#i have been searching for like. the better part of an hour and no dice
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I'm working on a project and I am absolutely stumped. Does anyone know if the Welcome to Night Vale script book fonts are listed anywhere? I can find the title font (Bignoodletitling) but I can't find any record of the body text font.
#wtnv#welcome to night vale#please help i am desperate#i dont care if i have to pay for it i just want to know what it is!#i have been searching for like. the better part of an hour and no dice#i could have sworn it was included in the front of the books but it isn't....
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Could you write a Tim Leflour story? Where he pledges to no sex, drugs, or alcohol and his girlfriend, the reader, is upset about the whole no sex thing so she gets on his nerves about little things like brushing his thigh during class, talking about hot guys in her class with some of her friends, and purposely wearing skimpy clothes to tick him off. He gets mad and breaks the no drugs rule by smoking a joint and the reader gets a call from Tim telling her to come to his dorm. Obviously, ✨jealousy smut✨.
Trying to write him less subby was a challenge for me!
Tim Laflour x Reader
Tim is nothing if not a little flighty when it comes to his interests. You want nothing more than to support Tim in whatever venture he dives headfirst into, and you do for the most part. Encouraging his better ideas, trying to steer him away from the not so good ones.
This one was the worst one, this pledge. But you supported him anyway, because if there’s one thing you know about Tim, it’s that he gets distracted easily. So you were certain he’d forget about it sooner rather than later.
But of course, much to your chagrin, this was the thing he followed through on. It’s been weeks, and you’re getting desperate. You’ve been trying to support him, but your own hand is just not enough anymore.
So you hatched a plan. You tried to be subtle, just little things here and there to rile him up, but this week has been hell, getting you even hornier while he seems unaffected.
On Monday, you went over to his place to watch a movie, cuddling up to him, sneaking your hand under his shirt to feel his muscles tense, throwing your leg over his hip as you laid next to him. Nothing.
The next day as you relaxed on campus with your friends, they discussed which guys they thought were hot lately. You lean against Tim on the grassy hill, listening to them bicker. Usually you didn’t have any input other than to tell one of them that they needed to have better standards, but not this time.
“What about Mikey?” You suggest, feeling Tim tense behind you. Mikey was one of his buddies on the hockey team. He’s alright looking, but you only suggest him because you know picking one of Tim’s teammates will drive him up the wall.
“Oh you’re right, he’s so hot!” One of your friends squeals and you laugh. You feel Tim huff quietly behind you and you crane your neck to look up at him.
“You okay?” You ask innocently.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiles and you want to groan. No dice there either.
Wednesday you keep it simple. Today you and Tim have a lecture together, and you steer him towards the back of the hall once you get there. You spend most of the class with your hand innocently draped over his thigh, every once in a while moving high up his thigh to give a little squeeze. About half an hour into the lecture, you ‘accidentally’ drop your pencil.
“Whoops,” you mutter, leaning down to pick it up. You brace yourself against Tim’s thigh, nearly at his hip. He tenses as you search the floor, your breasts pressed against his leg as you lean down.
“Got it!” You whisper as you lean back up, your hand ‘slipping’ towards his inner thigh as you do. You give his leg a little squeeze and smile up at him before going back to taking notes. You can see him squirming in your periphery, but he still makes no moves when class ends.
By Thursday you want to scream in frustration. You’re going to hang out with him until he has to go to hockey practice, and you’ve decided that if you can’t make him give in, you’re at least going to get him as frustrated as you are. You pick a shirt that you know makes your boobs look good, and a little skater skirt to go with it.
“Hi,” you smile innocently when he opens the door for you.
“I- uh, hi,” he stutters as you come inside.
“Dinner? I brought some stuff for an easy meal before you go to practice,” you hold up the two grocery bags that he hadn’t noticed. Ever the gentleman, he takes them from you immediately, setting them on the counter for you. You bend over at the waist and rustle through the cabinet of pots and pans to grab the ones you want. You know he can see right up your skirt, getting the full view of your ass and the little lacy panties you’d chosen, so you take your time. When you re-emerge with them, Tim is standing motionless behind you, eyes wide.
“Can you fill this up with water?” You smile, handing him the larger pot. He nods wordlessly, moving to the sink in a trance.
You work in some more bending over as you cook, letting him get some good glimpses down your shirt as well.
You eat dinner like normal, throwing a random channel on the TV until it’s time for him to go. You use his thigh to push yourself off the couch, giving it a squeeze as you stand up. He gathers up his gear and walks with you downstairs.
You pull him into a kiss before you part ways, slipping him just enough tongue to make him look dazed when you pull away.
“Have a good time at practice,” you smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you head home.
~
Unbeknownst to you, Tim had been flustered and frustrated all week. He’s had to take a cold shower everyday he’s seen you, and he’s not sure how much more their water bill can take. He’s at practice now, and it’s not going well either. He’s extra frustrated now and he’s taking it out on his teammates. After the second time he slams someone into the boards, coach screams at him to get off the ice. He flips his gloves off as soon as he exits the ice, yanking his helmet off after. Everything feels too hot and too tight on his oversensitive skin. He quickly unlaces his skates, stomping back to the locker room and chucks his gear back into his bag, hauling it over his shoulder.
Once he gets home he can’t stand it anymore, he has to relax. Digging around in his nightstand, he finally finds what he’s looking for. Victoriously, he pulls out his last joint and a lighter from the depths of the drawer. He settles in the chair in the living room before lighting up. He takes a couple drags, savoring the feeling of calm that washes over him in the next few minutes. It’s not long before he feels heat settling in his groin, his skin feeling extra sensitive against his clothes. He catches sight of the X on the back of his hand and scoffs. He goes over to the sink, vigorously scrubbing the marker off his hand. Once most of it is gone, he makes his decision to call you. He jogs over to the phone, quickly punching in your number.
~
His voice was raspy when you picked up the phone. All he’d said was “come over” and you were already out of your seat.
You make it over in record time, practically running up the stairs. When you open the door he’s in the living room chair, head tipped back against the wall with his eyes closed. The smell tips you off as to what he’s been up to.
“Tim?” You call and his head pops up. He smiles languidly at you, motioning you over.
“Missed you,” he makes grabby hands as he says it, making you laugh.
“What happened?” You ask, gesturing towards his hand that’s now devoid of the X. He doesn’t answer, opting instead to pull you into his lap. He nuzzles into your neck, his hands finding their way under the hem of your top to touch your flushed skin. You pick up the joint, holding it to his lips. He takes a drag before you put it back down in the ashtray and pull him towards you by his chin, inhaling as he blows the smoke into your mouth.
You feel fuzzy already, the intimacy only adding to the feeling. You take another drag directly from the joint, wiggling as close as you can get to Tim in the little arm chair.
He takes the joint from you, putting it back down before pulling you into a kiss. You melt into it immediately, as you’ve only gotten quick pecks for the past month. When he starts to push you away, you can’t hold back the whine you let out.
“Just wanna move to the bed,” he tells you, and you’re suddenly hopping off his lap, making him laugh.
You usher him into the bedroom and when you turn around after closing the door he’s pressing you into the solid wood, his hands above your head caging you in. His eyes are dark as he looks down at you hungrily. He presses a kiss to your lips before trailing down your jaw to nose at your neck.
“You’ve been teasing me all week,” he murmurs into your skin making you shiver.
“I-“ you start to protest but he shushes you.
“I think,” he starts, his fingers finding their way into your hair leaving his thumb to slide along your jaw, “I’m gonna repay the favour.”
“W-what do you mean?” You shudder as he presses kisses down your chest. You’re still wearing your skimpy outfit from earlier, leaving him plenty of skin to touch. His knee slots between your thighs, pressing up until you’re practically seated on his leg. You let out a whimper at the contact, the thin lace and his basketball shorts are all that separates you. He smirks as you try and rub against him, groaning when you realize his shorts are too slippery. You whine as you realize they don’t provide any friction when you slide against his leg.
“Tim, please,” you whimper, mouth going dry as his hands slide up into your shirt, pushing the fabric up as he goes. Once he’s pulled your shirt over your head, he quickly unclips your bra and drops that onto the pile of clothes too. His hands slide up your back, pressing you towards him as his lips close around one of your nipples. He swirls his tongue before sucking, and you find yourself sighing happily, your fingers threading into his hair. He gives the other the same treatment and when you think he’s going to move on, he just moves back to your other nipple again. He continues this pattern until you’re practically begging for more, writhing against him. The press of his leg between your thighs does almost nothing as you buck against the smooth fabric of his shorts fruitlessly. You’re sure you’ve soaked through your panties by now.
“You think I could make you come just from this?” He wonders briefly before taking your nipple back between his lips. It’s never happened before but you think he probably can, you can feel your pulse between your legs as you whine pathetically, fingers still curled in his hair. As much as you want him to move on, it feels so good you can’t bring yourself to pull him away. Your nipples are spit slick and red from the amount of time he’s spent against them and he’s showing no signs of stopping. His fingers pinch and pull at one as he suddenly sucks hard on the other.
“Tim!” You gasp, stiffening against him for a moment before your muscles go slack.
“Oh my god,” you breathe, letting out an incredulous laugh when he beams up at you.
“I didn’t know I could even do that,” you mumble, still shocked by the small orgasm, before pulling him up to kiss you again. He maneuvers you to his bed, letting you fall into the sheets gently before crawling on top of you. You spread your legs for him to slot his hips in, groaning when you feel how hard he is.
“Fuck me, please,” you whine and he laughs.
“That’s in inviting offer, eh?” He smirks, “but I’m not done yet.”
He sits up on his knees to work your skirt off your hips, tossing it to the side. He smoothes his hands across your skin, down your sides, squeezes your hips.
“So pretty,” he mumbles into your stomach, kissing a wet line down to your hipbone before sucking a mark there. He kisses across your skin along the band of your panties before sliding them down your legs.
“Look at you, soaked right through these, huh?” He looks proud and you blush.
“Get on with it,” you laugh, knocking your foot into his shoulder. The contrast of him being fully dressed while you’re bare is making you squirm even more than usual.
“I told you, I’m taking my time,” he reminds you, catching your foot. You groan as he presses a gentle kiss to your ankle before continuing up the inside of your leg. Just when you think he’s going to press kisses down the line of your other leg, he sucks your clit into his mouth and you nearly double over.
“Fuck, Tim!” you moan as he eats you out. He groans against you when he tastes your wetness, your hands finding their way to his hair at the sensation. You’re so wound up from earlier that you can’t help the way your fingers tighten in his hair. He moans at the feeling, pushing you almost to the edge. You’re just about to come when he pulls back, looking up at you mischievously. You groan, but he doesn’t leave you hanging for long. His fingers find your clit and your eyes roll back.
“Could Mikey make you feel like this?” He almost growls, fingers rubbing against you.
“W-what?” You try to claw your way out of the fog of arousal you’re in to figure out what he means. You finally remember, just as he presses his fingers into you, nearly making you forget again.
“I was just trying to rile you up,” you’re quick to tell him, “I don’t care about Mike, I just wanted you.”
His fingers curl inside you and it feels like forgiveness until he pulls away from you again. You let out a sob before he shushes you as he sits up.
“I’m just getting a condom,” he reassures you, reaching to rifle through the bedside drawer.
“Get naked,” you grumble, trying your best to yank off his shirt from under him. He snorts, throwing it off to the side and quickly shucking off the rest of his clothes before crawling back between your legs. You hold up the shiny wrapper you retrieved when he was busy like a prize, making him laugh. He moves to take it from you, ready to open it but you distract him, fingers trailing along his stomach. His breath hitches, muscles tightening as you reach the little trail of hair under his bellybutton.
“Fuck, I missed seeing you naked,” you groan, looking up at him through your eyelashes. As he looks into your eyes, you get to watch his face contort in surprised pleasure when you take his cock in hand and stroke. You know you have the upper hand, his dominant act crumbing apart now that you’re finally touching him.
You carefully rip the condom wrapper open with your teeth as his hands find your hips, sliding reverently up your soft skin to thumb at your nipples as you roll it onto his length. Once it’s on he pushes forward to rub his tip against your clit, making you gasp when his jewelry catches on it. You shift your hips against him, desperate to get him inside you, but he continues his teasing, rubbing against you until you can’t stand it anymore. He’s not expecting it, so he goes down easy when you push him onto his back next to you and straddle him. He whimpers as you sink down on him, the stretch making you groan happily. You start moving slowly, savoring the feeling of him being inside you again.
“Feels so good,” you moan as he hits a particularly deep spot. You start riding him in earnest when you can’t stand the slow pace any longer, his hands digging in to your waist as you bounce.
“So fucking pretty, baby,” Tim moans, staring up at you with rapt attention. He lets out a breathy moan when your hands move from where they were braced against his chest to play with his nipples. His fingers dig into your hips as he starts thrusting up into you, matching your pace. It’s been long enough since you’d gotten any action with Tim, much less been on top, and while your orgasm is approaching quickly, your thighs are giving out even quicker. You whimper as you try desperately to keep going, but Tim can tell your losing steam. He flips the both of you over easily, sliding back inside you right away. Your view from under him is perfect, his arms bulging as he leans down to take your nipple into his mouth again. They’re overly sensitive and the zing of pleasure goes straight down to your clit as he sucks. You’re gagging for it, so agonizingly close to coming but you can’t quite get there.
“Tim, please,” you whine, too far gone for anything more coherent as he fucks you into the mattress. He knows what you need though, reaching down to swirl circles against your clit.
“C’mon honey, you can do it, wanna feel you come,” he begs against your breast before suctioning his lips around your other nipple. It only takes a few more thrusts until you arch into him as you finally fall over the edge, pulsing around him as you come. He follows after you, hips stuttering into yours as he fills the condom. You’re both breathing heavy when he snuggles down on top of you, nuzzling into your neck happily.
“Missed this,” you smile, pressing kisses to wherever you can reach.
“Me too,” you can feel his smile against your skin. He moves to get up but you whine, holding him close to you.
“Stay inside, just a little longer,” you plead as he looks down at you fondly.
“Okay, but if we stay like this too long I might get hard again,” he admits sheepishly, settling back down against you.
“Good,” you smile, already dreaming about a sleepy round two.
Taglist; @stusdollface93
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Personal: I Ain’n’t Dead
It took about an hour and a quarter total, but we will find out if i had a heart attack or not on Tuesday. They I had to chase down the asshole agency as they had not called to tell me the cleaner wasn't coming, so it's now rescheduled for Tuesday. Then I waited on hold to try to schedule the mobility assessment, only to discover the number they gave was for central processing. They were going to transfer me when call waiting beeped, so i made them give me the direct line number and extension. (It was meds. Pharmacy was delivering meds and they only wait five minutes so that was the correct call on my part.) The making appointment direct line was faster by far, but I had no clue which wheelchair vender I was interested in. O.o apparently they have the vender in on assessment days, so that effects scheduling. I let her pick. She was like: We like this one better, but we have to offer both.
Forage delivery still hadn't arrived. It was now really hot and polleny outside. This is relevant. I can't leave food out there very long or it will spoil. Inside, i have air conditioning and extra filtering. I can breath inside, but not outside. I was exhausted and frustrated and really pissed off about the medical stuff. My chest was still tight. There is a band of intense pain keeping me from lifting my arms properly. I manage to drag the laundry basket to me room anyway, but I'm not remotely up to the pain involved in folding it. Livia wants her love. I climb into bed for Livia loves. My experience is, getting ready to sleep summons Forage Delivery somehow. Livia is done with her love. I've been in bed over an hour waiting. Tavy insists I should sleep with claws to my nipple, because health stiff makes him anxious.
The phone rings. We have the conversation where we double check which porch to put it on. I lie there a bit, working up to the pain of levering myself out of bed. I lumber out there. No food boxes. so I'm thinking did he think left instead of right? So I'm out in the mid day sun with my crutch and bare feet, struggling to breath because I can't breath in the heat on a good day and this isn't close. I have no idea how I will get the food boxes to my apartment. My best guess is crawl on the pavement pushing them ahead of me because there is zero chance of my arms even lifting them. It's not on the patios of any building facing the gazebo. Me: did they drive past and hit the wrong side of my building? So I hobble around the other side in baking heat and it's not on the logical patios. I have to then hobble all the way back to my patio, exhausted. I simply can't be out any longer or I will collapse. This is why I have forage delivery, so I don't have to seriously endanger myself getting the food. Which i am now doing and failing at miserably.
I try last call return. No one answers. Fuck! I restart the computer and look up forage delivery dispatch. I get a live human without a long wait on hold for the first time in two days. This is possibly a miracle. I am still struggling to breath when I explain and ask if they could at least give me a hint as to where the food is because I can't be out in the sun searching anymore. She puts me on hold and reaches them. she says they will come back.
So I go lie down in my room where the air is best and wait. He’s like: I’m right here. The food is here. I go look. No man. No food. I used my stop a kid from across the playground below to see if we could get a Polo for my Marco. No dice. I had cleverly left the phone off the hook when I went to look on the grounds that the food was definitely not on my patio previously.
It turns out that they'd put it in the middle of the other side of the building, expecting me somehow to drag it all that way over carpeted halls. O.o I didn't think to look there because we'd discussed patio locations in such a super specific way moments before he'd put it at the main entrance instead of a patio. He was nice enough to bring it around and drop it right inside my door.
I have recently learned Millennials generally don't know the word "gazebo" and are afraid to ask or look it up because of the cleaners. I am now wondering if patio may also be too bougie to be familiar, but lots of apartments around here come with small patios if they are ground floor, even the shitty apartments I can generally afford, just like tiny balconies are super common on upper floors in this region. Surely jungle of plants and blue chair were hints though? IDK. We've lost a lot of delivery people in the decade we live here too. Something about the complex confuses people.
Forage delivery guy looked like a thiryish Mr. Clean and really was very kind, just confused.
Goth Millennial was sweet enough to come in on their day off to work and extra two hours looking after me, and then we finished the back third of a movie we'd been re-watching together. I'm not great, but improving. I also have a new unexplored theory about what is wrong with my arms from the article about statins I linked in this space. I guess I'll run it by the doctor when I see them.
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Mister 1000% ROI
Bruce M Firestone, PhD, and Andrew L Firestone, BA (Econ)
Any time someone offers you investments with returns of 1000% per year, you are right to be skeptical, but this is what Australian economist “Mr 1000%” Andrew Firestone has been working on for a number of years now. He reckons he will be able to present how households can add an equivalent of $60,000 to $70,000 AUD to their annual income with some fairly simple approaches he has studied and researched. These are activities with a very high return on their labor, capital, time and sweat equity inputs. I told him about the tiny house movement philosophy of “less house, more life” and he loved that idea, his tag line is “Better Income – Better Life,” a similar pattern.
But wait, it gets better. Like veg-o-matic, K-tel direct-marketing TV pitchmen of the 1960s whose mantra was, “It slices! It dices!” you pay no income tax on these earnings.
The Veg-o-matic
Huh? How is that even possible?
First, let’s work through the 1000% ROI number then deal with personal tax issues.
Full of Beans Case Study
Some years ago, Andrew purchased a pack of bean seeds for $3.50 that produced 250 grams per week of the sweetest freshest beans you can find anywhere; this went on for nine months in Canberra where he lives with his family[2]. The Canberra area has a relatively dry climate with warm to hot summers and cool winters. Elevation about sea-level is around 580-meters (1,900-feet) and you can see snow in the foothills around the capital city of Australia from time-to-time.
To keep them producing, Andrew staggers his planting. He then harvested seeds from his best producers to use for the next year (this will become important later).
Over the year, his bean yield was around 9 kilograms (nearly 20-pounds), which (as of 2021) retailed at $3.90 per kg in-store or $35.10 for his 9 kg. Now estimating his ROI is simple arithmetic—
ROI = ($35.10 - $3.50)/$3.50 = 903%
So, not quite a 1000% return, but getting close with two other key factors still to consider. It might be useful to note that a quick online search of bean prices today (circa 2024) shows much higher prices per kg for beans, ie, $11[3]! Now that’s inflation for you… And don’t forget—since Andrew’s bean seeds are now free, his ROI is currently infinite.
“But whoa, hold your horses[4],” you say. The above calculation doesn’t factor in the cost of Andrew’s labor, right?
Marble Bust of Homer
That’s true. It doesn’t. But it also doesn’t yet take into account taxes. For Andrew, the labor cost to add would be the income he could otherwise earn. But he is on a fixed salary and picking up a part-time job would be impractical. So, the real alternative is Andrew sitting in front of his TV for nine months instead of experiencing shinrin-yoku (the Japanese term for forest bathing), one could argue that his cost of labor is zero or even negative since gardening can be a positive health event, providing both exercise and mental well-being. Plus, how much work is involved? Very, very little, he informs us.
Practising forest bathing in Japan[6]
When he lived with his family in a small townhome, he was able to sneak his seeds into a tiny and neglected patch out front and just put the water to them; he used a bunch of weeds he removed from the scrubby yard as mulch. In the photos below you will also see a mandarin seedling he put in as well.
Andrew’s sneaky, puncy townhouse microgarden: YUMMY
What about income tax?
Well, the beauty of self-production is you don't pay any. If Andrew could have worked extra hours to buy his beans, he would have to pay income tax on that income before he was allowed to go ahead and spend it. There are a couple of ways to think about tax. Firstly, if he was to go out and earn the extra, he'd lose close to half of that marginal income to taxation, so the beans would really have cost at retail (back in 2021) about $70 in after-tax income[7]. Or if he was just using his regular work income, he would lose on average 25% of that so his beans would have really cost $46.80.
He tells me, he sees this pattern over and over again with home-based production. There are some less good returns, growing watermelons or pumpkins, for instance, but many traditional pastimes such as gardening, sewing, home preserving, brewing, etc will likely hit the 1000% mark.
In fact, Andrew calculates, a household could make the equivalent of $60,000 to $70,000 worth of taxable income (but, in fact, not subject to tax) at home per year doing these sorts of tasks!
Gender roles
As far back as the early 1980s, researchers noted that, “Women do two-thirds of the world's working hours but receive only one tenth of the income and own one hundredth of the property[8].” But this need no longer be the case—traditional crafts are being rediscovered and families are making many of them “team sports.” Things on the following list are now being done by all—
home cooking/baking,
child minding,
dressmaking,
tailoring,
networking/sourcing/bartering[9],
yogurt making,
woodworking[10]/furniture production,
cakemaking,
candle making,
gardening (aka backyard homesteading),
cheese making,
beer brewing,
raising backyard chickens and/or ducks,
planting and harvesting fruit trees,
knitting,
load shifting—adding solar panels with battery storage[11],
clotheslines,
paying off your mortgage as quickly as possible[12],
hunting large game with old trucks in national parks (maybe 😊)
beautifying property with large shrubs/trees/creating a food forest[13]
retrofitting roof insulation where standards are poor[14]
Vertical urban farms
Andrew is also skeptical about the economics of vertical farming (as well as the lack of nutrition in they produce). And he is not alone[15].
He writes—
At the very least, vertical farming has to be direct to consumer but having the word “selling” in there is going to make it tough—all the regulatory issues, packaging, and taxes and other charges will likely kill them. They would have to be like strawberry farms back in the day: Give customers a basket and let them pick their own; the operator just weighs it at the register. But I can't see how that very, very, very expensive capital could ever pay for itself and the maintenance costs on those systems will be extreme. You have mineral rich water flowing through small pipes and pumps; it’ll be a clogging nightmare. You will have major condensation issues and molds will grow plus all sorts of ventilation problems. These can't be magically solved. They’ll need expensive energy and capital systems to deal with it. And in terms of this being “green,” not at all! These systems use steel and glass, and they are hugely energy intensive to make and run. There is no way to make that energy back over their economic lifetime. This is just some feel-good greenwashing.
By the way, you can make super cheap dome greenhouses using plastic sheeting and poly pipes that would have much less environmental impact. But places like Canada and the US Midwest aren’t ever going have economic, full-on heated greenhouses. If they go the cheap poly dome route and get more out of their shoulder seasons (that is, forgetting about December to February periods), they have a shot to make local produce work (better). Residents should simply put a bunch of raised garden beds with domes in their existing backyards over a weekend for something like $100 bucks.
Beautiful Legs Case Study
Andrew went hunting for a nice dining room table—one with actual real wood. Retail prices for this sort of thing were around $2,400 AUD at the time with a manufacturer’s rebate (coupon) available of $300[16] so a net effective price of $2,100. Thinking of proving his point once more about 1000% ROI being widely available but little known, he purchased 2 pairs of steel table legs for $85 and scrounged around for some old wooden planks, which he paid $105 for and set about doing some home woodworking himself. Again, his ROI is simple arithmetic—
pair of steel legs $85.00
solid wood planks $105.00
total cost (home-based) $190.00
retail price $2,100.00
margin $1,910.00
ROI 1005%
E&OE
This did take him a while to complete so you might want to factor that in, but frankly, when returns are likely measured in triple digits or quadruple ones, you can stop measuring.
Bruce M Firestone, [email protected] Andrew L Firestone, [email protected]
COPYRIGHT, BRUCE M FIRESTONE, OTTAWA CANADA AND ANDREW L FIRESTONE, CANBERRA AUSTRALIA 2024.
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[1] Image source, BitBytes - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=93170611.
[2] In a cold northern shelf city like Canada’s Capital City (Ottawa), you would probably get six months and then only if you start your seedlings inside.
[3] For example, check out the price of Miss Melons fresh beans here, https://www.missmelons.com.au/products/beans.
[4] By the way, it was Homer not an American cowboy who first used this expression, Hold your horses—it was in book 23 of the Iliad.
[5] Image source, Originally from en.wikipedia; description page is/was here. Original uploader was JW1805 at en.wikipedia, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2171360.
[6] Image source, Teamsamuraispain - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43516357.
[7] Bear in mind you don't compare your homegrown product against the cheapest produce available, but rather the freshest and best versions. When looking for crops to grow, probably best to focus on high nutrient and relatively high-cost foods.
[8] Said then President of the Canadian International Development Agency (Marcel Masse) in 1982, https://www.upi.com/Archives/1982/07/06/Women-do-two-thirds-of-the-worlds-working-hours-but/9167394776000/.
[9] Historically, women were (are) balancing out equity across communities and sharing useful information more widely. For example, a homemaker learns that a neighbor needs to clean out their stables. Next, the homemaker’s life partner helps muck out the stables and, in return, they receive a free load of manure for their backyard homestead garden. This networking/socializing is crucial in a tax-free, bartering-based, local economy...
[10] Think woodworking is one of humanity’s older art forms and that traditional skillsets have been (mostly) developed in the time period covered by recorded history (around 10,000 years)? Not so. Read this article about a recent archaeological discovery in Zambia of a log platform or shelter constructed 476,000 years ago by stone-age people. Some type of hominid accomplished this feat including notching the logs to make a better fit/stronger structure, https://www.bbc.com/news/science-environment-66846772. The BBC article is based on a paper published in the Nature journal, Evidence for the earliest structural use of wood at least 476,000 years ago, https://www.nature.com/articles/s41586-023-06557-9.
[11] Unfortunately, according to a CSIRO study, solar hot water does not produce the desired ROI.
[12] Apparently, paying off your car loan early is not important, probably because cars are, for the most part, a depreciating asset.
[13] Tree planting improves property values by about 6%, provides shade, cooling, and wind protection, as well as fresh air. Combining that with a food forest increases ROI further…
[14] Returns of about 40% for your roof, 20% for walls and 5% for floors.
[15] For example, refer to: Vertical Farming Has Found Its Fatal Flaw, https://www.wired.co.uk/article/vertical-farms-energy-crisis.
