It’s only after a few seconds that I finally internalise the meaning of his words, and my eyes widen.

MC: W...what do you mean? Are you saying...

Kiro: That’s right. This garden belongs to us now.

Without waiting for me to continue guessing, he nods in acknowledgement.

Kiro: When I was filming, a friend said he wanted to dispose of a small garden. So I bought it from him.

MC: But... but...

Even after several “but”s, I still can’t think of what to say. Should I rebuke him for squandering money to buy this garden, or tell him that he didn’t have to take my words literally back then?

Meanwhile, Kiro animatedly introduces the garden to me.

Kiro: Even though the garden isn’t large, it’s pretty near the city. And it has a very beautiful glass greenhouse! The first time I saw the photograph, I felt it was very suited for us. When we’re free next time, we can have a vacation here. This is a “secret haunt” belonging to the two of us!

Noticing that I haven’t responded even after a while, Kiro slows down.

Kiro: What’s wrong, Miss Chips? You don’t like it?

MC: I...

Kiro stares at me anxiously, as though the moment I shake my head, his eyes would reveal a grieved expression.

When I think about his kind intentions, my heart softens.

MC: I like it very much. Really, I’m incredibly happy!

His blue eyes are once again ignited with a radiant light. Kiro suddenly chuckles and leans over.

Before I can react, I feel a gentle sensation on my cheek. When his lips make contact with my cheek before pulling away, there’s a soft sound.

Kiro: It’s great that you like it.

MC: [blushing] ...

In contrast to my stunned state with my mouth hanging open slightly, he looks especially at ease.

Kiro: Miss Chips, what’s wrong?

MC: [blushing] N-nothing.

You face away, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of that gentle touch. But your heart rate is unable to calm down.

And you don’t notice the widening smile on Kiro’s lips.

While talking, the car reaches its destination.

Kiro: We’re here! Let’s get out of the car!

Kiro leaves the car first, holding an umbrella. Then, he walks over to my side and pulls the door open.

[ Location: Forested area ]

Damp air accompanies the summer wind. Not too far off, the garden, which sits in the midst of mountains and forests, is reminiscent of a scenery framed in a painting.

Purplish-blue morning glories climb and entwine around bamboo fences, embellishing the curtain of drizzling rain with heart-stirring vibrance.

MC: How beautiful...

The anticipation I harbour for the garden has reached its peak. Similarly, Kiro also pulls me towards it in anticipation.

[ Location: Garden ]

When we draw nearer, we discover that the garden doesn’t seem to have been tended to for an extremely long time. Even the glass greenhouse is filled with junk, and is in disarray.

The image in our heads - a small, romantic, yet beautiful garden flourishing with blooming flowers - is shattered in an instant.

Kiro: Why does it look completely from what I imagined...

Kiro walks around the garden, frowning as he looks at me apologetically.

Kiro: I’m sorry, Miss Chips. I should have asked someone to tidy the place properly before bringing you here.

MC: There’s no need to apologise.

I place my hands on both sides of his face. Before he can react, I knead his cheeks with my palms.

Kiro: ...mm?

MC: I think it’d be even more meaningful if we decorate the garden ourselves. We can write our names on this garden together.

Kiro is stunned for a moment, his eyes widening slightly. Then, a smile appears on his face.

Kiro: Miss Chips, you’re right! This is a garden belonging to us.

I originally thought that tidying up the greenhouse would be an insipid affair. But I didn’t expect that we’d turn it into a treasure hunt.

Kiro: Miss Chips, look at what I found!

Peering in his direction, I see Kiro squatting in front of a large paper box filled with various bits and bobs. In his hand is a beautiful glass bottle.

Along with the swaying of the bottle, the glass beads in it channel tinkling sounds.

MC: It’s ramune!

[Trivia] Ramune is a Japanese carbonated soft drink

I lean over, realising that the box contains several more of such bottles. They’ve been washed and stored away by the original owner.

MC: Last time, I couldn’t bear to throw the bottles away after drinking them. But I’d always get sprayed whenever I open them...

Just recalling the uncontrollable spurting leaves me with a twinge of lingering trepidation.

Kiro: It’s actually very simple. Press down on the cap for a while longer, and wait for the fizziness to go away before removing your finger from it. When I was schooling, I’d buy this whenever summer arrived.

Kiro sounds very familiar with it, his eyes brimming with longing.

His words also transport me back to my earlier years: summer days, late afternoons, and ice-cold ramune.

MC: Looks like we’re the same. Actually, it doesn’t taste that good, but the way to open it is really interesting!

Kiro and I exchange a glance, and we burst into laughter.

Kiro: Actually... I still think cola tastes better!

While chatting, we clear out the soda bottles together. There are still various things in the box: lego toys with missing parts, incomplete jigsaw puzzles...

And a metal box filled with tiny paper slips. The words on the slips are unclear, but you can vaguely read them--

“Lend me your homework”, “Why is teacher dismissing class late again”, “Let’s go home together after school”, “I’m on cleaning duty today”...

MC: Pfft...

As I flip through the slips of paper, I laugh without restraint. Curious, Kiro takes a look at the slips.

Kiro: Oh, they’re short notes! How nostalgic. Many people used to give me short notes during class last time too!

MC: Eh, really?

I cast him a doubtful glance. Kiro pretends to be indignant as he looks at me, eyes wide.

Kiro: Of course - I’m Kiro! But I didn’t respond to every single note... apart from yours. I’ll always keep the notes you write to me.

After saying this, he suddenly makes a fist with one hand and places it on his other palm.

Kiro: Oh yes, I have to find a box for them when I get home too!

I pause for a while, unable to think of any important notes you wrote to him.

MC: You’re referring to those normal memos, right?

Kiro: They’re still memories belonging to us.

He cuts me off. His eyes sparkle, reminiscent of a little squirrel which has found a pine cone.

Kiro: I can remember all the important things, but it’s more difficult to remember the more trivial ones. But every minute and every second with you - I don’t want to forget them. They could even be left as family heirlooms!

MC: How could they be family heirlooms...

Kiro: Of course they can! Next time, we’ll tell them that the box contains the dribs and drabs belonging to me and the cutest girl in the world. Each note records a story. And each story is an important treasure.

I open my mouth, but forget how to speak.

In his voice, I seem to envisage a scene from the future.

My heart beats rapidly. I hurriedly lower my head, leafing through a random sketchbook in my hand.

The sketchbook contains a drawing of a girl’s side profile done in clean brush strokes. As I flip through the following pages, I find that the entire book contains the same person in different situations.

Kiro: Ohh, he definitely has a secret crush on her!

Miss Chips: Yeah, this should be very precious to him.

The thin sketchbook in your hands seems to shoulder the weight of memories. You carefully place it at the side, prepared to return it to its owner. All of a sudden, you hear Kiro speak.

Kiro: Miss Chips, have I ever told you about my high school days?

You shake your head, recollecting the interviews and articles written about him before he returned to the country.

