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sooibian · 3 years

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The Daisy Oracle

Pairing: Baekhyun x fem!Reader

Genre / Themes: Fluff, soft angst, a hint of spice, established relationship

Description: In the days leading up to Baekhyun’s enlistment, you find yourself dissecting every word of his and he’s been saying...all the wrong things.

A/N: To accommodate this anon request, the story does not take the “BBH public service worker” route. Dear anon who requested this, i sincerely hope this fic gives you the comfort that you seek. even though i tried to publish this as soon as i could, i hope it doesn’t feel rushed! :)

Word count: ~ 2k

You always had a hard time keeping up with Byun Baekhyun.

On a typical Thursday evening, when you, everyone you knew, and their families, zombified by the obstinate demands of the week, trudged towards the promise of an invigorating weekend, Baekhyun looked and acted like one of those puppies in one of those picture perfect 'family is everything' movies. Always eager. Always happy.

That is not to say that the weight of living eluded him. He'd have his moments where everything seemed rather dull and tedious but Baekhyun always bounced back quicker than most.

In the month leading up to his enlistment, when you'd hoped for your own sake and his, that he'd mellow under the soul crushing burden of an impending temporary separation, his puppy quotient shot through the roof instead. But you didn't have the heart to utter a single word that bore the abominable might to dull his sparkle.

Instead, you revved up your own. Or at least...tried.

He booped your nose and said to you over dinner one evening, "You don't have to pretend, you know?" causing you to flip the switch on him, "What would you rather have me do? Cry?"

Truth be told, you were mad!

Mad at the world. Mad at the laws of conscription, most of all. How could they take this...this...stupidly adorable, angelic, happiness shaped man with a divine voice, endearingly droopy eyes, jelly lips, plump cheeks, and the most delectable nose away from you for such an agonizingly long stretch of time?

"It would be nice," he quipped, looking into the distance as if lost in a deep thought, the faintly heavy texture of his tone nudging you out of your rueful reverie.

Head tilted to the side, you blinked at him, mouthing a confused, "What?"

"Hello! Earth to --! I said, If you cried a little...every now and then….it would make me feel - it would make you feel - "

These callous utterances of his would not only exasperate you endlessly but also shove you back into the despairing hurricane of emotions you’d been trying to quash for his sake and yours.

So you glowered at him in response and he quietly went back to his soup, leaving you to your musings.

Blinkering your attention to the sumptuous spread before you, you wondered why you struggled to push something that appetizing down your throat. Everything tasted either a little too bland, or a little too spicy, a little...unusual and not quite right. Which was strange considering the only reason you loved this restaurant was because they hadn’t changed their menu nor their recipes in decades.

You craved the comfort of the known especially on days like these when the world felt bizarre - inside and out.

“This fillet is too dry,” you whined, washing down your last bite of the salmon with cider.

Brows furrowed, Baekhyun drew his “No ~” out in a question.

“And overly seasoned,” you winced, persistent in your complaining while pushing your food around.

“Here, try the Gyeran Mari,” said Baekhyun, lovingly placing two neat rolls of your favourite banchan into your rice bowl.

Eyes locked with his, a smile teasing the corners of your mouth, you quipped nonchalantly, "You know what? I cannot cry even if I wanted to."

"Really? Why's that?" He inquired with a quirked brow, cheeks puffed with silken tofu.

Waving your phone at him, you replied, "All these airpod head comments online - "

"Yah yah yah!!!" Breaking into a fit of roaring laughter, he lunged at you and pinned you to the floor. Cupping your face in his hands, he kissed every inch of the exposed skin of your face and neck, making your giggles fizzle into a soft moan the moment his lips met yours.

"Leave the laundry to me. Go get your things in order for next week," you said to a dumbstruck Baekhyun as he felt the jute laundry basket that you'd picked out together over two years ago, swiftly changing hands from his to yours.

When you heard neither a word tumble out of his mouth, nor the sound of his feet padding down the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks, turned around to face him and spluttered a mortified, "What?"

"No, no, it’s nothing," he mumbled, lips forming a toothsome pout.

Resting the laundry basket against your hip, you groused, "Just say it."

Soft baby pink lips stretched into a wide, gremlin-like grin, he teased, "If I knew enlistment would make your lazy ass pick up some of my chores, I would've enlisted a lot earlier!"

Feigning annoyance, you rolled your eyes in response and turned on your heel to rush to the washer dryer.

In a week’s worth pile of unwashed clothes, stood out a beige t-shirt that he’d worn for not more than an hour last week. It was relatively clean and needed a wash simply because he had no use for it in the following months. You buried your face in the velvety smooth fabric of the oversized garment, yielding to Baekhyun’s lingering saccharine yet woody scent. The dam of your pent up emotions broke loose at the last four words that had recklessly rolled off his tongue. You bit down on your lower lip to suppress it's quiver but the tears in your eyes gave it all away when you turned around to find him standing by the door.

You accepted his unspoken apology with an understanding nod as he nestled you up to his familiar, comforting warmth. And while he gently cradled you in his strong and steady arms, you poured your heart out into the crook of his neck.

Dressed in cozy black and grey sweats, Baekhyun stood before you, lips pursed, eyes wide, anxiously wringing his hands while swaying from side to side.

"So?" His brows shot up in anticipation of your reaction while you chewed on the insides of your cheeks to keep yourself from breaking into an insensitive fit of laughter.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you managed a feeble, "Looks alright,", feigning your best businesslike demeanour.

A confused Baekhyun’s gaze flew up to his forehead as he gingerly ran a hand over his head. Features contorted in a frown, he remarked, "Prickly."

Then you could hold it in no more.

Instantly convulsed with laughter, you crashed into bed while Baekhyun simply stood there, hands on hips, patiently waiting for you to -

“Let it all out!” He exclaimed loudly while you continued your antics, fully cognizant that the discomfiture in his tone was merely for effect. Baekhyun continued, “I don’t get what’s so funny.”

You threw your hands up and apologized, panting, “Okay, okay...I’m done,” only to break into another fit of giggles immediately after.

The room was bathed in a subtle gold haze from the bedside lamp as you lay resting your head on Baekhyun's chest, the rhythm of his heart calming the storm within yours. He brought your hand up to his rosebud mouth and trailed gentle kisses along the tips of your fingers before lacing them with his.

"It's not that bad...it's...it's kinda cute, actually. Makes your ears stick out," you whispered against his taut and smooth skin.

"I don't know, I feel a little...different. I've never been bald," he uttered the last word hesitantly as if it were some sort of a deathly curse.

"Being born with hair and all - ,” you remarked casually, cuddling even closer and Baekhyun instinctively strengthened his grip on you.

The looming presence of the words left unsaid magnified by the second and you prayed a futile prayer... wishing fervently for the time to stop.

“I wonder what our kids will look like. Do you think they’ll be born with hair on their wee little heads and have huge ears like I do?” asked Baekhyun before you could lapse into another silent reverie.

Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at the incessant carelessness on his part and you only managed a dispirited “I...don’t know" in response.

“Come on! Humour me for a second -”

“Alright," you said with a deep sigh, deciding to indulge him but not without first bracing your heart against these beguiling castles in the air, "hmm.. I...I don't know but I want them to have your eyes."

"No!” Baekhyun protested, “I want them to have your eyes!"

"We're not having this argument again..not today." You tried to subtly release yourself from his firm grasp to fill your lungs with the air he’d snatched with promises so enticing that they made you tremble with fear to even wish for their realization but the more you tried to pull away, he drew you even closer....your darling quicksand.

He laughed, blatantly ignoring the embarrassment flashing across your features having been caught off guard by this unnecessary pop quiz. Eyes welling up with tears, you wondered whether this turmoil was some wicked sorcery of your own heart...or did Baekhyun, in fact, not care at all.

"But don't you think this house is a biiiit too cozy for a big family?"

"We won't have to worry about any of that for a while I believe," you muttered before lambasting him, "Okay Byun Baekhyun that's enough! Stop acting like you won't come visit every few weeks! And- and stop looking at me like that!"

Your expression softened the moment his eyes locked with yours.

Baekhyun sat up with a start. Brows furrowed in confusion, he guffawed, "I'm just wondering how someone this intelligent can be so thick in the head sometimes!"

Immediately sitting up to face him, you nearly squealed, "What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, he let out a deep exhale. Mumbling incoherently, he drew a key from underneath his pillow and lightly flicked your forehead with it. Chuckling at the very apparent bewilderment on your face, he grabbed your wrist and thrust the key into your hand.

Puzzled, you merely blinked at him, unable to form words.

"I bought the place that you liked,” he stated matter-of-factly but an unmistakable spark of excitement danced in his eyes.

“No, I don’t get it.”

“All that house hunting wasn't for Baekbeom." Baekhyun used air-quotes when he said house hunting and gave you a sly smile. Despite the telltale exhilaration in his tone...you were still pretty confused. Baekhyun and you had spent almost all of your weekends this year property hunting with his brother and sister-in-law. They’d said they were looking for a bigger place since the Byun family was to “expand”.

“But - I thought they were talking about themselves! I-”

“You what?”

“I can’t believe I fell for -”

“You walked right into it, Ma’am!”

“But you all made it sound so convincing!”

He coolly quipped, “A quality I would like all four of our future children to possess.”

Baekhyun’s grand gesture knocked the wind out of your lungs and you were suddenly flat on your back. Lying down next to you, he took your hand in his and sneakily slipped a ring onto your finger. A silent tear rolled down your cheek as all of the emotions that had been simmering inside you clawed at your throat rendering you speechless and breathless. Despite that, you managed the courage to meet his eyes only to find them brimming with tears. With his hand on your cheek, Baekhyun closed the distance between you and whispered, "I love you," against your lips before pulling you in for a deep kiss.

"I love you, too," you responded, nestling into his cozy frame.

"Yah! Don't get all emotional with me!" Baekhyun teased while gently stroking your hair. Voice down to a whisper, he continued, "I'm just getting everything in order...like you’d asked me to," before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

You always had a hard time keeping up with Byun Baekhyun.

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ferret-not-microwave · 3 years

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Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 1).

[I'll do this series in 4 or so Parts].

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with. ]

Enjolras:

• Wants people to know that he isn't always angry and uptight.

• That he can giggle for hours on end and even snort like a malfunctioning car when supplied with enough puns and Penguin videos.

•That people can walk around him without being on eggshells all the time. He doesn't like the idea of Christmas Capitalism, but that DOES NOT mean that people need to stutter "Chris-sorry-non-denominational holiday party" to him all the time.

• That he does hang out with Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet and Chetta as well. And they know he's scared of nightclub crowds, so they also find nice places to go with him. Enjolras has a photo of them in front of an amusement park carousel pinned on his headboard.

• He's also super unhappy that people think of him as a pretentious wokeboi who never accepts a different point of view. He tries too hard to undo whatever prejudices he has, and frequently cries in the shower when he thinks he has been horrible to someone. He apologizes almost instantly if he fucks things up, and tries his level best to fix the situation.

• That he likes other colours too. Enj has a blanket which is a soft shade of mauve, which he simply cannot do without at night. He also loves porcelain blue, rose gold and emerald green. He had a dark academia phase once.

• That he has had high school crushes. A few, intense ones. Except remembering them hurts him still.