[16] Car/boat/RV (caravan)/truck manufacturers have been using this “charade” for a long time. Here’s how it works—their distributors/dealers/shops sell Jane and John a car/boat/RV/caravan/truck/piece of furniture/whatever for $5,000. There is also a separate coupon which promises them a 15% manufacturer’s rebate (ie, $750) later on… Now, Jane and John aren’t rich dudes, so they finance (say) 100% of their purchase with some kind of a buy-now-pay-later lender. The lender sees they paid $5,000 so they lend John and Jane $5,000. But the manufacturer subsequently snail mails a check/cheque to John and Jane or otherwise reimburses them for their coupon in the amount of $750. Presto magic, John and Jane have their new car/boat/RV/caravan/truck/piece of furniture/whatever plus they also have $750 in cash now. What’s interesting about this is that the $750 cash back is not considered income in the hands of John and Jane, so they don’t have to pay any personal income tax on it. For the manufacturer, it’s an allowable expense (reduction in their income) so it too lowers their overall tax burden. Of course, John and Jane are now on the hook for repayment of $5,000 plus interest. But most people, especially young people and entrepreneurs of any age, have very high personal future discount rates so cash-in-hand might look good compared with a future payment plan of some sort.
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Day 125.3 Accidental Bonding (Part 3)
You can start at Part One, if you'd like.)
"Piss off, Malfoy," Jenkins snarled from across the room at the end of the training exercise, drawing Harry's attention from the conversation he was having with Ron. "You are such an arsehole. You think you're so clever, so much better than us," he shoved Malfoy's shoulders, "but you're just a slimy Dark Lord worshiper-"
"Oy!" Harry shouted, darting forward and physically putting his body between Jenkins and Malfoy, "Don't talk to him like that."
"I'll talk to that fu-"
"You need to back down," Harry growled, his body thrumming with energy, fingers tingling with the urge to punch Jenkins in the face, his magic racing hot and bright under his skin.
Malfoy put a hand on Harry's shoulder, "Don't," he said. "He's not worth it."
He glared at the other man for a moment before taking a step toward the locker room.
"Oh, I get it," Jenkins sneered, "some people are so possessive of their pets. He's letting you fuck him now, so-"
Harry spun around so fast that Jenkins didn't have a moment to see what was about to happen as Harry's fist connected with his jaw. "Watch your mouth," he growled, low in his throat. "We aren't sleeping together but even if we were that wouldn't change the fact that he is twice the auror you will ever be." He took another step closer, "He's smarter, faster, and has better instincts. And everyone knows that your pathetic attempts to belittle him are out of jealousy. So you can fuck off before you make an even bigger arse of yourself."
"Alright," Ron said, holding out his hands between them. "That's enough."
Jenkins spat blood at Harry's feet but had the good sense not to say anything more as he left and slammed the door behind him.
Harry turned to see Malfoy storming away from him. "Malfoy," he shouted but the other man threw him a two fingered salute and stalked off.
"What the hell?" Harry grumbled.
(Read more below the cut)
Ron shrugged, "Beats me, mate." He slapped him on the shoulder, "but I wouldn't want to be going home with him. He looked pissed."
-------------
Regrettably Ron was right, Malfoy was pissed. Harry couldn't understand it and the other man wouldn't say a word to him about it.
They went home and Malfoy shut himself in the bedroom without a word, leaving Harry standing completely confused in the living room. "What the hell?" he repeated.
Hands on his hips, he stared off after the other man and replayed what he'd said to Jenkins for the fiftieth time, trying to figure out what had made Malfoy so mad.
Giving up on trying to puzzle it out seemed like the only course of action so he headed into the kitchen and started dinner. In the past week and a half, Draco had cooked, they'd cooked together, or ordered take out. Harry hadn't cooked anything on his own since he's arrived and honestly, he was glad for the chance to cooking now.
He chopped up an onion, diced a carrot, chopped up a stalk of celery, and minced several cloves of garlic. Then he turned to the stove and heated a frying pan, pouring in some olive oil before tossing in the veggies and letting them cook down while he chopped up lettuce for a salad.
After about ten minutes, he added the ground beef, salt, and pepper into the frying pan and uncorked a bottle of Merlot, pouring himself a generous glass and dumping a few ounces in with the beef and veg.
He cast a simple spell to keep the spoon stirring while the beef browned and he turned to cut up tomatoes and onions for the salad and made a simple vinaigrette. When the beef was brown and fragrant, he added in tomato paste, diced tomatoes, basil, oregano, and a dash of nutmeg before stirring it all together.
With a pleased hum, he put the lid on the pot and cast a spell that would condense the simmering time to about thirty minutes instead of three hours.
While the sauce cooked down he baked brownies, tossed the salad, and prepped the water and spaghetti. Boiling the spaghetti, cutting the brownies, and plating everything was easy after that. Harry topped the bowls of bolongese with freshly grated Parmesan and basil.
Then, after a moment of debate, he decided to bring dinner to Malfoy instead of the other way around and laid out their salads, bowls of bolognese, glasses of wine, and brownies onto a tray. He levitated it down the hall and knocked on the door.
"Come in," Malfoy called, sounding bored and detached and Harry had to take a steadying breath to tamp down the irritation that tone of voice invoked before opening the door.
"Made dinner," he said casually.
Malfoy turned his head from where he was laying on the bed, idly catching a snitch and releasing it. He sat up, his blonde hair trailing behind him, "It smells good."
"You don't need to sound surprised," Harry teased.
Malfoy opened his mouth to protest but Harry continued as he set the tray in the middle of the bed.
"I'm just kidding," he assured quickly.
"Do you really think that it's wise to consume red wine and pasta on a white bed?" Malfoy asked, one eyebrow arched at him as he climbed onto the bed across the tray from Malfoy.
"It'll be fine," Harry assured as he picked up his salad bowl and speared a tomato. "We're wizards, we'll magic it away if we must."
Malfoy hummed but picked up his own salad. "Thank you."
He shrugged a shoulder, "No problem. I like to cook, actually."
"Do you?" Malfoy asked curiously.
Harry nodded, "Yeah. Once we left Hogwarts and I was living on my own, I was eating out all the time and it wasn't doing me any favors. So I learned how to make some simple things that taste good." He tilted his head, "What about you? You're not a bad cook."
His cheeks turned a light pink and he cleared his throat, "That's Granger's doing actually."
"Sorry?"
He sighed, "She made a really good case about house elves. I didn't want to be who my parents wanted me to be so when I moved out and joined the aurors, I basically shunned anything that whiffs of pureblood bullshit. It has no place here," he said gesturing to his home with his fork.
Harry blinked, "That's amazing."
"Shut up."
"No, I'm serious," Harry said. "You're amazing and I had no idea."
"Stop," Malfoy said. "Please, it's not-"
"Is that what earlier was about?"
Malfoy stilled, "Excuse me?"
"Is that why you were upset?" he asked. "You thought that I was taking the piss?"
"I thought that you have an insufferable hero complex that makes me want to vomit," he growled.
"You're a hedgehog," Harry said, finally understanding.
Malfoy froze, "Who told you that?"
"Told me what?" Harry asked.
"That my patronus is a hedgehog," he said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Harry laughed and Malfoy flushed cherry red, his eyes narrowed. "No, sorry," Harry said holding out a hand, "I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing because I had no idea, honestly!"
"Then what made you say it?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just," he paused and took a bite of bolognese as he searched for the right words, "When you start to feel vulnerable or like someone is going to hurt you, you curl into this defensive ball that will stab at someone no matter what they say or do."
"I-"
"You are genuinely one of the best aurors in our class," Harry said earnestly, steering the conversation to something more tangible that they were less like to fight over. "I was serious."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "You're just saying that because the bond-"
He shook his head, "I've always thought that," he protested. "It's annoying as fuck because it always seems like everything comes so easily to you. I used to complain about it to Ron all the time."
"Says you," Malfoy protested. "You're always doing everything right; throwing yourself into danger to protect people." He shook his head, "By all accounts, what you do shouldn't work but it does. You're a good auror, Potter."
Harry swallowed, "Thanks, Malfoy. That means a lot coming from you."
"Yes, well," he said as he took a sip of wine, "Don't let it go to your head."
Harry chuckled and they took a few bites in companionable silence before Draco started to talk again.
"You didn't have to come to my rescue with Jenkins, you know."
He waved the thought away, "He's an arse. We've had it out before."
"I'm just saying," he argued, "I was fine. Honestly what he was saying wasn't even that bad."
"Not that bad?!" Harry yelped. "He-"
Malfoy shook his head, "It's the bond, Potter, don't you see that? Jenkins has said a lot worse, other trainees have said a lot worse, and you've never felt the need to jump in and defend my honor before."
Harry frowned.
"You're being swayed by what the bond wants you to feel about me."
"I'm not sure you're right," he said. "Because you shouldn't be treated like that at work. No one should be treated like that."
"Be that as it may-"
"I'm just saying, even if the bond brought it to my attention, I would have done that for anyone. If he'd been saying shite like that to Ron, I would have decked him, too."
Malfoy looked like he was going to argue with him, before visibly changing his mind, "You do have a wand, you know. There's no need to resort to brute force."
Harry shrugged, "But there's just something so satisfying about punching someone."
A laughed forced it's way up Malfoy's throat and Harry grinned at him. Shaking his head, Malfoy replied, "You're ridiculous. And this is good, by the way," he added, pointing to his pasta with his fork.
"Good," Harry said with a pleased little smile.
The conversation turned lighter as they bickered about the training exercises and the best approach, but the bickering held none of the animosity it had a week and a half before.
And Harry couldn't help but wonder how much of this was the bond's doing and how much was simply him.
-----------------
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days#one year of drarry drabbles#drarry#ficlet#drarry ficlet#drarry drabbles#enemies to friends#slow burn apparently#see you in part 4 tomorrow#domestic#cooking
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The Demon Bros Play DND!
Who’s ready for some Stupid Headcanons?
So, the Satanic Panic of the 1980s claimed that the tabletop RPG known as Dungeons and Dragons had the power to turn your children into satanists and devil worshippers. So of course, the brothers have totally played DND after hearing about all the human world nonsense.
Lucifer the Back-up Back-up DM
He’s too busy to play this game dammit, stop inviting him! What do you mean both Satan and Simeon can’t DM the one-shot? Ugh... fine.
Despite all his UUUUUUUUGGGGHHH, Lucifer is a damn good storyteller, prepare to be immersed as hell.
Also, sorry guys, he’s a rule whore. If something’s against the rules, YOU AREN’T DOING IT.
He’s also a complete sadist who will randomly get everyone to roll perception checks for NO REASON.
Lucifer has definitely stood up and slammed his hands on the table while giving a description for extra effect, Mammon screamed and nearly fell out of his seat which REALLY ruined the mood.
“Everyone, we’re rescheduling, I’m too busy.”
He’s been a player a few times, and he’s NOT good at it. All his characters end up being really generic and boring. He’s better at being the world and everything in it, not the dummy wandering around it.
Human/fighter lookin’ motherfucker
In conclusion, he’s a good DM, but he’s probably too busy to play.
Over-Powered Self Insert (Mammon)
This game is for nerds! He’s not playin’, Levi!
Fine, his character is great and amazin’ and is also him. MC! What do these numbers mean-
Mammon’s the type of player to make his character a self insert and not take it too seriously, then get really REALLY attached as the campaign progresses.
He’s the type not to make a backstory for his character either, so go wild DM MCs!
He also both purposefully and accidentally metagames a whole bunch. Like dude, YOU know this, YOUR CHARACTER DOES NOT.
Shit he forgot his dice, can he borrow some?
“Okay MC, that’s five points of piercing damage.” “I RUN OVER AND HEAL THEM! I’LL SAVE YA MC!”
Mammon goes out of his way to save MC’s character long before it would make sense in-character to do so.
“Well, as your first man it’s my duty to save your character! You’ll probably be a blubberin’ mess if I didn’t...”
He’s not the best role player, but he’s also not the worst at it either. He tends to break character when things get too serious and he doesn’t know what to do.
Notes who? He came in here with one sheet of printer paper and it’s for doodling only.
He and Asmodeus start the tavern brawls. No question about that.
Theft is very common, he’s stealing from everyone, including but not limited to: the party, the royal guards, the dead enemies, the giant fuck-you dragon that Satan dropped in there to deter Mammon from stealing...
“I’m gonna steal that crown from the dragon.” “Roll stealth.” “Nat 20 BITCHES.” “Fuck you.”
If his character dies, may the Demon King have mercy on his greedy little soul because he’s going to mope about it for a damn long time.
Over-Powered Self Insert Again (Leviathan)
His character totally isn’t a self insert, shut up! He just looks and acts like an idealized version of himself!
He’s the one with twenty pages of character info and backstory AND the amazing commissioned art.
Levi has about 40 sets of expensive blue dice that he claims gives him the best rolls but an average session with him usually leads to roughly 10 crit fails.
While his luck with dice isn’t that good, he’s the player who will get as much out of their turn as possible, AKA break out the calculators and notes we’re doing some math.
His turn goes on for at least ten minutes because of all the shit he’s doing. When you finally think it’s over he goes “I still have my movement!”
Takes notes like a madman, every bit of lore and character info is being written down, meaning it’s a headache for everyone involved if there’s a continuity error because Levi WILL point it out.
“So you all head to the east, the great Valley of-” “Hang on, valley? In the second session you said there was a mountainous area to the east.” “Levi, shut up.”
Levi is the self appointed “guys come on let’s get back on track!” player, and whoever’s DMing is grateful to have him.
Levi is kind of the opposite of Mammon in terms of character seriousness, at first he’s taking everything super seriously and then as the campaign goes on he slowly loosens up and has some fun.
Out of curiosity one day he searches up a magical girl DND class and he’s ALL OVER IT. PLEASE LET HIM BE A MAGICAL GIRL NEXT CAMPAIGN-
Damn good at roleplaying, he’s carrying the entire in-character discussion until everyone else gets into it.
The Done With Your Bullshit DM (Satan)
So, this is the game that’s supposedly summoning him all the time despite the fact that he hadn’t been up to the human world since the 50s... what the fuck is everyone on up there?
It was the 80s, probably a lot of drugs.
When Satan DMs, you can only break the rules if it enhances the story... or if it fucks with Lucifer’s really boring character.
He will fudge dice rolls every once and a while, he also gets very attached to the characters everyone has made so he doesn’t want to perma-kill any of them unless they roll a DND quadruple natural 1 sin or something.
As attached as he gets, he isn’t above completely raging, killing everyone’s characters, and ending the session if everyone’s being annoying.
Don’t worry, your characters will be safe and sound next session once everything calms down... just don’t mention how Satan burned your character sheet right in front of you. It’s your fault if you didn’t make a second copy of your character sheet!
He’s pretty decent when it comes to improv when a player stumbles into something he didn’t plan out, but that’s not going to stop him from getting a little annoyed.
Though, if you somehow manage to get to the big bad too soon... yeah sorry, he’s got a way more dramatic fight scene planned, your player’s getting conveniently blasted out of there.
As a player, Satan is pretty decent at the game overall, but he tends to be a little aggressive if there’s an overarching mystery to be solved.
He needs to understand what’s going on! He doesn’t care if it upends the plot or it’s too early to find out! He needs to know!
His character is actually distinct and different from himself, Satan thinks it’s more interesting that way. All the books he’s read have made him a pretty awesome role player!
Satan’s notebook both as a DM and a player is filled to the brim, no detail is too insignificant to be put on the page.
Satan doesn’t fear dungeon puzzles... dungeon puzzles fear Satan.
“Are you all stupid?! This puzzle is so easy a four year old could solve it!”
I ROLL TO SEDUCE- (Asmodeus)
At first he didn’t want to play, he doesn’t play these kinds of games, sweetie. He’s too pretty.
When he’s finally convinced he puts a decent amount of effort into his character, but leaves the backstory pretty open.
Asmo would probably be the bard... right? No. He’s the warlock with the magic sugar daddy patron, and the warlock patron is spoken to as such.
“Hey baby... how’ve you been? Have I been good~?” “...”
Huh! Who woulda thought that all the bedroom roleplaying would transfer so well to DND!
Simeon is the only DM that doesn’t immediately shut this down, so Asmo will be extra inclined to play if Mr. Nice Shoulders is DMing.
When he gets really into it he buys a bunch of sparkly and very pretty dice, they bring him good luck in every roll!
Asmo has a fictional harem, no question about it. It gets to the point where Satan, Lucifer, and Simeon stop describing NPCs as attractive.
He’s rolling to seduce either way, he’s turned many an antagonist into a lover. To be fair, Asmo’s horniness has gotten everyone out of a lot of jail cells... so they can’t complain.
His notes consist of really random comments about the plot and the other players. It’s also COATED with doodles.
‘Wow, this character is such an asshole, I hope Belphie kills them.’ ‘Shit.’ ‘MC looks so cute when they play their character!!!!!!!! :D’
Poor bab forgets the rules a lot... it’s just too much to remember, okay?! How was he supposed to know that he ran out of spell slots an hour ago?!
Please help him, MC...
*Dice Cronch* (Beel)
Homeboy has been given edible dice, no question. He has also eaten the non-edible dice...
Beel goes to Satan for help with making his character, and he ends up really loving the character! :D
Problem is, he’s not that good at roleplaying... D:
“Can my character eat that person?” “Beel, no- you know what? Let me check what you’d need to roll to do that.”
I’ll save you MC part 2 electric boogaloo, but when it comes to Beel, the entire party is getting protected, no matter how little it makes sense in-character.
While Beel does take notes, a lot of them don’t end up being very important for later events. For example, he’ll jot down stuff about the layout in one room, but it turns out he didn’t take notes for the room that was actually going to be used for a boss fight.
He’s always nice to the NPCs, shame Belphie doesn’t show them the same courtesy.
Murder Hobo (Belphie)
Chaotic evil.
“Belphie, your character’s alignment is neutral good, remember?” “Fuck that, this guy’s annoying me.”
If Belphie doesn’t like an NPC, it’s up to the rest of the party to stop him from derailing the campaign and killing them.
He has space themed dice because cow-man likes space and thought they were pretty.
Notes? NOTES? You think Belphegor, the Avatar of SLOTH, takes notes? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-
He’s drooling all over the notebook... ew. Someone wake him up and tell him it’s his turn.
He puts about 35% effort forth to make a halfway decent character, and approximately 4% effort to actually roleplay.
Belphie sleeps through important plot details so he’s almost always really confused. He’ll turn to MC and ask them to explain what he missed before not learning his lesson and going back to sleep.
Wake him up for the dungeon puzzles though, he and Satan love those.
“Okay, we can’t see what’s in the room because none of the conscious party members have dark vision?” “Nope, what do you do?” “...I shove Mammon inside and shut the door.” “WHAT?!”
Bonus! The Best DM (Simeon)
Our favourite angel has homebrewed this entire campaign and boy fricken howdy are these players going to enjoy it.
Simeon fudges the dice rolls to avoid anything too irreversibly bad happening, buuuuuuut he’s still a total asshole who does the random perception rolls to keep everyone on their toes.
Everyone gets a character arc god dammit, even if they don’t have a backstory, one will be provided!
He’s got a map, he’s got miniatures, he’s got dice and backup dice for the backup dice, he’s got DM notes for days!
Simeon could be a voice actor with the amount of character voices he can do, no one ever gets confused with who’s talking.
Did someone just uncover a massive bit of plot that was meant to be found out later? Good job! No harm done! Simeon’s DM improv is second to none, and the plot will adjust accordingly!
#Obey me#Obey me!#Obey me Headcanons#obey me! headcanons#Obey me Lucifer#Obey me Mammon#Obey me Simeon#Obey me Leviathan#obey me beelzebub#Obey me Belphegor#Obey me Satan#Obey me Asmodeus#Obey me MC#obey me shall we date#obey me! shall we date?
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Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU
All Parts
Part 25:
You blinked blearily, rubbing the sleep away from your eyes.
For a minute you were disoriented, head spinning in confusion until you pieced together where you were. Who’s apartment you were in. Who was currently still fast asleep in your lap.
You flushed, still just as affected by his proximity as you were earlier. Except- it was slightly different now. Those little kitten snores? The ones you’d previously only heard over the phone? Well, now they were falling from his mouth in real time- in real life. In front of you. He was so close and warm and soft and uncharacteristically quiet and all you wanted to do was kiss him.
The past few days, you’d been so focused on how he’d lied and his injuries that you’d almost forgotten just how much you liked him. You couldn’t forget now. Not with the way he had a hand under his cheek, fingers just barely curling your sweatshirt in his sleepy grip.
Your fingers itched with the need to touch him- to somehow expel all that rolling fondness and affection that was boiling over in you. You couldn’t help yourself, your fingers beginning to once again move lightly through his hair, scratching idly at his scalp as you went.
You knew he’d be mad at your actions if he was awake- or flustered and embarrassed at the very least. But you just wanted to be nice to him. To show him how much you cared about him, and you were determined to do that- even if he seemed absolutely allergic to it.
So you sat and stared shamelessly and soaked up the proximity and warmth radiating off his body. And it was perfect and serene and so sugary sweet for a while- until you realized how much your legs hurt.
They hurt and ached and were sore because Katsuki was heavy.
Absurdly heavy.
And the thing about him was, you were only supporting his head and his shoulders! On your legs too- not even your arms! Even so though, the honest to god weight of him was just ridiculous. He was a solid mass of nothing but strength and power and, quite frankly, ludicrous musculature. And if he wasn’t murdering your legs right now, and not in the fun way, you’re absolutely sure you’d be much more thrilled about these facts.
As it stands now though, nothing but an escape plan was on your mind. Even if the rest of you was only screaming to pull him closer.
“Katsuki.” You tried once more, prodding at his cheek lightly. “Katsuki, c’mon-time to get up.”
He had no reaction. Not even an eye twitch when you ghosted your hands over his face. In all honesty it seemed like he was dead. His breathing was so deep and slow it was almost non-existant and when you called him name, no matter how many times you said it, there wasn’t even a mumble- now whether that was effect of the pain meds or just him ignoring you, you had no idea.
Sighing with finality, and a genuine apology, you lifted his head. It was a struggle, and his unresponsiveness surely didn’t help, but eventually you escaped. You slipped a pillow under his head, patted his cheek fondly, and left towards his kitchen.
Now, was the easy part. Or was supposed to be the easy part- but considering this was Katsuki you should’ve known better.
His fridge was packed to the brim, overflowing with ingredients, but they were all ridiculous health foods. You wanted familiarity and comfort and grease- not green. Not the terrible, bitter, dark green vegetables that seemed to be the only thing he had.
What kind of guy doesn’t have junk food? You thought, shaking your head in utter disbelief. And he tells me I’m the weird one?
With a sigh, you begin rifling through the drawers for something at least a bit fattening, and you can’t kid yourself, it does soothe that itch from earlier. That weird, tingling, constant itch to pick apart every little detail and mix and match them together until you knew every possible thing about Bakugou there was to know. Until you knew things about him that no one else did- until you knew him better than he even knew himself.
And maybe that was selfish, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care all that much. If talking to him, knowing him was intoxicating before, just over the phone, than it was an addiction now. Here in this apartment, surrounded entirely by pieces of him, Katsuki felt real. He felt tangible and honest and complete, and you’d never be satisfied with just texts and phone calls again.
Grinning widely, you grabbed the blocks of cheese, and a few different freshly-cut herbs. Inspiration had struck, and within the weirdly hearty contents of his refridgerator lied your saving grace.
Grilled cheese- because at the end of the day, you were a child through and through.
Gathering the rest of the ingredients, and searching for a pan, you couldn’t contain the warmth in your chest. Not only were you going to be eating good food, but you were sharing it. With your soulmate. It was a weird little bit of domesticity, preparing a meal for him, but you couldn’t say you hated it.
Apparently, you’d made too much noise with the pan, because suddenly you hear shuffling. Glancing behind you, Katsuki is grumbling under his breath as he clambers into the kitchen. He’s all loose limbs and sleepy grunts, grumpily throwing himself down into a seat at the counter, just a few feet away from you.
“Jesus fuckin’ christ, sunshine, could you be any goddamn louder?”
You’re not sure if it’s the combination of the nickname and his crackling sleep-laden voice, or maybe it’s the way his cheeks are stil warmed from sleep, but you melt. Practically dissolve into the floor beneath you. That feeling- that aching one from earlier where all you wanted to do was kiss him silly? Yeah, it’s back now. Back in full-force and unleashing a hellish barrage of butterflies in your stomach.
“Nothin’ to say? Yeah. Thought so. Idiot.” He barks.
“Not a morning person?” You recover, quickly turning back to the stove. Hopefully it’ll cover up the absolute hearts you currently had for eyes.
“It’s 8 PM.”
“It was a joke, angry man.” You laugh. Turning back, you sneak a glance at him, completely unable to help yourself. “Don’t be so grumpy.”
“I’m not fuckin’ grumpy.”
Bakugou mumbles it so quietly and petulantly that you almost can’t hold back your squeal. There he is, just feet away, currently holding the title for World’s Most Adorable Pout and you couldn’t do anything!
Well, maybe you could- if you were bolder and stronger. But you weren’t. Right now you felt weak.
“You could just go back to sleep, you know.” You finally say.
“And let ya fuck up my kitchen unsupervised?” He yawns widely, rubbing at his eyes. “No fuckin’ thanks.”
“It’s only grilled cheese, I think I’ll manage.”
“Grilled cheese? Am I five or some shit?”
“No- but I am. And it’s what I’m making.” You supplied, an easy smile gracing your lips. “So it’s either you have one too, or you starve to death. Your choice, Katsuki dear.”
He blushes when you look at him, hiding it behind his hand. “Yeah. Whatever. Just make sure it’s fucking edible.”
“That’s a tall order, angry man. I might not be able to do it.” You say teasingly, terribly high on a mixture of him and your own fuzzy feelings. “We’ll see, huh?”
Katsuki just nods, dropping his head into his hands. He still looks tired, his eyes half-lidded and eyebrows drawn low, but he’s fighting sleep. Every time you turn to glance at him, he’s blinking himself awake, and every time you turn away you can feel his eyes on your back. It was sweet- until it wasn’t. Until he ruined it.
“Your knife skills are fuckin’ terrible, idiot.”
“Wow- thanks.” You snort, but your motions don’t cease. You’re steady and sure with your chops, even in the face of his ridiculous criticism. “And to think I went to all this trouble for you.”
“You’re just chopping stupid onions.”
“And caramelizing them!” You defend, adding the diced onions into your pan full of oil. You turn back to him, brandishing your knife playfully. “Which you’d know if you let me get that far!”
“A knife! In my own fuckin’ kitchen? That supposed to be a shitty ass threat or somethin’?”
“No, if I was gonna threaten you, I wouldn’t use a knife. That’s just a bad battle tactic, really”
“Yeah?” He takes the bait, perks up a little bit as an easy smile rolls across his face. “What’d you fuckin’ use then, idiot?”
“Fire extinguisher.”
Katsuki’s amused- you know he is, can see it in the way his eyes shine, but he’s fighting it. He’s pulling his mouth into a half-hearted grimace and scowling at you when he replies.
“You’re not fuckin’ funny. That wasn’t funny.”
“I am and it was, but that’s okay.” You shrug, going back to carmelizing the onions. They’re nearly done now, and you add a few spices and a dash more oil in with them. “Can’t win ‘em all, I guess.”
“You’re talking like you can win any.”
“Hey! I’d be careful there, angry man. I know where you live, you know.”
That does elicit a snort from him, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. “You plannin’ to kill me in my sleep?”
“Now if I told you that wouldn’t very much of a plan, would it?”
“No. Guess even a dumbass like you can understand that much.”
“Katsuki,” You sigh dreamily, turning your head to bat your eyelashes at him dramatically. “You have such a way with words! Makes a girl feel so special.”
He seems stunned for a moment, before he blushes and averts his eyes. Recovery for him takes a second- but only just a second.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re so fuckin’ funny.” He grumbles, mouth drawn into a thin line. “What’s got you so goddamn cheery anyway?”
“Took a nap. Feelin’ energized.”
“When?”
“When you took one?” You say, idly stirring the ingredients in the pan. “What- you thought I was awake the whole time? That I did nothing but just pet your hair and watch you sleep? For hours?”
He doesn’t say anything, and that seals it for you.
Katsuki had to be the cutest thing on Earth. Just the most adorable little rabid thing who you wanted to keep forever and hug super close and maybe kiss all over. He was precious, and when you looked over to see that he was indeed blushing- well, those feelings only multiplied 1000x over.