MC: I know a little. You attended high school in America, and even formed a band. Then, you successfully signed on with Warner Brothers... In the end, you entered Berkeley University with excellent results. All the articles said that you were an exceptionally serious and hardworking person.

Kiro: So you already knew about it... However, I wasn’t necessarily that “sweet boy” mentioned in the articles!

The corners of his lips tug upwards, his expression carrying with it an almost imperceptible playfulness and ease.

Kiro: At that time, I was actually a little rebellious. I was filled with curiosity about the world, and wanted to try everything.

Kiro: My band also tried all sorts of styles, because it’d be so boring if we only stuck to one!

Kiro: You definitely didn’t know that I secretly played truant. Pei En and I... ah, he was my bandmate. When we had performances, we’d often go out to have fun behind our agent’s back.

Kiro: I even researched how to sneak donuts into the performance venue...

The Kiro he’s talking about is a little foreign, but my curiosity is stirred up.

The Kiro of back then - was he really like that?

Kiro: ...but there was one thing I didn’t try back then.

With this, he suddenly stops and looks at me.

MC: What was it?

I blink in puzzlement. With a smile curling up his lips, he suddenly leans close to my ear. His lips brush against my ear, and I can almost feel their ridges.

Kiro: I didn’t try liking a person. Do you think it’s because I hadn’t met you yet?

Every syllable, accompanied by his breath, rushes into my ear.

The citrusy scent from the soda bottles lingers in the air - sour and sweet, just like those young and inexperienced years.

My free hand is gripped by Kiro.

Subconsciously, I tighten my hold on his fingers, and I respond without much thought.

MC: [blushing] At that time... you should have been studying!

Kiro: ...you’re right.

The warm atmosphere vanishes in an instant. Kiro releases a sigh and fumes slightly, but it disappears quickly.

Kiro: [sighs] Miss Chips, you’re really slow.

He mutters something softly, but I pretend not to hear him and continue clearing out the items with my head lowered. My face feels like its burning.

Very soon, the junk in the greenhouse are cleared away. Kiro is currently tidying the messy wires, and I’m carrying an umbrella and the items to be disposed, leaving the greenhouse.

MC: I’m heading out to throw the rubbish away.

It’s still drizzling outside. By the time I toss the rubbish at the crossing, the drizzle grows heavier. As such, I follow a small trail and run back.

Passing through the stone path to the garden, I turn at a bend and step across a puddle. When I lift my head, I see Kiro sitting at the glass pavilion.

He’s barefoot, gazing at the path I had set out on, as though waiting for me to return.

Rain patters continuously around the pavilion. The morning glories which entwine around it are encased with water vapour.

Everything is hazy. Only his colours are especially distinct.

He doesn’t seem to care at all when the water droplets pelt onto him. He looks happy and content.

MC: Kiro!

My voice shatters the picture-like image before me. Kiro whips his head around in response, shock flashing across his features.

Kiro: Eh? Miss Chips, why did you appear from this side?

MC: Because it’s much nearer. Were you waiting for me?

With a sound of acknowledgement, Kiro raises something in his hand happily, showing it off as though he found a treasure.

Kiro: Look at what I found!

In his hand is a harmonica, and the logo on it looks incredibly familiar.

MC: In junior middle high, I think I had a harmonica with the same brand...

I walk over to the pavilion. Like Kiro, I remove my shoes and squeeze underneath the tiny pavilion with him, our shoulders touching.

Kiro pulls me even closer, preventing water from the eaves from pelting onto my shoulder.

The pattering water droplets continuously pelt onto our bare feet. The relaxing and cooling sensation enters the depths of our hearts.

The rain persists even after a while. Kiro and I are hiding in the pavilion. Coincidentally, we have a full, unobstructed view of the entire garden.

I take a careful look at the harmonica in his hand. It has been washed clean, and the marks of years gone by linger on its body.

MC: Does it still work?

Kiro: Mm, I just tried it. It still makes sounds.

With this, Kiro looks at me confidently.

Kiro: I said that I wasn’t good at playing the harmonica before. Afterwards, I specially practised it! This time, I’ll definitely play it even more amazingly than the last time!

MC: Cough cough. Actually, I didn’t mention this the last time - when I learnt the harmonica in junior high, the teacher complimented me for having a natural talent!

After saying this, I have a twinge of guilt. Because since then, it’s been a long time since I even touched a harmonica.

Kiro: Really? Miss Chips, you’re amazing!

Kiro’s eyes are shining as he looks at me. I lift up my chin ‘modestly’.

MC: I was so-so.

Kiro: Boasting might make your nose grow longer.

I subconsciously touch the tip of my nose, but react in time.

MC: It’d only grow longer when you tell a lie, right?

Kiro: Is that so?

He elongates his words, widening his eyes and pretending to be silly.

Kiro: In that case, I’ll play a song first to get the ball rolling.

Without much preparation, Kiro brings the harmonica to his lips. After adjusting his breathing, he blows the first note.

“Du--”

My eyes widen in astonishment, not expecting that he really meant it when he said he “wasn’t good at playing it.”

Noticing my expression, Kiro arches one of his brows, as though telling me not to underestimate him.

At this moment, several musical notes form a smooth melody.

It’s a tune I’ve never heard before. Along with the rhythm created by the rain, it drifts over in a tranquil and mellifluous manner.

Kiro has his head half lowered, his lips moving from time to time along the harmonica. His expression has turned quiet, as though immersing himself in the world of music.

Every time I see such a Kiro, I’ll always feel that he genuinely loves music with a fiery passion.

Soon, the melody ends. Before I fully extricate myself from the music, Kiro is already turning towards me with a satisfied look on his face.

Kiro: How was it? It’s a new song I’ve been trying recently.

MC: Hold on... are you really not good at it

Kiro: After we performed together the other time, I re-discovered the joy in it!

He chuckles. He uses a tissue to wipe the harmonica clean, then hands it to me.

Kiro: Now it’s your turn, Miss Chips.

MC: I’ll start off by saying that it’s been many years since I last played.

I speak timidly, taking the harmonica.

MC: Let me see... I’ll play “Farewell” then.

Kiro nods. He holds his chin with a hand, his clear eyes gazing at me, waiting for my performance seriously.

I take a deep breath, placing my lips on the harmonica, which still has his lingering warmth on it. After a moment of hesitation, I blow the first note.

“Su--”

I subconsciously look at Kiro’s expression. There isn’t a hint of ridicule in his eyes. Instead, they are filled with encouragement and trust.

Hence, I continue pressing on, completing the simple melody.

Originally thinking that I had more or less forgotten it, memories from the past slowly surface before my eyes, enabling the melody to become fluent gradually.

My eyes flutter shut as well, basking in the delight of the moment where music and memories interlace.

After playing the final note, Kiro starts applauding.

Kiro: I didn’t expect Miss Chips to play so well even after such a long time!

Every time Kiro compliments someone, he’s always especially sincere. Seeing his awe and commendation, I start to feel embarrassed.

MC: Actually, I only know how to play a few songs...

Kiro: That’s already very amazing! Sometimes, I think about how great it’d be if I could travel through time.

MC: Why do you say that?