• That he does like his caffeine, but he's careful enough to not overdo his coffee intake. In fact, Enj does take remarkably good care of himself and people around them. He's meticulous in following grocery schedules and house-cleaning routines, and actually enjoys them. He's a brilliant plant parent, second to Jehan.

• That people sometimes wait for him to "open up" and ultimately "reveal" his softboi self. He's what he is, not a coconut. -_-

• The Amis do know all this, and live him for what he is. Just, some others don't believe him. :(

Combeferre:

• Wants people to know that he is not always so "put-together". That there are days when he has crippling anxiety and self-doubt and can't get out of bed, let alone shower and make breakfast. There are also days in which he can't stop himself from crying in the Musain's bathroom, for inexplicable reasons.

• He also has extremely short bitten-off nails.

• He's frustrated when people don't believe that he has ever received horrible feedback on his dissertation drafts and has a few fail grades in his school report cards. The last thing he wants is people brushing off his sadness at bad feedback because "ofc you'll bounce back, duh!"

• He's super scared of brain fart moments, or being cornered with things he's not clever at at all. Like card games. He's clever at some things, not so in others, and is NOT a know-it-all.

• His favourite birthday gifts are never books.

• His temper is actually shorter than people think it is. He can snap fairly quickly when someone is actively being an asshole. He resorts to sarcasm usually, because if he gets angry angry, he starts crying.

• He wishes that people don't look at him simply as an over-serious, nerdy, kind-of-dull Deputy Enjolras. He has a completely different style of leadership to Enj, which often helps the Amis a lot, particularly in non-protest events like fundraisers, awareness campaigns and bake sales.

• He is actually pretty good at displays of affection (even the cheesy kind), which he combines with acts of service.

• He knows when people are absent-mindedly nodding away when he launches into his nerd rants about moths, science, art and cinema. He has reduced his rants to a bare minimum, and most people think it is him being quiet.

• There are days when being the mediator/ "mom-friend" burns him out.

• He's extremely picky while shopping. He'll spend HOURS looking for the perfect sweater vest/cardigan/turtleneck and shirt combination. Even though they are almost always shades of blue, black, white and grey, they often come with neon yellow or pink accents. He DOES NOT like argyle, and barely tolerates beige.

• He has ridiculously dramatic classical music choices. Courf once found his "angry playlist" (it had Verdi's Requiem, Beethoven's Fifth, Grieg's Hall of the Mountain King, and Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries). Ferre often plays it while proof-reading his papers, or after a fight with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac

• He gets really miffed when some people infantilize him. He's the eldest sibling in his family, for fuck's sake, he knows how to take charge and be the adult in the house! And no, he doesn't break things at the drop of a hat.

• He has trust issues. He can make small talk sound like really friendly conversations, but it takes him months to trust people enough to tell them about what he really likes, dislikes, wants and opines. The ultimate trust test? When he finally trusts someone enough to cry in front of them.

• He's just as good a "mom-friend" as Ferre. Taking care of R when he's low? He's there. Applying first aid to all of them after protests? He's got it. Making sure to check on Eponine when he babysits Gavroche? Yep. Goes out of his way to look for Cosette to stop Marius's pining? Yes again. He feels a little low when the same people he had "mothered" over treat him like an overenthusiastic kid.

• He likes glitter. He isn't obsessed with it. And certainly doesn't carry bucketfuls of it, because it can get inconvenient af. His pink colour choices are oddly specific (he loves baby pink, and dislikes Barbie pink).

• He needs his alone-time to recharge. A LOT of it. He walks all around the city in those days, headphones on, blocking out the world. He likes calm classical music then, instead of his usual repertoire.

• He was really good at schoolwork. It's just that he didn't want to walk the academic path for his career. He loves to indulge in loooong, nerdy debates about anything and everything with people. And he ABSOLUTELY rips people a new one when they look at his pink denim aesthetic and try to peg him as airheaded and stupid (if the other Amis don't get to the people first).

• Marius does Courf's nails better than he does it himself. Far better. Also makeup.

• Contrary to popular belief, he doesn't randomly talk to everyone he meets. He just happens to participate in a lot of group events.

• Like Enj, Courf is extremely scared of his own prejudices and problematic sides.

• For the longest time, he hid the fact that he loves wearing makeup, dieting, watching Queer Eye and reading cheesy romance paperbacks because he was super scared that people would judge him. The Amis doesn't, so he showers them with trivia on these.

• Courf is actually really punctual, but on reaching the venue he usually finds someone needing his help, so he dumps his bag in the Musain and runs out again. The bag is evidence of his punctuality.

#les amis #modern au #les miserables #enjolras #combeferre #courfeyrac #please don't stereotype #enjolras isn't always terrible #combeferre is more than a nerd #courfeyrac isn't childish #ferret's freshly microwaved post

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thisisthehardestthing · 3 years

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тоска, 18+ Tanaka x Reader, 2.2

Written for The Smut Pile Server Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

тоска tus-ka: Russian, noun It is a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases, it may be the desire for somebody or something specific, nostalgia, lovesickness.

Russian Mafia AU: Tanaka Ryu x A Reader OC Rating: E for explicit Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death, Masturbation, Oral sex, Public Sex, Grinding, Cheating, Denied Orgasm, Manipulation, YEARNING Word count: 9,328 Part 1 | Part 2

GLOSSARY

Enjoy the final part of this two part hell.

Special thanks to: @joyousandverywarlike for being my ride-or-die, @pleasantanathema , @present-mel and @linestrider for hosting this collab, and everyone in the server for being amazing friends. I would not have been able to write this without any of you, and I truly mean that. @the-smut-pile

2.2

6. Tanaka

Daichi, Sergei, Ryunoslav and Yuuri sit in the wooden banya, white towels wrapped around their waists as they sweat and speak about the Georgian trip. It smells of cedar, rich and woody, and sweat. Like men.

“Boss Vashadze is unwell,” Daichi muses, knees spread wide as he relaxes against the hot walls, facing the glass door. “It won’t be long until he retires.”

Tanaka sits perpendicular to him, on a lower step with one foot perched up and his leg bent. Yuuri is opposite Tanaka, and Sergei stands, lightly smacking his back with a Venik, the scent of eucalyptus and birch dispersing through the air with each tap against his skin.

“That is good for you, bad for connections,” Sergei says, “how is business there?”

He always talked numbers first, pleasure second. Yuuri laughs, reaching for the besom of herbs from Sergei’s hold to lash his legs.

“Fine. I am gaining more of a footing around the ministers... However it will still take some time before they trust me. There are rumors of a new political party rising. We have to keep an eye open for unrest in Eastern Europe.”

“Ukraine?” Sergei asks, rubbing some of the leaves that stuck to his arms into his skin.

Daichi nods, then his eyes slide sideways to peer at Tanaka. His shaved hair has grown out slightly, which will be trimmed tonight, and he picks at his toenail of the foot bent beneath him.

“We can discuss strategy after we eat. How was your weekend, Ryunoslav?” The Bulldog asks, eyebrows raised.

Tanaka lifts his head casually with a simple smile.

“Just what I needed, spasiba Boss.”

Daichi’s laugh booms in the sauna, and Yuuri joins in, slapping the wood next to his thigh.

“Tell us more, Ryu! When I saw the first prostitute leave after thirty minutes, I thought it was over. But then, when I saw a second one arrive at midnight, I thought you must’ve not enjoyed the first.”

Tanaka frowns, looking at Yuuri in confusion before realising who he meant. He had seen Valentina arrive late at night, although he didn’t recognise her, or so he hopes.

“She was banging on the door very loudly, woke me up. Tell me, was it the same one from before wanting a second round?”

With a glance to Daichi, who is scanning his every expression,Tanaka shrugs.

“It was the same whore. I must be very good in bed.”

All the men burst out in laughter, but Tanaka laughs the loudest in compensation. Daichi closes his eyes as he tilts his head back.

“Well, she stayed for a long time. I only saw her leave past five am.”

“Yuuri, are you stalking Ryunoslav?” Sergei questions, using the water the Venik was soaking in to rinse off his body, the liquid sizzling as it hits the warm floor by his feet.

“No, I just found it interesting that Ryunoslav will fuck someone twice in a single night when there’s only been one woman he’s ever wan-”

“Yuuri.” Tanaka growls, cutting off his closest friend who has had too much vodka before entering the sauna. The heat and alcohol is loosening his tongue too quickly. Daichi sits up at this news, leaning forward so that muscle bulge and inflate.

“Oh? Is this true? Who is this woman?”

Tanaka waves his hand dismissively as he glares at Yuuri, “I met her years ago, when I first started working for you, Boss. No one of importance now.”

“Surely she still means something if you don’t want Yuuri to talk about her.” Sergei chimes in, climbing past their heads to sit on the top bench next to Daichi. Tanaka avoids his gaze, but can feel the Bulldog sniffing at the faint nerves that climb up Tanaka’s spine, his ears blushing red from the heat. He feels closed in, backed into a corner.

“It is an unrequited love, so please, I would prefer not to speak about it anymore.”

The men all murmur in understanding, except for Yuuri, who says, “I will just have to get you drunk to tell us about her then.”

7 - Valentina

Daichi sits across from you in the chartered jet, the beige leather seats muted even further with the deep rumble of the engine and the third glass of champagne in your veins. He’s reading a newspaper, you’re staring out at the cotton-peach clouds as they pass by. To your left, Sergei Sugawarov scribbles in books filled with numbers, the taptaptap of the calculator permeating the heavy air.

“Refill, Mrs. Sawamurova?” the air hostess asks, her smile wide as she holds the Moët & Chandon bottle in her manicured hands. She’s trembling slightly, and you smile reassuringly.

“Leave the bottle, thank you,” your heavy Russian accent drips from your tongue as you answer in English, and the bottle is placed in a silver ice bucket on the birchwood table between you and Daichi.

Two hours have passed during the five hour flight from Ufa Airport to Côte d'Azur Airport, and you pour another glass for yourself as you watch Daichi turn a page. He glances up at you with a small smile, but his eyes are hard. Something happened while he was in Georgia with your father. With a small smile of your own, you turn your gaze back to the window, leaving red lipstick on the rim of the glass.

A phone rings, and you hear Tanaka’s gruff voice answer the call, the memory of last week shooting painfully through your core.

“Oi?”

Some silence, before the Khazak turns in his seat behind Daichi and whispers through the space between the leather and the wall of the jet. You can’t help the way you look at him, stormy grey eyes peering out at you as he whispers into the ear of your husband. Your brow furrows when Daichi jerks his head in a slight nod, tense.

Tanaka retreats back around and you’re left staring at the empty spot, snapping your eyes to the calculating gaze of The Bulldog.

“Is everything alright, my love?” you ask, deciding to stand from your seat and sit on his arm rest.

Daichi folds the newspaper away, one arm wrapping around your waist while the other takes a sip of the champagne straight from the bottle.

“It seems this trip will not only be pleasure,” he muses, eyes closing as he swallows. However, when they open, his face melts into the calm reassurance you’ve always known when he smiles up at you and places a kiss to the cream wool crepe of your blouse. “I have something to take care of, but it will only be a moment. Nothing to worry about.”

You nod, delicate hands stroking at Daichi’s hair, but Tanaka’s cologne wafts up, invading your nose.

“I understand.”