“N-no! I didn’t! Fuck no! Don’t be fucking stupid!” He defends, all sleep now gone from his features. “I didn’t! I didn’t and I don’t so shut the fuck up about it!”
You’re not sure if it was the nap or his flustered state that gives you strength, but you’re crossing the room before you can help it. Standing just on the other side of the counter, you lean across it on your elbows, catching his gaze. There’s feelings fluttering wildy in your chest- warm, blistering, uncontainable feelings threatening to burst through your skin and you find you just can’t help yourself.
“Would you like me to pet your hair and watch you sleep for hours? Huh? Katsuki?”
He damn near jolts in his seat- back ridgid and jaw set and eyes so very, very, alive. Flushing, red gathers around his cheeks and his neck and the tips of his ears. Your ears ring prematurely in anticipation, in pure sympathy for the way your ear drums are seconds away from being burst entirely.
“Why the fuck- I didn’t! Why the fuck would you even say that?” He screams, voice tearing from his throat with a feral growl. “You think your funny or some shit? Asking weird shit and being fucking weird in my goddamn kitchen? Tryna start a fuckin’ fight with me? I’ll start a fuckin’ fight!”
Bakugou square his shoulders, mouth set into a determined line through his harsh words. He’s pushing away from the counter, just barely swinging his legs over the chair when you reach him.
“Sit back down, angry man.” You laugh, the sound uncontrollable as it tumbles from your mouth. You push at his rising shoulders until he relents. Watching as he sinks back into his seat, you smile widely. “No fight! I was joking!”
“Well I don’t think your jokes are very fuckin’ funny!”
“Mhm, I know.” You say indulgently, unable to keep the fondness from your tone. “But don’t worry, grumpy, I think that’s all I have. No more jokes for tonight.”
“Now you’re just fuckin’ lying to me.” He barks, but even through the bite you can hear his smile. “You really are askin’ for a fight, aren’t ya?”
“No, I’m not. Seriously.” You soothe.
He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to watching you cook. You’re dropping bread into the pan, watching it brown and adding cheese. Some of the shredded cheese hits the pan, burns quickly- makes a popping sound.
The smile captures your face before you can stop it. Again, you find that you really just can’t help yourself around him.
“And even if I was starting a fight,” You start again, laughing lightly with your back turned to him. “I wouldn’t get very far now, would I? You’d blow me up in a second, huh, angry man?”
You hear him shift in the chair, hear his sharp exhale and his arms hitting the counter. You expect an angry retort, hell, maybe even a cocky one- but that’s not what you get when you turn to face him.
“I would never blow you up.”
His eyes widen, shoulders tensing immediately. You weren’t fairing any better- just as surprised by his quick statement as he was.
In all your life, in all your soulmate fantasies, you had never imagined the words “I would never blow you up” to be the tipping point for you. You never imagined that those words would be what sent you over- what broke the weird dam of feelings that had been welling in you since the day you texted him. But it was.
You were crossing the kitchen before you knew it, careful, sure, strides carrying you to his side. You hands fell around his cheeks, tilting his head up to meet your eyes, and suddenly, all at once, it hit you.
“I like you.” You admit breathlessly, your fond laugh erupting from your chest and raw and unfettered and real. “I- I like you so much, you asshole. You know that? Right?”
He looks winded, his eyes widening as you draw slow circles with your thumbs on his cheeks. You can just barely see it, he only just hardly lets you, but you watch the way he leans into your touch. Just the barest bit of extra weight in your hands, only for a moment, before he pulls back just a bit, smirking up at you.
“Fuckin’ said that already, dumbass.”
“Katsuki!”You whine in protest, rolling your eyes as you let go of his cheeks. “I was being nice!”
You had planned to retreat after that, but the way he suddenly smiles keeps you rooted where you stand. It’s confident little smirk, sitting just at the edge of his mouth- it’s so coy and immature and playful and so very much him that it pulls you in. You’re stepping closer, just a little, and that only makes him, as if he understands, smirk a little more.
He’s like a magnet, you realize, blushing wildly. A dangerous magnet- and I’m an idiot for letting myself get this close.
“I was bein’ nice.” He finally says, grin absolutely shit-eating at this point. “What the hell are you complain’ about, woman- that was nice. You don’t like me bein’ nice to you?”
“That was not nice!”
“I think it was.” He shrugs, so very self-assured and taking the piss. “Think maybe you’re just too fuckin’ sensitive? Hah?”
It’s the way he says it- so cooly and calmly and almost smugly. Like he’s got you backed into a corner and just waiting under his finger. And, truthfully, he does, but you’re much too competitive to just accept that. Much too familiar with the way he’ll blush and scream and fluster at even a hint of pushback. So even with shaky breaths, and a heart fluttering out of control, you challenge him.
“Out of the two of us,” You start, a shaky hand ghosting feather-light under his chin, just barely tilting his face up. “I’m not the sensitive one.”
He takes the bait, just as you knew he would, and rises to it. Even blushing as he was, Katsuki only inches closer in challenge, catching your gaze in full. “Big fuckin’ words, sunshine. Be careful.”
The nickname was playing dirty, and he knew it. You could see it in the careful set of his jaw, the way that incredibly irritating smirk was still sitting unbidden across his stupid beautiful face. You couldn’t let him win. You just couldn’t.
“Yeah, you’re so angry, aren’t you? So scary, pop rocks.” You tease, desperately trying to move past your breathlessness. Your hand moves on it’s own, threading carefully through his hair. “But not around me.”
“Fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you’ve gone soft, Katsuki.”
His hackles raise at that, and he clenches his jaw, eyes raging like wildfires. Bakugou doesn’t move away though, only gets closer, his hot breath hitting your face. “I’m. Not. Fuckin’. Soft!”
“Really?”
He nods, so very determined and offended and focused that you laugh. Your giggle makes him angry, you can see it in his eyes, but that only draws you closer. Only a few inches separate the two of you, but it’s like you can’t get close enough. It’s his magnetism, the way he’s still provoking you -despite being so red- that has your hands dropping from his head, crossing together behind his shoulders. You giggle again, warm, happy, heat flooding you at the proximity.
“Prove it then, Katsuki.”
Your defiance only seems to make him angrier. To make him boil because then he’s snarling, eyebrows creasing sharply, and he’s surging upwards, pressing his lips to yours. There’s no grace to it, no soft romance, just brutal pressure and his sharp teeth and his rough hands on your face. All things considered, it was the most aggressive kiss you’d ever recieved, but maybe you should’ve expected that. Still, it takes your breath away, nearly knocks your feet out from under you.
“Still think I’m fuckin’ soft?” Bakugou pulls away, so red he’s about to explode, but he’s still sitting there smirking like he’s won. “Hah?”
You can’t help it- you’d never heard his voice, felt it against your skin this close before. You shiver. That only seems to amuse him more, but then he’s looking past you.
“Bread’s gonna fuckin’ burn.”
“Y-yeah!” You’re shocked out of whatever hold he had you in, shoulders straightening as you backed away. “Yeah. I know. I got it.”
You felt winded, nearly weightless and fuzzy and flying as you turned back to the food. Your lips still tingled, fire sitting unrelenting in your cheeks as you finished. Part of you wondered where the hell that Katsuki came from, but then again, you figured that was part of him all along. He wouldn’t lose to anybody- and definitely not to you.
You plate up the food, and when you turn around he’s still smirking. You want to kiss the smugness right off his idiotic gorgeous lips and you promise yourself you will. Later.
“It’s hot, so be careful.” You say, sliding his plate across the counter to him.
“Obviously, dumbass. You think I’m that fuckin’ stupid?”
“No, but I’d hate for you to burn your taste buds off before you could really eat.” You smile, rounding the counter with your own food and taking a seat next him. “You’d really be missing out!”
“What- you make it special or some shit?”
“Mhm. Just for you, angry man!” You laugh. “Figured you deserved something good after all your hard work and heroics.”
Bakugou’s eyes widen, so comically large and bright as he blushes and bites his knuckle. He turns away so quick, nearly cracking his neck with how fast he averts his eyes. “D-don’t just say that shit to me. Fucking weirdo.”
You took a deep breath, physically willing yourself not to turn away and squeal as loud as you could. He just had no right to be that adorable. Katsuki had fully kissed you, hands on your face and biting pressure, but he drew the line at being served food? At being served kind words?
Oh- oh. You realized. It was words for him- affirmation. That was his real weakness. You filed it away, incredibly excited for the next time you got to test that little theory out on him.
Dinner was an interesting affair- it was quiet and relatively calm, at least for everyone but the poor grilled cheese you’d served to him. He’d torn into it the second it was cool enough, nearly demolishing it in his sharp teeth. You figured you should’ve guessed that, that he’d eat the way he did everything else- aggressively.
“You want anything else?” You ask, gathering the plates and cleaning up the counter.
“No. I’m good.” He grunts. “Thank you for the food, but if I want anything else I’ll get it my fuckin’ self.”
“A simpler thank you would’ve worked just as well.”
“It’s- I’m not,” He grumbles, stubborn as ever. “The food was good. Thank you. I’m just saying you didn’t have to go to all the fuckin’ trouble. If I need somethin’ I’ll get it. I’m not a fuckin’ invalid who can’t do anything.”
“Oh my god.” You mumble under your breath, spinning around to face him. “Will you please just let me help you?”
“I don’t fuckin’ need it.”
“Katsuki- c’mon, just let me take care of you. Help you. Please.”
He looks stunned, maybe even vulnerable, as you near. You take one of his hands in yours.
“Don’t be so stubborn, angry man. I just want to take care of you.” You plead, not letting him look away. “Somebody’s gotta right? Especially since you’re still sore.”
“‘M-’m not that sore. I’ll be fuckin’ fine. Done it before.”
“Yeah, maybe, you have, and I’m sure you still could. I know you’re strong.” You supply. “So strong- but you don’t always have to be strong all by yourself anymore. We can be strong together. I’m here for you, you know?”
Something in his eyes seems so tiny and small and unsure at your words, and it breaks your heart. There aren’t enough words in the world for all you want to say in that moment, so you just take his head in your hands, kiss him with every bit of care and concern you hold for him.
Well you pull back, he won’t look at you, his cheeks gone nearly as red as his vulnerable eyes. His shoulders shake, and he takes a deep breath, turning his head to place a tiny little kiss into the palm of your hand. He doesn’t say anything, but the tiny action communicates almost everything you need to know.
“I saw that fall, alright?” You soothe, thumbs rubbing over his cheeks. “It was pretty nasty, and you’ve gotta be feeling shitty right now. I get it, and I don’t think less of you for it, and I’m not taking ‘pity’ on you or whatever you’re thinking so much about- I really just want to help you feel better. Because I care about you, and I’m so proud of you of saving that kid, and you deserve so many nice things. You gotta let someone help you, okay?”
He nods slowly, but you can see the resistance in the grimace of his mouth. It wasn’t easy for him- accepting help and admitting to any sort of fragility. You’d knew he’d fight you every step of the way- but that was okay. You’d never backed down from one of his challenges before.
“Now, I’m gonna ask you again, and I want you to just listen. Just listen and answer.” You tap a finger against his cheek. “What can I do to help you right now?”
“I-I fuckin’- I can’t.” He breathes, stuttered and anxious, frustrated eyes flitting between every object in the room. “Embarrassing- you’re fuckin’ tryin’ to- I don’t need stupid special treatment! I’m not weak!”
“I know. I know. I’m not saying you are.” You close the distance, pressing a light kiss into his hairline. “Being hurt isn’t the same thing as being weak. Being injured doesn’t mean you’re weak- and accepting help due to those injuries doesn’t make you weak either. You survived that fall because you’re strong, but you don’t have to be right now. Not unless that’s what you really want- not unless being alone right now is really what would help you best.”
He doesn’t say anything, just stares up at you with eyes so guarded that it makes you want to cry.
“Is it? Is that what you want?” You ask tenatively. “If you’re really not feeling up to it, just want to shut down and sleep instead, I don’t have to be here. I want to, because I care about you, but I won’t force you. I can leave if-“
Bakugou suddenly grasps at your wrist, fingers twitching on your skin. His eyes are closed and his eyebrows are pinched, but he presses your hand into his burning cheeks.
“Yeah. Okay.” You whisper, the fondness and affection dripping from your words, thick and heavy as they leave your mouth. “I get it. I understand- you don’t have to say it.”
He just nods tightly, eyes still closed.
You stay there for a moment, just breathing in the rare vulnerability that was rolling off of him. Then you find it’s not enough- that you need more contact. You’re surging forward, tucking his head into your neck as you wind feather-light arms around him, careful to avoid his injuries.
Bakugou fights it, going rigid and stiff and resitant at first. He hardly looks at you, just barely, but you catch his gaze and nod. It’s all it takes before he’s allowing himself to sink into you, his arms pulling you closer.
It’s hesitancy, than acceptance and than desperation, and suddenly he’s holding you so tightly, clutching at you like you’re gonna fade. Like you’ll slip through his calloused fingers. It makes you ache. Sends volts of throbbing pain through your chest that have you squeezing him tighter.
It makes you want to sob- the way he seemed so resistant to softness despite being so obviously starved for it. You wondered if anyone else had stuck around this long; if anyone else had noticed just how desperate he was for someone to finally hear him.
It was alright now, you figured. He had you now and you’d listen for as long as he allowed you to.
“You don’t have to say anything,” You start, voice quiet, turning your head to whisper against his hair. “But I want you to know that I think you’re good. That I think that you’re so strong, the absolute bravest, and that you did a really good thing saving that kid. I believe you- when you said that you were working on it. You’re not so angry anymore and I get it. I know I haven’t know you that long, but still, I’m so proud of you for it.”
He just melts into you further, a shuddering breath against your neck. You think you can feel a smile- just the tiniest little twitch of his lips. A hesitant, honest, thing that has unbridled fondess tearing through your chest.
You stay like that for a few minutes, so close and warm and connected, before he’s pushing you away. Just barely pressing away from you until he can look you in the eyes.
“I- uh, I fuckin’ like you too.” He stutters out, so very red and exposed and genuine. He seems to struggle with the eye contact, but he holds it anyway. “And think you’re okay. Or whatever.”
Truthfully, you wanted to tease him. Wanted to giggle and laugh and pick apart the words because he just added a “Or whatever” to the end of his declaration. It was quite possibly the lamest possible phrase to tack onto the end of an emotional statement and you wanted to say something- but now wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t even want to imagine the walls he’d put up if you laughed at him right now.
So you didn’t, you just pulled him close again. Hugged him tight and hid your pleased smile where he couldn’t see it. Bakugou stills then, resting his head against you and shutting his eyes. His anxiety fades from his shoulders and his breathing slows; if you you didn’t know any better you’d swear he was falling asleep.
“You want more pain meds?” You ask after a while. “Think it’s probably about time.”
He just nods. You begin to move away, and he follows you for a second. Just a second though- and then he’s catching himself and fisting his hands tightly shut in his lap, cheeks flushing.
“The nightime ones look pretty intense.” You comment, reading the label on the bottle. You give it a playful shake. “You wanna get high, angry man?”
He’s scoffing and rolling his eyes but he’s smiling too. Katsuki holds a hand out and you toss him the bottle.
“Not a fuckin’ baby.” He grunts, twisting open the bottle. He dry-swallows the pills; you he does it just to prove a point. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know, those pills kinda look like horse tranquilizers. Worringly so.” You refill his glass of water, shoving it towards him before he can protest. “Now drink up. Then you’re spending the rest of the night on the couch, where you should’ve been. The whole time. Resting.”
“Jeez, pushy woman. I get it. Chill out already.”
“How am I supposed to chill out when you keep not listening to me, huh?” You take the empty glass from his hands. “Now, c’mon, go- back to the living room. I know you’re not gonna let me help you, but I swear to god, if I don’t see you hobbling away in a few seconds, I’m gonna be really angry at you.”
Bakugou rolls his eyes, all petulant dramatics and huffy sighs, but gets up anyway- actually listens to you even if it seems like it physically pains him. Actually, knowing him, it probably does.
He collapses into the couch as you bring another water over- just in case. You meant it when you said you didn’t want him getting up again.
“So, I’m thinkin’ you’ve got, max, maybe 30 minutes? Possibly 45?” You say settling in on the other side of the couch. “So pick a movie.”
He looks at you a little weirdly. “Why?”
“Because those meds are gonna knock you the fuck out.” You laugh, unable to hold it in. “And because watching movies is a relaxing activity. And that’s what you’re supposed to be doing right now. Relaxing.”
“So you’ve fuckin’ said. I get it, woman. Put whatever you want on, I don’t care.”
“Really? No preference at all?”
“No.” He puffs out his cheeks, averts his eyes. “Normally don’t have time for that shit.”
You can’t help it- the way you find yourself sidling right up next to him. You’re careful, sure to avoid all his sore limbs, but you take a chance and poke at his chest lightly.
“No time, huh?” You say, catching his eyes. “I’ll find a way to change that.”
His eyes widen and his cheeks redden, and as usual, he doesn’t say anything. Katsuki just hides his face over your head, tucking you into his chest as he huffs.
“Course you fuckin’ would. You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met.”
“I’m gonna choose to take that as a complement.”
“You fuckin’ shouldn’t. It’s not.”
“Well, I think I will anyway.” You giggle, sinking into his hold. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you like me- you did kiss me first, you know.”
Bakugou goes ridgid at that, face heating as he forcibly shucks you from him. He looks appalled, absolute disbelief covering his features.
“T-that’s not! I fuckin’- I did that shit to win! Because you said I was soft! I’m not fucking soft, you shitty woman!”
“Mhm. I know.” You laugh, nearing him again and stopping just inches from his red face. You’re blushing too, horribly so, but you can’t help teasing him. Nothing could stop you from riling him up further- it was your favorite past-time after all. “You wanna try winning again? I’ll promise I’ll let you. Katsuki.”
Pop.
He shrinks back in his seat, jolts like he’s the one who just got shocked. He isn’t. You are- and you’re laughing and smiling and breaking the tension all at once.
“That’s- Don’t fuckin’ do that to me! Goddamn witch! What the hell is that? Fuckin’ breaking my quirk? What the fuck?” He roars as he tucks his hands under his legs. “You know how long I been workin’ on controlling that shit? Just to have you walk in and fuck it up? Stop it! I fuckin- you make me so mad! Stop laughing!”
“I-I’m not. I’m not! It’s just,” You begin, breathless and gasping. “I was wondering, you know, why that hadn’t happened in a while, but now I know why. And it’s adorable.”
“Shut up! It’s not and I’m not- I’m fucking cool as shit so don’t go running your fuckin’ mouth about it! You don’t know what you’re talking about, damn dumbass, you don’t know shit!”
You sober a little bit, admiration shining clearly in your eyes when you look at him. When you look at his red face- the way he flustered. Because that’s the secret, you discovered; he only popped when you embarrassed him.
“Stop yelling already.” You giggle, pressing closer to him. “It’s not a bad thing, angry man. You make me nervous too, you know?”
He spares a look at you, blinking dumbfounded at your statement. Like he couldn’t believe it. It was such a ridiculous, oblivious look on his face that you couldn’t stop yourself- you just had to kiss it away.
As much noise as he was making, it all dies away the second you meet his lips. All the resistance fades and he melts into it, hands grasping under your chin to keep you close to him.
The first kiss was about winning, and the second one about validation, and those were good, amazing, but this one was nothing but fondess. A torrent of burning, boiling, affection as your lips moved against his. It was a tender kiss, much softer and slower than the first one, and a lot more delicate but you liked it just the same. Liked being able to finally act on all the feelings you’d been storing up for weeks.
The completion you’d felt from this kiss far surpassed the charged kisses from earlier. This was kissing him just because you could, because you wanted to, and you were sure this was heaven- at least, as close to heaven as any one human should ever be allowed to get.
It felt like flying, like hurtling above the earth and surging through the clouds. Like you were Icarus and you breached the atmosphere to soar against the surface of the sun. His hands fell to the base of your spine, pressing you firmly against him, and suddenly you knew. Knew it for sure, in your bones like it’d always been carved in there-you might’ve been Icarus, but he’d never let you fall. You would get to blister and scorch and burn for as long as you’d wanted but your wax would never melt. There was no fear when falling with him. Falling for him.
You pull away, but you don’t go too far. Don’t think you could separate even if you tried. Katsuki was an addiction, a powerful, potent thing and the only salve for that itch in your skin was being close to him. As close as you could possibly manage.
He didn’t say anything, just ragged breathes as he pulled you close. That was alright, you figured, you already knew he wasn’t a man of many words. At least not of many nice ones. The thought made you giggle.
“What the fuck are you laughin’ about, idiot?” He huffs, cheeks still bright red. “What’s so fuckin’ funny, hah?”
“Nothing. I just like you. A lot.”
The statement was easy, falling from your mouth like it was seared into your tongue. You’d knew the affect it would have- that he’d jump in his skin and go shy under your touch. That was half the reason you said it after all.
“Oh my god,” You whisper, dropping a quick kiss to his heated cheek just because you could. He only seems further embarrassed by your action, hands unconciously scrunching the material of your sweatshirt. “You’re killing me.”
“Good.” He mumbles juvenilely, looking anywhere to avoid your eyes. “Die then. Fuckin’ burn, you witch.”
The laugh that tears from your chest is full and heavy and so very filled with joy that it sucks the air out of you. Has you grasping for breath as you clutch your stomach, a hand braced on the cushion behind you as you absolutely lose yourself. When the tears finally clear from your eyes, you see him smiling, apparently very pleased with his joke. Which, to be completely honest, you were too. It was a very funny joke, after all.
“You can’t- you shouldn’t call your soulmate a witch, Katsuki!”
He just shrugs, smile still stretched across his face as he watches you.
“Jesus christ, what am I gonna do with you?” You ask, heaving a breath as your last giggles fade. “You’re a real handful, you know?”
He nods, looking once again all too pleased with himself. You see his pupils though- the way they’ve slowly dialated from the meds. You had to hand it to him, being that present while fighting heavy narcotics? He really was the best at everything.
“Alright, alright, enough jokes from you, Mr. Funny Man.” You say, standing quickly to grab the blanket across the room. You sit back down, setting it to the side as you pat your lap. “Lay down.”
“I’m not-“
“Just lay down, you stubborn idiot.” You sigh. “I can see your eyes. You’re tired, aren’t you?”
“Not that fuckin’ tire-“
“I said, you’re tired, aren’t you?” You interrupt sternly.
He just looks at you, rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that night, and collaspes into your lap. You spread the blanket over him, nearly cooing when he pulls it up to his chin and closes his eyes. He then abruptly shifts, movements jerky and aggressive as he turns onto his side and wraps his arms around you stomach.
“Aww, Katsuki-“
“Shut the fuck up, woman.” He bites out, not even bothering to open his eyes. “Say a goddamn thing and I’ll fucking bite you.”
“Ooo kinky.”
True to his word, he does bite. Not a cute bite either- it’s all pressure and sharp teeth and locked jaw against your stomach, all ridiculous force through your sweatshirt, and you swear to god if he wasn’t so cute you’d slap him.
“Katsuki!” You shrill, hands pushing his head away. “Ow! Stop! That hurts, you bitch!”
“Told you. Fuckin’ warned ya.” He grunts, relenting with a smug smile as he nuzzles back into your stomach- this time without teeth. “Now turn on the TV. Need background noise to drown you the fuck out.”
“You’re so mean!” You whine, but you’re still petting his hair fondly, shifting as minutely as you could to grab the remote.
He doesn’t say anything as the TV clicks to life, filling the room with soft instructions as the cooking channel drones on. You watch it for a while, perfectly content and sated as you scratch at his scalp. You wouldn’t pick the cooking channel on a normal day- but let’s face, you weren’t really paying that much attention to it.
Katsuki shifts suddenly, sleepily prods the base of your spine with a single finger until you jump.
“God.” You huff. “What?”
“You should stay.”
“S-stay?”
“Tonight.” He slurs, eyes just barely sliding open to display his glazed pupils. “Here.”
He’s trying to blink himself away now, hardly able to keep his eyes open. You see his blown pupils and feel his sluggish limbs- that medicine really was doing a number on him. Turns out, even the great Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t stronger than literal drugs.
Your stomach sank as you continued to look him. You wanted to stay- truly you did. But you couldn’t. It was a sunday, you had class in the morning, and your university was over in the next city.
You should stay.” He insists again.
“I’m can’t stay.”
“Fuckin- why?” He pokes your cheek with a sluggish limb, just barely missing your eyes. His own are coated in mild irritation. “Hate me that much or somethin’?”
“No.” You laugh fondly, batting his hands away and gathering them in your own. “I have class tomorrow morning, angry man.”
He’s quiet for a moment, but you watch his lips pull into a pout. He pokes your cheek again. “Drop out of school.”
“I’m not gonna drop out of school.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m almost finished.” You supply indulgently, cradling his sleepy face in your hands. “I can always visit tomorrow.”
“No. Now.”
“Katsuki,” You giggled, unable to contain it. “I really can’t. I can’t just do everything you say, you know.”
“Never fuckin’- never do anythin’ I say.”
“I know.”
He’s quiet again, head lolling to bury itself back into your stomach. You look at the time, and laugh- you guess 9:47 was past his bed time even when he wasn’t sky high off of pain meds.
“Stay.” He orders again, arms winding tighter against your stomach.
“You’re so loopy, my dear angry man.” You coo, catching his face in your palms, tilting his head until you meet his glazed eyes. “God, I can’t wait to tell you about this tomorrow morning.”
“When you’re still here.”
“I’m not- Katsuki!” You giggle. “What has that medicine done to you, oh my god.”
He just shrugs, closing his eyes as he drops his head back further into your palms. At this point, so flustered and outright giddy at his adorable actions, you were sure that your hands had to be shaky- but if they were he certainly didn’t seem to mind.
“Are you serious, right now? It’s- that’s all your weight! What’re you gonna do; just break your neck if I move my hands?”
“Yeah. Fuckin’ probably.”
“That’s not a good answer.”
“Mhm. Don’t move ‘em then.” He slurs. “World’s- world’s gonna be real fuckin’ mad if you kill me.”
You want to retort, want to argue with him and his ridiculousness, but he wouldn’t be awake to find out. He’s fallen asleep almost as soon as he finishes the thought, head falling completely into your palms, even more dead weight than before. Surpressing a squeal, you set his head back down on your thighs, heart pounding wildly when he nuzzles into your stomach.
His kitten snores start again, those same adorable little ones from earlier, and it’s like you had no choice. Mid-terms were coming up soon, and it was a terrible choice to skip class tomorrow morning, and your back would kill you when you woke up, but your grave was dug the second he’d cuddled into you.
Bakugou Katsuki always got his way after all- always won, even when it came to you. So you didn’t fight the sleep gathering in your eyes, letting your head fall heavy against the cushion behind you.
You stayed. You would stay, and you knew it was just because he asked you to, because he had you wrapped so tightly and completely around his explosive fingers- no matter how much you wanted to deny it.
//-//
enjoy the fluff kissy kissy :))
#bakugou katsuki#bnha bakugou#mha bakugou#katsuki bakugou#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou x you#bakugou soulmate textfic#bakugou soulmate au#mha fic#bnha fic#bakugou series#soulmate au#bnha soulmate au
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[CN] Gavin’s Sky Date - Prologue
🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date prologue, 云霄之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒
Do note that you have to read this before embarking on the actual date, because it contains background information and sweet domestic bliss you wouldn't want to miss :>
[ This date was released on 14 April 2021 ]
[ Part One: A Dream About to Take Flight ]
MC: Ahhh! My life is up to me. Not. Up. To. Fate!
The small dice in my furled hand is tossed around several times. When I loosen my grip, it rolls quickly on the map -- ‘2′.
Gavin: Hahaha--
Gavin laughs, but hurriedly retracts his smile when he senses my murderous gaze.
Gavin: It’s okay, things will definitely take a favourable turn in the next round.
Sulky, I let out of a huff. I watch as he picks up the dice, casually rolling a '5′. Then, he cheerfully shifts his own plane on the map by six spaces.