Kiro: Because that way, I’d be able to know you in junior middle high.

He doesn’t seem to be joking. His gaze is focused on me, as though imagining how I looked like in junior middle high.

Kiro: Then, I’d be your seat mate, and give you lots of little notes during class. In summer, I’d buy two bottles of ice-cold ramune and wait for you before heading home together...

Kiro: [sighs] I really want to participate in your past: junior middle high, high school, university... all those long years.

Kiro: Fortunately, I can still participate in your present and future.

His voice merges with the flavour of summer, and the sound of my heart beating against my chest resembles the song of cicadas, unable to be halted.

Unable to control my emotions, I instinctively want to avert my eyes. At the same time, however, I don’t want to keep avoiding things out of embarrassment like I did earlier.

I’m at a loss, so I simply lift the edges of my lips, giving him a small smile.

MC: All right, we’ll start from our garden.

And it’d span across the rest of our lives. From now till the future, everything will be given to him.

Kiro: Mm, I’ve got it!

Kiro beams with joy. He takes one of my hands in his and grips it tightly, as though he’ll never let go again.

By this time, the rain has already stopped. The summer heat in the air has long since dissipated, leaving behind the freshness of rain.

This tiny greenhouse isn’t very exquisite, but the wilfully growing plants give it a rustic charm. After the rain, the lush flowers appear vibrant.

We step out of the pavilion and into the garden. Only now do I truly feel like this garden belongs to us.

Kiro: What type of flowers should we plant next time? What do you like? Roses... daisies... freesias...

MC: They’re all fine. We can plant different types of flowers. This way, there’ll be flowers blooming in every season. We can even buy a glass tea set so we can sit in the greenhouse and appreciate the flowers over tea.

Kiro: We’ll also have a rocking chair. When we’re old, we can sit here and enjoy the moment.

Based on the garden in our imagination, we start conceptualising and planning how it’d look like in the future.

When we reach the glass greenhouse, I look at the empty door and realise that something is missing.

Kiro: Over here, we need to hang a door plate.

Suddenly, Kiro retrieves a small wooden board from behind the door. Not knowing when he did it, the wooden board already has our names written on it.

-- Kiro’s & Miss Chips’ Garden.

MC: When did you prepare this?

Kiro: When you left just now. Now, I’ll leave the important task of hanging up the door plate to you!

Looking at the familiar handwriting on the wooden board, there’s a heaviness in a certain area in my heart. Perhaps that area already stores a flourishing garden filled with blooming flowers.

I tiptoe, hanging the wooden board on a nail, then look at it from left to right.

MC: Done!

Satisfied, I clap my hands together and turn around. Taken by surprise, I see a bouquet of white freesias, their petals dotted with water droplets.

The other end of the bouquet is held by Kiro. His eyes contain a bright smile.

Kiro: Miss Chips, this is for you. This is the first bouquet in our garden!

He pauses for a while, his tone turning serious.

Kiro: Next time, all the flowers here will be given to you, and only you.

My mouth hangs open. My heart rate speeds up in an unnatural manner. The blooming flowers seem to replicate the splendour of midsummer.

[Trivia] White freesias symbolise purity and innocence, and are the most popular wedding flowers because they are symbolic of the purity of the bride as well as the trust between the couple :’D

I take the freesias, which have been tied together simply with a ribbon, holding them to my chest like a treasure.

MC: I like it very much, thank you!

Kiro: I really want to do one thing right now!

Kiro suddenly stretches out his arms, bringing both me and the flowers into his arms. The summer-like heat encases me in an instant.

While I’m still at a loss, I feel my feet being lifted off the ground as Kiro carries and spins me around several times.

MC: Whoa, hold on!

Kiro: [laughs] I can’t wait any longer!

He chuckles while setting me down. His eyes are filled with the colours of unconcealed happiness. Then, he offers his hand to me.

Kiro: Do you still remember the dance we did before?

I recall the “dance” we did the last time in a greenhouse, where I was spun around till I was dizzy. I shake my head vigorously.

MC: I don’t remember!

Kiro: Liar.

Seeing his slightly aggrieved expression, I smile and place my hand gently on his palm. Then, he playfully hooks his fingers with mine.

All of a sudden, the dark clouds accumulated in the sky are blown away by the wind. Rays of light from afar reach us, illuminating the entire garden.

The scintillating light dances on the tips of Kiro’s golden coloured hair, and my vision is completely taken over by his smiling face.

It can no longer hold anything else.

Kiro: Let’s dance!

I’m pulled closer to Kiro, and he takes my head, lifting it over my head.

MC: Are we going to dance right here?

I can’t help but laugh. Cooperating with him, I tiptoe and twirl around. Then, he draws me into his arms.

Kiro leans his chin on my shoulder. The breath he exhales stirs up stray hairs on the side of my neck.

I can’t see the expression on his face, but hear his incredibly gentle voice in my ear, imbued with overwhelming sweetness.

Kiro: Miss Chips--

[ PRESENT - Location: MC’s house ]

Kiro: All right, that should be it. The only thing left is to paste that photograph we took at the garden. Hmm... we can also consider making dried flowers using the flowers in every season, and keep them here...

Kiro sets down the pen, casting an earnest look at the mostly empty book, as though he has come to a decision.

My gaze lingers on the phrase he just wrote down.

The adorable teddy bear is waving at me from the book. The speech bubble is drawn seriously, and there’s an arrow pointing at the next page.

The ink left behind by Kiro has yet to dry completely. His voice in my memory and the short phrase blend together, creating a drawn out sweetness in my heart.

“Miss Chips, will you give your future to me?”

💐 MOMENTS 💐

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Why do you suddenly want to fulfil people’s wishes?

Kiro: Because I want to know what your wish is!

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Could I wish for three more wishes?

Kiro: If it’s Miss Chips, even a thousand or ten thousand wishes are okay.

Kiro’s Post: The person who sees this message can make a wish.

MC: Looks like I’m the first one?

Kiro: Mm! Actually, you’re the only one.

Call after the date: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc kiro #aHHHHHHUIEHAGRDJVKN #mY SOUL #IT IS CLEANSED

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coldshrugs · 3 years

Text

this side of paradise, part 2: time dilation

characters: alma greene & adam du mortain (platonic)

word count: ~1k

rating: teen - super vague mention of suicidal ideation

[part 1: r.i.p. me]

The drive into the city isn’t a long one. Maybe an hour, maybe less. But Adam’s got a way of making the minutes drag on that convinces Alma they’re headed for a black hole rather than the facility. At least he doesn’t mind having music on; they managed to bond over an appreciation for electric guitar riffs a couple of years ago and since then drives aren’t so bad.

Still, Alma finds a speck of dirt on the window and uses it to occupy the time, bouncing and bobbing her head to keep it just over the tree line. It works for a few minutes.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“Nodding,” he explains, “at my window. It’s distracting.”

Alma chuckles, wondering if his request is actually due to distraction or perhaps simply annoyance at her finding a spot on his vehicle that isn’t immaculate. It’s an effort to keep the thought to herself -- gently pestering Adam hasn’t gotten old -- but she’s got other things to talk about while they’re alone.