***

The drive to the private Villa La Vigie winds between grey and green rock mountains to your left with glimpses of the dazzling azure ocean of where the French Riviera gets its name to your right. You’re invited to stay in the home of your fathers dear friend, Monsieur Lagerfeld, situated on a private hill just outside Monaco. He will not be there, March being the month he spends in his apartment in Paris, so you and Daichi and the many bodyguards take residence for the week.

You’ve visited this house a number of times in your youth, in your adulthood, and yet it steals the air from your lungs each time you return. It’s one o’clock in the afternoon when you pull up the driveway. In front of you, the two story villa looms in it’s beautiful white-painted glory, the sun a beacon shining upon it. Light brick extends below to where there is a wine cellar, garage and access to the private beach club below.

The car parks, and Daichi kisses your cheek in the backseat before he exits the vehicle and strides up the steps and through the large glass double doors, answering his phone while bodyguards open the way for him. You see Tanaka grip the steering wheel, the leather of his gloves stretch and squeak. It is the first time you are alone with him since that night a week ago, and the heater in the car feels sweltering against your skin.

“Thank you for the drive, Ryunoslav,” you mumble, shifting to the edge of the seat to leave out of the side Daichi had.

“Val,” he starts, then his mouth shuts and his eyes catch yours in the reflection of the rearview mirror, “of course.”

The terracotta tiles of the terrace reflect a salmon pink up the walls of the villa, and you smile at the men as you pass by and find the master bedroom on the first floor. You can already hear Daichi negotiating in the connected office, and you decide to bathe. As the water runs in the porcelain tub, the water mists with the scent of lavende de provence, and you open the windows looking out over the meditterean ocean. The salt and trees wash over you as the sound of the ocean crashing against rocks floats up, and for an instance, you imagine jumping out the window and into that endless blue. The winter air trickles into the warm bathroom.

Notes of a waltz dance in from the direction of the office and you see Daichi’s shadow move around in the bedroom as he unbuttons his cufflinks and loosens his navy blue tie. He walks into the bathroom where you’ve already slipped on the linen bathrobe, your blouse and jeans folded neatly onto the clothes ladder leaning against the wall.

“Care to join?” you ask, clipping your hair up. Daichi peels his shirt off and drops it near your own in a crumpled pile, his thick muscles rippling with each movement as he undresses.

“Prosti, Gadyuka. I have to get to the board meeting before the gala tonight,” he apologises, turning on the glass door shower as he gets into it on the opposite side to the bath. You watch as the water in the faucet of the bath sputters, and your heart imitates.

“Ah yes, I forgot. What-”

“The car arrives at seven, Khazak will escort you.”

Your head whips around to stare at Daichi as he massages white suds over his body, large palms running over his chest where the Sawamurov crest is tattooed in a large circle. He raises his eyebrows. You clear your throat, standing to drop the gown and dip a toe into the water.

“Not you?”

“Unfortunately no, but I will be there waiting for you. I know the dress you are wearing and can’t have any man trying to steal you for himself.”

Daichi’s honeyed words wash over you as you submerge into the water, turning off the faucet and staring out to the sea, a stark sapphire against the lily-white of the bathroom walls and window pane. In the mirror above the sink, you can see The Bulldog get out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his defined waist while he shakes the water from his hair.

You laugh as you turn to observe him while he pats on the cologne displayed on the sink, before brushing his teeth.

“I doubt anyone will try to steal me away.”

He looks at you in the reflection, a curious expression in his eyes, before he spits and rinses.

“Yes, well, you never know. You might run off with a French vineyard heir by the end of the night.”

“Never, Daichi. No one can be my Bulldog but you.”

He snorts, turning to watch as you lather yourself in Chanel shower gel, the scent mixing with the lavender already clinging to the air.

“Da, no one is like me.”

He leans down to place a chaste kiss on your lips before he exits the bathroom and changes into a clean outfit waiting for him in the Master bedroom. The made-to-measure Chanel suit hangs in a black garment bag that he carries out with him as he leaves to join the council meeting of the European Casino Association before the Annual Art Auction tonight.

The interaction runs through your mind as you mull over the look in his eyes, the way he tensed before he kissed you goodbye, the faintest flicker of jealousy in his eyes that flared when he joked about you leaving him. Suddenly, you remember Ryunoslav’s lips against your neck and you squeeze your eyes shut. With a deep inhale, you sink deep under the water to feel it tickle your nostrils and earlobes, before submerging your head.

Your fingers find the curves of your thighs, dragging up slowly to feel how the water moves around your hands and displaces against your skin. You lift your face slightly, until the edge of the water tickles your skin and you inhale, swirling the skin of your clit. In your mind, Ryunoslav’s kisses fall hot and wet against your body, skin red and heated in the bathtub while you press hard circles against sensitive nerves. You’re not trying to take it slow, coaxing the first wave of clenches quickly as you imagine a thick cock sliding over and over inside you.

Ryunoslav morphs into Daichi, and you sit up with a gasp, fingers not slowing, your hand gripping the handle of the tub tightly as your abdomen contracts. Uncontrollably, Ryu and Daichi alternate, their bodies shifting fluidly until a faceless man fucks into you.

You orgasm on the verge of tears, confused and aching. The styling team will arrive in an hour.

You stand, feeling the cold winter air touch your heated skin. Wrapped again in the robe, you close the window and bind your hair in a towel.

A Russian Waltz still plays on the radio inside the ensuite office, and you look around to filter the channel to a French songstress crooning over the small speakers. Next to the stereo, is Daichi’s small black book, open to his to-do list, and your eyes scan over it before you can stop yourself, reading the neatly scribbled words.

14 March 2006, 1:00 am, La Serpent Fleur

That was the name of the Superyacht you and Daichi are to go on after the gala for the afterparty to the auction. You frown, thinking of the myriad of reasons what he might do there, who he’ll meet with other than the ECA board today. It must be to do with what happened in Georgia and was whispered to him during the flight.

You turn, leaving the book just as you found it and unpack the suitcase that was brought to the bedroom in preparation for tonight.

8. Tanaka

Ryunoslav waits at the front door, facing the short five-stair foyer that branches into the stairwell leading to the first floor. The golden light of the sunset filters in gentle waves through the chiffon curtains of the entry hall.

The first thing he sees of Valentina is in the reflection of the large silver mirror facing the stairwell on the landing. A single leg slinking out from a thigh-high slit, while a heart shaped pump in patent black is clasped around her ankle. The metal YSL heel clinks with each step. Next is the black, silk crepe de chine perfectly draping to the floor–not clinging to anything but the curve of her hips–and the bodice tailored to her waist in a tight structure that pendulums side-to-side.

However, what steals the very air from his lungs, stops his heart, is the bustier covering her breasts. The dress is strapless, the neckline two rounded cups that trace down the sides of her cleavage and towards her ribs before turning and meeting in a gentle hill at the end of her sternum. The dress is Yves Saint Laurent. Ryunoslav watches as Valentina rounds the stairwell and stands at the top of the foyer, opera length gloves running up her arms and with one hand on her hip while the other clasps a small black Bulgari clutch. Around her neck is a pendant necklace, emeralds glittering amongst diamonds and silver, set in the shape of a viper head. Matching emerald drop earrings hang from her lobes, reflecting the golden sun and glittering green against her neck. Valentina’s hair is pinned up, and that tattoo that curls from her left shoulder down her arm disappears beneath the gloves, reminding him that beauty is a secret poison. He swallows, blinks, then climbs up the steps to hand her the white fur coat he was holding.

“Vot eto da… You look beautiful, Mrs. Sawamurova.” Tanaka whispers, mindful of the bodyguards and staff littering the villa.

“Spasiba, Khazak,” she smiles, slipping her arms into the silk lining and fixing the collar. “Is the car ready?”

“Da.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The exchange between them feels mechanical, and Tanaka rushes ahead to open the car door, waiting until she is comfortable before shutting it and sliding into the driver’s seat. It is nowhere near the low temperatures of Russia in March, however he can’t stop the shivers that travel up his spine, and the ugly twist of jealousy that stabs at his heart.

The Casino de Monte Carlo, where the gala is being held, is a mere five minute drive from the villa, yet the silence is heavy, weighted, and slows down time.

“I missed you last week,” Valentina whispers, looking out the window at the midnight blue sky. A traffic light changes from red to green.

“Me too.”

The conversation ends when Ryunoslav pulls the Aston Martin around the fountain, waiting behind a elder couple stepping out of their black limo. The statues on either side of the Casino name look down at him as he parks and climbs out, a porter beating him to her door.

Camera’s flash, the music of a quartet floats out from the massive wooden doors up the entryway, and Ryunoslav remains closely behind Valentina’s right arm as he escorts her inside, pulling the ticket for both of them from his inner coat pocket and handing it to the doorman.

The grand foyer of the Casino is massive, ceilings high with a stained-glass skylight and the floor a white tile with black triangles in a circular pattern. Posed around the room, mostly in the center of the circles, are the artworks up for auction: a variety of paintings, sculptures, artifacts and some vintage designer jewellery. The golden chandeliers light the air with a sepia filter that softens the chatter and noise within. On the first floor bannister across the long hall, is a banner exclaiming, ‘2006 Annual ECA Art Auction’. Couples mingle, champagne is sipped and the Hors d’oeuvres are ignored in favour of the alcohol.

“I will check our coats,” Tanaka murmurs low in Russian, watching as Val slides the white fur down her arms to hand it to him with a polite smile, the kind he’s seen her wear in the public eye alongside Daichi for many years now.

“I’ll wait here, then we go find Daichi.”

His heart thumps painfully, the curve of her shoulders delicate as they flex in passing the heavy coat, but he nods and heads to the coat check just off the side. In passing, he spots Daichi at the top of the red-carpeted staircase, head bowed to speak secretly with someone Ryunoslav can not see, but knows. Daichi’s eyes find the growing storm in Tanaka’s with a smile, and he straightens to bid the woman a goodbye and descends the stairs.

“Sir,” Tanaka nods, pocketing the number for the coats.

“Ryunoslav,” Daichi returns the greeting, casually clapping the man on his shoulder. “Enjoy the evening, I will see you at the yacht later, yes?”

“She could’ve seen you, sir.” Tanaka whispers, carefully keeping eye contact with his Boss. Daichi smirks cooly, glancing back up the stairs and at a retreating woman’s back wearing a deep green dress.

“She did not see me. Thank you, again, for keeping this secret. Now, go, enjoy the party. Hell, if you see something you like, bid on it. I will pay.”

With that, Daichi walks past his Head of Security, chest puffing up as he walks towards his wife. Ryunoslav watches as she gives Daichi a gentle kiss on the cheek before wrapping a gloved hand around his bicep and following him into the crowd.

9. Valentina

The evening passes by in a blur.

The dinner and speeches take up half the evening before the auction begins, and the gala attendees disperse throughout the Casino, while you and Daichi walk to the gardens. Heaters are spaced periodically, warmth sinking below while gentle lights litter the walkways and grass. The stone steps leading there are cool, and you see your breath misting with each exhale before you’re back under the warmth.

The area of the auction outside has statues, planted with lighting that bring the romantic and violent figures to life.

“This one would look beautiful in our gardens in summer,” you muse, studying a small mermaid brushing her hair, tail flicked up and shells covering her breast.