[Note] In the game of Aeroplane Chess, your plane can only leave the starting point if you roll a ‘5′ of ‘6′!
MC: ...
It’s a Saturday afternoon. Gavin and I had nothing to do after eating, so we randomly grabbed a set of Aeroplane Chess from the supermarket to play. But I didn’t expect to have such a terrible gaming experience!
Although it’s been the sixth or seventh round, I just can’t the ‘6′ I need to get my plane out of the hangar. On the other hand, Gavin has always been able to get it to take flight smoothly, and very quickly reaches the goal.
MC: Gavin, with your kind of luck, there’s no need to waste it on playing games with me.
After pondering for a long while, I offer him a serious suggestion.
MC: Let’s head out to buy a lottery ticket?
Gavin: Why don’t we play something else? The paper model from last time was only half done. Since we have time today, we could get it done at one go.
At this moment, the phone on the floor beside me rings. Seeing the familiar number, I tap on the hands-free function.
Nurse: Miss MC, the physical report done at our hospital is ready. Please bring your receipt and collect it within fifteen working days.
MC: Mm, got it, thank you.
Gavin is currently storing the Aeroplane Chess pieces into the box. Hearing this conversation, he gives me a puzzled look.
Gavin: Haven’t you already gone for a physical examination this year? Are you feeling unwell?
MC: No, no. I’m using the report for the registration.
I deliberately pretend to be secretive, leaning towards him. Then, I show him the registration form that I had submitted online beforehand.
MC: I’m going to get a Private Pilot License.
-
[ Part Two: First Day of School ]
On the first day of aviation training, I set the alarm to wake me up at 6.30am. Even Gavin is stunned at the level of enthusiasm I have for learning.
Gavin: The courses for the aviation license can get pretty dry. You have to be mentally prepared.
MC: Are you referring to things like meteorology, aircraft structure, air traffic regulations?
Gavin: Mm. Aside from the exams, such knowledge is necessary for aircraft pilots.
While he speaks, he lifts his head to give me a smile.
Gavin: But they definitely won’t stump you.
After packing my things, I grab a random jacket and prepare to leave.
The classes take place in the suburbs, and it takes an hour to get there. Despite waking up early, I’d be late if I don’t hurry up.
But Gavin is clearly not too worried about this matter. He holds a slice of bread in his mouth while looking at his phone.
Gavin: Since I’m sending you there, you won’t be late. Before your first official lesson, I’ll give you a flight class.
I walk over to him, pulling up the zipper of his uniform, and also picking up the motorcycle helmet from the table.
MC: To prevent this from being a mere flash in the pan, I want to leave the joy of flight to the end of the course. But if going by land would make me late...
Gavin rolls the bread into his mouth, taking the helmet from my hand.
Gavin: No matter the route, you won’t be late. Oh yes, what class are you taking today?
-
[ Part Two, Option 1: Principles of Meteorology ]
Instructor: I’ll ask some small questions to test your foundation and see if you take note of knowledge in this area.
He opens the PowerPoint presentation, then uses a laser pointer to point at the image on the first page - it's a cumulus cloud with a flat bottom layer and a high, upward curve at the top.
Instructor: Does anyone know what this cloud is called?
MC: Cumulus congestus cloud.
Instructor: Correct. The next question - when the International Civil Aviation Organisation observes cloud volume, how many segments do they divide the sky into?
MC: It should be eight segments.
I recall that Gavin brought this up before.
Instructor: Not bad, miss. You did preparatory work beforehand, didn’t you?
MC: No no, I have a friend who has a better understanding in this area, so I was just influenced.
After saying this, chuckles drift from the surroundings. The instructor nods in understanding.
Instructor: In that case, you won’t have a problem during the exams.
MC: ...I’ll do my best.
After all, my confidence is limited when it comes to exams.
Just as I’m thinking about this, I receive a notification on my phone. Gavin has sent me an incredibly large document file.
Gavin: I don’t know how to teach, so I compiled some materials you might need for the exam.
I grip my phone, suddenly feeling like the weather is so good that it makes one carefree and relaxed.
It’s just an exam. I’ll definitely be fine.
-
[ Part Two, Option 2: Aviation Regulations Class ]
At 2pm in the afternoon, the sun shines from above. I had a full meal, so fighting against the sleeping bug is a difficult challenge.
Instructor: Before the flight, the captain has to carry out the necessary inspections of the aircraft. Until the inspections are complete, you can’t take off. This regulation is easy to understand. In fact...
When the dullness of the course matches how fine the weather is, the entire classroom gets immersed in a drowsy atmosphere.
I take a few deep breaths and pat my face... but I still feel like sleeping.
Instructor: Okay, we’ll take a 10 minute break. You students look sleepy, so go wash your faces to freshen up.
The moment he finishes speaking, the sound of heads plopping down on the tables can be heard all around.
Just as I prepare to stand up and stretch, my phone suddenly vibrates.
Delivery boy: Hello, I’ve placed your take-out at the main counter.
MC: Take-out?
But I didn’t order take-out...
While I’m puzzled, the young lady from the main counter very politely brings the item to the classroom - it’s a cup of coffee.
There’s only one simple line on the note of the take-out: Persevere for a little longer. Gavin.
I retrieve the coffee from the bag, taking a tiny slip. The instructor walks past, giving me a glance from the side.
Instructor: Are you drinking coffee or milk tea? You’re smiling so happily.
MC: Being able to swim in the ocean of knowledge is always meant to be a happy thing.
The instructor gives me an expression which says, “like I’d actually believe you”.
MC: Instructor, let’s continue with the lesson. I’m not drowsy anymore. Learning for another four hours is no problem at all!
-
[ Part Three: Being Your Co-pilot ]
Gavin: Do you want to head out for a stroll after dinner? It seems to be really cooling outside.
I’m currently taking out plates from the kitchen drawer, subconsciously craning my head to glance outside.
MC: It’s going to rain, isn’t it...
Gavin: Really? I’ll check the weather forecast. Earlier in the afternoon, Eli mentioned taking out some time to wash his car at night. I even thought today would be a good day.
I step into the living room, setting down plates on the dining table.
MC: There are just some cumulonimbus clouds in the sky. It might not really rain.
Gavin scrolls through the real-time weather, then gives me a smile.
Gavin: It’s really going to rain.
He gets up, opening the rice cooker and scooping a full bowl of rice for me.
Gavin: At first, I even thought you’d find such theoretical knowledge boring. I didn’t think you’d learn them so earnestly. Looks like you really want to get the license.
MC: Of course. I want to be your co-pilot.
Although Gavin hasn’t even scooped rice for himself, he’s already served me a huge pile of vegetables.
Gavin: Sure. I’ll wait for the day you get your license.
Just as I’m about to talk about how assured I am about getting the license, I realise that the plate on my hand is becoming fuller and fuller.
Before I can even voice my question, Gavin responds.
Gavin: Learning is tough. You need to eat a little more. I also bought you ice-cream. It’s in the second compartment of the freezer. I remember you mentioning that as long as you eat something delicious during difficult times, you can press on easily.
MC: ...hahaha! Mm! After having this meal, I’ll complete all my post-class homework!
-
[ Aviation Terminology Class ]
MC: Calling for the control tower. Number N8596 has arrived, and is requesting for a landing gate.
Gavin (through the phone): Number N8596, you may use aircraft Gate Number One.
Gavin’s light-hearted laughter drifts from the phone.
Gavin: Shouldn’t your class end at 7pm? It’s only 6pm.
MC: The plan was to be dismissed at 7pm, but... for some reason, those in my class were really interested in the Aviation Terminology class, so they did their preparatory work in advance. The three hour class was over in one and a half hours. The instructor said that we already grasped all the key points, so we were dismissed early. What about you? How much longer till you’re off work?
Gavin: For me... less than half an hour. You could think about what to do with this unexpectedly free hour. I remember that there’s a new dessert shop opposite the cinema.
MC: You remembered? I never even told you about it. How could you remember? Officer Gavin, you better tell me the truth. You didn’t remember it - you specially searched it up.
Gavin: Mm, I specially searched it up. I even found that there are claw machines along the shopping street on the ground level of the cinema.
MC: Looks like what I’m going to do in the next hour has already been scheduled.
Gavin: Wait for me at the office first. I’ll look for you once I’m done with the work on hand.
-
[ Part Four: Flight Practice ]
Today’s the first flight practice class. The instructor is sitting in the co-pilot seat, watching my every move throughout the entire journey.
I wasn't nervous at first, but each time he glances at me, I involuntary wonder if I’ve done something wrong.
In an instant, I recall the fear of taking the aviation exam...
Until the plane successfully takes flight, I keep feeling as though the thing suspending in the air isn’t the plane, but my heart.
Instructor: It’s rare for you to make a trip up here. What’s there to be nervous about? Come, lift your head and look at the sky.
At this moment, countless gripes flash across my mind: What’s so nice about the sky? I’ve seen all kinds of skies. Right now, all I want is to fly the plane...
But the moment I lift my head, I’m rendered speechless.
Instructor: How is it? The first time I saw it, I was so stunned that I couldn't speak either.
MC: It’s really beautiful.
Sunlight casts a layer of golden hue on the soft and white clouds, blending the colours of gold and crimson.
I’m unable to describe how the scenery before me makes me feel.
It’s a feeling which... makes one feel that life has meaning.
All of a sudden, another thought surfaces in my mind: I wonder what went through Gavin’s mind when he saw such a sight for the first time.
The instructor sitting next to me glances at me from the side.
Instructor: Thinking about your boyfriend again?
MC: [blushing] ...no!
Instructor: It’s normal. Each time I’m flying, I can’t help but think of my wife. There isn’t a reason to it. It’s just a sudden thought, an involuntary reaction.
The instructor laughs as he gives me advice with a contagious smile.
Instructor: If you’re thinking about him, just do it. It’s fine. It’s a normal thing. When you see certain things, your natural reaction is to think of someone.
MC: ...Instructor, I usually can’t tell, but you’re actually quite philosophical.
I grab the joystick of the plane, watching as countless clouds drift past leisurely.
All I want to do is take a photograph of this moment for Gavin.
Date: here
-
Gavin watching as I drool over the thought of Eli scrubbing his car in the rain while wearing a singlet:
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18. Skeleton
Buddy and Sammy find the “goldfish room” as the latter calls it, AKA the closet where Joey keeps his skeletons, literally. And in the process, Buddy learns about a few of the skeletons in Sammy’s metaphorical closet. (Set during ink hell, pre loop, post Buddy befriending the lost ones/searchers.)
The Prophet was a strange ally.
It was weird to work alongside someone who worships the guy who tore you in half and is the biggest reason why you’re stuck in a nightmarish, inescapable studio, especially when it wasn’t the nicest or friendliest person before getting claimed by the ink. (Although, as he thought back on it, had he ever met Sammy before it was claimed by the Ink?)
But ANY ally was better than an enemy, especially when that ally knows the studio better than anyone else down here. Besides, it seemed like the Ink man was either unaware of their past or didn’t even know who they used to be, and even if it did, it wasn’t angry about their past issues.
At the same time, working on scavenging trips with the former musician was a nightmare; it was way too tranquil about the situation, and there were too many weird murderous monsters that the wolf and gofer were aware of.
“I do not need to run, little wolf. I can evade these creatures without issue through my Lord’s gift.” The Prophet calmly stated as Buddy gestured confusion about why it didn’t run when the pair heard something that sounded suspiciously like the projectionist’s screams. “Besides, running through these halls is risky, I would be heard by those… more unsavory denizens of this studio and get ambushed by them.”
He wished his typewriter was quieter in instances like this, being able to type out ‘But what if you get caught by your lord?’ and other messages to hand to him without risking alerting the Ink Demon would be great. Or just having his voice back in general.
“If my Lord decides to send me back to the puddles, then it is his right to do so to prove I have changed.” He answered the unspoken question. “But it does mean that I have to work harder to get him to notice how much I have improved, get him to notice me…”
‘Please don’t read my mind unless I give you the “go for it” gesture. It’s creepy otherwise.’
“My apologies, little wolf, while your thoughts come in quieter than everybody else’s… they’re still noticeable, especially when it’s just the two of us.”
Buddy hesitantly nodded and just tried to lead the Prophet out of the ransacked room to look for more stray supplies.
A few more hours of searching lead the pair to a locked room, something that experience told him meant that either it was another dead end or a hidden treasure trove of supplies, and not wanting to go back to the safe house empty handed, he was ready to roll those dice.
Buddy gestured for the Prophet to stand guard as he picked the door’s lock, and as the door slowly creaked open, he was thankful that he couldn’t speak because the scream that came out from his mouth would’ve been loud enough to alert every monster in the studio.
The former gofer felt sick to his stomach when he saw them. Piles upon piles of rotting, mangled, corpses. Human Corpses, not toony corpses like the other Borises or the butchered up members of the Butcher gang. Most of them were unrecognizable, partly because he had never seen most of these people in his life, and partly because they had decayed so much that what remained was hard to figure out who was who and what. The oldest corpses were nothing but skeletons and clothes, and the freshest one looked like…
...Like his own body.
“The goldfish room...” The prophet muttered loud enough for Buddy to hear, startling the poor pup out of his skin as he didn’t hear him enter behind him.
The wolf shuddered and continued to scour the room for anything worth the hassle of all of this. Boris wanted to take a few of the bones, which Buddy unenthusiastically obliged.
“Don’t eat those!” The Prophet interjected so loudly and harshly that it startled both the former gofer and the wolf toon. The ink creature’s anger was so much scarier with how rare it was to see now. “Especially not him! He’s my-” The Prophet stopped itself by covering its ‘mouth’ with its hands as if it was about to reveal a big secret and just took the skeletal arm out of Buddy’s hands and put it back where he found it. Its voice went back to it’s normal calm tone that reminded him of someone who was on the verge of falling asleep, but Buddy heard somberness in the musician’s pitch. “...they’re unclean...”
‘Prophet?’ Buddy gave him the “go ahead, read my mind” gesture. ‘Prophet, what is this place? Who are these people?’
“...You’ve seen your own corpse among them, correct?”
Buddy nodded.
“I know you’ve met Joey, but tell me; ...Has he ever called you ‘Henry’ before?”
‘Yes he has, but what does that have to do with…’ he gestured at the bodies on the floor ‘this?!’
“Henry’s been gone for a long time now.” The prophet stated, but there was a hint of recollection in his tone that weakened the calmness, and the more he talked, the more broken (for lack of a better term) his voice became. “Do you think that you were Joey’s first replacement goldfish? That after Henry left the studio, you were Joey’s only other other Henry?”
Buddy’s ears began ringing and he heard music; it was loud, distorted, fast-paced, and all over the place, the type of music that makes your heart pound out of your chest and makes your hackles stand up, the type of music that tells you to run, but doesn’t clue you in to where or why. The prophet’s body started to shake and tremble.
“The first Other-Henry was actually named Henry as well. And like his predecessor, was an excellent artist who really connected with the characters...”
‘Sammy? What’s going on? do you hear this too?!’
“But unlike Stein, Ross was a very stubborn person who refused to let anyone push him around, especially by either Joey or myself. Surprisingly, I liked that man, but he didn’t last long...”
Fear kept Buddy’s legs frozen to the ground as he covered his ears in a fruitless attempt to muffle the music, it felt like it was being played directly in his head, and then it clicked when the whispers started up, whispers in their tone, but not in volume, they were loud enough to drown out parts of what the Prophet was saying;
‘Sammy help us!’
“The next one was more like you, a younger, less experienced and more skittish person, his first name was ‘Lawrence’ so everyone called him ‘Larry’ to avoid confusion...”
‘Sammy, where are you?’
“...But he was also too nosy for that poor boy’s own good.”
‘you’re too weak!’
“The one after that was a scatterbrained fellow, very passionate about his work but didn’t focus very much on one topic or another...”
The Prophet’s monologue was completely drowned out by the music and chorus of desperate and angry “Other Henries” at this point. Buddy knew he was still talking because of the musician’s gestures, but didn’t hear a single word out of him.
‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’ ‘You’re such a spineless coward...’ ‘Sammy please save us..!’ ‘Why did you let Joey kill us?’ ‘The ink... it’s so cold...’ ‘No wonder Susie hates you so much...’ ‘Sammy, please! It hurts!’ ‘Why did you let us die?’ ‘Why won’t you help us?’ ‘You’re no better than Joey.’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘I thought you loved me...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘You promised me that you’d always be there!’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘They were right about you...’ ‘Sammy, help us!’ ‘Saaaaaammyyyyyyy....’
He knew that the lost ones, searchers and Prophet could hear each others’ thoughts, but didn’t understand what that was like until now that he was hearing Sammy’s thoughts. No wonder most of them were always so depressed and on edge...
‘Sammy?’ the gofer shook Sammy gently, only to hear his own voice join the chorus of other Henries as one of the ones who sounded like he was mad at him. ‘Sammy, snap out of it!’ he shook the Prophet harder, still not waking the Ink creature out of its trance. ‘SAMMY!’ Doing the first thing that came to mind out of desperation, Buddy slapped the mask clean off of it.
The music and voices died as if they were a candle light snuffed out by the wind.
For a few seconds that felt more like hours, Buddy and Sammy stared at each other in silence before Sammy put its mask back on as if nothing happened and led the toon wolf out of the goldfish room, took a key out of its pocket and locked it behind them.
-----
Back in the safe house, Buddy started up a pot of bacon soup, the stuff tasted a little bit better when it was hot while Sammy tuned the banjo in the dining area and Dot tried to stir up conversation.
“So... how did the supply run go?”
“Fine.”
Buddy involuntarily let out a snort as he took the soup off the stove and took out his typewriter.
[It was the scariest one we’ve ever done so far.
While looking around for stuff, we ended up in this place S The Prophet called ‘the Goldfish room’ and it was filled with dead bodies. HUMAN dead bodies. And mine was in the pile! I couldn’t tell if it was haunted or if it was just the prophet’s thoughts going]
“Little wolf, I do not wish to think about that room again...”
[Sorry.]
The wolf sheepishly put the typewriter to the side and poured the soup into bowls. As the toon and lost one ate, the prophet mostly just stared into his bowl as if he was watching something in it.
“...Before my enlightenment, I was not a good person.” The masked musician stated unprompted.
“Huh?”
“I wasn’t an evil person per say, and I wouldn’t go as far as to call the man I used to be a monster.” He sighed and adjusted his mask. “But I was certainly a bad person, an asshole, a coward who hid behind physical strength, and I had more vices than virtues.”
[Prophet, what are you talking about?]
“I’m trying to answer the questions I know you have before either of you two pester them out of me. Maybe when you’re sated my Lord will allow me to forget again.”
[Are you sure? you seemed really upset back ...there.]
“Well look at it this way, maybe getting it off your chest will help you feel better about it?”
“I suppose...” The prophet sighed again.
“So what does you being a crackhead before finding the Ink Demon Religion have to do with a room full of dead bodies?”
“Dorthy!”
“...I’ll just listen before asking anything else.”
“Thank you.” It readjusted its mask. “Now where was I...” it hummed to itself for a bit before speaking again, with venom slowly but surly pooling into its words. “I had more vices than virtues, and Joey could see all of both, using my virtues to his advantage, and using my vices against myself, he did everything he could to keep me from leaving him too, and it worked.”
The prophet took in a deep breath to stabilize itself.
“Every time I tried to leave, he did something else to make me stay; ‘I love you’s turned to gifts, gifts to false promises, false promises to threats, threats to blackmail, blackmail to going through with it, and when he felt me slipping through his fingers he turned to taking advantage of my addictions... That... monster was a parasite in all aspects except physically... And I didn’t even notice until I might as well have been a walking corpse as I was seeing others march to my fate, but I couldn’t even so much as squeak out a warning without Joey swooping in on his behalf. Some Henries, heads of the art department, didn’t need to be warned by me as they found out what would await them and fled. But Joey didn’t like that... When I tried to warn the ones who needed to be warned, it was easy for him to dismiss me as a loon, a drunk, and an addict, until eventually I just gave up. I couldn’t even save myself, let alone anyone else... let alone the other art departments...”
“...I just stopped trying to keep Joey from leading the sheep to the slaughter, maybe they’re right to be angry at me for being such a coward...”
It then turned to face the wolf and put its hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve asked yourself if you’ve ever met me before the Ink had claimed me, as for that, I don’t know, nor do I think it matters, Buddy. I was nothing but a shallow and beaten husk of myself long before I even had tasted the ink. Even if you met me before then, you only met a ghost, not a person.”
The three then stayed in silence for a while before the clicks of Buddy’s typewriter caught the other two’s attention.
[Well, if it helps you any I think you’re not as bad of a person as you tell yourself you used to be.]
“And I don’t need to hear everyone’s thoughts to know that you’ve really stepped up to the plate when it counted. I don’t think a coward would try to do have the stuff you’re doing now.”
“Thanks you two” The Prophet’s voice cracked with emotion. “That... that really means a lot to me.”
#Bendy and the Ink Machine#buddy boris#buddy lewek#sammy lawrence#dot batim#fanfic#drug abuse tw#abuse tw#dead bodies#psychological trauma#ink demonth
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Treasure
Summary: After a lengthy chase, Park Seonghwa finds himself face to face with the dread pirate Hongjoong. Will he find a blood thirsty pirate or dashing rogue? Will he lose the one thing that he holds most dear, his heart?
Word Count: 11.2k
Content Warning: Top Park Seonghwa, Bottom Kim Hongjoong, Pirate-teez, Boys Kissing, Oral Sex, Two Sex
The flag whipped violently with the gale winds and blistering rain. “Captain, if we keep going like we are, we’re going to break apart.”
“I know but unless you’re looking for a long drop and a short stop, we have to keep going.” He peered through his cabin window and into the storm, trying to make out the shape of their pursuers. The fact that he couldn’t see them gave him hope.
At first they had kept their distance, following just far enough away to make him think perhaps he was mistaken. But they had followed for two days, getting closer the closer they got to the islands. He knew what that meant, they were being hunted.
Not that he wasn’t sure that someone thought he deserved it. He had done more than enough to put himself a few people’s sights.
“They can’t possibly see us if we can’t see them.” Hongjoong mused.
“Let’s head for the leeward side of this island.” He pointed to the map. “There’s a cove there we can shelter in. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they already took refuge from the storm, or better yet, maybe they sank.”
His first mate, Yunho smirked and nodded.
A short while later, they were pulling into a sheltered cove. It was a risk, if their pursuers were still chasing them, then they were stuck with nowhere and no way to run. However, it was sheltered enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you could sail right by and never see a ship. The island wasn’t populated by more than flora and fauna but it would do to sit out the storm.
Normally, it would have been a good time to pull out the casks and enjoy some downtime but he didn’t dare when they didn’t know who was on their tails. It seemed unlikely that whoever it was was hunting him to give him birthday wishes. He couldn’t count out revenge or the authorities.
***
“We’ve lost them sir.” Seonghwa informed the captain.
“It’s this blasted storm, keep looking. I’m not letting that son of a bitch slip away again.”
“Again sir?”
“I’ve been looking for him for nearly three years since he took my last ship. Brazen, cocky, and slippery as an eel. I’ve been so careful… I’ll have the reward and see him dance on the end of a rope yet.”
Seonghwa wasn’t entirely sure he liked the malicious light that lit up his captain’s eyes as he talked about seeing the pirate they were chasing hang. It wasn’t that he was ignorant of crime and punishment, he just preferred not to watch it and he took no joy in death. The captain was no longer a young man and he was determined to have the pirate Hongjoong in his grasp before he died.
“Since we’ve lost him, I suggest we shelter from the storm at one of the nearby islands, sir.”
For a long moment, the captain was quiet before heaving a weary sigh and nodding, “Alright, take us in. We’ll pick up the search after the storm dies down.”
“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa went out on deck and informed the helmsman of the captain’s decision and they fought their way into the bay of a nearby island. It was just in time as well as the storm was only getting worse. It was just a little spit of land, mountainous and good for nothing unless you liked coconuts and sea birds.
***
“Captain!” Yunho tore into the room.
Hongjoong had been nursing a headache but he bolted upright from his bed, “What is it.”
“A ship pulled into the bay sir. They’re making no moves toward us but if they get any closer, they’ll surely spot us. What do you want to do?”
Hongjoong headed up on deck and looked through his telescope at the ship’s colors. Shit. He knew exactly who that was, he had been chasing him for nigh on three years now, ever since he took his ship. In fact, it was his ship that he was using now. He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the railing. He could send the men with the cargo inland but there were no promises they wouldn’t go looking for them and they would be vastly outnumbered… “I have an idea.”
Yunho turned slowly, Hongjoong was grinning broadly at him. “I don’t like that smile.”
“It’s a really stupid idea that just might get me killed but will ensure everyone else’s safety.”
“I really don’t like this idea.” Yunho crossed his arms and glared at his captain sternly.
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
“I’ve heard enough to know I don’t like it, not if it might get you killed. The last time we went with a plan that might get you killed, I ended up running naked through town.”
“You won’t end up naked this time. I promise.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“No, you won’t like it.” Yunho tended to think of himself as Hongjoong’s keeper, he chased after him when he needed to be chased. He protected him from his own most dire instincts. He was the best first mate and friend Hongjoong could ask for. This time he wasn’t joking, it really might get him killed. It was a roll of the dice, then again, life was a roll of the dice.
Yunho groaned, “Alright tell me.”
Yunho listened to Hongjoong’s plan and it was absolutely the daftest thing he had ever heard in all of his life but if he could pull it off, it would save the lives of everyone on board but it still would leave his own life in a precarious place. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better plan. They were a small ship and they had two guns out of commission. He also knew that Hongjoong put the lives of his crew above his own, it was part of why he was so well loved. He was a great captain… and friend. “Why do I get the feeling if I say no, you’ll do it anyway.”
“Because I will.”
“Shit.” Yunho ran his hands through his hair and braced his hands against his hips. “Fine, I can’t stop you.”
They set to work, loading one of the dinghy’s with provisions and a small amount of the treasure they had accumulated. It took a little cajoling but he had Yunho punch him a few times.
Hongjoong then cut his head with his trusty knife and let the blood run down over the side of his face and ear. “How do I look?”
“Like a man who has had a rough time.”
“That’s how I want to look. Let’s go.”
“Be careful.” Yunho grabbed Hongjoong in a tight hug. “If you get yourself killed I’ll never forgive you.”
“How do you think I’d feel about it? I’m not ready to die yet.” Hongjoong grinned brightly and stepped into the dinghy. He waved as it hit the water. Happily, the wind was on his side, he sailed out to where he should be able to be seen by the larger ship and lowered his sail. He then lay down in the boat and waited. It didn’t take long before he saw two boats break away from the larger boat and come his way. “Ahoy!”
Hongjoong put on a show of struggling to lift his head before raising a hand, “Ahoy!”
They towed him back toward the bigger ship, when he was brought on board, he spun a tale of intrigue. There had been a mutiny on his ship and he had just barely managed to escape. The men who had picked him up were enraptured by the tale he told. Seonghwa stood by and listened, he certainly looked the part. He had seen better days. There was something about his story that niggled at the back of his head but their guest was still a man alone with few provisions and just looking for a lift to the closest populated island.
They were a full crew of able bodied men with arms. Seonghwa was just about to show him to a cabin when the captain came out. Immediately he began pointing and sputtering. Hongjoong paled when he saw the captain. The old man immediately lunged at Hongjoong and caught him right on the chin with a forceful left that knocked him to his knees. In all truth, it had taken Hongjoong by surprise. He wouldn’t have thought that someone of his age could have come up with such speed.
“What’s he doing here?” The captain said as he stepped back nursing his sore knuckles.
Seonghwa told him the story that had been relayed to them. The captain’s expression slowly shifted from incredulous to gleeful. “All of these years and I’ve finally got you where I want you. Toss him in the brig.”
“Yes, sir.” Seonghwa grabbed one of Hongjoong’s arms and another sailor grabbed the other.
Hongjoong shot a look of pure venom at the captain.