“I’m sorry. It’s an old habit, I guess.” Alma turns the volume of the music down and swings around to Adam, sitting as far sideways as her seatbelt allows.

He quirks a brow but doesn’t shift his eyes from the road. “How old?”

Is he teasing? The corners of his mouth curve into a smile that she’d miss had she not known him for so long.

“Never as old as you,” she laughs before deciding it’s now or never. “But speaking of your lifespan…”

“Yes?” Adam bristles, but it’s waved off quickly enough for Alma to feel sure about pressing on.

“Do you ever feel like it’s too much?” She leans her head back on the seat, watches him tense and twitch at the question. They hurtle sluggishly toward the event horizon of the truth and Alma holds her breath.

Adam looks at her and his expression is rare, full of a knowing warmth. Alma thinks it looks like pity, in a way. Or maybe that specific bittersweet pride that overcomes parents when their children move out or leave for university. Whatever it is, she doesn’t need to say it. He knows exactly why she’s asking. She finally exhales, and her chest shakes.

Adam nods. “Yeah. Sometimes it feels like too much. Sometimes I want to quit.”

She didn’t imagine he’d feel that way. Adam, her infallible leader; Adam, the man that would sacrifice anything for his team, for the Agency; Adam, whom she realizes, despite how much progress they’ve made over the years, she still doesn’t know that well.

“But you don’t quit,” she offers a smile, the tiniest bit of comfort she can before his eyes refocus on the road. “What makes it worth it?”

“My work. Having a continuous purpose is essential.” He pauses, tilting his head. “And my family -- Unit Bravo. They give me purpose too.”

Alma swells with a tingly, nostalgic joy. She feels it in her limbs, feels it inside her bones, realizes she hasn’t felt it since Rebecca showed up at the Wayhaven police station over two years ago. She’s had to remodel her idea of family, not that she’s ever known anything resembling normalcy. But if, in such a short time, Adam’s version of family might include her too, that’s all the assurance she needs. Nine hundred years and his heart is still soft enough to let her in. It’s proof that she can stay soft too.

“Do you remember what it felt like? Turning?” She draws her knee to her chest, then promptly drops it when Adam glances at her shoe in the seat with a grimace.

“No, actually.” He squints. “I can tell you it was quite painful, but the specific sensations are lost to me. It happens very quickly, but it will feel like a lifetime for you.”

“How quickly?”

He shrugs. “Half an hour? Faster sometimes.”

“Holy shit.” Alma turns back to the dashboard.

Adam, in clinical specificity, starts listing all the ways her body might change (to which Alma can only try to hide her nausea) before cutting himself off. “Wait, is this why Agent Greene wanted this meeting?”

“Yep.” She sighs. “We’re trying to keep this under wraps for the time being, but the lab techs think my mutation won’t cause too many problems. They still want to run a couple of tests first, then we can set a date.”

Adam nods. “Sounds like the Agency.” He steals a quick glance at her. “Are you scared?”

Alma laughs. It comes out far more bitter than she intends, stuck behind the lump in her throat. “I’m terrified. But I’m ready.”

Another nod. “I think you are.”

And there’s that same bubbling gratification from before. Her eyes sting with an emotion she can’t name and Alma curses under her breath. She knows Felix and Nate will support her; she’s been close with them for years and they’ve cheered her on through moments large and small. This will be no different. But Alma’s always wavering on where she stands with Adam. He respects her, he doesn’t mind having her around, but they’ve never been particularly friendly outside of work. Now he sounds so certain she can do this and she wonders if she’s underestimated him this entire time.

She wipes at a tear, hoping to catch it before he sees. “Thank you, Adam.”

“I assume you will share this news with the others before the big change?” The teasing tone is back in his voice and Alma’s laugh, still thick and hoarse, is real this time.

“I think Felix would love the surprise.”

“He might,” Adam sighs, “but Mason will not.”

Alma pulls her hair back from her face, ties it into a bun before deciding against it. “I know. I’m getting there. I just wanted to talk to someone who has some experience with this under their belt and get through these tests.”

“I can understand that.” He smiles. “But I recommend doing it sooner rather than later.”

He’s right and she knows it.

The SUV slows into the abandoned bank’s parking lot and Alma blinks in surprise. Somewhere along the way, the painstaking tick of seconds usually felt in Adam’s presence sped up until Alma couldn’t feel them passing at all. They climb out of their seats, hurrying inside the dilapidated building. It feels silly to rush when, soon, she’ll have more time on her hands than she can imagine.

#azia writes #twc #twc detective #alma greene #adam du mortain #tbh this was ridiculously hard to write and i should probably let it sit for a few days before i post but i have no self control #the next one is so lighthearted like i just wanna get this out of the wayyyyyyy #anyway. just take this. just get it out of my sight.

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themockingcrows · 3 years

Text

Doki Doki Grist Panic! Ch. 6

Another chapter of my Magical Boy JohnDave au! This chapter is SFW!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802735/chapters/80258332

The city was, as before, beautiful. Humans wandered along the sidewalks and streets performing the activities of their daily lives in the fading purple and pink light of the sun. It reminded John of how his home used to be, how it would soon be again once he returned and revived things. Once everything was restored and fell back into the steady rhythm of living life, his people too would be wandering around like busy ants in a colony, following their own destinies freely. In a way it made him feel hesitant to disrupt the flow, seeing just how perfect and aimless everything looked. This was the kind of evening that John would have spent with Dave on his lap happily enjoying the weather, but he supposed that was not to be any longer. ...For now, at least. John was still hopeful that if he could re-capture Dave in different circumstances and get him home, release him from the bonds of this world, that he might change his mind and give the new world a chance. The chances were slim, but honestly, even if he kept him as a pet instead of a lover it would be worth something.

It was time to act, however, peaceful appearances of the evening or none. John had more chess pieces he’d been working with, more ogres, and plenty of imps at his disposal. He’d start things from here and work outwards, spreading their oil slicks and chaos as far as they could reach so the grist flowed like water for collection. Did he need every drop? No. Was he going to take every drop from this wretched world for himself? Yes, most definitely, whether Dave liked it or not.

Screams rang out at the appearance of the first ogre, its large body disrupting traffic and sending grist bouncing down the street with each strike against the ground attacking humans both in and outside of vehicles. John watched from above as the imps began to descend and wreck things, destroying everything they touched, spreading oil and corrosion wherever they bounced and ran.

It was beautiful as well, this chaos. Frenetic and absurd, the shiny baubles of grist glittering under the starlight and lamp posts, in the abandoned cars headlights as bodies lay left and right on the ground where they’d fallen victim to his creatures. Though John knew it was just a matter of time before he’d have to fight once more, standing off against those who would interfere with them. He only hoped that, when the time came, he’d be able to preserve Dave somewhat. The rest could rot, but the human was still a soft spot for him in his plans. He turned from the lovely scene to direct the imps and ogres further South, towards the heart of the city where they could cause bigger chaos as their numbers began to increase. He gestured with the hammer like a conductors baton, steering them before their free will kicked in, a game of long distance chess against an entire world.