“Anything for you,” Daichi replies, writing down a number with his auction code and placing it in the poll box besides the statue.

You just laugh politely, aware of Daichi’s two bodyguards following the both of you.

“Let’s go back inside. I want to see how our bid on the Kandinsky is doing.” Daichi offers, but you shake your head.

“I’ll walk around here for a bit longer. It’s such a beautiful night and the noise inside was giving me a headache.”

“As you wish.”

You spend a few minutes admiring the remaining statues, finding a waiter that hands you a glass of champagne. With small sips, you hug an arm around your waist, looking over the stone wall at the beautiful, glittering scenery of Monte-Carlo below. You find yourself tucked away in a dark corner of the ledge, where the lights of the gala are few, the tree branches of the gardens overhang, and the city has come to life beneath you. You can hear jazz music from a bar down the road, and you wish you were sitting on a terrace with a glass of wine instead.

“C’est magnifique, non?” A heavy french accent sinks into you, and you glance at the man that leans with his back to the view, a deep purple suit contrasting against his tanned skin and sharp cheekbones. He smokes a hand-rolled cigarette. You look back out at the city.

“Oui, trop beau,” you reply softly, taking another sip, shifting onto the foot farthest from the stranger. He turns and offers you one of the smokes, tucking it away in his jacket breast pocket with a smile and a tap when you decline. His eyes travel down your breasts, before glancing back up to your arching brows and unamused eyes.

“Je ne parle pas de la vue,” I do not mean the view, “Emmanuelle Beauchant,” he offers an outstretched palm.

“Valentina,” he lifts your gloved hand to his lips, but hovers just above contact when you continue, “Sawamurova.”

“Desolee, I did not realise you were not French, or married,” Emmanuelle apologises in English.

You smile politely, lifting the glass to your mouth to down the last of the fizzing alcohol.

“An honest mistake.”

“Your husband’s Casinos are some of my favourites. Please, accept my apologies. Let me get you a new glass.” He waves down a waiter, plucking the empty flute from your fingers and replacing it before you can reject. “I am the coordinator of this petite soiree. Enjoy your evening, Mrs. Sawamurova.” With that, he leaves in a hurry, scampering off into the light much like he had appeared, leaving you alone again. Almost.

You feel the warmth of another body to your right, and you almost sigh from exhaustion when Ryunoslav’s gruff voice washes over you in comforting Russian. It breaks like the wave against the shore.

“I thought I would have to scare him away.”

Tanaka’s serious eyes beneath the shadow of a deep brow pulls the first real chuckle of the evening from your chest, and you see his shoulders somewhat relax as he leans with a hip on the stone.

“It was innocent, Ryu.”

“He wanted to fuck you.”

“He’s French,” you counter, placing the champagne glass down, sliding it away from your body and towards the party. “And everyone wants to fuck me.”

You spin, losing your balance as Tanaka pulls your hand towards him and twists you so that your back presses against the cool stone in a darkened alcove. His forehead is on yours, eyes shut, and breath fanning over your lips. Your own chest heaves with the sudden rush. His hands dig into your hips, yours into his shoulders. Your bag drops to the floor.

“You have no idea,” each word is punctuated by palms shimmying up the side of your waist, thumbs digging into the fabric, “how badly I want to fuck you too.”

He wraps his thick forearms behind your back hugging you tight and into himself as he folds over you and brings his lips to touch yours. It’s deep, and although passion usually pours from his kiss, this one is born out of jealousy, desperation, and desire.

Compliments drip like honey from Ryunoslav’s mouth as he mumbles them into your skin, words melting so that they become part of you.

“Ryu, Ryu, stop, we can’t. It’s so open.”

He shushes you, a palm snaking under the boning of the open neckline to cup the breast, nipplie erect from the night chill. “No one saw me come here.”

“But the people. They know who I am, mmpf.” A pinch to your nipple has you moaning under your breath, head tilting back against the stone, cold against heated flesh.

“They are all too busy with their own conquests, showing up one another.”

“You light a fire in my heart,” his onslaught of compliments don’t cease, and you realise that tonight is the tipping point. The intensity of his words drag you beneath his waters, much like the way his fingers find the high slit of your dress and sink into your folds. Your knee falls open to let him pull you deeper.

“Underwear?”

“Not with this dress.”

“Whore.” Teeth nip at your neck.

“Yours.”

An animalistic groan rumbles through your veins from his mouth, and you clutch at the lapel of his jacket as his fingers thrust shallow, over and over again. You want him–need him– inside you, and the thought of public sex no longer scares you. In this moment, only Ryunoslav exists, the smell of lilies and the fresh ocean fill you, devouring you with a hint of something darker that you recognise as human.

Sin. And something else.

A zipper comes down, his cock unfolds and stretches you out.

“I love you.”

The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, and even then, you don’t keep them in as you whisper, him thrustsing into your aching core. You vaguely hear him mumbling it back to you. His voice low and sincere, forehead against yours, lips against yours. Your bodies become one.

“Blyat, where can I?” desperation fills his voice, and you barely utter the words before he spills inside you, keeping you warm and plugged up, panting against his face, chin tucked down.

A hand rifles through his pants pocket, and he pulls out his regular small handkerchief, stained, but comforting. You take it from him, careful to keep your face hidden as he pulls out and you wipe yourself under your skirt.

“Ryunoslav.” His name feels like lava, molten on your tongue as it rolls down your body and ignites a fire over your skin, burning you. “We have to stop seeing each other.”

He tenses against you, arms shielding you from the world so only the two of you exist.

“Why?”

“We’ve changed. We’re not just having fun anymore, Ryu-”

“What do you mean we’ve changed?”

“Us. This.” You curse, gesturing vaguely to him and yourself, feeling the fire spread to your ears and your heart.

“Nothing has changed. I have always loved you.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, turning over and over as you digest it, painfully aware of how much truth rings in his words, and how you’re sure you’ve always loved him back.

“We have to stop. Or we have to tell Daichi.”

His lips connect with your forehead. You hear him swallow.

“Tonight then. Together.”

“Together.”

Ryunoslav stays close to you as he picks up the bag from the floor, handing you the mirror inside to fix your lipstick, your hair, before you dust the stone from your back and ass.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers to you a final time, stepping to the side so you emerge from the shadow, pick up your forgotten champagne glass and head back into where art dances together and people mingle.

10. Tanaka

Tanaka watches as Valentina saunters away, past the bodies to rejoin the party. With a heavy sigh, he leans against the stone, cooling his forehead and calming his thumping heart. His feet bump against something and with one eye, he squints at the ground and spots glittering emeralds in the dark. Her necklace.

Quickly, he picks it up, carefully placing it in his suit jacket pocket, and curses when he sees the time on his watch. He has to find Daichi and head to the yacht to do the final security checks before he arrives. Vines wrap themselves around his intestines, anxiety leaking into each step, the emerald necklace a dead weight in his jacket.

He finds the Boss surrounded by influential board members, holding a glass of vodka casually as they all laugh at his jokes. The Chanel suit drapes down his broad back perfectly, clean cut and sharp, the single seam a crisp line.

“Sorry for interrupt,” Tanaka apologies, English tangling on his tongue. He continues in a low Russian to Daichi, sweat beading on the back of his neck, palms clammy and therefore kept in his pants pocket. It’s better that way, his tattoos are less appreciated around the higher class of society.

Daichi nods, a loose smile along with his loosened tie. He hands Tanaka a paper that shows he won the bid on the Kandinsky painting. “Arrange this on the way out. Leave Valentina’s coat with mine.”

“Ya ponimayu.”

Tanaka turns to leave, but Daichi calls out one more time.

“Ryunoslav?”

“Da?”

“You have lipstick on your collar.”

Tanaka feels nausea bubbling up his gut, not from the proximity of your scent to The Bulldog’s nose, but from the thought of later tonight. He forces a cocky smirk and shrug, turning on his heel to head to the back office to finalise the paperwork for the painting and add the delivery address, before shrugging his thick coat on and stepping outside by the valet. The air has cooled considerably from the heat of the balcony and between your thighs. Once safely in the car, he rubs the stain furiously in the reflection of the rearview mirror, making it set even further into the white fabric. It blends into the threads like spilt blood. With a grumble, he drives to the harbor.

La Serpent Fleur is a sleek superyacht with three decks above water and one below, housing jet ski’s, a speedboat, storage and crew quarters. The middle and lower decks have outdoor and indoor seating, with main bedrooms for up to 15 couples to sleep in. The flooring and interior is light teakwood, rich brown accents amongst cream and white leather and fabric. It’s unmissable in the late night, lit up in silvery white, the name illuminated against a navy blue sky and pitch black water. It reflects stars in the meditterean sea.

Tanaka greets all staff, deploying his bratva across the yacht to inspect all rooms and inform the captain of the upcoming helicopter landing at 1:00 am. It’s not often that Mafia business mixes with Business business, but as money is always intertwined, this time, it is unavoidable. The pool on the top deck shimmers aquamarine, and Tanaka inspects that the bar is fully stocked for the upcoming meeting. Vodka and Campari. This floor is only for Daichi and a select few.

“It’s like I’m a fucking assistant,” he grumbles under his breath, withdrawing a small hand-gun strapped to his calf and securing it in the hidden shelf under the bar top. You never know, he smiles, tapping the holster against his back for comfort.

All checks are done by the time the first of the guests arrive, high-stakes rollers for the gambling about to happen. Tanaka keeps to the shadows, lighting a cigarette as he surveys the walkway leading up to the yacht, and it’s guests. They are all smiling, huddling together in their pair against the cool ocean breeze. He takes a look at the pack that was confiscated from Ukai with distaste, flicking the cigarette into the ocean water.

Daichi and Valentina are the last to arrive, and although he’s smiling, she is not, lipstick slightly faded and a smudge of mascara under her eyes. Tanaka watches as she disappears as soon as she set foot on the yacht, hurrying off to inside the cabin before anyone can stop her. Tanaka’s eyes follow her retreating figure, the white of her coat bristling, before he steps up to greet Daichi.

“Everything is ready for Kuroo Testuro to arrive, Boss,” he reports, murmuring low.

“Perfect, evening has turned into disaster. Make sure no one will disturb us except for emergency. It will not take long. What is his eta?” Daichi never lowers the corners of his mouth, but those brown eyes are hard mahogany. Tanaka checks his watch, the light above reflecting in the glass, shining in the storm in his eyes.

“Forty-five minutes. We have to set sail now, all guests have arrived and the poker tables inside have been set up.”

“I will wait upstairs.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Tanaka sighs, running a hand over his shorn hair, a shiver rippling down his spine. He hears his name, and he turns to face one of his brothers, following after to inspect a stairwell.

It does not take long for the party to fall into full swing. Continuing with free-flowing champagne is the key to keeping rich socialites and underground dealers happy and oblivious. Daichi stands near the railing, ice cubes in his glass clinking while he surveys the decks below and waits. Tanaka stands to attention off the side, the cool winter air breezing through his suit jacket, the veins on his knuckles and forearms almost frozen; he stuffs them into his pockets. The cool silver of Valentina’s necklace shocks him and he remembers he has to sneak it back to her. He peers over the edge, spotting her in the distance, smiling once more, makeup fixed and socialising.