“What are you going to do? Swim? We’ve got your boat and this island is uninhabited. Maybe the magistrate will be lenient on you but considering you're a wanted man, I doubt it. Oh and one more thing…” The captain hauled off and punched him again and again. “That’s for my ship.”
By the time he was thrown into the brig, his head was swimming and his ears were ringing. Yunho hadn’t pulled his punches, nor had the captain. He was alive… for now. Considering that they didn’t go into battle, nor were the rest of his crew joining him, his ruse had worked. He breathed a sigh of relief and waited.
Eventually, the storm passed. He could hear sounds overhead of the crew making ready to get underway. It was another hour that he strained his ears for every little sound before deciding that they really were underway and heading back out to sea. Only then did he risk laying down and closing his eyes.
Seonghwa lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling. It seemed almost miraculous that the very man they were looking for just happened to have a mutiny and just happened to end up in their hands. He couldn’t think of a reason why he would just hand himself over to someone who wanted him dead. Surely stranger things had happened in the history of the world. Still, he couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for him, pirate or no. He had had a string of really rotten luck.
Since the captain hadn’t given him any orders to not feed the prisoner, he took it upon himself to bring him down some food. The fact that the captain just so happened to be busy when he did was purely coincidental… mostly.
The prisoner looked a good deal worse for wear, bruises had formed on his cheek, jaw, and left eye into his hairline. The swelling had gone down though. “I brought you some breakfast.”
Hongjoong lifted his head and offered a half smile as their eyes met.
Seonghwa’s heart skipped a beat. He immediately looked away, unable to account for the strange feeling.
“I’m going to guess this wasn’t the captain’s order?” He said as he reached out to take the bowl of porridge. There were bits of some sort of meat in it, salted fish if he were to take a guess.
“How did you know?” Seonghwa looked back surprised.
“Someone who has been chasing me as long as he’s been chasing me, is not likely to be the forgiving sort. I doubt he would be worried at all about my comfort and would probably like to see me suffer as much as possible.” He took a bite, their ship’s cook wasn’t as good as Wooyoung was but it was passable. He was lucky he was getting anything at all.
“I guess you weren’t expecting to end up here.” Seonghwa watched Hongjoong take another bite.
“No, I have to admit, it was a big surprise to me. I’m not sure what I thought would happen when I left my ship.”
Hongjoong paused for a moment before asking, “Are you supposed to be talking to the prisoner?” Despite what might be a harsh question, there was an almost mischievous light in his dark eyes.
“No, probably not.”
“A man who likes to break the rules, I like men like that.”
“Are you trying to charm me?” Seonghwa asked. It was unusual to find someone as charming as he found their prisoner. He found himself wanting to get to know him. His smile was a physical weapon he could wield as surely as a sword or a pistol.
“Only if it’s working. If not, then of course not.” Hongjoong flashed an easy smile.
That forced a surprised laugh from Seonghwa. There was that smile again, the weight of it hit him and he found himself gazing at Hongjoong’s lips. For some reason Seonghwa was suddenly wondering about the details of his mutiny. He seemed like an easy man to like, which meant that wasn’t why his crew had mutinied. Still, he was going to have to face the fact that they were probably taking him to his death. Then again, maybe he was entirely different here than he was with his men, perhaps he was a tyrant but something whispered to him, told him that wasn’t the case.
He didn’t like it.
If the prisoner was a pirate, then he had killed dozens of people. He found himself asking, “How many men have you killed?”
Hongjoong looked surprised at the sudden question, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you?”
“That means it’s either very high or very low.”
“Very low.” There was no hint of teasing when he said it. There were times when killing someone was unavoidable but every single death had repercussions, if not for himself then for someone, somewhere and he took each death as something that should be respected and honored, no matter who his foe was.
“Really?” Seonghwa asked, genuinely curious.
“There are usually many, many ways to get what you want without resorting to murder.”
“Then why are you wanted?”
“Ah, now just because I’m not a wanton murderer doesn’t mean that I haven’t broken any laws. I have broken more than a few laws and I don’t feel bad about that in the least.” The smile was back and this time he turned its full power on Seonghwa who felt more than a little shaken by it. Bruises and all, the pirate Hongjoong was a beautiful man and a fascinating one. He opened his mouth to ask another question when someone bellowed his name from above.
“I’m sorry, I have to go. I’ll bring you something later.” He turned and started to walk away.
“How far are we from shore?”
“We’re about three days out from the nearest port that I know you are wanted at.” He might be a pirate but he wasn’t a big enough name to be wanted everywhere. However, one group of people that wanted to hang you was more than enough.
“Three days… I didn’t catch your name.” Hongjoong said.
“Park Seonghwa, you?”
“Kim Hongjoong. For what it’s worth, I appreciate the food, even if it is going to waste in a dead man’s belly.”
“If it gives you comfort, then there’s no waste.” Seonghwa walked away then, heading up to find out who was calling him.
Hongjoong played with his food while he thought about his guest. He wondered if he might be inclined to help him escape. He drummed his fingers against his knee as he contemplated it. Yet his thoughts kept drifting back to the man himself, he was almost heartstopping in his physical beauty. There was a gentle aura around him that made him seem like someone he would want to protect. He sighed and pushed the thought of his sparkling eyes and sweet smile out of his head.
Despite what he said, he had no intention of dying. There were a thousand ways to get what you wanted, he had managed to save his crew now hopefully, he could find a way to save himself.
Over the next few days, Seonghwa continued to bring Hongjoong his meals and they spoke at length. Seonghwa told him all about his home, his family. His father used to have his own ship but he had decided that with the pirates, it was safer on shore so he had retired from the sea to run his own shop, which proved to be an excellent move on his part. Their family business did far better than expected and he had managed to secure an excellent retirement for himself and his family.
Hongjoong had planned on playing it close to the vest but he found himself opening up to Seonghwa, he told him of his ill-spent youth, why he had turned to piracy. He told him a good deal more about himself than he ever intended, he found himself waiting anxiously for just a glimpse of Seonghwa’s face through his day. It wasn’t just because he was bored either, it was because he genuinely enjoyed his company. He loved listening to his deep smooth voice, he loved listening to his stories. He was going to be sorry to lose him when there was still so much he didn’t know about him. Unless he could swing it so that he didn’t have to.
There was a buzz in the air on the fourth day since Hongjoong had been captured. He wasn’t sure what time it was when two burly men came down to his cell to let him out. When he was brought up on deck, the captain was standing there looking like the cat who caught the canary. Seonghwa was standing nearby but the expression on his face was conflicted. There were three men waiting, they looked like town guards and perhaps a magistrate. They handed the captain a small purse, presumably the reward for catching the dread pirate, before they clapped Hongjoong in irons and began to drag him away.
��Bye bye, I’ll see you at your hanging.” The captain called after Hongjoong.
Now that Hongjoong was taken care of, the captain turned a brilliant smile on Seonghwa, who couldn’t help feeling a little sick. “Now that I’ve seen to it that that miscreant will hang, what say you we have a talk eh?”
Seonghwa took a last look at Hongjoong’s back, he wanted to run after them but he managed to suppress the impulse before following after the captain who headed into his cabin. “You’ve proven to be an excellent first mate, have you ever thought about captaining your own ship?”
“Sir?” Seonghwa looked puzzled at the question.
“Well now that I’ve done what I wanted to do, I’d like to retire, head back home to my wife and family. That means this ship will need a captain, I’d like to hand her over to you. You keep running it in my name and we split the profits, what do you think?”
It sounded like a dream come true, “Are you sure, sir?”
“I think it sounds like a fine plan. Your first task as captain is to let the men have shore leave for the next week.”
“Yes sir!” Seonghwa did as he was bid to the delights of all of the crew
Seonghwa himself headed into town and found an inn. He was looking forward to sleeping in a bed that didn’t sway and a fresh meal. As he sat down to his lunch he couldn’t help but imagine Hongjoong in jail. In the days they had spent together, they had grown to know each other quite well and he just couldn’t stand the idea of him locked up without a friend nearby to hear his woes or maybe help to make him a little more comfortable. If he were completely honest, the man he had gotten to know didn’t deserve the hangman’s noose. He deserved his freedom. He kept telling himself that he wasn’t going to interfere but still he found himself asking the locals as to the location of the local jail.
It was in a small wooden building, the front was where the guards sat and the back was the jail. It was a small town and it didn’t look like their city guard was the largest employer in town. It was a small and run down building. He couldn’t imagine it would be particularly warm or well insulated.
“What am I doing?” Seonghwa paced back and forth. He wanted to go see him, make sure he was alright. But he already didn’t like the idea that he was going to die. He didn’t like the idea of him being hurt or suffering at all. Maybe he was too soft hearted. By the time he finally made up his mind to go, it was getting dark. He marched up to the guardhouse. There was an exceptionally tall man talking to one of the guards animatedly.
He approached the other guard who was sitting behind a desk smoking a pipe and looking bored. “Excuse me, I was wondering if I could see a prisoner.”
“Sure, I’d ask who but there’s only the one?” The man drawled as he pulled his feet from the desk and sat up.
“Kim Hongjoong.” Seonghwa said anyway.
The man who was talking to the other guard looked momentarily surprised and stopped talking but seemed to shrug it off and returned to his conversation. He couldn’t tell since it was at his back but the man was now watching him.
The guard took him back into the back of the jail, there were only two cells and only one of them was occupied. Hongjoong was stretched out on the floor staring blankly up at the ceiling, when he heard the footsteps stop in front of his cell, he said without looking over, “I was wondering if you were going to come see me.”
“I almost didn’t.” Seonghwa said as he grabbed a chair from the corner and dragged it over to sit by the cell.
“What made you change your mind?” Hongjoong sat up and turned to face his visitor.
“I had a question for you.”
“Oh?” Hongjoong perked up and gave a curious tilt of the head.
“Is it true?” Seonghwa leaned forward, lowering his tone and resting his elbows on his knees.
“Is what true?”
“How you came to be on our ship?” It was the one question that he hadn’t asked that he had wanted to.
Hongjoong was quiet for a moment as he contemplated Seonghwa, “Let me ask you a question, how close are you to the captain?”
“He’s my employer. He took me on after my father retired. It’s purely business and if I’m completely honest…” He looked around and added, “I don’t really care for him much.”
Hongjoong pursed his lips thoughtfully, “Hm… Then in that case, I don’t feel bad letting you know the truth. It was a plot.”
“A plot?”
“A plan, a ruse, a machination, you see… my ship was harbored in the bay that your ship sailed into. If I didn’t do something, then we would have been stuck with no way to run. Your ship is a good deal larger than mine, we were outgunned, outmanned and trapped. My crew means everything to me and if I could save them by sacrificing myself then I would… and I did. I was kind of hoping for an opportunity to escape but one never came.” Hongjoong sniffed and brushed the back of his finger against the tip of his nose.
“Is that why you were so friendly with me?” Seonghwa asked.
“Yes and no.” He answered honestly. “If you would have given me the chance, I would have taken it but you didn’t. I don’t hold it against you and I don’t regret having spent time with you. I-”
Hongjoong looked thoughtful, carefully thinking about what he wanted to say. He finally gave up with a sigh and shrugged, “I like you. I like talking to you, spending time with you. Even if we had met under different circumstances, I would have still liked you.”
Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth a couple of times and dropped his head thoughtfully. Conflicted emotions reflected in Seonghwa’s face, “I almost wish I had, you sacrificed yourself for your men. That’s not an act that should be punished but celebrated. I think, believe it or not, you might actually be a good man.”
Hongjoong smiled brightly, “That’s a hell of a thing to say to a man sitting in a cell waiting for escape or the hangman’s noose.”
“I believe it.”
“Then,” Hongjoong scooted closer to the bars, “if I asked, would you help me?”
“Help you how?” Seonghwa was completely cognizant of the fact that he might be being played but he didn’t think that Hongjoong was playing him.
At the skeptical expression on Seonghwa’s face, Hongjoong waved his hands. “No, it’s nothing like that. Could you take a message to one of my crew, I know they are here. There’s no way they would let me swing without trying… something.”
“Only a message?”
“Only a message.”
“What’s the message and who am I taking it to?”
“There’s an inn on the far side of town, away from the harbor, near the blacksmith. There’s a man named Choi Jongho, he’ll be staying there.” He proceeded to describe him down to the fact that he dressed far more nicely than you would expect of a pirate, a bit of a dandy and his jewelry.
“Would you tell him that if the weather’s fair then open the sails and if the skies are threatening, to fold up the sails and ride out the weather.”
Seonghwa frowned at the message, it sounded plain and harmless enough but he wasn’t a total fool. He knew there was meaning to what he was being asked to say. “Alright, I’ll deliver it.”
He took a deep breath and looked at Hongjoong squarely, “If you get the chance…”
Hongjoong turned a brilliant smile on him, “Absolutely. I’m a man who takes every opportunity he gets.”
“After I deliver your message, I’ve got some business to attend to but I’ll come back to see you again.”
“You know,” he paused and then nodded, “I think I’d like that very much. I’ll look forward to it.”
Seonghwa bid Hongjoong farewell feeling both better and worse than he had when he had arrived. He now knew the truth of how he had come to be on the ship but now that he knew the truth, he couldn’t just let him sit in a cell until they hung him.
He followed the directions he had been given to the inn near the blacksmith. When he asked for Choi Jongho the man eyed him coolly until he said he had a message from his captain. He repeated it back to him word for word. “He would say that. Idiot.”
He looked Seonghwa up and down, “Why did he send you with it?”
“I told him I wanted to help him if I could. I don’t think he deserves to be executed, maybe some prison time but not executed.”
Choi Jongho laughed outright, “Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Thank you for the message.”
If the captain trusted him, he felt like he ought to extend him the same but the captain tended to fly by the seat of his pants sometimes and he was more cautious than that. He bid Seonghwa farewell and called together the other members of the crew to tell them about the captain’s message and then they all waited for Yunho and San to return to find out whether or not the guards were bribeable.
It was quite late when Seonghwa got time to go back to the jail. He should probably just wait until the morning but he didn’t want to leave Hongjoong waiting to know that his message had been delivered, assuming it was as important as he thought it might be. Much to his surprise not only was the door unlocked but there were no guards to be seen. Did they go home at night? That would be strange wouldn’t it? It wasn’t as if they had a lot of prisoners to watch but what if something happened? What if someone escaped? Although, in this case, he wished someone would escape. If it was empty and the keys were nearby...Yes, he would let him out.
If his men were here then that meant that his ship was here and they could escape. The captain would be livid if Hongjoong escaped but he didn’t care about the fragile ego of one vindictive old man who spent three years chasing someone because of one lost ship when he owned a whole fleet.
Seonghwa turned back to look at the open guardhouse door when he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see Hongjoong and then just as suddenly, he felt the other man’s lips close on his, his hand reaching up to cup Seonghwa’s cheek. He was too startled to remember to respond or push him away or react at all. He felt the hot wet brush of his tongue against his lips before he pulled away.
All he could manage was to gape at the shorter man who had just kissed him. Finally he managed, “You’re out.”
Hongjoong smiled, “I am and I’m getting out of here. Wanna come with me?”
“With you?”
“Whether you're coming with me or not, let’s get out of here. The guards won’t be gone forever.” Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa’s hand and tugged him out of the guardhouse and toward the docks. As they walked, Seonghwa looked down at their still joined hands in total bemusement. He didn’t know what to do or say but he did notice when a man intercepted them.
“Captain.”
“San, is the ship ready?”
“Sort of.”
“I can’t really linger around these parts, we need to go - Now.”
“We had more damage from the storm than we realized and by the time we got into port… There’s no way the shipwright can have the repairs finished by the time we needed so…” San gestured for the pair to follow him. He spared a glance at Seonghwa, wondering if that was the man who had delivered the captain’s message to Jongho.
If the captain thought he was good to join the crew then it was alright by him. The more the merrier. However, the way they were holding hands made him think it might be something else. He guided them to the docks and right to Seonghwa’s ship. Seonghwa stopped before following up the gangplank when Hongjoong pulled up to a stop, “Are you serious?”
“It really was the best option,” said San.
“And Yunho was feeling vindictive.” said another man who was a little shorter than San and bore an open smile. “It’s good to have you back captain. If you ever do anything like that again, I’ll keelhaul you myself.”
Hongjoong laughed, “It’s good to see you too Wooyoung.”
Wooyoung grabbed Hongjoong up in a warm hug and squeezed him tight. Hongjoong gave a little squeak at the force with which he was hugged.
“Where’s the crew?” Hongjoong asked as he canted his head toward the ship.
“Shore leave.” commented Seonghwa. All heads turned to look at him questioningly.
“This is Park Seonghwa, he was the first mate on this ship but he’ll be joining us now. Right?” He turned to look at Seonghwa.
Finally Seonghwa snapped out of the haze that he had been pitched into when Hongjoong kissed him. “I-”
Did he want to go with them? It surely meant being hunted, they were wanted men after all. Hongjoong was an escaped prisoner, a thief, a pirate, and who knew what else. Yet he was thinking about it, seriously.
“Go on, I’ll catch up.” Hongjoong said to the assembled men before he turned back to Seonghwa. “Are you scared?”
“Yes.”
“But you want to.”
“Yes.”
“Well then there’s only one thing to do, come with us and you can say you were asleep in your room when we took the ship, so we accidentally kidnapped you. If you change your mind later, then we can let you off at the next port of call.” Not waiting to see if Seonghwa agreed with him or not, Hongjoong grabbed his hand again and dragged him behind him up the gangplank.
“Captain.” Yunho walked out onto the deck and smiled broadly.
“How much did it cost?” Hongjoong asked.
“They really should pay their guards more because it didn’t even take a quarter of our last haul to see to it that they found something else to do for half an hour.”
Hongjoong nodded, “Good, good if everyone’s on board, let’s shove off shall we?”
“Aye, aye captain.” Yunho turned and began to bark out orders. The men all jumped to and began to make way to set sail.
“By the way Yunho…”
Yunho stopped what he was doing and turned to look at his captain.
“Thank you.”
Yunho smiled and nodded, “You’re welcome. It’s good to have you back captain.”
“It’s good to be back. This is Park Seonghwa, he’ll - hopefully, be joining us permanently. He was the first mate of this ship but I think he needs a little time to get to know us first… or maybe just me. Seonghwa, this is my first mate Jeong Yunho. After we get out of here, I’ll take you around and introduce you to everyone. We’ve got some really good people on this ship.”
“Energetic people.” Yunho added with a touch of mirth.
“Maybe we have too much energy.” Hongjoong posited.
Yunho snickered and went back to work. As they cleared the harbor, the town bells sounded, likely announcing that there had been an escape. Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, “Want to show me around? Show me the captain’s quarters. I know the brig well enough, it’ll be nice to see the rest of the ship.”
Seonghwa still wasn’t quite sure this all felt real. One minute he had been trying to think of the best way to help Hongjoong escape, the next minute he was on a stolen ship making their escape. Then it occurred to him exactly what they had just done. They had stolen yet another ship from the man who had spent three years chasing him down for having stolen his ship.
Would he immediately outfit another ship and give chase again? He knew that his wife held the purse strings and she wanted him back home. Somehow he couldn’t imagine her sanctioning another three year long wild goose chase. He was likewise sure that Hongjoong wouldn’t allow himself to be caught again so easily, unless his men were on the line again. That didn’t seem like the kind of situation that happened more than once. The real question was, now what was he doing here? Was he perhaps infatuated with the dashing pirate? That was the only reason he could think of that he had accepted the offer of joining them as a trial run. His family was going to kill him if he became a pirate. He was supposed to take a few years out to sea and then come home and learn the family business with his brother, not take up piracy because he had a crush on a pirate.
“Sure,” he said after perhaps too long of a pause. “I’ll give you a tour, we can start at the bottom and work our way up.”
Fifteen minutes later they were standing at the door to the captain’s quarters. The door was locked but Seonghwa had the key.
“I guess he trusted you.” Hongjoong commented as he watched Seonghwa unlock the door.
That gave him a pang of guilt as he pushed the door open, “He offered me the captaincy of this ship after they took you away.”
“So I stole your ship?” Hongjoong asked as he followed Seonghwa into the room and closed the door behind them. It was poshly appointed. The furnishings were over the top in the extreme, it was as if the former captain was furnishing a mansion instead of a room on a ship. No wonder he had locked it.
“I hadn’t exactly taken control yet.” He said. It hadn’t actually sunk in yet that this ship was going to be his. Perhaps it was his ship that had been stolen but it didn’t feel that way.
“That’s not right, I don’t steal from friends.”
“Friends?”
“We are friends aren’t we?” Hongjoong took a step toward Seonghwa.
Seonghwa felt his heart pick up pace and he swallowed hard in a suddenly dry throat. “Are we?”
“Unless you want to be more…” Hongjoong reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over Seonghwa’s cheek.
“What do you mean more?” Seonghwa’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat.
“I want to be your lover. You don’t know that already?” He asked.
Without really realizing he was doing it, Seonghwa took the final step forward, closing the distance between the two of them. There was nothing that separated them now. He leaned down, eyes intense as they met Hongjoong’s before he kissed him. The softness of their lips played together, their tongues met giving an electric thrill.
Seonghwa gave a small sound of pleasure as they sank into one another, their arms stealing around one another, bodies flush together. Their hands began to roam over each other. Seonghwa’s lips traveled down over Hongjoong’s jawline, down to his throat. He tasted his pulse thrumming against his lips, he scraped his teeth over the silken skin of his neck. “Why am I so captivated by you?”
“The same reason that I can’t get you out of my head.” Hongjoong gasped and sighed.
“I know the feeling, every time I close my eyes I see you, hear your voice, I can’t stop thinking about you. God you taste so good…” He leaned back in and reclaimed Hongjoong’s lips.
Running his hands up over Seonghwa’s stomach, he caught the material of his blouse and pulled it up, his fingers grazing against his bare skin as he did so. They traveled further, slipping under the soft linen as they moved over his bare chest, the slightly long tips of his nails raking over Seonghwa’s nipples. They tightened at the delicate scraping. A soft moan slipped between their joined lips, let out with a sigh.
Seonghwa pulled his jacket from his shoulders and let it drop at their feet, Hongjoong caught his shirt and pulled it up over his head, immediately dropping his head to rain kisses over his bare chest, to taste his skin.
Seonghwa moved to pull off Hongjoong’s clothes as Hongjoong worked at his partners’. They moved in concert back toward the bed, Seonghwa moving over the smaller man as they moved. The heat of their bodies grinding together, their cocks sliding together. Hongjoong reached between them, wrapping his fingers around their lengths, trapping them against one another as he stroked.
Seonghwa’s golden skin was beginning to glisten in the low lamp light. A drop of sweat trickled down over his smooth chest, running down to where their naked bodies pressed together. His kisses traversed their way down over Hongjoong’s chin, his throat, suckling and biting his nipples before continuing down. The muscles in his stomach trembled as Seonghwa’s lips brushed down over his ribs to his hip bones. Hongjoong squirmed, his hips rising up as Seonghwa’s beautiful lips wrapped around the head of his cock. His finger’s winding in Seonghwa’s thick dark locks, a heady sigh falling from his parted lips.
He had never wanted anyone so badly as he wanted Seonghwa and his body was on fire and Seonghwa’s touch were the flames that consumed him. He watched the way his lips glided over him, consuming him. He was so beautiful, their eyes met and Hongjoong smiled, “You’re going to make me cum if you keep that up.”
“Maybe I want you to cum… or maybe I just want to make you squirm.” Seonghwa smiled in return as he flicked his tongue against the sensitive underside of Hongjoong’s throbbing prick. Then quite suddenly, Seonghwa dropped his head down, pushing Hongjoong’s cock all the way to the back of his throat before bobbing his head up and down.
A sudden hiss and a sharp inhalation of breath as Hongjoong slammed his hands down against the bed, his hips arching upward without his bidding. His orgasm was ripped from him as he fucked back against Seonghwa’s face.
The first spurt of sticky sweet cum hit the back of Seonghwa’s throat as he sucked milking him for every last drop.
Slowly he let his lover’s cock slip from his lips as he crawled back up over his body. He caught Hongjoong’s lips in a sultry kiss before murmuring against him, “We need-...”
“I came prepared.” Hongjoong interjected before he turned and leaned over the side of the bed to capture his clothes. From a pouch tied to his belt, he produced a small corked bottle. As he wiggled back onto the bed, he held it up and shook it slightly.
“See?” He pulled the stopper and poured a liberal amount of oil into his palm and reached for Seonghwa’s swollen length. Seonghwa’s head fell back, throaty groan slipping past his full lips. He rested back on his hands, presenting himself for Hongjoong’s attentions.
The teasing smile was back on Hongjoong’s lips again as he lifted the bottle and poured some of the oil over Seonghwa’s chest and stomach, leaving him glistening as he ran his hands down, to return to stroking. He bowed his head to suckle Seonghwa’s balls and nibble the insides of his thighs. God he was so beautiful in the lamp light, his eyes filled with a universe of stars as he stared at him with unabashed lust, his golden skin aglow.
His breathing grew short, he could feel himself getting close so he reached out and caught Hongjoong’s hand and brought his fingers up to kiss them. “I want more than that now, I want you.”
Hongjoong licked his lips and nodded as he leaned into Seonghwa’s and kissed him. Seonghwa’s arm slipped around his waist as he leveraged Hongjoong back into the mass of pillows, slipping easily between his thighs. He buried his face against his throat and breathed, “I want to be inside you.”
Hongjoong gasped at the nip of teeth at his neck, he could feel Seonghwa’s cock sliding against him, not as eager as his words made him seem but slowly and methodically grinding against him. He wriggled against his touch as Seonghwa’s reached between their bodies and slid his slick, oiled fingers against him and into him.
“I’ve never done this before…” Hongjoong breathed. “But for you, I want you.”
Seonghwa raised his head and looked down at Hongjoong, instead of teasing or darkly lustful, there was supreme tenderness and affection. “I’ll go slow.”
As he promised, he slowly worked against him not going any further than his virgin’s body was ready for. Incrementally, Hongjoong began to relax beneath him. Only when almost all resistance was gone did he begin to enter him. Jesus, so hot, so tight. As he hilted himself he let out a sigh and for a lingering moment, he just held still, “Are you alright?”
Hongjoong nodded, “Yes.”
While the slow entry had spared him any discomfort, it had driven him slowly insane so that now he would have killed any man who dared to try to separate them. “Now fuck me.”
Seonghwa’s tongue flicked out to lap at Hongjoong’s lips before he languidly and fluidly began to move. “As you command.”
With little rolling lifts of his hips, Hongjoong rose to meet each and every thrust. His lover’s cock stimulated something deep inside of him, driving him nearly wild. They moved together, their pace increasing with a shared urgency.
Hongjoong’s fingers dug into Seonghwa’s back, leaving small crescent indentations. His balls tightened as molten sugar unwound in his stomach, slowly reaching its burning tendrils through him. The first spasm forced him to slam his head back into the pillow, the second brought a cry as his cum shot up between their joined bodies. Seonghwa’s arms sealed around him as he began to fuck him with ferocity. Each thrust brought a deep guttural growl, his cock swelled, balls tightened, and then he came, filling his lover with wave after wave of his seed.
For a lingering moment, they lay still, both lost in their own little world of pleasure. Seonghwa was the first to move, turning his head to pepper Hongjoong’s neck and ear with little kisses. Eventually, he sighed and rolled off to the side, grabbing a pillow and tucking it behind his head as he pulled Hongjoong into his arms. Hongjoong took a deep breath and let it out in a rush as he laid his head on the pillow beside Seonghwa.
“I think,” Hongjoong began as he adjusted himself in the bed. “I’m glad this all happened. Sure I had to spend a few days in a jail cell but I got you.”
Seonghwa chuckled and let his eyes fall shut. He hadn’t realized exactly how stressed he had been, not until he felt the last of that stress flow out of him with his orgasm. “My new captain is making me feel quite welcome indeed.”
“Are you sure you can do it?” Hongjoong lifted his head and looked at Seonghwa seriously.
“Do what?” He reached up and ran his long, slender fingers over Hongjoong’s sweaty hair and face.