The whoosh of air behind him was no surprise, when it happened. John turned so fast his white hair ruffled over his eyes for a moment, guarding himself with the dark wind and the side of the hammer against Dave’s new blade, white and deadly as it skidded in place. He wasn’t able to fly, not normally, so it was only through this point of contact that he was staying in the air at all.

There was that look again on his face.

Determination.

Hate.

Love.

Disgust.

Delicious… He wanted to bottle this mixed emotion, drink it like a fine wine on cold nights. Wanted to distill its essence to have and hold even after this world ended, to show that such a spark existed on it in the first place, a spark that could actually make him feel things.

“So soon?” John asked, arm ever so slightly shaking from the pressure being exerted against him. “I’d thought you’d at least give me a wider berth after last time. Or are you that excited to see me again? There’s still plenty of room on my ship for you.”

“Shut up,” Dave hissed. “You already know this isn’t personal, it’s just business. You attack my world, I put you down. Simple as that.”

“If it was as simple as that, you’d have killed me by now,” John said, grunting and adding his second hand to his hammer, forcing Dave back and downwards towards the ground once more. His cape fluttered as he went down, face defiant as ever, to go and dispatch some of his ever increasing number of minions. It would be a fruitless venture this time, their numbers had increased dramatically from before and Dave was but one man vaulting between them like a red blur. John watched with interest as the white haired figure bounced and bobbed, weaved and feinted and struck left and right one after another. The red gears turned in the air like electricity, disappearing and reappearing along with him as he slowed time as required. The violence was hypnotic, lovely. It brought to mind the figure he’d gotten to glimpse while dressing him before, lithe and athletic. Every curve of that body was tense in battle, every muscle working in tandem to further his goals.

Goals John needed to put a stop to, now, before he started making actual headway against his minions. Time to smash a magical boy in the head with a hammer till he behaved.

Dropping down on the curve of the wind, John made a beeline for Dave before smashing the ground beside him, forcing the red clad figure to jump and dodge the aftershocks. He could just as easily force the wind after him to stop this… though, then again, Dave could stop time as well. They would be at a stalemate, which seemed to be why neither of them was pulling their top cards to put an end to things outright. At least not yet. If Dave wanted cat and mouse games, however, John was pleased to oblige. His minions would take him head on, while he threaded along around him to swat and swipe and hammer at him while avoiding return slashes from that bastard of a sword he’d suddenly obtained. He knew better than to take direct hits from that thing. It felt more dangerous than his original blade with the gilt handle somehow, sleeker and more deadly, and seeing how cleanly it sliced through his imps, John felt he made a good decision in the end.

When Dave suddenly stopped catapulting himself between imps and ogres, the ground slick with iridescent topped patches of oil and scattered grist, John was surprised for a moment. One second he’d been swinging at the small pests and avoiding his attacks, the next he’d turned and gone full throttle on the offensive. The blade sang past his face, cutting the air cleanly and taking a few wisps of his hair with it before the breeze carried him back in a dark cloud out of his reach. It was a close call, he could almost taste the metal in the wind, could feel the way it slicked back and forth like liquid in Dave’s hand. How did he have that much skill with a new blade? Surely there was some kind of learning curve, but nothing that he could detect. Was it a blessing from who he was contracted under, perhaps…?

“You’re in my way,” John grunted, slamming the hammer down beside a car, forcing it upwards as the wheels did a hard bunny hop from the percussion against the ground. Dave jumped off the hood and took another slice at his head, not pulling his punches this time. He was really aiming to cut him, wasn’t he? Fair enough, it wasn’t as if John was playing now either.

“Why did you even come back?” Dave asked, aiming a backhanded slice towards his middle followed by a series of jabs to keep him at arms length when he crept too close for comfort. He wanted distance? Time to stay pressing close then, almost close enough to catch those lips again, close enough to see the sweat coming off his brow already from exertion. “I told you your plans weren’t going to work, that I’d stand in your way. Do you really think I was kidding? Or that I wasn’t going to notice?”

“Oh I knew you’d notice, I hoped you’d be so kind as to let me defeat you quickly, but I see you’re all out of favors,” John hissed, sending his breeze forward with a hard gesture from his hand. It caught Dave suddenly, forcing his cape to whip wildly behind him as he skidded to stop himself, grunting when the momentum caught him enough to slam him to the ground. Another roll, another avoided hammer blow, and Dave was soon scrambling to his feet, only to dart low and fast towards John’s to swat at his ankles. That sword had to weigh a lot, why did it seem weightless in his hands? The weight was negligent, an afterthought at best in his hands. Contracted weapons, he supposed, given that his hammer was the same way despite his beginning strength.

“Are you seriously flirting right now?” Dave asked, angry all over again. Fuck this guy!

“I’m doing whatever you think I’m doing,” John said, managing to turn just in time to block a stroke against his side with the hammer, frowning in surprise when it left a jagged scratch in the finish. So it wasn’t impermeable after all… Hm. That put a bit of a damper into things, he’d need to be careful to avoid seeing if it was breakable by other means then. More strategic than he’d been being.

“Being a pest!” Dave cried. “This is my planet, these are my people, and it’s under my contract that I’m taking you down! This ends tonight! You’re not walking away this time, John!”

So he was that serious, then. This was to be to the death.

Though grim, John couldn’t help the wicked smirk that spread on his face, the glow that took his eyes. To the death? Such a threat on his life while making that determined face? What a treat. He lifted the hammer with one hand and readied the dark breeze with his other hand, only to have a moment of confusion. One moment Dave was several paces away in the air and springing towards him, the next he was already there and a sharp pain was spreading in John’s stomach and ribs as he took the strike head on. He toppled and rolled before jumping back up, rubbing at his clothing as the pieces separated and hung from his gray toned body, dark blood welling up from where the surface of the skin had been sliced open.

Blood. Dave had actually drawn blood by using that damned time trick of his.

“That costs you dearly, doesn’t it?” John guessed, going on the defensive as Dave drove him back further yet, dancing practically while holding his hand to his side to quell the ache and stem the small bit of blood he’d managed to draw. “How does it feel to buy my life with your own blood?”

“Disgusting,” Dave admitted, stabbing downwards from a height, only to blur out of view when John blocked. Another strike, too fast to see almost, against his other side. A third followed to his back as Dave slowed, and even halted entirely, time to do as he needed to do. Every instance was costing him, but Dave didn’t exactly have the time to care. There were things he needed to do tonight aside from taking John down in order to make things right. The fact that John was a bigger pain in the ass to deal with than his minions was just another aside that he had to deal with.

“Romantic,” John corrected. “Your life costs less than mine at this rate, doesn’t it? You can stop time to kill me, but think how much you lose. And is it even fair in your eyes?” he asked, having to roll to avoid a quick strike, taking only half of it strategically that way as he whirled to raise his hammer in another block in preparation. “Killing a man when he can’t even fight back? Not very heroic.”