His heart thumps, emeralds and diamonds cutting a hole in his jacket pocket, beating faster until it syncs up with the incoming helicopter blades. They whir around in a steady beat that consumes the noise below and thrums through his bones. Then, the wind hits him. Air cold as ice as the machine descends, the collar of his jacket whipping up and folding into itself. Kuroo Testuro has arrived.

The blades come to a halt and Tanaka steps forward, two men overtaking him to climb up the stairs of the helicopter pad landing and open the door. Long legs dressed in a black pin-stripe suit step out, a lopsided cocky smirk plastered on the Italian boss’s face.

“Ciao Daichi, it’s been a while!” Kuroo calls over the wind, arms stretching out while he’s patted down. “Khazak, you’re looking sour.”

Tanaka scowls, not entirely sure what The Panther of the Testuro family said to him. Daichi turns to face the man completely, walking until he stands next to Tanaka, waiting for the man to descend the white metal stairs to the upper deck. The Boss’s exchange a stiff handshake, their eyes piercing as one fights for dominance over the other. Daichi wins, his hand slapping against Kuroo’s back in a hearty greeting.

“Let’s get to business, something to drink?” The Bulldog offers, but Kuroo is laughing, already walking to the leather sofas around the pool, flopping down onto it with one leg crossed over the other. He waves to one of his bodyguards, pointing at the bar.

“Always so formal Daichi, tell me, how is Valentina? Still married to you?” Kuroo’s words tumble out quickly, Italian accent thick enough that Tanaka can only pick up on a few words. He registers your name, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, ready to attack at Daichi’s order. The Boss takes a deep breath, his teeth gritting.

“She is fine. Enjoying party below.”

“Pity, I think she’d be happier up here with us. Won’t you call her?”

“Careful, Kuroo.” Daichi warns, but the Panther just smiles his wicked Cheshire grin in return.

“Ah, I’m joking. I will just keep the fantasy of her lips around my–”

A hand darts out over Kuroo’s shoulder, interrupting any further explanation of imagination. Tanaka grabs Daichi’s arm, one that had tensed with it’s fist closed around a concealed gun in a holster on his back.

“Campari, sir?”

“Ah! Grazie!” He takes a sip, setting it down on the glass table beside him. “Now, we can talk business.”

Tanaka listens to the low conversation between the two bosses, the discussion of the new trade route of cocaine between Italy and Russia. It takes some time to adjust to the accent, but then he’s following along, standing with his hands in his pockets, a thumb gliding over the necklace. There had been an interruption along the coasts between Lecce and Albania, several different Sicillian Mafia’s holding up some of Daichi’s shipments due to unpaid ‘reparations’, a farce to ignite a turf war between the Families in Italy and their Russian connections.

“You must call off your friends in Italy. We keep up our end of bargain. I will not be so understanding in future.”

“Ah, but you see, they are greedy and believe you are not paying properly for the passage.”

“I assure you, I am.”

Tanaka stiffens, seeing how Daichi begins to inflate, irritation lacing his voice. Kuroo chuckles, taking a slow sip with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, I believe you. I can convince them but I’ll need some extra incentive from your end.”

Tanaka speaks up, eyes narrowing as he sniffs out Kuroo’s angle. “We can not give you that.”

“You are one of the largest groups in the world, surely you have some men for me?”

“No.”

Tanaka’s blood begins to boil, nails biting into the skin of his palms enough to draw blood. The gun strapped on his back heavy as it calls to be unholstered. His men are not dispensable. Kuroo sighs, then his eyes glance to the left where the noise of the party floats in the night air, and he smiles.

“Then maybe you have a woman.”

Tanaka turns to follow his gaze, and climbing up the stairs slowly is Valentina, a hand on the metal rail, the white fur coat hanging down her back as it drapes from her elbows, lipstick blood red. She’s drunk, giggling to herself but stops when a vor blocks the final step onto the deck. Then, she sobers, straightening instantly with narrowed eyes.

“Asahi,” she says, voice sharp but breathless.

“The Boss is in a meeting.”

Her makeup had been fixed, the tips of her nose and ears pink from the chill, her hair no longer pinned up but wild down her back from the wind. Tanaka glances at Daichi, his eyes muddy and lips tightly pursed.

“Oh, let her join, huh?” Kuroo grins, setting his glass down and leaning forward to interlock his fingers and rest his elbows on his knees. “Surely, you trust her enough.”

“Of course.”

Daichi and his guest battle in their stares, but ultimately the Panther wins. With a sigh, Daichi calls out to Alexei, “let her through.”

Valentina strides over to the men, coat dragging on the floor behind her. Surprising everyone, she stops in front of the cocky bastard, who stands to greet her, and their cheeks brush twice, left then right.

“Kuroo, how lovely to see you again. I hope my husband is kind.”

Tanaka holds back a wince, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck still teasing him in his memories. He has to admire her acting, even inebriated, she commands attention. Their eyes follow when she walks to the head of the table and flops down onto the chair, slit falling open with crossed legs.

“He’ll be kinder now that you are here.”

Valentina laughs, “yes, but I might not be.”

“Enough.” Daichi cuts through the jovial small talk, fists clenching and resting on his knees, his back straight. “I am tired of games.”

Tanaka thinks he catches a double meaning, heart racing as he readies himself for anything.

“You own Casinos,” Kuroo drawls, but he’s no longer smiling, still standing. Daichi gets to his feet, shorter than his counterpart, but thicker.

“We are getting nowhere. I will not be included in your battle for control, and if my next shipment continues to be held, God is not the only one that can turn water into wine. Capisci?”

Their stares are intense, and seconds tick by in eternity, before Kuroo nods with a sigh, a hand tucking into his pants pocket while the other extrends. They shake, curt and stiff, and Tanaka rolls his shoulders, loosening the knots in his upper back, eyeing Valentina curiously. She has her eyes focused on Daichi, pupils narrow and mouth pressed into a thin line; the same look she had when she boarded the yacht. She snaps out of it, lips curling up as she stands.

“It was a pleasure, although short,” Kuroo tells her, and they exchange polite kisses. Tanaka hears the rumble in Daichi’s chest, and he briefly wonders if she’s purposefully trying to anger the Bulldog. She’s always been unafraid of his bark, a viper teasing with her fangs.

They wait until Kuroo climbs back in the helicopter, until the blades whir to life with that beating drum that pumps adrenaline through his body and until it is quiet once more, the waves sloshing far below against the yacht. The air is crisp, and the silence heavy. Valentina turns to face Daichi, neck tense, mouth open but Daichi cuts her off.

“Don’t embarrass me like that again.”

Tanaka bristles, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. He controls the need to step in front of Val, to shield her from his Boss. The weight of her necklace in his pocket keeps him anchored. His heart pounds in his ears, Daichi glances at him briefly before keeping an unwavering eye on Valentina’s fierce gaze. It’s odd. Tanaka always has a plan, knows what will happen next, and yet, he is at a loss. Unsteady on his feet as the boat rocks. He’s unsure of what she will do, how she will tell her possessive husband–

“I’m seeing someone.”

11. Valentina

Lightning flashes in the distance when the words leave your lips, the thunder rumbling in the silence that follows. You watch Daichi carefully, standing your ground even though parts of you scream to take a few steps back. You resist the temptation to glance at Ryunoslav. During your musings, you decided not to say who it was right away. Daichi glances down at your bare neck, the necklace he’d given you missing, lost somewhere at the gala when you finally lost yourself in emotion. You remember the fight with him when leaving the venue.

You expected Daichi to burst in anger, explode outwards and destroy everything with his fury. Yet he remains silent, eyes mattifying as he draws inward, no longer oiled mahogany but rather sanded wood. When he speaks, it’s so low you almost miss it, but it penetrates you with the next flash of lightning.

“Leave.”

White, hot anger burns through you at his command, your hands raising as though to grab his lapel. Quickly, you reroute to pulling your fur coat back onto your shoulders.

“You don’t want to know who?”

“You don’t want to know what I am thinking right now, Gadyuka.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Ryunoslav cuts you off, “take the boat, please.”

You stare incredulously at him, but he is already speaking in a low voice onto a handheld receiver, then back at Daichi, who’s body slowly begins to vibrate. However, Daichi is no longer looking at you. Instead, his eyes have shifted to Ryu, brows furrowed. Thunder claps. You feel the first spray of rain misting onto your eyelashes.

“Fine, we will talk more at breakfast.”

You turn on your heel, the sound grating against the wooden deck, and someone from the Brigade accompanies you down the stairs, walking just slightly ahead of you, silently asking you to follow.

You descend slowly, crossing the second deck with a practised smile, apologising to anyone that approaches you with an easy lie. Most of the crewmen begin to pack up and rearrange the party to continue on indoors. You enter the large cabin, and walk down another flight of stairs, to the first deck and then lower still. Here, the walls change from luxurious wooden, glass and metal to open beams, and white gritty flooring. It’s slightly wet, from the rain that batters against the open exit and the ocean water shimmering inside.

A small speedboat waits for you, not fully submerged, and a captain, yet his face is wary.

“Mrs. Sawamurova,” he holds his hat in his hands, a navy raincoat wrapped around his uniform, “wouldn’t you rather wait for the storm to pass? Please, enjoy the evening and when the water is still, I can take you to shore in an instant.”

“My husband wants me gone.”

“But not dead.”

You laugh, bitterly, feeling your intestines swirl, unsettled by those words. He’s brave.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“A few minutes, maximum. It is the winter rain, harsh but quick.”

“I will wait here.”

12. Tanaka

When the top of Valentina’s head disappears down the stairs, Daichi speaks, not looking at Tanaka. The first of fat raindrops begin to fall onto their shoulders.

“I will have to talk to her father, after I kill her.”

Tanaka’s tongue is heavy in his mouth, every bump dry and scratching against his throat. He can’t be serious. Slowly, Daichi turns to face him, eyes raking over his closest subordinate’s features, down his throat, and settles on the crisp white collar peeking out from his suit jacket, stained the same colour as Valentina’s lipstick.

“Khazak, who is it?”

“Boss–” but he doesn’t know what to say. The memories of the prison hospital bed, bare with just a sheet, an unsterilised IV drip stuck into his arm flashes in front of his mind. Daichi’s calm face that visited him before he woke up somewhere else.

“Tell me right now, or does your loyalty mean nothing?”

Tanaka winces, “nyet, Boss, you know I am loyal to you.”

He takes a deep breath, then reaches inside, fingers looping around diamonds to pull out the necklace, the viper head swaying back and forth. His heart claps with the thunder, the clouds breaking into a heavy downpour. Chill sets in instantly, his bones freezing beneath his suit.

“Supply snakes with a meal, and you will have them all by the fangs,” Daichi whispers under his breath, barely audible above the pattering of the drops against the floor, but Tanaka’s sensitive ears pick it up. “She played me for a fool.” Daichi’s wide-set eyes lift from the necklace to Tanaka’s.

“Mne ochyn zhal,” Tanaka begins to apologise profusely, but the hardened look shuts him up.

“I was wrong, Khazak,” Daichi interrupts, his hands moving to his pockets, Tanaka dropping his arm to his side. He starts to walk towards the sheltered area of the deck, withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. “You are the one that is going to have to kill her.”

Tanaka’s heart drops to his stomach, falling straight into the floor and sinking to the bottom of the unruly ocean. The Boss does not joke around, but he wishes for it to be one.