“Piracy.” While he had no doubts that Seonghwa would stay with him if he asked him to, he wanted to make sure that it was actually something that he wanted. He was equally sure he had the other man’s affections but was this life really what he wanted or had he allowed himself to be swept away.
Seonghwa bit the corner of his bottom lip thoughtfully, “I don’t know, really. I never thought I would become a pirate. I also never thought I’d help a fugitive escape jail and a hanging and then steal my ship.”
“Take some time and think it over.” Hongjoong sighed and laid back down. “It’s late and being in a comfortable bed reminds me of how little sleep I’ve had the last few days. It’s late, what say you we get some sleep?”
“Alright.” Seonghwa hadn’t really been giving any thought to his predicament. He had, as Hongjoong thought, just allowed himself to be buoyed along. Now that he had time to think about it, would he be able to do it? He wasn’t a fighter, he never had been and had only fought when his life had deemed it necessary and that wasn’t more than a couple of times. What would it do to his family? He was quite close with his family and he didn’t want to hurt them.
There was another matter, he was quite sure he was falling in love with Hongjoong at breakneck speed. If he were to stay with him, he would hurt his family and perhaps shorten his life. If he were to leave then… then he would break his heart? He wanted nothing more than to give into his heart but what should he do? It was the same thoughts chasing each other around his brain until he finally fell asleep in the small hours of the morning.
He awoke early as he felt Hongjoong slipping out of his arms. He opened his tired eyes to see the other man smiling down at him before brushing a kiss across his lips and whispering, “Go back to sleep, you deserve it.”
Seonghwa didn’t argue. His eyes were already closed before Hongjoong’s feet hit the floor and he was already returning to slumber before he reached the door.
Yunho gave him a look as he sat down at the officer’s table, a knowing smile on his lips.
“What?” Hongjoong asked the younger man.
“Me? I didn’t say a word.”
It was obvious from the expressions on the faces of the assembled men that the entire crew probably knew but none of them seemed inclined to ask the questions. Silent smirks and two looks of feigned innocence, one from San and the other from Mingi, were all Hongjoong received as he looked down the table.
“So!” Jongho broke the silence, “What position is our new crewman going to have? Yunho is the first mate, that’s not to say you couldn’t have two first mates… I think I heard Park Seonghwa was supposed to be captain of this ship?”
Hongjoong’s own smile faded a little at that. He wanted Seonghwa to stay but he wasn’t sure he should. Most of the men under his command had come to him from other pirate vessels or had their own situations that made serving with him ideal. Seonghwa’s situation was quite different and as much as he wanted to keep him with him, he wasn’t sure it was best for him. The thought of letting him go twisted his heart into knots. He had never been in love before but he was getting dangerously close to loving Park Seonghwa. Maybe he already did, it was hard to say never having felt this way before. Sure he had slacked his lusts but love? Never.
“What new crewman?” Mingi asked.
All of the heads at the table turned to look at him.
“The new crewman who came aboard with the captain last night.” Wooyoung answered.
“I didn’t see him. Where is he now?” Mingi asked for more information.
Yunho dropped his head into his hand and Wooyoung’s grin grew a little wider as he decided to answer again, “I imagine he’s still in the captain’s quarters.”
Yunho peeked up at Mingi through his fingers as if to beg him with his eyes alone to cease his line of questioning before it got uncomfortable.
Mingi started to open his mouth when he yelped in pain. He was seated at the end of the table between Yeosang and Wooyoung. He shot a look at Yeosang who was an expert at looking like a beautiful serene statue. Whatever he had done, his expression hadn’t changed but Mingi seemed to get the hint. He reached under the table and rubbed at his leg.
Hongjoong shook his head, “We can decide that, if he decides to stay. I’m not sure he will yet.”
“Why wouldn’t he stay?” San asked curiously.
“I’m not sure he’s cut out for the pirate’s life. He’s got a good family, a good job if he wants it.” Hongjoong shrugged and reached for his breakfast.
San straightened his spine as he said, “We’ve got the best family.”
All of the men hurrahed at that and breakfast settled down into something more normal… and boisterous.
The next three weeks were like a dream for Seonghwa. He sailed with the men of the Treasure, spent his days working beside them, spent his nights with the man he had come to love but there was a growing unease. He knew that Hongjoong was avoiding other ships but he was a pirate and he couldn’t avoid other ships forever. The men were looking forward to their next great haul. Hongjoong was not just a pirate but a successful one and the day they rather accidentally ran into some low hanging fruit was the day he knew.
Seonghwa stood outside the door listening as he heard Yunho and Hongjoong arguing about the validity of the target, a poorly defended merchantman carrying fewer than 8 guns. He knew Hongjoong was avoiding getting into any scrapes to protect him, he couldn’t let him keep doing it. A very angry looking Yunho stormed out of the captain’s room and he went in. “You should take it.”
Hongjoong didn’t look up from the map he was looking at, “Why’s that?”
“Because the only reason you haven’t already gone for it is because of me. The men are restless as it is. You can’t keep avoiding it because you think I can’t take it. This is, as much as we might like to have it otherwise, a pirate’s ship and you are a pirate. If I’m to stay with you, I have to learn to live with this part of life. If I can’t do it then…” Seonghwa let his words trail off, a knot forming in his throat.
Hongjoong finally looked up and met Seonghwa’s eyes and sighed. He was determined. Hongjoong was silent for a long moment before he nodded and walked over to Seonghwa and kissed him. “Alright, tell the men.”
Seonghwa clung to Hongjoong for a lingering moment before he turned and briskly walked out of the cabin. The next few minutes were an absolute whirlwind of activity. All of the usual silliness, chaos and levity were gone and they became a force of nature. They were focused and deadly accurate. They carried out the strike perfectly. Seonghwa watched with a semi-detached air. Could he do this? The first thing that hit him was the thrill, the exhilaration but he wasn’t sure.
The two ships collided. The men from the Treasure poured onto the decks of other ship. Blades clashed and the men of the Treasure worked as a well oil machine. Hongjoong found their captain readily, he was old but still defiant as they crossed blades. What he lacked in youth, he made up for in sheer bloody mindedness. He concentrated as he fought the captain, there wasn’t a man alive who wouldn’t tell you his next move if you were attentive.
There! Hongjoong feinted to the left as his opponent made a move to block but he left himself open. He struck, bringing him down. Just as he struck he heard a voice yell, “No!”
The rapport of a pistol shot rang out across the deck and momentarily all fell silent. Directly behind Hongjoong, a man lay supine. He had been just inches away from burying his blade in the pirate captain’s back. Seonghwa stood with perfect form, holding his pistol, smoke wafting up from the tip.
Seonghwa had just saved Hongjoong’s life.
The men were elated with the booty they had looted, it was far more than anyone expected. The casks were opened and the alcohol poured freely as the men rejoiced.
Seonghwa sat silently in the captain’s quarters in the dark. He hadn’t even realized that the sun had set, so deeply lost in thought was he. It wasn’t the first time he had killed a man and he had done it in defense of another. He didn’t feel badly about it and that was what bothered him. The captain had been the only man who had died today but he wouldn’t be the last. Every single man of the Treasure would fight to the last to protect one another and their way of life. They loved it, they thrived on it. He too had felt the touch of exhilaration, the rush of blood in his veins. The only thing that came close was making love with Hongjoong.
He knew he could do it. He knew he would grow to love it if he stayed. That was what scared him.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
A voice yanked him from his quiet reverie. “Oh, yes.”
“We’re headed in, we should make port in about eight days.”
“Eight days? I didn’t think we were that far from shore.”
“We aren’t but I thought it might be nice for you to go home, see your family.” Hongjoong didn’t put on a lamp, but just walked over to stand behind Seonghwa’s chair, putting an arm around his shoulders.
“I see.”
The silence was thick and heavy between them but neither seemed inclined to break it.
“How did you know?” Seonghwa asked at long last.
“One of the things I love best about you is your tender heart. What kind of man would I be if I destroyed the one of the things that I loved best about you?” Hongjoong’s voice was barely above a whisper but it carried in the darkened space.
“Promise me something.” Seonghwa said as he turned to look up at the moonlight kissed visage of the man he loved.
Hongjoong cocked his head slightly to one side, reaching to run his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair, “What’s that?”
“Promise me that if you ever decide to retire from piracy that you’ll come find me.”
Hongjoong smiled and drew a slow breath, “I will come find you.”
“Bring the rest of the crew too, we always need more hands.”
“You’re part of the crew. They’ve grown as fond of you as I have.”
“Have they really?”
“Well, maybe not quite as fond as I have.” Hongjoong turned his head and pressed a kiss to Seonghwa’s cheek.
Seonghwa closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of that small kiss. Eight days…
***
Seonghwa stood on the cliff by his family home looking out toward the sea. It had been three years to the day since he had said farewell to the crew of the Treasure and its exceptional captain. He hadn’t really known whether he would see Hongjoong again and he regretted his choice everyday. Now with three years between him and the roguish captain’s smile, he could see clearly. Life only gives you chances at real love maybe once if you’re lucky.
He had his chance and he had surrendered it because he was afraid of change, because he was afraid of the lifestyle. He had been wrong and now there was no way to go back and change it.
Hot tears trickled down his cold cheeks and he sniffed before reaching up to wipe them away. He knew now he would never see Hongjoong again and he had to live with that, as much as it hurt him everyday.
“Can’t you find him?”
Seonghwa turned and saw his mother standing behind him. She was the only one he had ever told the truth about his ‘accidental kidnapping’. The only one he had ever told the truth about the only love he would ever have. Not entirely trusting himself to speak, he shook his head before looking back at the sea.
“You don’t have to go through with this you know. I know your father is pressuring you and Soojin is a nice girl but…” His mother sighed. The wedding was in two days and she had tried to talk Seonghwa’s father out of it but he didn’t see the problem. Seonghwa was a good looking, polite boy from a good family. Soojin was a good looking, polite girl from a good family. They made for a good match and they seemed to like each other as friends at least. It was as good of a start for a marriage as any, so her husband thought. It was better than the beginnings of most marriages these days. She understood his reasoning but he hadn’t been the one to hold Seonghwa as he cried his heart out as he explained what happened.
She knew it wasn’t as if you could just post a letter to a pirate. If she could see his broken heart mended, she would go find this pirate herself and send her son to him but she didn’t know any better how to find a man who was constantly on the move and didn’t want to be found any better than her son did.
“Come on, let’s go inside. You’ll catch a cold and you don’t want to catch a cold right before your wedding.” She caught Seonghwa’s hand and he gave one last lingering look at the horizon before turning to dutifully follow after his mother.
“Why don’t you go down to the market and buy some of those buns you and I both love?” His mother suggested to take his mind off of things.
“Why don’t you come with me, mother.”
“Your father will be home soon, I wanted to talk to him when he gets home.”
“You’re going to try to talk him out of the wedding again aren’t you?” he asked with a sad smile.
“I’ll talk to him about what I’ll talk to him about. If it was for your ears, I would ask you to be there. Now shoo.” She swatted his behind lightly and bodily shoved him off toward the market while she stood watching him go.
The market was bustling, he had to squeeze his way between bodies to make his way to the vendor he was looking for. Someone bumped into him without apologizing or even slowing down. They hit him hard too. He turned and caught a glimpse of a familiar face, Choi Jongho? No, it couldn’t possibly be. He turned and tried to follow after the man, trying to push through the throngs of people who were all trying to go in the opposite direction. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make any leeway. He finally caught a pocket of space and managed to break through. He raced after the man he thought he had seen and caught up to someone wearing a jacket the same color as who he thought he had seen. The man turned and it wasn’t him.
Of course it wouldn’t be.
It was all he could do to keep from breaking down there in the middle of the market. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He turned around and made his way back to the vendor who was selling the buns he had been sent to buy. He wasn’t hungry anymore but his mother wanted them. The entire way home, he scanned the faces of the crowds of people around him. Surely who he had seen had just had a resemblance to his old friend.
He realized how much he missed them then, not just the love of his life but the entire crew. He had grown close to them all and it felt just as much home to him as the place where he had grown up.
What a fool he had been.
The entire next day, he moved through a haze. It didn’t feel like he was going to get married. He liked Soojin, she was a nice girl but she never could or would be the one he loved. Yet he would do what his father wanted him to. Maybe she could help him find some kind of, if not happiness then contentment.
His wedding day dawned bright and early. The families had planned the wedding for the late morning. He honestly hadn’t been too bothered by it one way or another. Actually, he hadn’t really cared about any of the wedding arrangements and only nominally cared about the choice of the bride. He checked the time and got dressed. He was just checking the mirror before heading out when a sound caught his attention. It sounded like someone saying, “Sorry about this.”
Just as he started to turn, there was a sharp and sudden pain behind his left ear and consciousness faded. The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to greet him.
When he opened his eyes, it was dark but the room was warmly lit with lamp light and candlelight. At first, he had no idea where he was. There was something familiar though, a scent, old paper, candle wax, the tang of the sea. No. He had to be dreaming there was no way.
“How’s your head?”
Very slowly, he turned to see Hongjoong sitting beside him. His jaw slowly dropped open and he stared open mouthed at the very man he had been dreaming of for the past three years. “Hongjoong?”
“I’m glad you remember me. I would be heartbroken to think we had gone to all of this trouble and you didn’t even remember me.”
“Like I could ever forget you.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Hongjoong smiled and put down the book he had been reading.
“Wait.”
“Hm?”
“You kidnapped me!” Seonghwa accused.
“Well, technically I didn’t do it. San, Jongho, and Yeosang kidnapped you but I did ask them to and I was in on the planning. I was on the distraction team, I didn’t think I could hit you.” He reached out and gingerly brushed his fingers over Seonghwa’s hair.
“Why did you kidnap me?” Seonghwa asked, wholly bemused.
“When I found out you were getting married, I wasn’t sure that you would walk away from it. You know I can be a little impetuous sometimes and I’ll be honest, I was a little hurt.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. It’s been three years…”
Hongjoong winced, “I know but I wanted to be sure that I was the man I wanted you to come back to… and I love you.”
“Hongjoong…”
“I’ll be completely honest, I was so hurt I was ready to walk away and let you get married. Wooyoung was the one who decided we needed to kidnap you, for your own good. If you want to go back then we can take you back. If you want to stay-”
“I want to stay. I know I was wrong, there hasn’t been a day I haven’t regretted the choice I made. I missed you, every minute of every day. Every night I would lay in my bed wishing I could turn back the clock to make my choice again. If I could have, I would have never walked off of this boat.”
“Are you sure?” Hongjoong asked leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“I’ve never been more sure about anything. I want to be here. I want to be with you. I want … I want the ocean, I want to sail the world beside you. I want to be part of this family.”
A slow smile curved Hongjoong’s lips and he blinked his eyes, overbright with unshed emotion. “How dare you try to make me cry.”
“I’m not trying to make you cry.” Seonghwa said innocently.
“I know, that makes it worse.” Hongjoong drew a shaky breath and reached out for Seonghwa’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being on my side, for wanting to be with me.” He leaned in, their noses almost touching.
Seonghwa squeezed Hongjoong’s small hand in his, he leaned further, closing the distance between them, sealing Hongjoong’s lips with his. God how he missed the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He tasted tears, he wasn’t sure to whom the tears belonged but he didn’t want to stop kissing him, not ever.
“This is only the beginning,” whispered Hongjoong against Seonghwa’s lips.
Seonghwa smiled, his eyes still closed. “Here’s to our beginning.”
Again their lips came together, Seonghwa reaching up, his fingers slipping into Hongjoong’s wild locks, pulling him closer. Hongjoong rose and climbed into the bed beside his lover.
“I missed you so much.” Hongjoong murmured into their kiss.
“I’ll never leave your side again.”
“You better not, I’ll just have to kidnap you back again.” he teased with a nip of Seonghwa’s lips.
“Who knows, I might start to like it.”
Their lips, their bodies, their destiny came together in joy and love.
NOTE: Other words can be found on my master list.
#ateez#ateez imagine#Ateez hongjoong#ateez seonghwa#seongjoong#honghwa#ateez smut#ateez fluff#ateez smut and fluff#kpop smut#kpop imagine
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another! this one comes from @drippingmoon ❤️
my words are tired, twin, tangle, torn
tired (Dragonsong)
“Any luck?” said Isi as she approached.
The blankness in her friends’ eyes told her all she needed to know.
Robin, Ebele, Cole and SB sat in a sort of circle. SB leant on one elbow and Robin had his back propped against a rock. Ebele and Cole sat cross-legged, mirroring each other.
A little way away, Sierra was sprawled on her back watching clouds dance across the sky, paying no attention to the other four. Isi smiled. Sierra was clearly bored. While the others didn’t look quite so outwardly bored, they were definitely tired. If they had been working this long with no answers, it was no wonder.
twin (no twins, but I have plenty of twinkles) (Dragonsong)
“You’re a knight,” said Sierra. “Why are you so relaxed about this?”
Jasper stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he said, “I’m a resident knight. I see plenty of magic in these parts, and I know several mages. I’m old enough to think for myself instead of just blindly doing that I’m told.”
“I thought your whole thing was following the law. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”
“Is the king going to come out here and stop me?” Jasper’s eyes twinkled. “The way I see it, my job is to protect, and mages often need it. So, also… yes, I know that there are four mages in this room, and you are safe here. For as long as you need.”
tangle (Hurricane) (my favourite theella scene)
“My roll, silly,” she said.
He put his hands behind his back.
Fine. If you want to play it that way… She lunged at him with a mock glare. She got both arms around him, but she could barely touch his hands, let alone get the dice. Her cheeks were warm, but that might have been because Theo had been sitting in the sun for several hours, and now her face was pressed up against his shirt. She didn’t let go, though. “It is my roll, you know.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“So give me the dice!”
He brought his hands out from behind his back, and put them behind hers instead.
“Very funny.” His shirt smelled of salt water, and… was that honey? Whatever it was, it smelled good. Sweet.
“You tackled me.”
She disentangled herself and grabbed his wrist before he could take the dice away. She couldn’t even close her hand all the way around it. He just grinned and emptied the dice into her hands. “Do you want to see if you can get a losing roll again?”
“Maybe now my luck will be better. You held them captive for too long. They don’t like you anymore.”
torn (Dragonsong) (for those who are new here: SB is missing a hand...)
The rest of the day passed with little event. Isi found the laundry room and washed the blood out of her torn shirt. As she worked, she heard the sounds of more magic practice from the main room. She smiled as she wrung out the shirt and flung it over a rail to dry.
When she emerged from the little corridor that led to the laundry, she saw that only Robin and SB were participating in the magical shenanigans. Sierra sat next to Holly by the window, talking softly.
Something went crash and Robin cursed.
“I think it’s time to stop,” SB said.
Robin glanced over his shoulder to see Isi watching. “Isi, could you give me a hand?”
“I suppose I can’t,” said SB, straight-faced.
I will tag @zmlorenz @starryeve88 @talesofsorrowandofruin and @wannabeauthorzofija! I leave you the same words, because they’re pretty nice words and I like the alliteration.
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Beginnings
Song of the Seven Suns, Part 2
Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @hellishhin
(content warnings: violence, implied sex)
“So?”
“What?”
“You were making gay eyes at the guard. How’d it go?”
“I- Um. We’re gonna talk. Later.”
“Nice. Good for you.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jetra smiled. A least Faulkron was quickly making friends. That would end up helping both of them. And honestly, what kind of bard would she be if she didn’t get her friends laid? Getting her new friend set up with somebody less than an hour after meeting said friend was a new record though, even for her.
As much as she enjoyed watching awkward gays at work, however, they had a purpose here other than flirting with cute mercenaries. Sighing and switching the subject to why they were actually here, she said, “Well, now that we’re here, we should see what trouble we can get into before the sun fully sets.”Seeing Faulkron’s reaction, she quickly amended her statement. “Metaphorically, that is.”
Faulkron chuckled a bit. “Hopefully it’s only metaphorical.” Then, he turned his amber eyes back towards the mercenaries, beginning to look around. “We should probably find whoever’s in charge first. Elikon, I think he mentioned?”
With eyes peeled for someone who looked important, the duo walked further into the compound. They could see mercenaries all around, some lounging, some sparring, some sitting intently around tables, planning jobs in hushed tones. Others were playing dice games or otherwise passing the time.
Jetra noted some other mercenaries around who looked promising. A particular halfling and dragonborn were sitting at a table, competitively playing cards. She made a mental note to talk to them later. She also noted a large wooden board, almost completely covered with papyrus scrolls nailed to its surface, likely detailing jobs and notices. Another thing to remember.
She was shaken from her scan of the place by Faulkron’s hand on her shoulder. She turned back to him, following where he was pointing with her eyes.
There in a small courtyard, in a pit of sand, stood 9 figures. The first 8 were standing in two rows, all of them standing dazed and sweaty. Standing in front of the two rows of exhausted trainees was a towering woman with a large spear in her hand. Her dark gray-brown skin was covered in white tattoos. The ones on her face were made like a stylized helmet, to match the gray mohawk that topped her head, as if it were the helmet’s crest. Jetra nodded her approval. Very cool. The woman watched as they approached, sizing them up as they got closer. When she spoke, her voice was rough and firm.
“Well, well, well. What’s this? Wait, hold on.”
She paused her regard of the newcomers to look at the trainees.
“Hey! You eight. You’re dismissed. Take a rest, get some water.”
While the trainees filed off to recover their strength, Faulkron walked forward, holding up a hand in greeting. “I’m Faulkron Rhodes, this is Jetra. Are you Elikon?”
The woman nodded, looking Faulkron and Jetra up and down. “In the flesh. What’s got you asking for me?”
Jetra had never really felt short before. She was happy with her height. However, given that Faulkron was nearly 6 foot, and Elikon was nearly 7 and a half, she was almost considering finding a box to stand on.
“We’ve come searching for opportunities. We were thinking about heading inland, most likely. We’d like to know of any offers, or jobs?”
“Hm. Well we’ve got a board up over by the barracks, you could look there. You’ll probably have better luck tomorrow though, new ones will probably be up by then, and I’m sure the best contracts from today have been taken already. You looking to join, or just here for the info?”
Faulkron bowed his head slightly as they began to back way. “We did not intend on joining, no. But thank you for your help.”
“Well that’s a shame. I could use a warrior like you... If you can back up all that muscle with skill, that is.”
Faulkron stopped.
“Are you insulting me?”
At his question, Elikon only crossed her arms and smirked. “Am I?”
Jetra watched as Faulkron’s eyes narrowed in response, and she suddenly was very glad she wasn’t standing on a box. It made it much easier to back the fuck away from whatever was about to happen.
So much for only metaphorical trouble. And this time it wasn’t even her fault. Which was, in itself, another record for the books.
•••
Elikon watched as Faulkron’s eyes narrowed in anger. She chuckled. “Don’t start this fight. I can spar ‘til dawn, and each mercenary here knows it, ‘cause they’ve seen it. I was only poking at ya. It ain’t worth the humiliation, kid.”
Faulkron felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t come here to fight, not technically. But he wasn’t gonna let this lady talk to him like that, no matter who she was. He’d take the challenge. And he definitely wasn’t gonna let her call him “kid”. Sure he was young for an elf, but not that young.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that at some point, most of the mercenaries had stopped their leisure activities to watch, and had even drawn a circle in the sand.
“I’m not a kid. And if you want to see skill, I’ll show you skill.”
Elikon chuckled. “Alright then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She threw him a wooden sparring sword, taking a wooden version of her own weapon from a rack just outside the circle. Then, she quickly got back into a fighting stance. He tried to get into his own stance, but before he could, the butt of Elikon’s spear swung towards his temple. He managed to duck, leaping to the side and readying the blade.
Elikon laughed. “Not bad, not bad.”
Before she could go on the offensive again, he stepped forward, slashing downward with a heavy swing. It was powerful, enough to send sand spraying when it hit the ground rather than its target. Elikon was surprisingly nimble for such a large woman, and she had already sidestepped.
He turned back towards her, just in time to deflect away a jab with the spear and make a quick swing of his own. This one she simply knocked away with her gauntlet, before continuing her assault.
The fight went on, both fighters attacking back and forth, blow after blow. Faulkron could feel himself wearing out, but Elikon kept going, barely even winded. After quite a few minutes of intense sparring, Faulkron was panting, sweat pouring down his face. Thankfully, the sun had set, and it was cooling off now, but his muscles were aching, and the temperature wasn’t helping him much now.
He watched as Elikon stalked forward, spear held aloft. Before he could make another attack, she spun her weapon, aiming to slam the shaft into his side. Before the hit could land, however, he caught the spear, using his other hand to swing his sword forward with all his weight. She twisted to dodge, but she wasn’t fast enough, and blade cracked across her chest. Quite literally, cracked. Faulkron watched in shock as the other half of the sword fell to the ground, Elikon laughing all the while. There was no evidence, save the broken sword, that he’d even hit her at all.
“This skin’s tough, but that was a good one! I like the spirit.” He almost thought it was over, until his legs were swept from under him. He slammed onto his back, hard. Elikon just laughed again, before she offered a hand to help him up. Defeated and exhausted, he accepted. She pulled him to his feet easily, clapping him on the back. “You could use some training still, but you’ve definitely got skill. The offer to join up still stands, if you wanna think about it. You did well. Now go get some rest, and drink some water.”
As Faulkron made his way out of the courtyard with his wounded pride in tow, he saw Jetra talking to two more mercenaries, where it looked like they had been watching the fight. They were all sitting around a table with some game pieces scattered across it. Jetra stood as he approached, tossing him a cloth.
“If it makes you feel any better, it was at least one hell of a show.”
Faulkron sighed. “Not much, but thanks.” He turned to the other two people at the table. “Who are they?”
The first one stood on his chair at being mentioned, hands on his hips, bringing him to just about eye level.
“I’m Fuego Tamir. Sorcerer, assassin, and baddest bitch around. ‘Sup.”
Faulkron looked over Fuego. The halfling was dressed in dark robes with flame designs on it, and the chest and arms were open, showing off a startling amount of tattoos. The biggest one, right on the center of his chest, was a large stylized skull with “RUN” written beneath it, right between two small identical u-shaped scars just under his chest muscles. His hair was dyed a fiery red at the ends, and held up in a ponytail, shaved at the sides of his head to make room for more tattoos. He had a scimitar on his hip that also had crimson flame designs carved onto it.
“I’m Faulkron. And who are you?” He looked over to the blue dragonborn warrior who sat in the other chair. Her scales were a vibrant blue, but they were covered with various cloths that looked suited for desert travel. A khopesh hung off of their left hip.
���I am Shakari. You fought well, Faulkron.”
“Thanks.”
Jetra nodded. “They’re headed inland too. We were talking, and it looks they’ve both got experience with both magic and the blade. Figured they might join us. Could always use some extra swords.”
Faulkron nodded. “Ah, good idea. If you all don’t mind though, I’m going to go recover. Jetra?”
“I’ll see you in the morning. Come find me at the Spinning Compass, by the marketplace. We can devise a plan then.”
“See you then.”
Fuego called out as well. “When you need to find us, we’ll be here.”
Faulkron nodded in response. He eventually recollected himself, and began heading off to find some place to rest. Before he could leave the compound though, he was approached by Alejandro, who was smiling and holding two flasks.
“Hola! You did pretty good out there. I haven’t been here long, but it seemed you made a lot of good impressions. Most of the warriors that spar with Elikon last half the time you did.”
Faulkron faltered a bit, not expecting such immediate praise from Alejandro, or to be told he actually did well.
“Well, I’m sure you did really well too.”
“I’d like to say I did, but it wasn’t quite as spectacular as your fight.”
Alejandro paused a moment. “I’m sure Elikon told you drink water, would you like some?” he asked, holding out the other flask.
“Yeah, she did. Thank you.” Faulkron gladly accepted, gulping down the water. After he finished, he stood for a moment, unsure what to say next.
“I... you wanted to talk, right?”
Alejandro nodded. “Sí, I was thinking maybe we could go somewhere with less rules and less deadly weapons, and talk a while? Maybe have some drinks?”