“You’re a monster, what wouldn’t be heroic!” Dave snapped, surging forward recklessly and getting hit for his troubles. Another hard skid on the shoulder and he was getting back up, dropping into a ready pose and sizing up his target before jumping to action again, going for John’s legs before being side attacked by two imps and having to withdraw to tangle with them first. The smaller beings grabbed at his cape, at his legs, their oil slick hands and bodies marring his pale blade as he slashed them apart.

“I was a monster the entire time I held you, will you still deny me?” John asked, rushing forward on the breeze face first to try catching Dave in his open hand. He managed to land a palm on his right forearm and grip tight before being struck by the pink toned lightning. Electricity raced up and down his spine, crazing his teeth, lifting the hair at his nape. His heart hammered and his vision blurred into two distinct points, his awareness shifting as if splitting in two. It lasted all of a second before stopping, forcing him to release Dave and look around for the source in rage. Someone was interfering. Someone who had also managed to strike Dave due to their bodily contact, arcing the electricity from point A to point B.

The source seemed to be an aggressive looking fellow in shades of pink, sleeves flapping as he leapt up to take a slice at him with a thin blade. John was guaranteed to be struck by one of them at this point, unable to guard both directions at once. Dave, despite looking a little dazed, was quick to move his legs, pressing one boot against John’s body before kicking hard as he could at his ribs to dislodge himself. The fellow in pink took his slice and was blocked by the hammer, not wanting the more lethal looking damage to take. It sucked for his ribs, John feeling a decidedly unpleasant crunch at one point, but what could he really do?

Call a storm was what he could do. He could harness the winds in this wide open space and build up enough strength to level the fucking city if he really pushed himself to do so. What would be left for the poor magical boys to save if everyone was dead and their grist was splashed about like a fallen pinatas goodies? One on one was one thing, but two on one was going to be annoying to deal with, especially as this fellow seemed to be able to do ranged attacks as well. John lifted his hammer towards the sky to start summoning winds, hair whipping around as the clouds overhead began to swirl steadily as if going down a massive drain, the air starting to gain traction.

One moment he was holding his hammer, the bright colors stark against the moonlit sky. The next John was aware of neon red lights behind his eyes, the fading after image of gears and-

“HEY, GIVE THAT BACK!” he shouted, looking around for where Dave had sprinted off to. The winds stopped swirling as he lost focus, the clouds dispersing overhead as the pull he exerted on them was broken. Dave was dropping back to the ground and sprinting at top speed towards a break in the buildings. He paused, watching John, and smirked once he knew he’d been spotted before turning and rushing out of sight with the heavy hammer in hand.

“Going somewhere?” Dirk asked, coming up for close contact and another lightning strike, hard enough and uninterrupted enough this time that John saw double all over again. His chest ached, and he could hear a distinct sound in his ears.

Ringing.

Music?

Piano… he knew the melody, but it had been years since he had a name for it.

He could feel himself being ripped in two by the electricity, fingers caught in a clawlike motion, heart distancing itself from his body, dripping in the same black substance as his imps. He could hear screams in his head, the sounds of the damned, the dying, the already dead. Or was that just him screaming? Some kind of noise was escaping his throat as he struggled under the attack, trying to hold himself together. It took immense power to straighten an arm out and force wind Dirk’s direction with the intensity of a battle axe, slicing at his limbs and body as the attack had an unobstructed route to his body.

When the electricity stopped flowing, John took his leave immediately and rushed to where he’d last seen Dave, breathless and dizzy. He took twists and turns between the buildings, around corners, over fences, following the steady thuds of boots and the distinct noise of a fluttering cape.

“YOU CAN RUN BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE, HUMAN,” John shouted, voice broken. That attack had done more to him than he’d assumed at the time. Something very distinctly was wrong. He didn’t feel quite himself, felt slower, didn’t feel as solid dominion over the wind as he raced along with it. What had that fellow in pink done to him?

Around the corner ahead was the flutter of a cape, and John surged forward to snatch it, yanking Dave back and downwards towards the ground. Dave threw the hammer as he fell so it was some distance away, his sword nowhere in sight. He was unarmed now? What was he planning? Growling, rage filling his wavering heart again, John grasped Dave’s neck with one hand and pressed his hand to his chest with the other, pressing him down at both points. Dave gagged and reached up to grasp the hand at his neck, trying to pull him off, but to limited avail.

“Going to stop time again, trickster? Or are you going to have the other turn up and blast me again?” John hissed. “I should’ve knocked you out the second I saw you.”

Gritting his teeth and trying to huff air, Dave continued to wrestle with John’s arms, arching his back and kicking his feet to dislodge him from the sturdy position in which he sat.

“I-! I’ve g-hrrk. CONTRACT,” Dave got out. Curious, John released some of the pressure on his throat to give him air, frowning as he gasped it in greedily. He watched his hands, watched for hints to his motives, but what the magical boy did was unexpected. Instead of attacking, or even defending, Dave went for his own heart. Both hands on his own chest, Dave’s eyes rolled back briefly as he released the proof of his contract to the open air in a shimmer of red light.

The gear was smaller than John expected but formed of sturdy looking pure red crystal, with intricate pieces of metallic clockwork stuck inside that moved and ticked the steady beats of his life down. It shone with immense power, and just with a glance, John could tell it was worth a ridiculous amount of grist. Showing the proof of ones contract should be difficult to do, however, unless in the presence of the contractor. The hairs on John’s nape stood up as he furtively wondered if the contractor was indeed nearby, waiting, watching. Some higher being who dared not interfere in the matters of humans, ready to replace those beneath him at a moments notice should they fall.

“...What are you doing,” John said, suspicious. “What do I care about this. This is worth a lot of grist, but it’s not nearly enough for a planet. Are you suggesting I hunt the guardians of this world instead of the humans? Hah, I’d rather do both and have a surplus.”

Dave groaned miserably when John tightened his grip on his throat again.

“Maybe I should break it, though. Take the grist, put you out of both of our miseries. ...It’s a shame, Dave. You’d really love my world…”

The gear clicked louder suddenly, drowning out John’s words. He frowned as the ticking started to change pace, mimicking the heart racing in his own ears. The melody from before… Like a metronome, he could hear the music starting up in the back of his head.

“What is this-” he started, only to cry out when, for a third and final time, pink lightning overtook him from behind. Dave, his heart exposed, took the blast directly as well while forcing his contracted heart against John’s chest like a weapon, closing his eyes tight to not look at the light show that was being created.

Heat.

Burning heat, like lava in his veins. John screamed wildy and tried to draw back from Dave, clawing at his chest where the gear was touching him, trying to block the lightning. Trying to call the wind. There was no escape. He was grounded for the count, feeling his soul split in two while being seared from the front. Was this their plan, then? Kill him? He could hear the ticking growing louder in his head, the melody, and-

He was in his childhood home, playing the piano with his father. His short legs swung from the bench, just long enough to reach the pedals, but his father was the one working them right now for both of them. It was a duet of sorts, a song that he’d played many times with him, haunting and sweet in its refrain. Simple. Soothing.