“I can not, Boss,” his head shakes, body vibrates. This is the first time he has ever refused an order from Daichi. The Bulldog watches with raised eyebrows, the question evident on his face.

“I am in love with her.”

The bark that erupts from Daichi’s throat echoes above the rain, above the thunder, and shatters inside Tanaka’s heart. He holds the cigarette to his lips, and Tanaka feels the rain drip down the rivulets of his shaved hair and under the collar of his suit and shirt. There’s a flicker of orange as the Marlboro tip glows.

“And you think she loves you back? Valentina is a snake, a woman. They know only two things: how to lie and how to fuck. You have fucked her, da? It’s magnificent. Was she the second whore of that weekend? Or was she first as well? How long have you been fucking my wife, Ryunoslav?”

Tanaka wants to answer, but it catches in his throat. His tongue refuses to mould the shapes, his lungs refuse to exhale the sound. Daichi sighs.

“It does not matter. Only one thing matters. Come.”

Tanaka walks towards Daichi, each step kicking water down his shoes, his socks wet. He’s never felt more like the ocean than now, swallowed by the rain, drowning. He stops when he stands under the partition, Daichi’s large hands cupping themselves under Tanaka’s chin to lift his head slightly, wiping the rain from his skin, the gold rings cold against his jaw. There may have been tears but Tanaka can’t tell, numb and expectant of Daichi’s next words,

“Tell me, do you love her more than me?”

Cigarette smoke tickles Tanaka’s nose, and he holds his breath. Without him, Tanaka would be dead. Daichi knows this, Tanaka knows this.

“I owe you my life, Pakhan.”

“Now, you owe me a life. I am not without mercy. You have been the closest brother to me. You have tasted the sweet fruit of sin, I can not blame you. You know I have done it too. But I am expected to sleep with someone else. She has embarrassed me. I can not have that. A Boss that can not keep his woman in line? No one will respect me, her own father will not respect me.”

Tanaka remembers the conversation in the banya, the plans to take over completely, the poor health Valentina’s old man is in.

“Are you loyal, or are you just another predatel, scum like the men you erase from existence?”

The storm in Tanaka’s eyes swirl around, clashing against the hard forest floor of Daichi’s. He is loyal. Strangely, in this moment, he remembers the lilies of his home, and their sweet, comforting fragrance, his mother making dinner, and his sister who ran with him to their new life before separating. The pain of losing her no longer stabs at him, maybe this pain someday will not either.

13. Valentina

The room is white and grey, the smell of oil and rubber and metal and salt clinging to the air, to your skin. All the alcohol consumed over the evening seeps from your pores, creating a pounding in your head. You begin to wonder if it was ever a good idea to tell Daichi. You wonder what happened when you left, and you wonder where your necklace is. Your fingers brush over your sternum, feeling the ghost of the viper head and of Tanaka’s mouth.

You taptaptap your toes against the floor, the rain echoing in time, the water drawing in and out rhythmically as you wait for the storm to pass. Only a few minutes, you were told.

“Few minutes, my ass.”

The walkie-talkie connected to the captain’s hip shocks to life, and broken Russian floats up, but you can’t make out the words. He answers, smiles at you, “please, wait here. I will be back soon.”

Then, he leaves, and you’re left alone with the brat that accompanied you. He sighs heavily, as though the inconvenience to him is all your doing, and you glare.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” you ask, standing straight, arms crossed in front of your chest. They seem to forget, Daichi married into your family, not the other way around.

“Nyet, Gadyuka, prosti,” he apologises quickly.

Silence settles over the hull again, claustrophobia leaching into your veins. If you look out at the open hatch, you can see inky blackness, and far in the distance, the faint yellow lights of Monte Carlo. You are about to ask for some water when footsteps echo against the metal walls, a familiar gait.

“Leave us, pazolvste.”

Ryunoslav says to his subordinate, who swiftly salutes him and walks up the stairs. The door at the top clicks shut. You’re speechless, and he is sopping wet.

“Ryu,” you whisper, walking towards him and draping your arms around his shoulders, uncaring at the feeling of water pressing into the fabric of your dress, dripping between the open gap of your breasts. He’s stiff when you touch him, but soon melts, nose nuzzling into your neck and breathing deeply. He still smells like crisp apple and fresh seawater.

“Why are you here?”

“Daichi knows.”

You’ve never felt colder, warmer, like a fever and frostbite all at once. You feel him rustle against your bodies, and you let go to watch him pull the Bulgari necklace out, lifting your hand to place it in your palm. Your fingers close around the jewels automatically.

“I told him I love you.”

There are no words that come to your mind in that instant. Emotions, many. Relief, nausea, stillness and rage, love for the man in front of you. You ache to feel his warm, corded muscles against your skin. He looks pained, eyes tormented as he looks into your soul.

“How did he react?”

“Not well.”

“And?”

He gives no space for continuation, pulling you tightly against his body, arms snaking around your waist as his lips fall against your mouth. His skin is cool, wet, pressing to your heated cheeks, but his mouth is inviting. There is passion unlike what you’ve experienced before. It tastes like freedom, like a new day and endless night. It’s the smoke on the fire, and the salt of the sea. He’s crying, you realise, and you open your mouth to lick up a tear on the corner of his mouth.

The necklace slips from your fingers when you grab him, pushing the jacket of his suit from his shoulders to drop to the already wet floor. There’s a faint crunch, but neither one of you pull away to look at the crushed jewel beneath your heel. It’s just so right to kiss him. In this moment, the world falls away and it’s just the two of you. His taste fills you with a feeling that rivals being whole, satiated. Something hard pokes against your hip, and you smile into the kiss, lips moving to his jaw to suck on an earlobe.

But you freeze. Daichi is at the top of the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” Ryunoslav whispers.

You frown, his words not registering and when you pull back to ask what is happening, he ensnares another kiss from you, tears flowing freely, something hard, cold, now presses against your temple and–

End.

-----

Thank you for reading, truly. This fic honestly has so much of my heart and soul in it. I had so much fun writing it. I hope you’re not too mad about the ending lmao.

@dee-madwriter , @pleasantanathema , @lookslikeleese , @linestrider , @hisoknen , @mindninjax , @whats-her-quirk , @messwriting

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deathwishdaydream · 2 years

Text

Dear Universe, Up Yours!

Chapter 21

I was woken up by Gerard telling me that we reached our destination. We had then got off the train, arriving at some small clear town. I felt dizzy having waking up and immediately standing up to leave.

It was a very empty and very cold area in the train station, but we were both able to handle the temperature. Just then, Gerard asked, "Are you hungry?"

I thought for a few seconds. "Yeah."

We got out of the train station, getting a view of the town. There were some spaced-out buildings that were the color of a pale beige, but also a shady jade green and blue, with some rust found at the sides as there was a grey sky above. Gerard and I walked silently, trying to find some sort of place to eat at. He was holding onto the brown paper bag that had carried my unfinished letter and so I thought deeply about it.

I didn't really like what I've written. It seemed so forced and so unemotional. I didn't worry about it too much, though. He was never going to read it as I was never going to read his.

We finally found a small restaurant, and entering, there were few people there. At the front of the building, there were a lot of windows and a very rusty sign with the logo of the place. The doors were windows and the place did look pretty friendly as the inside was about the same. There were just booths with red leather seats and the tables in the center were a light brown wood, the darker wooden chairs accompanying them. A part of me had worried if anyone had recognized us, but we were much farther than we had been from the murder site.

Gerard and I got settled down and we had finally gotten our food. Taking a bite out of his veggie burger, Gerard had a face of grimace. I was curious as to why, so I took a bite out of my food and immediately regretted it. It tasted so bitter and dry, it made me want to gag. I saw Gerard get a napkin spit out his food, moving over to get a drink of his water after he dropped the burger on the plate. I tried to eat all of the piece I bit into, swallowing it whole, but once I did, I felt sick to my stomach, gulping the water in the glass in front of me through the plastic straw.

"Yeah, um," Gerard held his hand up for the waiter. "May I have the check, please?"

"That was bad," I told him as we were back on the sidewalk, mindlessly strolling around.

"Yeah," he replied, but my head was facing forwards so I didn't exactly see his face as he spoke. "But at least we didn't pay the full price." I nodded silently in response.

Sometimes I was confused with our relationship, or rather our interactions. Sometimes conversations would be dead silent and dull while other times they would be so emotional and filled. It was more of an on-and-off thing, really.

"Do you think people would recognize us here?" he asked abruptly as we proceeded to walk.

"I'm not sure," I answered, moving my attention down to my shoes. "But we can't risk, well... anything. Meaning we might not be able to sleep at a motel or hotel. Like, what if somebody notices us and calls the cops and we'll just be cornered in our room?"

Before Gerard could even respond, I felt a strong rush of guilt overcome me.

"If I never murdered him," I began. I remembered that before this, I started to use the term 'we' in my thoughts in this context, but I realized now that I was back to square one. "Then we wouldn't be on the run. We wouldn't have to worry about cops or- or bounty hunters, we... We would've just been away from home, but that's all. No more to it, no hiding from everything and anyone, just hiding from our parents who are miles away from us," I explained, becoming self-aware once again. "Gerard, I'm sor-"

"Please don't apologize. I don't like that you're blaming yourself for everything. Sometimes it makes me feel like I did nothing too, that I can't do anything." I always say the wrong things. "I'm with you on everything, (Y/n). I'm here for you, did you forget? You're not on your own and you're not some nuisance to me. You keep forgetting that. I like you. A lot. Alright?" He paused. "Let's just get away from here. Actually. Alaska, like what you said."

"Gerard, I don't think-"

"We can get a boat to Alaska. Steal one, whatever. We'll find a place in the middle of the woods and we'll be away from everyone except each other. We could get cats, even. I just want us to be together for as long as possible. Before anything else could happen." He was dreaming way too much. But I was too.

"Where are we gonna find a boat?" I finally asked as we had stopped walking by now, facing each other again. On-and-off conversation.

"Just by the ocean shore. We could steal one or 'rent' one, y'know paying for one but never bringing it back anyway. Stealing is a bit riskier, however."

"How are we going to find a place in Alaska?"

"We could just find some abandoned settlement and fix it up. We're not going to be national criminals if we killed just one guy."

"And the cats?" I chuckled.

"Our first one will be the one we found back at that other town, y'know, the really colorful one. Then, we'll just see who else comes our way. As long as I won't be deadly allergic based on the amount."

We were dreaming way too much but in a way I thought was just okay. It's possible maybe, but we're still fugitives.

"If we both survive... and I know we will... and go to Alaska, or if plans don't work, anywhere far from here... What will we do with each other's letters?" I asked.

"We could open them when we turn eighteen, maybe. We'll be adults by then," Gerard suggested. "It'll be interesting to read them then."

"When should we leave?" I asked.

"Immediately. But we should get that cat first," Gerard replied.

"We should probably wait until next morning," I said. "We just encountered a bunch of people who were going to get us for a reward."

"How much do you think the reward is?" he questioned, making me become more curious about it.

"Not sure. But we did murder a person, so it must be a lot." I saw a smile grow on his lips, and I was sure that it was in response to me using 'we'. This was actually the first time I said it out loud, confirming my belief that Gerard has been sticking by my side, that he'd take credit and the blame for something he didn't even do. "So, um... Well, since we can't really sleep in any motel or anything, where are we going to sleep?"