“That... yes! It sounds good, yes.” Faulkron was starting to stumble over himself a bit, still a little tired and kind of in shock that this was happening at this specific moment.
“Good! Come then. If you haven’t already heard, the wine here is to die for. It’s one of the things I’ve got to give the company credit for, they did pick a good city for a bunch of thirsty mercenaries to revel in.”
With that, Faulkron followed Alejandro back to the pavilion in the marketplace he’d seen earlier, which was now far busier. They drank and talked for a while, and by the time midnight came around they were both grinning like idiots. They danced with the music as the night went on, occasionally bumping into each other or other dancers. Eventually, Faulkron stepped away from the pavilion a few paces, Alejandro just behind him.
Faulkron took a deep breath of the night air to clear his mind. He was far more relaxed now, and he was enjoying his night with Alejandro immensely. They had talked about a lot of things, from fighting to weapons to the ocean to the wine. Overall, it was going quite well. Suddenly, he had an idea. “Let’s go on a walk. It’s way too hot and loud here, and I’m sure it looks nice here at night.”
“I agree, it is perhaps a little crowded. And the city does look quite nice at night, though I’m not certain that it’d compare with what I’ve already seen.” Alejandro said it nonchalantly, but there was a flirtatious tone in his voice as he regarded Faulkron.
Faulkron could only hope Alejandro couldn’t tell how hard he was blushing.
Decision made, they began to walk off, snaking their way out of the crowded pavilion, through the marketplace and out into the silent torchlit streets.
They walked along for a while, enjoying the fresh air, the tapestry of shining stars in the clear night sky, and each other’s company, letting the effects of the wine trickle away.
Eventually, Faulkron turned to Alejandro. It was late, and he started to ramble on before he could stop himself.
“Okay, so I know it’s late so you should probably head back to the camp and sleep. I will be fine, because I’m elvish, but you need your sleep, you know? This has been fun, please don’t get me wrong, I really liked it, but I don’t wanna keep you up and-“
He was halted by Alejandro’s finger on his lips.
“Hush. It’s alright. I can sleep in. It isn’t that much of an issue. Plus, they don’t exactly allow swordplay in the compound barracks.” Alejandro winked at the word ‘swordplay’.
Faulkron felt his face flush again as he caught the meaning.
“Oh. Good point. Okay. Yeah. I mean, if you say so. Are you sure?” Faulkron laughed a little with nervousness. How in all the worlds is he still interested?
“I’m sure.”
Alejandro grinned, then slowly leaned forward, and placed a small kiss on Faulkron’s jaw. Faulkron felt it almost like a distant breeze, and his face got warm again.
Alejandro smiled at him again. “There’s more where that came from, you know.”
And Faulkron wasn’t about to say no to that.
With that, the two wandered off into the night.
Part 1 | Part 3
#Song of the Seven Suns#post 2#Corias#Leinos#Faulkron Rhodes#Jetra Avaki#Fuego Tamir#Shakari#goliath#fighter#d&d story#wip#violence cw#duel (kinda)#first date#if this counts#cw implied sex#queer characters#lgbtq+#btw yes#Fuego is trans#wasn’t sure how to describe it with just words but he is indeed trans#a short king#thanks for reading!
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idk if you are taking requests or will be comfortable with this one but can we get a tom blurb? your a new actress and you have a scene where you have to cliff dive and you accidentally drown because equipment got stock on you and tom has to do cpr?
decided to combine!
Old Friend 2
First Part
Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader
Warnings: drowning
Masterlist
Tom left set with one thought that day:
He needed your lips on his again.
He felt weird with his sudden less than platonic feelings for you. You’d been his best friend all his life and now he was wishing you were more.
He ended up getting his wish, but not in the way he imagined.
“Wait up!” A mans voice sounded behind you as you made your way back to set.
You turned around and almost dropped the mountains of scripts you held in your hands. The man helped steady you until you got back on your feet.
“You’re Y/n, right?” He asked.
“Yes, I am. Have we met?” You asked him.
“No. I’m the stunts coordinator.” The man explained. “Kevin needs you to fill in for an extra again.”
“You said you’re a stunt coordinator? I don’t think I’m qualified to do any stunts.” You told him as you struggled to keep the scripts together.
“That’s why Kevin wanted me to get you. You don’t need any qualifications. We just need you to jump into some water.” The man said simply.
“Jump from how high?” You asked skeptically.
“Just a few feet.” He promised. “The cameras will be underwater and that’s what we need to capture. We’re gonna film the actress jumping off a platform that looks like a cliff but we need footage of you under the water. Our actress is being a little difficult about getting her hair wet today.”
“Is it safe?” You implored.
“Very safe. We’ll attach an air tank to you and you’ll be just fine.” The man smiled. You shrugged before feeling the brisk wind chilling you through your sweater.
“I don’t know about the water. It’s freezing out.” You pointed out.
“You’re gonna have a weighted wet suit on under your costume. It’ll keep you warm.” The man assured you. “Will you do it?”
“Sure.” You nodded. It was another chance to be in a marvel movie. “Why not?”
An hour later, you were getting an air tank hooked on to your back as someone zipped your costume over your wetsuit. The suit was heavy and you already felt like lying down. Tom had to film his own scene and couldn’t be there to watch you, but he gave you the biggest hug when you told him and wished you luck.
“Ready?” Kevin asked you and you gave a thumbs up.
“Action!” He called, and you jumped into the water. You twisted your body as you were told as you sank to the bottom. The underwater camera touched your foot unexpectedly, causing you to jolt. Your back hit a rock and the air tank began to make a weird sound. You opened your eyes and could just barely make out the air tank through the murky water. You reached for it in a panic as your back hit the bottom, the air tank on top of you.
Your air tank sat on your chest and held you in place. You tried to maneuver it off of you, but it was too heavy to push. The added pressure from the weighted wet suit kept you pinned to the ground with no way of getting up. You struggled, but it exhausted you. You began to feel sleepy and decided to close your while you waited for the crew to pull you up. Slowly, you closed your eyes and let yourself drift off.
Elsewhere on set, Tom had finished his scene and was constantly checking his phone for an update from you. He sat down by two interns and sent you another text.
“Yeah, I heard it was pretty bad. Like, she came up all blue and stuff.” One of the interns said, catching Tom’s ear.
“Do you think they’ll halt production?” The other one asked.
“Probably not. She wasn’t a main actress or anything. Just some extra.” The first answered.
“What are you guys talking about?” Tom snapped, causing the interns to jump.
“You didn’t hear? An extra totally drowned over on lot B.” One said and the other lightly hit his arm.
“Dude, have some respect. She could be dead.” He said.
“Drowned?” Toms mouth went dry. “You mean the girl shooting the cliff diving scene?”
“Yeah, that one. No one told you?” The intern asked.
“When did this happen?” Tom ignored him question as his palms began to sweat.
“Just now. I heard it on my headset. You didn’t know her, did you?” The kinder intern asked.
“Did you say she was blue?” Tom feared.
“That’s what I heard.” They nodded.
“Move.” Tom pushed past the interns and ran to lot B. He saw a crowd of people gathered around something and began to push his way through. Through all the shouting and people, Tom found you lying on the floor with purple lips and a pale face. He immediately got down on his knees and held two fingers to your neck until he felt your pulse; weak, but there.
“What happened?” He demanded and looked around for someone to blame.
“We don’t know. She never came up for air. We think the equipment got stuck on her.” The stunt coordinator said sheepishly. He could tell Tom was furious and he had been the one who got you to do the scene.
“How long was she under?” Tom asked as he took off his jacket and wrapped you in it.
“Three, maybe four minutes? It wasn’t long. I don’t know why she isn’t waking up.” Someone else answered.
“What’s being done to help her?” Tom said angrily. “She’s purple for Christ’s sake.”
“Alec did chest compressions and Jenna called the medic. They said they’d be here in five.” The stunt coordinator offered as he bent down next to you.
“I don’t have five minutes.” Tom shook his head and put a hand on your chest.
“Tom-“ the coordinators moved his hand.
“Move.” Tom ordered. He put the heel of his hand on the center of your rib cage and laced his hands together. He began doing chest compressions for thirty seconds. He felt your pulse again but felt no improvement.
“You should really wait for the medic.” The coordinator said weakly. Tom looked at him with a burning anger.
“And you should really make sure your extras don’t drown in your watch.” Tom snapped before turning his attention back to you.
“Next time I kiss you, you better be awake.” Tom muttered before putting his mouth over yours. He blew into it until he felt your chest rise and began doing compressions again.
“Come on, Y/n. Wake up. Show me your eyes.” Tom begged while he did another 30 seconds of compressions.
“Please, darling. Let me see your eyes.” He asked again and he began to press harder.
Finally, a cough and a sputter caused you to open your eyes. They connected with Toms and a sleepy smile dawned on your face.
“Good morning.” You said softly as relief flooded into Toms eyes. He let out a grateful laugh.
“You’re okay.” He said as he pulled you into a tight hug. The crowd began to back away to give you space.
“I thought you were only a hero in the movies?” You giggled into his ear, making him hug you tighter.
“Well my damsel was in distress.” Tom replied. He held you close to him as he walked you back to the trailer, his hand never leaving your back.
He was silent on the e way there, so you stayed silent as well. It wasn't until you were inside that he diced to speak.
“Hey, can we talk?” Tom asked in a strange voice when you got back to his trailer.
“Sure, what about?” You asked. Tom stood there awkwardly as he searched for the right words. He stuttered for a moment and tripped over his words until he finally spit it out.
“You drowned.” He said as if it were the strangest thing in the world.
“I know. I better win an Oscar for this movie.” You laughed lightly, stopping when Tom didn’t laugh as well.
“It’s not funny.” He stated.
“I’m not joking. Playing ‘Girl Number 2’ has proven to be a real challenge and I deserve some recognition for it.” You said playfully as you cleaned up Toms trailer the same way you used to clean up his room so his mom would allow him to stay out a little later.
“You could’ve died, Y/n.” Tom said gravely.
“But I didn’t.” You quipped. “No harm, no foul right?”
“How was there no harm? When I got to you, you weren’t breathing. Your face was purple and your-“ Tom stopped yelling when he saw you back away from him in fear. “-your heart was barely beating.”
“Hey, Tommy.” You brought out his childhood nickname and rested your hands on his face, making him look at you. “It’s okay. It’s beating now. Here, feel.” You rested his hand over your heartbeat and let him feel it.
“I was really worried. Like, really really worried. I’ve known you all my life. I thought, for a minute there, we were gonna be pulled apart again right as we were brought back together. Right as I started to…” he trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. I just kept thinking of the day when you told me you were moving and how hard we both cried. I remember telling my mom I’d never see my best friend again. I got that same feeling when I saw you lying there, like I was loosing my best friend and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I was really, really worried.” His eyes got glassy with tears and you decided humor would cheer him up.
“Hey, at least you didn’t wet your pants ag-“ Tom grabbed your face and kissed you firmly before you could finish your sentence.
“Woah.” You smiled shyly.
“At least you were breathing this time.” Tom said mostly to himself.
“Am I supposed to know what the means?” You raised an eyebrow, still in his embrace.
“It doesn’t matter.” Tom shook his head head with a happy smile. “I’m just happy you’re okay, old friend.”
“We’re not friends anymore, are we?” You asked coyly.
Tom smiled warmly and rested his hands on your waist.
“I guess we’re a little more.” He grinned.
Tag List 🏷
@maybemona @sunrise-shawn @meghan-8520xx @writing-for-hours-on-end @lavender-writer @captainmandeestudent17 @whatareyouhidingpeter @takenbyheartstrings @ultrunning @imyourliquor-youremypoison @theolwebshooter @autumnlyholland @andreasworlsboring101 @guksmyfav @waiting-to-be-myself @letsloveimagines @ho-ho-holland @peterparkoure @a-villain-vying-for-attention @m19friend @justcallmehitgirl @iamanerdot @averyfosterthoughts @jackiehollanderr @tiny-friggin-human @celestial-skylines
#tom holland x y/n#tom holland x reader#tom holland fluff#tom holland fanfiction#tom holland angst#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker imagine#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#spider man: homecoming#spiderman x reader#iron man
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Rian helping Alex to dye his hair!! And complain how it'll fall out and stuff just to mask how pretty he thinks it's gonna look
alright anon here it is! my rilex debut. i hope it does not disappoint. also full disclosure i have had my hair dyed Once for me and my friends did it and i do not remember most of what happened so while i did do some light google searches please suspend disbelief if and when you must
read it here on ao3
-
Rian should know more about dyeing hair. It seems impossible for him to have been in a band with Jack and Alex for this long and not pick up on the basics, at least. Standing in a CVS, Rian feels confident that he should know this.
"Should" being the operative word.
Finally he calls Alex.
"I forgot which brand you said," he tells Alex when he gets yeah?
"I texted it to you, you moron," Alex replies. He sounds very fond. It's always fun to hear Alex try and be bitchy when he's really just being fond.
Sighing, Rian pulls his phone away from his ear and checks his texts. "No you didn't."
"I definitely did." Pause. "Oh, it didn't go through. Whoops."
"Who's a moron now?"
"Still you. I told you the name like fifty times. Okay, it sent. If you get the wrong color, no offense but our friendship is over."
"Gotcha," says Rian. "So was it bright orange or more of a burnt umber that you wanted?"
Alex hangs up on him. A minute later he calls back.
"Love you," he says.
Rian rolls his eyes and grins. "Love you."
-
"Isn't it kind of disrespectful to do this in a hotel room bathroom?"
Alex doesn't stop setting up the hair dye supplies on the sink, but he does shoot a dry look towards Rian. "Yeah, duh. But it's just hair dye. Worst case scenario it stains the tub or something."
"Or the floor," Rian puts in. "Or your hair all burns off from the bleach and you sue and then there's a whole court case. That'd be pretty bad for them."
"But dope for me," Alex says. "So wins all around."
Not wins for the hotel, Rian doesn't say. He's not sure why he's bothering to try and convince Alex that they shouldn't do this. Not only is Alex thoroughly unable to be convinced, Rian doesn't even think he believes himself.
It's just, Alex is dyeing his hair blue.
Rian tries not to form opinions, like, about Alex in specific, because in general his opinion is wow and good-looking and would love to kiss him and AHHHHH, and those opinions don't really change with Alex's look. Even in the most emo of Alex's hair days, Rian had been very much extremely attracted to him, and Alex has only gotten cuter since then. It will probably become a problem eventually. Rian suspects it might already be a problem that he's just ignoring very effectively.
It's not like he only likes Alex for his looks. Alex has lots of wonderful qualities, and Rian could easily wax poetic for hours. It's just that it would probably be easier not to fall in love with him if he was a little less what they in the music business called Fucking Gorgeous.
But no dice. Obviously.
All of which to say: helping Alex dye his hair blue cannot possibly end well for Rian. Alex has yet to do blue, but Rian is one hundred percent sure it's going to look as good as all the other colors have, and he's just going to find himself speechless for a couple minutes again. Which hadn't been a problem before, when Alex had gotten Jack to do it with him, but for some reason this time he's enlisted Rian, and Rian has yet to find within himself the capacity to refuse anything Alex requests, within (and sometimes without) reason.
Speaking of which: "Why isn't Jack helping you with this? Don't you think he'd be, like, a thousand times more competent? I mean, I wouldn't usually say that about Jack, but this is so not my area of expertise."
Alex huffs, opening the box of dye. "Well, for starters, Jack is busy with Zack, and they are probably banging and/or playing a board game and/or getting wasted and/or doing things that I can't even fathom because Jack and Zack are ineffable," which takes Rian a long moment to process but none of which is technically implausible or untrue, "and second, I wanted your help."
"Yeah, no, I got that when you told me you wanted my help," Rian says dryly. "What I'm wondering is why."
Alex frowns in judgement as he mixes the dye. "What's with all the questions? I just like hanging out with you, man. Do I need a better reason?"
Rian clears his throat. "Uh. I guess not."
"Damn right." Alex gives Rian a smile, and a small part of Rian melts, and he thinks about how much of a naive idiot he's been that he didn't realize how much of a problem this would be until right now. When it's too late. "Okay. Gloves on, Ri. It's gonna get messy up in here."
There's no way that innuendo is unintentional, and Rian is a sucker because he blushes anyway.
-
Apparently it's just a matter of painting. Which is much easier said than done. Not because painting dye onto hair is particularly challenging, but because Rian painting dye onto Alex's hair is, well.
"One of these days you're gonna lose all your hair," he says at one point, mostly to distract himself from the look on Alex's face as he works the dye through his hair with his crinkly-plastic-gloved fingers. That look is putting Rian's mind in places it should not be.
Fortunately, this comment alters it, and Alex opens his eyes. "I don't dye my hair that much."
Rian gives him a critical look. "Yeah, but still. This stuff can't be good for you. Even if you don't use it a lot."
"You know what else isn't good for me?" Alex says seriously. "Alcohol. Tattoos. Sex before marriage. Rebellion is hot. What kind of punk rocker are you?"
"I'm sorry it's not punk to be worried about your friends," Rian replies. "Doesn't it burn your head?"
"Nah," Alex says, closing his eyes again. "Feels nice."
"How the fuck does putting — I don't even know what's in this stuff — feel nice?"
"It's more about the experience," Alex says around a smile. "You putting the dye in my hair, it feels nice."
Awesome. Rian's fine.
"Oh," he mumbles, and then decides that not talking is in his best interest.
Rian is thorough with his task. If that means he goes twice through all of Alex's hair, it's because he's being extra careful.
(By the second time, Alex has begun humming along to the Motion City Soundtrack song playing from his phone on the sink top, and Rian is distracted for a little (long) while.)
-
With the shower cap on, Alex actually looks kind of dumb, which is a relief. The timer is nearly done ticking down from thirty minutes and Paramore is singing about how the camera's lying as Alex stares at himself in the mirror, using a washcloth to wipe off the smudges of rogue dye on his forehead.
Rian should stop watching, but there's something very captivating about the intensity of Alex's demeanor. It's not about what he's doing so much as the manner in which he's doing it, and God, Rian would give all the money in the world for Alex to look at him with that same attentiveness, even though he would probably just disintegrate if it ever did happen.
Rian was once a dignified man. He's not sure what happened but he's certain it's Alex's fault.
"Hey, Ri," Alex says. "Can you help me with this? I can't get this fucking dye off my face."
You're doing fine, Rian absolutely does not say, and instead says, "Yeah, sure. Although you might wanna think about just leaving it. I really think you could start a trend with this."
"Yeah?" Alex says, passing off the wet washcloth to Rian. "What, a trend of wearing hair dye on your face?"
"Dyed face is the new dyed hair," Rian says, grinning. He hesitates for a moment and then resigns himself to what he knows has to happen. "Don't move or talk or breathe or anything like that," he tells Alex, sliding a hand around Alex's neck to keep his head in place.
"Don't breathe?"
"What did I just say about talking and breathing?" Rian holds up the washcloth like a weapon. "Shut your mouth."
Alex presses his lips together and mimes locking them. He slips the imaginary key down the front of Rian's shirt. Rian snorts and begins his efforts to clean the dye off Alex's face. It's probably not going to go away for a little while, and they'll need to cover it with makeup, and Rian knows that, and surely Alex knows that too, so he's not sure why they're even bothering with this.
But. The position they've found themselves in is as compromising as it is tempting; Rian keeps his eyes firmly on the washcloth in his hands so they don't flit around Alex's face or land too often on his mouth. He could give himself away far too easily right now.
(He would like to. He would love to. If he kissed Alex right now, would Alex kiss him back? Would Alex have put them in this position as a joke? Is Alex a heartless monster or just a friend who thinks they're just friends? Are they just friends? Do they have to be? Could hair dye be mixed with glue to make colorful glue or does it only work on hair? All these questions and more crowd Rian's mind. It's a wonder he ever gets anything done.)
Eventually, though, Rian has to admit he's not going to get this dye off Alex's skin, and he doesn't want to hurt Alex. He sighs and drops his hand to his side, curling the washcloth in his fist. "Sorry, Al. You're gonna have to start that trend whether you like it or not."
Alex doesn't look even slightly disappointed. "That's cool," he says, smiling at Rian, smiling only for Rian, in a way that paralyzes Rian and renders him momentarily unable to respond. "It's kinda hot, in a subversive way. You know?"
Rian swallows. "Huh?"
"I mean, objectively being punk isn't hot compared to mainstream hot people, but there's something inherently hot about doing exactly what you're not supposed to. That's the whole point of punk." Rian's pretty sure punk has an additional, slightly larger point, but at the moment it's slipping his mind. "So like, this is hot in the sense that it's not what you'd expect to be hot. But I kind of make it work, don't you think?"
I think you kind of make this shower cap work, so I'm not exactly an unbiased authority on the matter, Rian keeps to himself. "Are you asking if I think you look hot with blue hair dye on your face?" he says, neutrally, trying not to give away that he does think Alex looks hot with blue hair dye on his face.
But Alex just meets Rian's gaze and says, "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm asking."
A moment passes. Rian realizes he never reclaimed his hand and it is now just kind of cradling Alex's neck where it meets his shoulder. Another moment. Alex keeps his eyes steady on Rian's. Neither of them move. Rian starts to feel his heartbeat and wonders how he never notices when he's not feeling it. It's only startling to feel it because it's so quiet usually. People should be able to feel their own heartbeats, all the time. Then it wouldn't be such an inconvenient surprise any time it kicks to life with a thudding intensity that almost makes Rian flinch.
It's not like he can lie. Morality aside, because Rian doesn't like to lie, he also knows Alex will see through him like glass.
Which leaves him with the truth as his only option, and unfortunately it's been too long since Alex asked for the truth to sound anything but incredibly guilty coming from Rian.
Well.
"If anyone is going to make it work," he says at last, "it's you."
Alex raises his eyebrows. "Way to not answer the question."
"I basically did."
"You completely didn't."
"Why do you care if I think it's hot? You don't need to impress me. I'm already in your shitty band."
"Maybe I'm trying to impress you for something that isn't the band," Alex says evenly, with an impressive degree of confidence, but Rian can feel his heart rate rise under his fingertips.
He has the presence of mind to think, what the fuck is going on? But instead of that, he says, "Like?"
Alex bites his lip. Rian thinks that if he's reading this right, it will flip everything upside down, but surely even he couldn't read a situation this wrong. There's nothing else Alex could possibly mean by this, right?
"I take it back," Rian says. "Dumb question."
"A little," Alex says, breathing a nervous laugh. There's a dangerously small amount of space between the two of them, the kind of small that Rian could bridge so easily, and with no reason not to, he figures there's not much more he can lose.
(He can't be misreading this. There's just no way. Alex isn't this cruel, and Rian isn't this stupid.)
Alex leans closer when Rian does, breath mingling in the air between them, so so so close, like insanely close, like Rian can practically taste it already, how impossible and incredible it's going to be to kiss Alex. The air catches in his throat, and he kind of smiles a little hesitantly, and Alex smells so much like hair dye that it is overpowering all of Rian's senses but he'd love to drown in that smell as long as it means drowning in Alex and their noses brush and Rian lets his eyes fall shut and then
The timer goes off, blaring an aggressive alarm throughout the bathroom, and Rian almost has a heart attack as he jerks backwards and he is going to fucking break his phone into many many pieces.
-
They're quiet as Rian rinses the dye out of Alex's hair. The worst part is Rian can't quite figure out what kind of silence this is, if it's awkward or anticipatory or what. But thinking for too long makes him want to scream or something, so he stops thinking and just focuses on washing out the dye. Alex is sitting in a chair they pulled in from the room, head tipped back under the sink, that same look on his face that —
But Rian's not thinking about it.
The water starts out bright blue, and Rian almost panics before Alex says lightly, "You just have to rinse until the water runs clear. Don't freak out if it's blue, that's normal."
So Rian does not freak out when the water is blue, and true to Alex's word, it starts to grow clearer the more Rian lets it run. If it were Alex in his position he would probably have a thousand poetic things to say — it's like life, he'd say in a tone just shy of pretentious, it starts out looking like it's going wrong but then everything literally becomes clear — but Rian isn't Alex and to him it's just a Good Sign that he hasn't Fucked Up.
Well he hasn't fucked up the hair, at least. Probably. Yet.
At long last, the water starts running clear, and Rian breathes a sigh of relief and turns the tap off. "You're good," he says, wringing the worst of water out of Alex's hair. His hands are stained blue, he now notices; probably he should have put the gloves back on when he'd gone to rinse Alex's hair, but he hadn't thought to.
"Yeah?" Alex asks, experimentally lifting his head and stretching his neck. "Ah, that is not the most comfortable position, not gonna lie."
Rian grabs the hand towel and dries his hands off, then gives it to Alex so Alex can dry his neck, which Alex does, and then leaves the towel around his shoulders. They are definitely going to get dye on this towel and the hotel will not be pleased, but as Alex stands up and begins rearranging his hair to look like himself again, the comment dies in Rian's throat.
Predictably, he looks really fucking good.
Rian watches Alex like some kind of lovestruck idiot until Alex turns to him, tilting his head, and says, "So? Final thoughts? How do I look?"
"Can I kiss you now?" Rian says, surprising himself. "That's what was about to happen before, right? Like, I'm not insane?"
"Your sanity has nothing to do with whether or not we were gonna kiss," Alex says, grinning, eyes bright, "but we totally were and now we definitely are."
This time Rian wastes no time, and his dye-stained fingers blend into the blue oasis of Alex's new hair color as their lips meet. Briefly, Rian's mind is once again crowded with dumb pointless questions, but he pulls Alex closer and Alex curls a hand into the front of Rian's shirt and Rian decides that his mind can take a hike.
As they break apart, Alex laughs. "So you think it looks good?"
"It looks terrible," Rian deadpans. "Yes, of course it looks good. You could shave your head and it would look good." Alex gasps. "Well. Okay. That was an exaggeration to make a point but I'm not sure it's actually true. But honestly, Alex." The jig is up, so Rian just smiles at him. "I always fucking think you look good. This?" He tugs at Alex's hair. "Hot. No doubt."
"Well, that's the only vote of confidence I need," Alex breathes, and then they're kissing again.
(The hair dye leaves its mark on the towel and Rian's hands and the pillowcases they sleep on that night, but its impact, in Rian's opinion, is altogether immeasurable. It's not every day a box of blue hair dye gets him a boyfriend.)