“John,” his father said. “I’m so proud of you…”

The night was crisp and the wind felt like a new friend. He was thirteen and freshly contracted to guard his world, and the feeling of being able to fly was still new and exciting. He could do anything. He was Superman. He was the one who’d keep his Father safe, keep everyone safe. He dipped below the clouds cover, soft as cotton candy, and laughed as he startled some birds out of their flight path. It was time to patrol.

Like so many others, his father was dead. The world was dying, he could hear its screams on the scorched wind. War. Famine. Fire. Flood. Earthquakes. Everything was destroyed, down to the last, leaving John behind. No doubt there were other guardians somewhere, others somewhere in range who might have been able to help, but no help came. His skin had gone gray and his eyes bright, white beginning to take over the darkness in his hair. It was just a grown John in a wasteland, then grown John in his ship, plotting his trajectory for the biggest source of grist his scanners could find.

He was still a magical boy, abandoning his post for a short time to revive it.

To save everyone.

He was Superman.

John’s vision cleared, and he felt weak. Nauseated, in fact, but soothed by warmth instead of burning in hellfire any longer. There was cool air licking at his face, and moving dark strands of hair in front of his bright blue eyes. The glow was gone, as was the rage. The ticking had gone quiet in his head, and the music had gone away. The gear hovered in the air still, the mechanism stilled, but its light still shining, its grist value undisturbed. The lightning had stopped. Dave rested on the ground with his lips parted, breathing shallowly, eyes closed and arms limp out to the sides. Hovering in front of John’s chest was a swooping double symbol in pale blue crystal, shimmering like sunstruck diamond despite the low light of the alley.

His contracted heart, unhindered by oil and sludge.

“So you really are a guardian,” Dirk said curiously, stepping closer to take a look at the newly displayed symbol, heels clicking on the concrete. “...Look better with dark hair, too. That was a stupid ass idea Dave had, blasting you both to dislodge whatever crud was on your heart while he struck directly. ...But it worked,” he admitted.

Purified.

Water streaked down John’s cheeks as emotions he hadn’t been able to feel for quite some time came to the surface all at once, leaving his mind blank, awash with thoughts. What had happened? Had he really been so corrupted that it took two people to fix him? He’d just wanted to save his home…

“Dave, I-” he started, then grimaced when he realized the other guardian wasn’t responsive right then. The contracted heart was still there, even if it wasn’t ticking, so he was alive. He would recover. Maybe, John thought, he was having dreams of his own right then.

Ignoring the two symbols’ proximity, John leaned forwards to kiss Dave’s slack mouth, murmuring in apology, asking him to wake up.

The symbols touched with a soft strike of crystal on crystal, and with it came a dazzling light as they interacted. Gears appeared all around them, unmoving in midair, till the breeze whipped up and spun them back to action, forcing the pieces to move and click until the ticking picked back up. Time, though not having been stopped for anyone but Dave, was moving once again. Red eyes slowly opened in time to see John grinning at him, a normal looking John, dressed all in shades of blue. A long hood was caught in the breeze, whipping up towards the sky with a soft tinkling sound from a rounded bell at the end. Bracelets were stacked on his wrists, and beneath his folded legs, pointed yellow shoes peeked out from beneath layered dark blue pants. There was color in his cheeks, and though his eyes were still supernaturally bright, they no longer glowed.

Dave opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance.

Grist was appearing all around them, welling up as if from the ground itself, from the sky, whipping around on the unnatural breeze that funneled its way into the alleyway. It chimed as it rang out, focusing solely on their location like a broken fire hydrant spilling water into a pond.

“What’s happening?” John asked, confused.

“You’re being given a boon, it looks like,” Dirk said, stepping to the side to tap at a massive chunk with his sword’s tip.

“From who? Why?” Dave asked, just as confused.

“Earth. Hell, maybe your contractors too. You must’ve done something they approved of, or done something when your contracts interacted.”

“Look at it all,” John mused quietly as it continued to pour out from its unspecified source, wind picking the smaller pieces up to carry away towards his ship he assumed. “I’ve never seen this much grist in one place.”

“Guess you found a new way to earn grist aside from theft,” Dirk smirked. “Now that you’re not all fucked up and gray, I assume you’re gonna stop the whole tryin’ to kill people for theirs thing?”

The kiss was not discussed, though John slowly got up and helped Dave to his feet after the contracts returned to their original places, then darted up into the air to get a better look. The grist wasn’t just coming from where they’d been fighting. It was coming from the entire city, from the trees, and appeared to be separate from the distributed grist caused by the earlier destruction. A higher value. All of it was going towards his ship, collecting itself on the breeze and being stored. He drifted back down and quickly hugged Dave, spinning him around with the force.

“This is going to be more than enough!” he said excitedly. “If this keeps up, I’ll be able to get my home back! I’ll be able to get everyone back! My world will be okay!”

“When will you be leaving?”

“As soon as it’s done being collected, I guess. There’s no time to waste, I’ve been away long enough and nothing will happen until I get there and-” John rattled off, only going quiet when Dave hugged him back.

“...I’ll come back, you know,” John said softly.

“Do you promise?” Dave asked. “I only now get to see the real you and you’re leaving.”

“I promise. Someday I’ll come back to you. And this time it’ll be as a friend,” John swore, savoring the closeness while he could as the dark sky was alight with floating chunks of gemlike grist that twinkled like candies in the moonlight.

#johndave #homestuck #john egbert #dave strider #dirk strider #my fic

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intubatedangel · 3 years

Text

Cold Snap: Chapter 1

I’m back, again, hopefully a bit more consistently. This time returning to the world of Anna Swift with a story that’s been an idea for almost 2 years but couldn’t quite come together. No resus in this part, just setting up the scene, but I hope you enjoy.

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Shona dragged her large suitcase up the ramp and onto the lower deck of the old water taxi. It had become almost like an old friend to her over the last few years, the point of seperation between home and college. She turned and waved to her parents, who stood back on the quay, watching thier daughter leave for the last semester of her college life. In truth she wasn't going all that far. Only a dozen or so miles as the crow flies, and within the limits of the same greater city area. But while the city had grown and expanded to absorb her old home town as a mere suburb, the city's transport links had not kept pace. While the rail network ran along each side of the river, it didn't cross at this end of the city. There were plans for new bridges, but they never materialised. And so, instead of taking a 3 hour trip on the city metro, Shona would take the trusty water taxi that had been crossing the river back and forth for as long as her mother remembered, and be at her dorm within 40 minutes.

A good idea really, she thought, pulling on the suitcase behind her, trying to get it rolling again. She cursed internally at her professors for giving them so much work over the spring break, the suitcase weighed down with what felt like half a library. A gust of cold wind blasted her face, and she thought of another curse, this one at the northern climate. To many, spring break was about running around on beaches nearly naked having parties and getting tanned. To say it would not be advisable here was an understatement. This far north, winter was still clinging on, to the point where snow lay on the ground just a few weeks ago.