Gerard looked around and briefly stared at a specific area.

"Are you sure this will be comfortable?" I asked as we climbed the ladder on the side of a bar building.

We both had reached the top as Gerard helped me up. "Well, at least we're not on the streets, out in the open," he says as we looked down at the ledge. Gerard had suggested we go on a roof for tonight, which was a bit odd because it'll still be a hard surface where we'll sleep on. But he did have a point, we wouldn't be out in the open and it's not like a motel is one of our options anyway.

"We can't, like, get blankets or something? Maybe there's a store we could go to?"

"Well, it's only for tonight," Gerard replies. Then he giggles. "It's not even close to night yet."

He was right; the sky was a light grey due to the weather, but I was sure that it was noon or something. It was also pretty windy, and I wish we could get a blanket for tonight considering how cold it gets.

We spent the rest of the day sort of exploring, finding a decent restaurant, and going to stores to buy clothing, and when we did, we tried our best to hide our faces from most customers or look away from the cashier. We did end up buying blankets too for when we sleep on the roof of the bar tonight, regardless of what Gerard had said.

[ "Fade Into You" by Mazzy Star playing faintly]

The sky was already dark now, and we were both tired from walking too much. Sometimes the television would play at different stores and places, airing the news too, but nothing about the murder or us had appeared. We were sitting beside each other on the blanket we purchased that was on the roof of the bar, looking in the distance, hearing the faint soft music of Mazzy Star and the sound of laughing and small chat below us, and just then, some thought had just intruded my mind. Before I could even think, the words had come out of my mouth.

"Can you tell me more about your brother?"

I felt that I froze, and I could sense that Gerard did too. I didn't exactly mean to suddenly ask this out loud, especially this sort of question. "Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean- It just came out, I just thought about-"

"Oh, um, no, it's alright," he says calmly, but I thought I could hear a bit of pain. "I, um... Mikey was a nerd. Like, a really big nerd, but I was bigger of a nerd than him. However, was a big fan of D&D as much as me," he explained and we had faced each other by then. Looking at him and hearing his voice awkwardly speak, his eyes had either looked down or up, blinking frequently and scratched his knee or neck a couple of times. "He loved comics, as much as I did as well. But he was also really into constellations, y'know? Never knew why, he was a pretty big astronomy fan. Sometimes when we were outside doing random shit, he'd just boom, out of nowhere, name a constellation and explain everything about it. Then point out more and more, then new ones he'd learn because he'd always get books on them," he chuckled actually, smiling. He wasn't mentioned too much, but this was the first time I've seen him genuinely happy about any memory he had with his brother. Then I hummed in response, making sure he knew I was listening and caught on. "We were very close. I know that siblings had this reputation where, like, they don't get along and they'd argue 24/7 but we were damn close. 'Were always there for each other. I really miss him."

"Sorry," I said softly, which I thought almost sounded like a whisper. "I wish things had been different."

"Yeah," he replied. Then, in a few seconds time, he mentioned, "Sometimes I blame myself. I think it's my fault. Maybe I should've watched him more carefully, knew what happened with him because we both attended different schools at the time."

"But you don't now, right? You're aware it wasn't your fault? That you shouldn't blame yourself?"

Silence from him.

"You don't still blame yourself, right?"

"Sometimes, I-I don't know... I think about it and then I try connecting the dots and keep going from effect to cause and from cause to effect and I feel like it all leads to me."

"None of what happened is your fault, Gerard," I said, and his eyes had finally met mine. "Please don't try to blame yourself. I know I don't know the full facts of what happened, but fault and blame aren't factors at all of an occurrence like that. Nothing's your fault."

He nodded, shortly humming. I then laid back on the blanket with my knees bent, facing the sky. Gerard, with him hugging his knees as he sat, looked at me curiously.

"Do you remember? Any of the constellations he told you?" I asked.

Then, he laid back down beside me, knees bent on the surface with both of his hands resting on his stomach.

He cleared his throat momentarily and hummed as he scanned the sky. Then, he pointed at one area above, extending his arm. "That one's Hercules, I think," he started to trace his finger in the air, connecting the stars of the constellation. "Ursa Major," he pointed. "And Ursa Minor," he pointed to a similar-looking one that was smaller. "Commonly known as the big and little dipper." He lowered his arm then. "He liked seeing Orion, but it wouldn't be visible here until a few months." Then he turned his head to look at me and I did the same towards him. "But that's all I could see here and remember."

I rested my knees down and shifted my body to lay on my side, my hands under my head. He still looked at me deeply.

His eyes were perfect, it was stupid.

Stupid how I had easily fallen for him, that he would be able to make me feel the feeling of vulnerability. He was truly extraordinary. And I could look at his face all day. His eyes, his smile, that was activated once I kept my gaze on him, a blush coming upon his cheeks, his perfectly shaped nose, messy and colorful hair, and his voice. His voice was wonderful.

[ "Fade Into You" stops playing]

I tuned out all the noise, only hearing the wind blow or the faint ringing in my ear. Then, I asked, "Can you sing to me?"

Gerard moved in the same position as I did, legs flat on the surface and body facing towards me, hands under his head for support. He nodded slightly, and I closed my eyes in response.

Then I heard his voice.

"Moon... river," he began. "Wider than a mile... I'm crossing you in style, someday...

"Oh, dream... maker... you heart... breaker... Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way..." It was smooth and so delicate, his voice.

"Two... drifters... off... to see the world... There's such... a lot of world... to see," I felt that I was able to completely drown out every sound in the world except for Gerard's, the next song that played in the bar had cut off, the wind blowing no more, ringing coming to a stop as if I could hear clear echos right after each word Gerard would intone.

"We're after... the same... Rainbow's end... Waitin' 'round the bend... My... huckleberry friend...

"Moon... river...

"and me..."

I woke up, immediately remembering Gerard singing before I fell asleep. I felt warmer than before and realized that Gerard had held me from behind, assuming I'd turned on my other side in my sleep.

It was still dark outside, the sky a very blue-purple. I must have woken up in the middle of the night.

I moved my body to look towards the sky. I looked at the bright stars that formed the constellations that Gerard had pointed out. Turning my head, I saw Gerard sleeping, his mouth slightly open and snoring softly.

I got up from my spot, delicately moving Gerard's arm off of me, and reached for the brown paper bag that we had still carried with us. I took out the folded paper of my letter to Gerard, skimming it and the bland words I used. Goddamnit.

I crumpled the paper into a ball, throwing it across the roof, and took out the notebook, ripping a page out of it. I grabbed the pencil from the bag and pressed the tip on the surface, dark graphite appearing quickly throughout. I still heard faint music from the bar, a folk-rock song playing. I was writing my letter to Gerard.

#gerard way x reader #gerard way #mcr fanfiction #mcr fic #mcr #my chemical romance #gender neutral fanfic #dear universe up yours

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

Alcohol induced Bravery

This was prompted by the amazing @headfulloffantasy! I hope you enjoy, I had my fun!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

Nines startled as out of nowhere Gavin jumped in his view and slammed his fist on the table. He looked up at the grinning man. ‘Tonight, we’re going out drinking!’ ‘Drinking?’ ‘Yes!’ Nines leaned back against his chair in confusion but smiled at his partner’s excited face. ‘Gavin, I will need more information. May I ask why?’ ‘Of course!’ Gavin happily planted his ass on the table, completely ignoring that it was neither of their breaks and Nines had been about to finally finish that report. ‘You are as of now three-hundred-eighty-five days stuck with me.’ Nines frowned. ‘And fifteen hours, four minutes and thirty-seven seconds, to be exact. Why does this matter?’ ‘You broke the record’, Gavin smiled leaning forwards. ‘You have endured the asshole detective longer than anyone else.’ Nines chuckled to himself. ‘Well, maybe that’s because I actually enjoy your company?’ ‘Yeah, sorry, but you won’t beat Tina’s record there. But: You are the first one of my partners I actually enjoy the company of, so… Yeah, congrats, you got that title too. But now back to the subject: are you free tonight?’ ‘Sure. Didn’t have anything planned in the first place’, he lied, cancelling games night with the Andersons the very second Gavin had asked. Connor would understand. ‘Nice! Then we’ll meet at eight. I’ll send you the address later!’

It was one of the nicer bars in Detroit, Nines realised, as he stepped out of the taxi that had brought him here. Advertised as android-friendly with experimental thirium drinks it had quickly become a hot-spot for both species. Nines watched two women in stylish clothing exit, one blushed red, one blue. Both seemed intoxicated but happy and a very own blue blush spread over Nines cheeks as he saw them kiss. Of course, android-human couples used this spot too. He would simply try to focus on Gavin, not to make it too obvious. If only he could find- ‘Hey, tin-can!’ A hand on his shoulder made him turn around to the human. ‘Wow, Nines, looking good!’ Nines smiled awkwardly, taking in the human. Oh, it wouldn’t be difficult to keep his attention on him, but if that could keep him from flushing blue…

‘You look good yourself’, he muttered flattered at him and lowered his head. ‘Yeah, thought to leave the old leather jacket at home and try something a bit fancier. Should we go in? I made sure they have a table for us.’ Gavin smiled at him and Nines followed him closely. The man had indeed exchanged hoodie, dark jeans and leather jacket for beige pants and a light blue shirt. The fairer colours looked weird, but not out of place for him. Nines liked it. He liked it a lot. Gavin had folded up his sleeves accentuating his muscles nicely and the pants looked just a little bit tighter than what he wore at work. Nines noticed too late, he had been still staring at Gavin when they had sat down, and the man asked him what to drink.

‘Nines? Hey, Nines!’ Gavin snapped his fingers in front of the android’s face, grinning. Had he bluescreened or something? He had been absentmindedly stared at him all the way to their table. Ah, likely just a bit overwhelmed and caught off guard. Hank had told him Nines didn’t go out much. ‘Hey, anything of this sounds good to you?’ He pushed over the menu, already turned to the pages that had the thirium drinks. He smiled as Nines looked first at him, then at the card. Gavin used the time to really look at the other, too. He hadn’t been lying when he had said Nines looked good. Hell, he looked perfect. He always did. But this time he had chosen an expensive looking white coat with black accents. Now he shrugged out of it and revealed a soft looking black turtleneck that wrapped tightly around his body and fit his black trousers perfectly. Shit, Gavin should stop. They were work partners and friends. If the toaster wanted anything more, he could speak up. Gavin wouldn’t dare endangering what they had by asking himself.

‘I don’t know what anything of this is’, Nines said instead. ‘I guess it will simulate the effect alcohol has on humans. But I never drank something like this.’ Gavin shrugged. ‘Just try it. If you don’t like it, pick something else. I have your back, if something goes wrong, I’ll get you home and call Connor to look you over.’ Nines nodded to himself a few times, still indecisive. ‘You don’t have to drink anything, too. If that worries you’, Gavin quickly supplied. ‘I’m just here for a fun time to celebrate it.’ ‘No, I think I’ll try it.’ Nines closed the menu and put it back in the stand on the table. ‘Just one thing’, he added as an afterthought. ‘Should I drink too much and pass out from this… Don’t you dare drawing on me!’ Gavin laughed. ‘I don’t think we’ll get there today, but sure. No drawing!’