#rian dawson#OOOH FIRST TIME IVE USED THAT TAG#alex gaskarth#rilex#rilex fic#all time low#atl fic#fic#my fic#i made it blue just for adri so adri if ur reading this#that was for u#pls dont try and figure out when this takes place. you will fail#but also: assume alex's hair was already blond the way it is now#cos i KNOW you can't just dye brown hair without bleaching first#but i didnt feel like it made sense to specify#anyway it doesnt matter NOTHING MATTERS#i am throwing this in the queue#if this posts while i'm busy: yes the link will take you to a draft#i'll post the draft when i wake up#if it posts when i'm NOT busy then ignore what i just said#lmaoooo#q#anonymous#ask#answered
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pair: jackson / reader
desc: decay gives way to life
through time, and time only
words: 2k
rated: 15+
genre: drama/romance
notice: sequel to safe harbor
gifted: to @alrightyaphroditie and @dawnofus, for their requests
—AND THE SIGHTS WERE AS STARK AS MY BABY
AND THE COLD WAS AS SHARP AS MY BABY
she is a dangerous, seamless sort of woman—filled to the brim with a fusion of beauty and chaos. it suits her in the same way that red suits roses, jackson thinks, after she’s drifted to sleep with her fingers curled under his shirt.
he can’t really imagine it being any other way.
it takes several minutes to pull himself out of her grasp, half for her determination to chase his heat and half for his own hesitation to leave hers—a balancing act in more ways than one, centered on the growing ambiguity between what is and what could be.
ninety-six days.
in the dark, he turns to watch her curl into a ball beneath the thick blankets, fending off the cold that he leaves in his wake. a glance at the window reveals only the pitch blackness of night, rain dimly lit by the glow of the moon. the smell of it lingers in the air like a cloud of smoke. but jackson has learned to breathe it and draw strength from it.
the rain is plague and sustenance—fortune and fury. the only mercy that it ever granted was the leveling of those deadly tides. somewhere, he supposed, the dam holding those waters in the city had broken and it was flowing unchecked, into the surrounding lands.
maybe there were people still out there. maybe they’d already left.
he finds it hard to care, regardless. the center of his concerns mumbles in her sleep against her pillow, lashes fluttering against the onslaught of her own dreams.
wordlessly, he slips into the kitchen and allows his fingers to trail along the pots that litter the tables between; the beginnings of a flower garden, with seeds nestled deep into rich soil. potential lies locked within them and jackson has taken to waiting with her, holding onto bated breath for the first sprout to breach the earth from below.
she’d taken to gardening with less fuss than he’d imagined. once she’d grasped the basic concepts she was unstoppable.
the network of lights crossing the ceiling beams is his own contribution, offered in lieu of laundry duties for the week. it was a simple enough trade. jackson pretends that the veiled excitement in her eyes had nothing to do with it.
with a quick look over his shoulder, he assures himself that she’s still sleeping. practiced hands open the drawers and cabinets that contain a simple mixing bowl, the sugars and flours and miscellaneous things required for his task. a small packet with a faded label lays beneath his fingers when he’s done and examining the ingredients with an engineer’s eye.
he begins his work.
fifty-one days.
he’s given his first taste of hope. there is promise in the quieting of those deadly waters, and jackson—reasonably, he thinks—decides to act upon it. when he dons his raincoat and ventures down the stairs instead of up, he dares to believe that something could change.
it takes all of two days to get her to stop screaming and let him leave the shelter they’d made for themselves. it takes a day longer to stop her crying.
the first time, all he finds is a dozen corpses between them and the building next door, sunken beneath the waters and reaching for the slate grey skies. jackson learns again not to look down. the second, he finds a rowboat to tow into the hollowed out shelter of the first floor. it’s a fruitful journey that exceeds the bounty of the last, and the two to come.
there isn’t a soul alive as far as he goes, but there are empty units; apartments and small groceries situated above expansive garages. he empties each little by little, building his bachelor’s apartment into something better resembling a home, one piece at a time.
the grocery has a generator. he spends the better part of two weeks dismantling it and transporting the parts, and another week stocking their newly functioning refrigerator with the spoils of his afternoon journeys. it beats dragging their bagged perishables from cold, dirty water.
he brings back books. art. board games.
when he unloads the latter, jackson hears her laugh for the first time in months. the sound draws his eye upward, along the stair-line to where she stands. startled, with a quivering hand held over her mouth.
she cries for the next two hours.
the grieving process, he supposes, is a messy thing. particularly when the loss is not of a single person but an entire world. she folds herself into his coat when he opens it, crawling across his lap and burrowing to the warmth hidden beneath. jackson can’t say he minds the contact when his eyes begin to burn; when it gets harder to shove it back and back and back. there are other times for those sorts of things.
there are always other times.
seventy-five days.
“do you think that we’ll ever taste fruit again?” the question comes quietly, murmured between spoonfuls of chicken soup and the flickering of the candlelight, “or eggs? are there even farms anymore?”
there is an absence in her voice; an airy quality that makes her seem as if she’ll blow away in the slightest wind. but her eyes are fixed upon him—holding his gaze with no give.
she is daring him, jackson realizes.
challenging him to feed her more hope, when he is clinging to that first and only taste of it from weeks before. she is a dangerous, seamless sort of woman. beauty and chaos. it suits her in a way that red suits roses. he can’t really imagine it being any other way.
but, there are no more roses.
there are no more fruit.
“if i find a melon out there, you’ll be the first to know,” he says instead, biting his tongue against the spiked words that he wants to inflict upon her—quiet retaliation for making him think.
“my birthday is in three weeks. you better hurry.”
there is no humor in her smile; merely pain.
eighty-one days.
and though logic argues against any effort, he ventures ever further into the outskirts in the city when the rain relents; in search of rooftop gardens that haven’t been washed away, markets that aren’t swelling with the sickly sweet scent of rotten fruit.
if she notices his efforts, she says nothing. her only answer to the packet of rose seeds laying in her palm is a soft sigh—“putting me to work, are you?”
“i figured it was time,” he watches her bite her lip before she steps closer, past the ever-shrinking boundaries between them to strip away the heavy layers of his outerwear.
the seeds vanish into her pocket.
“you would.”
their banter gives way to silence, as it does of late. he preoccupies himself with the easy way she smoothes his damp hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear. there is care in her movements, clouded as it is by her usual bristling demeanor.
“now that’s what i call a tragedy,” she whispers, busying her fingers with the buttons of his shirt—through the violent shivers rattling his bones, jackson realizes that she is talking about him, “you’re a mess.”
his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth; every thought skitters to a stop at the tentative smile playing across her lips. finally, he finds his words and pushes them out as she peels the wet fabric down his shoulders, “watch your mouth. you, of all people, should understand what i’m trying to do here.”
it has the intended effect. her lips press together as she winds the soaked clothing into a ball and tosses it into the waiting metal bin with the rest of their wash.
“yeah, i do.” she levels a look at him—sharp and bittersweet; filled with a secret that he isn’t meant to know. “you’re trying to get yourself killed going out there for something that you think i want more than i want you here. safe.”
as if the air has been drawn out of her, she drifts to the window and remains there, back turned and arms crossed over her waist.
whatever glimpse he’d caught of joy in her is lost.
he is lost.
ninety-six days.
he only notices that she’s awake by the sound of her muted footsteps, crossing the space between them—his attention is on the improvised stand and the smoother held between his fingers. the tips of them are caked in a layer of vanilla icing that is nothing short of an assault on the senses.
“you’re making a cake,” she asks, and it is anything but a question. how could she wonder, after all, when the evidence is laid out before her?
“and you’re distracting me,” muttering, jackson sets aside the smoother and wipes his hand on his t-shirt before picking up the half-full piping bag of forest green icing. the only color he could find, as it were. “go get cleaned up, we’re having breakfast.”
when he spares her a glance, she is watching him with a strange look—lips parted as if to speak—before she enters their small kitchen space and begins digging for a skillet, “we’re not eating cake for breakfast.”
“it’s your birthday. why not?”
he pauses when he hears the telltale sniffle, faint enough that it almost slips beneath the click of the gas being turned on. from the refrigerator, she pulls a small bottle of plant-based eggs and pours them onto the heating pan, “because it’s my birthday, and i say so.”
“heard.”
they work in comfortable quiet, steadily through the dull echoes of rain washing over the roof. the constancy of it lulls him into a daze. it’s easy to work in, he finds, while piping amateurish decorations onto the perimeter of the cake.
he tops the piped icing with diced pieces of dried melon.
it looks good enough.
he’s in the middle of writing her name across the top when he feels warmth at his back; a soft heat that sinks into his bones and makes it hard to focus, “what is it?”
her words are muffled against the fabric of his shirt—face pressed into the expanse between his shoulders, “you really get on my nerves sometimes, you know? you’re so fucking pragmatic about this whole thing that i wonder if you've even grasped the reality of what happened.”
she exhales, and the sound is shaky at best. teary at worst.
frozen, jackson listens—tries to quell the racing of his heart. it pounds rebelliously against his ribcage, but he keeps his voice even, “and?”
“but i realize that i needed that. more than i needed to be coddled like a child. as far as we know, it’s just the two of us now anyways. so i might as well learn how to see the good in what you do.”
her grip tightens, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. it’s far from the first time that she’s been this close; far from the first time that he’s felt the effects of it—a residual glow at the edges of his thoughts.
giddiness, he labels it, before shoving into a box reserved for things he does not need to think about.
“i love you.”
but there is no box for that.
“i love you,” she repeats, so softly that he can barely hear it. but jackson can feel her lips moving against his back, “you don’t have to reciprocate—“
“i do.”
slowly, he sets down the piping bag and lays it next to the almost almost finished cake.
it takes effort to loosen her grasp on him and turn around; to think past the voice in his head roaring that this is a bad idea. this is the very thing that he’d been trying to avoid, living in such cramped quarters with the only soul he’d dared to bring into his sanctuary.
looking back, it’d been her, the pretty barista with the prettier smile that’d drawn him downstairs in the first place—hoping that he’d be fortunate enough to find her standing behind the counter, making his favorite drink.
he’d gotten lucky, looking back.
“i do,” he admits, threading his fingers through her hair. as her head dips into the crook of his neck, jackson allows himself to breathe. she smiles, and he feels it against his skin—
beauty and chaos. it suits her in the same way that red suits roses.
he can’t really imagine it being any other way.
“i do.”
for longer than you’ll ever know.
and the nights were as dark as my baby
half as beautiful too
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Golden Rings 7: A Salad
The Storybrooke Sequel to Golden Cuffs
Rumple makes dinner for Mrs. Gold
Read on AO3
Cooking was a skill Rumpelstiltskin shared with Gold. In the old world, the women who’d raised him had shown him all their tricks of brewing and baking and making the most of anything on hand. They told him that a boy needed to be able to do for himself just as much as a girl would. When he’d married Millah, he’d known more recipes than she had. They’d laughed about that--during the brief time when there had been any laughter between them. Even before she left him and Bae, the task of feeding them had often fallen on him.
Once he’d gained the powers of the Dark One, Rumpelstiltskin had been able to conjure up feasts beyond imagining. He’d delighted in pulling food out of the air, grand dishes he would never have tasted as a poor spinner. But Bae had insisted that he liked the old meals better, the food his papa had made with his hands. So he had tried not to use magic for a while. For Baelfire’s sake, he had tried.
For Gold, cooking had been a necessary art. There weren’t many restaurants in Storybrooke, and their menus quickly grew tiresome. Though he could easily afford a private chef, Gold disliked the invasion of allowing another person into his home. Why should he trust some stranger in his kitchen, handling his food? Gold took pride in the self-sufficiency inherent in creating his own menus. Cooking required patience, preparation, and a deft hand--all traits he valued in himself.
And, as with most things, it was a way to flaunt his wealth. Not everyone had the time and resources to master the art of haute cuisine. Gold could spend hundreds of dollars on a set of copper crepe pans or custom-forged knives. And he would only bother with the rarest ingredients--the freshest vegetables, the leanest cuts of meat. The style of this world was to present individual bites of food on plates large enough to hold a whole dinner. At fine restaurants, a three-bite portion could cost more than a family’s weekly grocery bill.
Disparities like that amused Gold to no end. His cruel, spiteful nature liked wasting money as much as he liked having it. He would season his food with costly saffron and white truffles--and then throw half of it away, uneaten. No one in Storybrooke knew about that, of course. But Gold knew. It gave him a twisted satisfaction to compare his own extravagant asceticism with the panicked thrift of every working-class parent who looked with grateful eyes at the 99 cent kid’s meal at Chicken Little’s.
Because of course Gold had no actual appreciation for fine foods. Bastard didn’t take joy in any of his possessions or his privileges. He just liked having things that other people couldn’t afford. Things that other people wanted, and envied him for having.
Mrs. Gold came into the kitchen through the door that led out from the patio. Relying on his cane, Rumpelstiltskin had only been able to carry the box that held his dagger and the chipped cup. But his wife held a bag of groceries in each arm.
“I’ll set these down and go get the rest!”
She flounced off, an impressive feat considering the height of her heels. Belle had had difficulty the first time she’d worn shoes like that. It had been his task to teach her how to walk, how to dance. They had come to love dancing together in the ballroom of his castle. On the day of their wedding, they had danced for hours.
But in this world he was crippled again. On the night Mr. and Mrs. Gold had wed, she had danced with every man in Storybrooke except him.
Small as she was, even hobbled by her footwear, Mrs. Gold was capable of mundane tasks that would cause him agony. Whether Gold liked it or not, his life was easier with her around.
Perhaps that was why Gold liked to make her life so difficult.
When she came back to the kitchen, Mrs. Gold busied herself with the groceries and Rumpelstiltskin began to make dinner. Without thinking about it, he pulled out a drawer for a cup into which he could measure out chicken stock and wine and something called arborio rice. Gold had already planned to make risotto, and Rumpelstiltskin had no reason to object. He let Gold’s knowledge guide him through the process. On his own, he didn’t know where ingredients were or how to operate the massive hearth--no. Gold’s kitchen had no hearth, just a stove. It was powered by something called natural gas.
A twist of a knob, and Rumpelstiltskin summoned up a circle of blue flame. On top of the flame, he placed a heavy, enamel-coated saute pan. It was so clean it looked like it had never been used. But he knew it had been. This pan was one of Gold’s favorites.
Into the pan, he drizzled a stream of oil. The bottle said it was imported from Italy. Rumpelstiltskin assumed that was a marker of quality, or at least expense. He felt Gold in the back of his mind, offering up exactly how much the best extra virgin olive oil cost per ounce, not to mention the price of shipping directly from Tuscany.
Rumpelstiltskin pushed Gold away with memories of a time when even butter was an unspeakable luxury. From the time he was a boy he had learned to pour off grease and lard and meat drippings into a clay crock so it could be used again when needed. Fat had been a precious commodity in the old world. Animals didn’t have much on their flesh and people had even less. The idea of being choosy about what the grease tasted like--or even if it had gone rancid--was ludicrous.
Behind him, Mrs. Gold had the refrigerator door open and was putting away the food she had bought earlier.
“Can you hand me the chopped leeks?” Meticulous as a machine, Gold did the preparation for his meals days ahead of time. Half the glass containers in the refrigerator were full vegetables he had minced to a paste or diced into perfect uniformity.
“Yes, Mr. Gold!”
She bent at the waist to search for the container he requested. With obvious intent, she hollowed her back and stuck out her pert, round, arse. His hands itched to touch her. He wanted to squeeze that soft flesh or deliver a sharp smack against her pretty skirt. Nothing too severe. Just enough to make his wife yelp. Just enough to let her know that he was looking.
Instead, Rumpelstiltskin looked away.
Surprisingly quiet in her heels, Mrs. Gold set some food on the counter beside him.
“I got out the butterflied chicken breasts as well, Mr. Gold. Was that correct?”
“It was.” He said what Gold would say, made the menu Gold had planned. “And you’ll serve the same sauvignon blanc I’m using to make the sauce. It should all be ready in less than twenty minutes.”
“Wonderful!” She smiled like he had given her a gift. “After I put away the groceries, may I set the table for both of us?”
He heard the question inside her question. Every night, Mrs. Gold set a place for her husband at the head of the dining room table. Where she ate depended on how he felt about her on any given day.
“Yes, dear.” Rumpelstiltskin unwrapped the chicken from the butcher paper and added it to the sizzling leeks. “I want my wife close to me tonight.”
****
While Gold had control of the actual preparation of food, part of their routine was that Mrs. Gold had to plate the food and bring it to him in the dining room. It stroked Gold’s ego to be served by a beautiful woman, to have his wife at his beck and call. He got to use his power. Pretend that he was some kind of lord of the manor.
A sad little king of a sad little hill.
Rumpelstiltskin sighed as he sank into the carved wooden chair at the head of the table. Like everything else in this house, the table was an antique masterpiece, stately and dark. A red damask table runner spanned the length of it, breaking up the shine of the polished oak. Two thin tapers burned in crystal candle holders on either side of a centerpiece of silk flowers. Even with the candles, the room was an ocean of darkness.
They were soy candles. Rumpelstiltskin hated knowing that. Soy melted at a lower temperature than beeswax, so these candles were relatively cooler, more tolerable on bare skin. By the time the meal had ended, quite a pool would have melted down. Hot wax, ready to pour over a naked body, if that was what Gold decided he wanted for dessert.
He looked to his left, to the chair where Mrs. Gold would sit. Both places at the table were set with polished silver and gold-rimmed crystal goblets. Linen napkins were wrapped neatly into engraved napkin rings. The bone china plates were currently in the kitchen. Most people in Storybrooke only saw this level of grandeur at black-tie events. Like weddings.
“Here we are!” Mrs. Gold burst into the dining room with a plate in each hand. She was still wearing her high-heeled shoes. She had been wearing them all day. Didn’t her feet hurt?
Rumpelstiltskin almost stood to help her. But the second he put weight on his ankle he winced and sank back into the chair. His cane was leaning against the table’s edge. By the time he thought to grab it and stand up properly, Mrs. Gold was already placing a plate in front of him.
“Thank you for permitting me to join you, Mr. Gold. I hope you’ll find me pleasant company.” She poured some chilled white wine into his glass. Her voice wasn’t quite as bubbly as it had been earlier. She seemed more subdued, like she was trying to be seductive.
Rumpelstiltskin took a drink.
It was only when he set his wine glass down again that he noticed that Mrs. Gold’s glass was empty. She hadn’t poured anything for herself. Though she sat in a chair, her hands were placed palms-down on the table top, on either side of her plate.
Oh yes, that was a rule. She wasn’t allowed to start eating until Gold did.
“Well, then.” Rumpelstiltskin shook out his napkin and placed it in his lap before he cut into the chicken and leeks.
In the silent dining room, he heard the half-sigh that came out of Mrs. Gold. She was relieved, wasn’t she? Grateful that her husband hadn’t changed his mind about tolerating her presence.
Swallowing his first bite, Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to speak. But what could he say? What could he offer this woman? How could he undo the damage of twenty-eight years of living like this?
But he had to try.
He looked up at his wife. And for the first time, he paid attention to what was on her plate. There was nothing but green leaves. No chicken in white wine sauce. No pan-fried leeks. Not a single grain of risotto.
“What are you eating?”
He heard his own voice come out in a thin, deadly whisper. He gripped his fork, too tightly to be natural.
Mrs. Gold saw that. She dropped her own fork onto her plate and looked over at him with wide eyes. “I--it’s a salad, Mr. Gold.” She lowered her gaze and sat with her hands in her lap. If he concentrated, he could see her trembling.
A salad.
Of course it was. He had seen her bring it in with the other groceries, a plastic tub of pre-washed baby spinach. Cheap and easy, just like her. It was part of their routine, one of Gold’s rules. Every night for dinner, all Mrs. Gold was allowed to take for herself was a plateful of salad greens, with no dressing. Anything else she ate, he would have to expressly permit or give her himself.
Sometimes Gold liked to make her beg for every bite until she cried.
He took a breath. He didn’t speak. He willed his pulse to slow down to a reasonable pace. He kept his voice controlled. He couldn’t frighten this poor woman any more than she already was.
“I cooked two portions of chicken,” he said carefully. “I wanted you to have some as well.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” She kept her head bowed, her whole body tense. She expected an attack, verbal if not physical. “I thought you wanted the other piece for your lunch tomorrow.”
“I want to provide for my wife.” He tried to explain, tried to keep calm, tried to keep from crying. Buried memories crashed into his head and he had to raise his voice to hear his own thoughts. “I want you to have more than just fucking leaves!”
In one instant, a thousand memories assaulted him all at once. Year after year--first as a child, then as a young man on his own, then with his son beside him. When the hungry months came upon the land and winters wore on and on. The stores left over from harvest grew smaller and smaller. And Rumpelstiltskin never had much to store away even in good times. Year upon year, he waited as the winter ebbed, but the hunger remained. Waited as they days grew longer, but the trees stayed bare. Waited until the first hints of green began to bud and grow, signalling that spring was coming and there would be something to eat again.
He had shown Bae what his father had shown him. He had taught him the ways of the woods. They had so little land for a garden, but there was always something in the Duke’s forest. He had bundled up Bae in his shawl and his cap, to go out in search of food. And every year they had found mushrooms and ramsons and Jack-by-the-hedge--anything to flavor water enough so they could call it soup. Anything to keep them going for one more day.
Bae being who he was, he had thought it a grand adventure. He had wanted to know what else in the forest could be eaten. And Rumpelstiltskin had shown him violets and wood sorrel and taught him to boil stinging nettle. But Bae was a growing boy and all the adventure in the world couldn’t fill his gnawing belly. He began to eat anything that was green, any leaf, except for those he knew were poisonous.
One day, Rumpelstiltskin had found his son in the pasture with the sheep, his mouth stained green from eating grass and clover.
To his shame, he hadn’t stopped him. He hadn’t said a word. Because Rumpelstiltskin--spinner, cripple, coward--had nothing better to give him. Because Rumpelstiltskin--useless, penniless, worthless--could not fill the belly of the child he would give his life for. The person he loved most in the world had nothing to eat except fucking leaves!
Taking his cane, he stood up quickly. Mrs. Gold flinched at the sudden movement. Rumpelstiltskin bit back a curse that would have burned down the house around them if he had any magic at all.
She started to rise, but he hobbled over to her. Plate in one hand, cane in the other, Rumpelstiltskin slid his dinner onto Mrs. Gold’s raw spinach.
“Sit down,” he ordered through clenched teeth. “Stay here. Eat that.”
“Yes, Mr. Gold,” She answered like an automaton. What was the word in this world? A robot. A toy programmed to have the same responses no matter what the owner said or did to it. Mrs. Gold was nothing but a thing. And not even a thing Gold valued enough to care for.
“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”
He went back into the kitchen without a word. He didn’t trust himself to speak.
It took the last straining threads of his self-control to keep from throwing Gold’s fine china plate against Gold’s state-of-the-art refrigerator. He should take this wretched cane and smash in the glass-fronted cabinets, destroy everything inside. All of Gold’s crystal and porcelain and the plates so thin you could see light through them--he should shatter them into splinters and shards. Rumpelstiltskin should destroy all the things Gold held so dear. Objects that mattered to him more than the woman he had married. It would feel so good to reduce his wealth to nothing and his prized possessions into rubble.
But that wouldn’t bring Belle back.
It wouldn’t undo what had already been done.
With a single breath, all the rage escaped from Rumpelstiltskin’s body. He leaned against a wall and felt himself crumple into a heap. He had just enough presence of mind to cover his mouth with his left hand. Stifle the sobs so she wouldn’t hear.
That bastard! That monster! How dare Gold do these things to Belle! Rumpelstiltskin knew his share of evil, but he still had enough humanity to be appalled that Gold would treat her this way. His most precise cruelties were reserved not for his enemies or his debtors, but his own wife! The woman he had chosen to marry, the woman whose hand he had held as he vowed to cherish and protect and love her!
But instead Gold made her starve herself. The richest man in Storybrooke took it as a point of pride that his wife barely ate. In this palace of a house, he begrudged her every inch of space. He made her feel like an intruder in the only home she had. He degraded her and insulted her and treated her like she was less than human. Worst of all, he made her think that was how he showed affection.
“Gods.” He rasped out a prayer to powers he had never believed in, deities who didn’t exist in this world. “Gods, Belle. What did I do to you?”
Because as much as he blamed Gold, as much as he hated Gold, the truth of the matter was that this was Rumpelstiltskin’s fault. He had created the curse. He had wanted to come to this horrible world. He had planned and manipulated and twisted the path of fate to his will. He had worked so hard, for centuries, to get to where he was now. He thought he had arranged it all, so that the price of this magic wouldn’t fall on him.
But the very existence of this town was a punishment. According to the one who had cast the curse, Rumpelstiltskin was due the suffering he had lived under for twenty-eight years. Being Gold was a bleak and miserable existence. And he had taken out his anger on the one person who would never leave him.
He looked down at his hands, at his wedding ring, at the scar on his palm. He had made vows to Belle. He had promised to protect her, to belong to her, to trust her with the best and the worst of himself. Like Mrs. Gold, she had a mind-boggling capacity for loving even the most vile of men. And unlike Gold, Rumpelstiltskin could not punish a woman for loving him.
It wasn’t Belle’s fault, and it wasn’t Mrs. Gold’s. The persona of Gold didn’t exist anymore. As satisfying as it was to rage at a dead man, there was no way to take Gold to task for how he had treated his wife.
And Belle would say it wasn’t his fault either. He had come to her so many times, full of worries and guilt.
Sweetheart, how can you still love me? Knowing what I’ve done and what I’ll do?
Rumple, she had assured him. This curse is a powerful weapon, but it is not in your hands anymore. You are no more culpable for what happens than a swordsmith is responsible for a duel.
Part of him didn’t believe her. He could never look at himself with the grace and mercy of Belle’s kind heart. He had created the curse, he had wanted this weapon to be used. He had placed it in the hands of a madwoman, knowing it would destroy her, knowing it would bring misery to everyone--including himself and the woman he loved.
Still, perhaps Belle was right. And perhaps, somehow, he could find a way to redeem himself for his past. Even if he could never be good enough, perhaps he could use his evil for a good purpose.
Perhaps.
When he was ready, Rumpelstiltskin pulled himself to his feet, dusted off Gold’s fancy suit, and went back into the dining room.
Mrs. Gold was still at the table, her posture rigid but her plate empty. She looked up when he came through the door. For a moment, he saw her eyes--the perfect blue rimmed with red--and then she looked away.
“I finished everything, Mr. Gold. It was delicious.”
His heart broke anew at her voice. Belle was so strong, so sure of herself, even when she faced insurmountable obstacles. Always, she would stay brave. Always, she would do the best she could with the knowledge and tools she had. In that moment, Mrs. Gold seemed just like her.
“I’m glad you liked it.” Rumpelstiltskin stayed in the doorway, both hands braced on his cane. “From now on, when I make a meal, I expect you to eat your share.”
She nodded, still an obedient creature. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”
They were silent for a moment, then Rumpelstiltskin spoke. “I want to apologize, for earlier. I should have been more direct in my desires. And I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Gold blinked, several times, before she spoke. “I--W--You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Gold. You can do whatever you like.”
“I know.” Rumpelstiltskin swallowed back the bile in his throat. “And what I would like is to have a wife who is well-nourished and who doesn’t fear her husband.”
She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. “I don’t fear you, Mr. Gold. I just hate the thought of disappointing you. I never want to be less than what you deserve.”
From the beginning, Belle had always been more than he deserved. He had stopped a war to acquire her, and he would never fully pay for all the love and goodness she had given him.
But he couldn’t tell any of that to Mrs. Gold.
“I’m going for a walk,” he announced. “I need to clear my head.”
Mrs. Gold nodded and stood up. “Where should I go, while you’re out?”
In spite of himself, Rumpelstiltskin clenched his jaw. “You are allowed to stay in this house when I’m not here.”
“I--Really?” She looked more confused than pleased. “Even when I’m not tied up or anything?”
He let out a long, heavy sigh. Yes, he remembered. Gold had regularly left the house while his wife was restrained with no way to get out. There was also a dog cage in the basement where Gold would leave her on work days when he didn’t want her in the shop. It was a miracle the bastard hadn’t killed her.
“Yes,” he answered. “In fact, it’s high time you got your own key to this place. It is your home, after all.”
Slowly as the dawn, a smile lit up her face. Gods, she was so beautiful.
“Thank you, Mr. Gold!” She stood up from the table and moved to embrace him. But Rumpelstiltskin held up one hand and she stopped in her tracks.
“You can clear the table whenever you like. I’ll wash the dishes when I return.”
That was another part of Gold’s arrangement. He didn’t allow his wife to clean, because he didn’t trust her with his precious antiques. For Rumpelstiltskin, the thought of submerging Belle’s hands in dishwater like a scullery maid was an insult. Far from the worst thing she had ever been subjected to, but the principle stood. He would gladly do drudgework if it would spare his wife the labor.
“What should I do until you get back?”
He shrugged. “Something you like,” he suggested. “Something to pamper yourself.” Something to make up for the hell you’ve lived in for twenty-eight years. “You could have some of that ice cream you bought today.”
Mrs. Gold chewed at her bottom lip as she thought. “I could… take a bubble bath, maybe?”
She was asking for his permission, his approval. He gave it to her. “That’s a very good idea,” he said gently.
He pushed away the thought of his wife’s legs sticking over the edge of a bathtub. Her head leaning back as she relaxed in the steaming water. Her lovely body hidden under piles of white bubbles until she emerged like a goddess from the sea, warm and soft and scented with roses.
Rumpelstiltskin shook his head. This wasn’t his wife in front of him. Belle was gone, and it was time to confront the person who was really responsible for that.
He had to see the Queen.
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