Shona pulled her scarf up a little further as she dragged the suitcase toward the door at the rear of the cabin, where luggage could be stowed out of the way. She pushed it open then spun to grip the suitcase handle with both hands and haul it over the small threshold, staggering back a little as the wheels finally rocked over. A gust of wind sucked the door closed with a loud bang and shone flinched, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Like public transport in most cities, no one so much as glanced at her.

She ducked into the luggage area, and her heart sank. All the lower shelves were full. She walked over, wondering just how she was going to stow the case. She vaguely heard the door behind her, then the sound of rolling wheels that approached and stopped beside her.

"Erm, would you like a hand?" A male voice said. Shone turned to him. He was young, maybe a similar age to herself, with black hair in that intentionally messy style. He raised his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Not infering anything about the strength of your gender...You just looked... and I need to..." He glanced at his own case, similar sized to hers.

Shona shook her head "Sorry, yes that would be great." She smiled. "We can each lift half." She commented, prompting a grin from the young man. Together they lifted her bag. Well, Shona steadied it at least.

"Student?" The young man asked, with a slight pant from the effort. Shona nodded, and opened her mouth to reply. "Wait, let me try and guess. Your on this taxi, so you must be studying at Central. That amount of books, over spring break no less, narrows it down. Medical students are already back, my roomate's doing Chem and says all the natural sciences work is based on their own labs now. And, I haven't seen you in any of my classes or on my floor of the library, so by process of elimination I'm going to say... History."

"Impressive." Shona told him with a grin. "You must be studying literature." She grinned at his shocked face. "My roommate is in that course. She can almost quote the entire works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle at this point, and she told me that almost everyone goes through a Sherlock phase in that course."

He chuckles. "Well played. I must know the name of the lady who bested me." He said, with a mock bow.

Shona couldn't help but chuckle too, though it was drowned out by the horn of the water taxi, as it gave it's last call. Shona felt the familiar rumble as the engine got into gear and began to ramp up in power. "Shona. Shona Smith-Carlson. Yes it's double barrelled. Ardent Feminist of a mother refused to give up her maiden name."

"Well theres nothing wrong with that. Though by the look on your face you aren't too happy it."

"It's not that," Shona shrugs. "She just never shuts up about it. Still loves dad though." She trails off, the silence starting to become awkward. "What about you?" She re-directs. "I'm guessing your name isn't actually Sherlock."

He smiles. "Jack Davidson. Not literally, My dad's actually called Mark."

"You must have practiced that line." Shona said, trying not to laugh at the perfect delivery.

"Maybe once or twice, but it's a good ice breaker, don't you think?" He replied with another dazzling smile.

It was a nice smile. The boat jerked slightly as it left the quay and started its journey across the river. Shona rocked a little, Jacks arm moved, lifting a little, not quite reaching out, but ready to steady her if she had stumbled, and Shona suddenly realised he was flirting. Why did this always happen? She fought to not roll her eyes. Her girlfriend was going to rib her again. She would have to let him down gently. She took off her scarf, wrapping it and putting it into one pocket, and then unzipped her coat. She caught his eyes flick down as all men’s do, then slightly to one side, catching sight of the rainbow badge.

He blew out a breath, then nodded with a wry grin. "That's a good move. I am out played once again. Though I suppose we aren't quite playing the same game are we."

Shona shrugged. "Sorry." She mumbled.

Jack waved his hand. "Don't be. Not like you can change who you are. How about we get my bag stowed and then we grab a coffee on the upper deck?" Shona looked at him, puzzled. "Your roommate. From what you were saying she's a year ahead of me. A bit of early information is always good."

Shona considered it for a moment. He wasn't being pushy or angry like one of those guys. And she was planning on getting a coffee. So she shrugged. "Why not, company is always nice."

Together they lifted Jack's case, a little lighter than her own, and placed it in the rack. But as he was checking it was secure, Shona felt a rumble. A different rumble, one that she had never felt before on over two dozen journeys. If she'd been outside, she would have seen a plume of black smoke rise out the tall exhaust stack. If she'd been in the cabin that qualified as the bridge of the boat, she'd have heard voices filled with panic as alarms squarked.

Shona and Jack started up the stairs in front of the luggage compartment, when there was another rumble, and a strange noise filled the passenger cabin as the whole ship vibrated. Shona stopped halfway up the stairs, looking behind her. Jack turned to her, three steps higher up.

"What is it?" He asked

Shona shook her head "The boat. Somethings wr..."

Her voice was totally drowned out by the noise of the engine exploding.

**********

Officer Matt Jones sat on the small river patrol boat, bobbing slightly against it's mooring. He glanced at his watch. Just another 7 hours and 50 minutes of his 8 hour shift. He sighed, feeling that boiling anger as he rembered getting busted down to river patrol. Not even standard beat cop, river patrol. In March, in this city, where even the foolish wouldn't think of getting in the river. Only the desperate. But this section of the river didn't even have any bridges, ruling that out too.

"So..." The old timer, Winston, who was now his partner muttered. "Who did you piss off to land yourself here?"

Jones breathed out slowly, sending the anger with it. "You know Dean Campbell?"

"The head of HR Dean Campbell?" Jones nodded, Winston whistled. "What did you do?"

"I may have pointed out that he was... inadequate for the position. In somewhat more forceful terms. To his face..."

Winston spat into the river. "That would do it. Not that you are wrong of course, that little weasel has done nothing but damage to the department, but, not exactly the wisest decision.

Jones nodded. "What about you?"

"I asked to be here." Winston replied, prompting a look from Jones. "Coming up on retirement. The last thing I wanted was to be that stereotype. Always liked fishing, figured I'd get some boat time and avoid anything likely to finish me off before my service is done."

"That's fair enough I guess." Jones told him, sipping at the coffee, watching the old water taxi make it's way across the river. He noticed the black smoke, but thought nothing of it. "Does anything interesting happen here?"

"Wouldn't have picked this spot if it did." Winston replied. "Occasionally that floating wreck needs a hand when it breaks, but that's about it." He says turning to look. "Speking of which, that exhaust don't look too healthy." He said a moment before the radio squarked, lighting up an indicator on the emergency channel.

"This is the Beetle, may-day, may-day, our engine is...." The radio cut off as a gout of thick black smoke burst from the exhaust tube, and the distant boat seemed to lurch. A split second later the sound wave of the explosion reached them.

"Get us moving!" Jones shouted to Winston, as he grabbed at his own radio. "This is officer Jones, Badge number 4582. We have a major incident in progress on the river between....between..."

"Between North Inglebank and Trippers point!" Winston shouted.

"Between North Inglebank and Trippers point. Explosion on a water taxi, we are en-route, unknown casualties, unknown situation, requesting additional backup for evacuation and medical assistance!"

"Acknowledged Officer Jones. Relaying now."

Winston had gotten the speed boat unmoored, tossing a high-vis life jacket to Jones, before he gunned the motor and they began to cut through the waves, heading for the vessel that was now smoking from more than just the exhaust.

(Edit: Fixed some errors and details. A little out of practice.)

#medical drama #cpr #defib #resus writing #Anna Swift

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