‘And then… And then he…’ Gavin was trying hard to tell the story without laughing at the ending Nines eagerly awaited. ‘He just left! Like… Went to Fowler. “Transfer me to a different precinct! If not, I’ll hand in my batch!” Funniest shit to witness.’ Nines had his chin rested on his arm that was planted on the table. He was sure that if someone pulled the table out from under him, he would simply collapse and lie on the ground until someone had the courtesy to lift him up again. However that thirium-alcohol worked, he was feeling it. He was warm, everything around him was muffled and dulled, while his mind managed to hyper focus on only one thing: Gavin Reed’s lips. Moving. Telling him how he lost the partners before him. In his opinion, none of the reasons listed where valid. Yes, Gavin could be annoying, lost his temper easily and wasn’t the best at compromising. But he was funny, intelligent, didn’t need to compromise because his approach most likely was the best one anyways and oh, he was so much more cute than annoying. Nines smiled at the memory of Gavin throwing a tantrum over his lost pen he was sure someone had maliciously stolen while it sat in his full coffee cup because the dumbass had mistaken it for the empty one.

While Gavin laughed, Nines’ eyes strayed further up to his eyes. These deep, grey, sparkling eyes with just the faintest emerald rim. The tiny creases around them as he laughed, true and honestly. He wiped the tears away with his hand, directing Nines to his scar and from there to his tough-guy scruff. As if the man could hide his soft side from him that way. ‘No, for real, my previous partners were assholes. I mean some could have been okay to work with, but nah… Glad to have you.’ Nines sighed, the words hitting where it counted. Somehow, he was sure the rising warmth in his body wasn’t – or at least not just solely – from the alcohol.

Gavin watched the android closely. He had meant what he had said. Nines was the best partner one could wish for: patient and understanding, determined enough to be convincing, but never pressed his opinions on others. He knew to read a person and understood when he needed time for himself and when he needed help. He was a true friend. A constant in his life Gavin hadn’t even known he needed. He wanted. And was that… Was the idiot flushing? Wow. He hadn’t even known an android could do that. ‘I… I’m glad to have you, too’, Nines whispered slowly, shily looking up at him. ‘I… I wanted to thank you for this. It’s nice.’ ‘What is nice?’, Gavin asked, feeling giddy about what the android was telling him. Nines looked to the side. ‘All of this. The bar. Celebrating something. Spending more time with you. Outside of work I mean.’ Gavin grinned. ‘Yeah, Nines, I like it too. We could do this more often.’ ‘How often?’, the android asked. How did he sound so hopeful? Maybe it was the alcohol, but Gavin leaned back and smirked. ‘However often you want.’ He saw Nines swallowing. Then he looked at him more seriously than the situation should allow. ‘I like you Gavin.’ ‘Hey, tin-can, me too’, Gavin shrugged swirling his glass in his hand. ‘I like you a lot.’ Oh-oh. ‘Err… I… I like you a lot, too.’ Now Gavin was the one blushing as he felt his ears warm up. Nines nodded. ‘I think I… I think I love you, Gavin.’ And with how shy and hopeful the damn android looked at him, what else could Gavin say? ‘Damn, love you too, Nines.’

Nines grinned and hobbled a bit closer on the bench of the booth. ‘Err… Would you mind if we… Can I kiss you?’ ‘Man, I thought you would never ask!’

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #morosexuals at work #I needed that fluff after the last prompts #these two idiots will be the end of me #mutual pining idiots #He's so intelligent Oh his plans are perfect So clever #Meanwhile...#Just kiss you morons

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neerasrealm · 3 years

Text

Bluebird

In which Jay wakes up after entry #80 and tries to catch his bearings. He soon realises exactly what fate it is he’s met. Word Count: 2408

Jay was silent as the strange man holding his hand led him across the barren black wasteland. He didn’t know where he was, or how he’d gotten here. His memory was fuzzy. A mess of noise and faces and phrases that would come and go randomly. The only thing he could be sure of was the dull ache in his stomach that would spike with pain every time he moved. He hadn’t seen another soul in this strange, nightmarish place besides the man in front of him now. He was taller than Jay, with elegant brown hair that was tipped with orangey-red. He was dressed finely in a waistcoat and shirt. Tattoos decorated each of his arms. The one Jay was holding onto had ink running up just below the elbow, making it a bluish grey colour. Neither of them said a word as they walked, but it wasn’t silent, oh no. this place was...loud. There was a constant quiet rumbling noise coming from god knows where, and occasionally he’d hear something shift in the distance, or the random shriek of something. It wasn’t helping Jay’s nerves. Not at all.

‘’Here we are, bluebird.’’ The man broke Jay from his thoughts. Or maybe he had zoned out again- was his memory still fuzzy? Would he forget this all? He didn’t have his camera. He didn’t have anything. Just the clothes on his back and- well...nothing else. Not even his hat…

He looked up. In front of him was a large, three storey gable-front house. It looked so...out of place, just sitting in the middle of the wasteland. It could’ve been a house he lived in, a house just in a random neighborhood somewhere in Alabama. The man pulled him forward onto the porch. ‘’Tell me, Jay,’’ he asked gently as he opened the door. ‘’What’s the last thing you can remember?’’

Jay furrowed his brows and followed the man inside. The interior was cozy. He was in an entrance hall, with large stairs in front of him. There was an entryway on either side of him, leading to two different rooms. Inside it smelled of coffee and...essential oils? He looked around some more. On the walls were surreal oil paintings, and a few plants were put in corners and against walls for decoration. There was a coat rack by the door, and on it hung a couple long black coats, a couple smaller black coats and a blue robe. He looked to the man. He was- well- handsome. Strikingly so. With sharp cheekbones, a five o’clock shadow, and dazzling golden eyes. Sure he was no Tim Wright but- damn-

‘’I…’’ Jay racked his brains, trying to remember anything through the haze his memories had become. Faces and names blurred together, events and times were skewed. Jay paused. ‘’...my best friend shot me.’’ he finally said. His eyes widened. He drew in a sharp breath, which made the pain in his abdomen spike. He gulped. He hadn’t even registered the memory until the words left his mouth. He remembered it now.

‘’Alex?’’

BANG!

...nothing.

He looked down at himself and paused. A shiver ran up his spine. A dark, crimson stain covered his jacket. A large, splotchy circle, and right at centre was the point of the pain. His breathing quickened, his hands shook. ‘’N-no-’’ he gulped. ‘’No- I-I- I’m not-’’ he blinked. ‘’I’m not dead?! I’m- I’m not dead! I’m not I-I can’t be-’’

‘’Shhhh…’’ A hand was placed gently on his shoulder. ‘’It’s okay, Jay.’’ Jay slowly looked up to the man. He stared back at him with soft, gentle eyes. It occurred to Jay he couldn't remember telling the man his name.

‘’A-am-’’ Jay gulped. ‘’Am I dead…?’’

‘’...Yes, and no,’’ The man sighed and looked down. His hand withdrew from Jay’s shoulder. ‘’You...are not alive. Not the way you used to be. You don’t need oxygen, you won’t age or grow, and you won’t get sick.’’ Jay stared at him, confused and horrified. ‘’But you are not dead. You can still walk, talk, take in information. You need to eat, you need to rest. You feel pain. You are neither dead...nor alive.’’

Jay stared down at his hands. They were...bloody. Covered in his own dried blood. He hadn’t noticed it till now. His hands shook and curled into fists. ‘’N-no-’’ he shook his head. ‘’No, I can’t be- h-how-’’ anger coursed through him. He clenched his teeth. ‘’I don’t understand!’’ his head snapped up and he glared at the man. His only response was a gentle sigh.

‘’I know, I know, Jay.’’ his voice was gentle, warm and soothing. He caressed Jay’s cheek with the back of his hand. ‘’You are safe here, blue-bird. I promise you that.’’ he gripped Jay’s shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly. His eyes were so...kind. Jay couldn’t tear himself away from them.

‘’Can-’’ Jay gulped. ‘’Can I ever go back…? Can I- see home again…?’’

The man looked at him sadly and reached up, brushing his hand through Jay’s hair. The touch was soothing. Jay felt like he was almost falling under a spell, like this man had him entranced. ‘’You cannot pretend to be alive, Jay. You are a dead man. A shell of what you were. You can see home but...you’ll never be able to live a life again.’’

Jay stared. His gaze softened. ‘’But I...can still go visit places…? See people…?’’ he asked gently. The man nodded.

‘’From a distance.’’ he replied. He suddenly looked up and over at the top of the stairs. Jay followed his gaze and his eyes widened in surprise. Stood at the top of the stairs was another man. He wore a beige waistcoat with a white shirt, along with black boots and pants. He had long red hair, and on his shoulder sat a small black mouse that ran behind his neck and over to his other shoulder. He stared at the two of them, his lips pulled into a thin line. ‘’Jason! Excellent timing, nounour.’’ the man called warmly. He gestured for Jason to come down to them. The redhead slowly walked down the stairs. He was elegant in the way he moved. Refined, calculated. His gaze never once softened however. He looked...suspicious, of both of them. He stopped at the end of the stairs and placed a hand on his hip. ‘’Jason, this is Jay. He’s a lost soul.’’

Jason turned to Jay, looking him over. His amber eyes seemed to linger on the crimson stain on his clothing before he looked away again. ‘’I see.’’ he sounded almost like he didn’t believe that Jay was in fact, a lost soul. Maybe Jay would have argued with him if he knew what qualified as a lost soul. ‘’How did you find him…?’’

‘’He was wandering the wasteland,’’ the man gave Jason a smirk. Like he knew something Jay didn’t. He turned to Jay. ‘’This is Jason. He’s sort of a...personal assistant of mine. He mostly keeps to himself, but you two will get along,’’ he turned to Jason. ‘’Won’t you?’’

‘’If he stays out of my workshop and cleans up after himself, yes.’’ Jason sounded unamused by the idea of getting along with Jay.

‘’Nice to meet you.’’ Jay murmured. Jason grunted in response. He turned and walked towards the entryway to the right, not saying a word. Jay looked to the man next to him. He rolled his golden eyes and tutted.

‘’Don’t mind him, bluebird. He’s always been a bit mean, but he’s a sweetheart, I assure you.’’ he took Jay’s hand in his own as he spoke and squeezed it. ‘’Come on. I’ll have Jason make you some tea. You like tea don’t you?’’

‘’Uh-’’ Jay was led through another room. This one looked like a lounge sort of area, but he didn’t get the time to really get a close look at everything. ‘’Sure?’’

He was led into a kitchen. It was- well, a kitchen. The appliances looked expensive, and the decor was cheery if you ignored the view of the barren wasteland outside the window. Jason was already filling the kettle with water. He looked up at the two of them and sighed. ‘’Tea?’’ he asked reluctantly. The man gave a soft chuckle as he stopped and released Jay’s hand.

‘’Yes.’’ he replied gently. He walked over to the counter and hopped up, taking a seat on it. He swung his legs. Despite the fact that he was a grown man sitting on a kitchen counter swinging his legs, he still seemed to carry an air of refinement with him. It was...intimidating, almost. The grown man swinging his legs like a child looked at Jay and gestured over to the door on the opposite end of the room. ‘’The dining room is just in there, bluebird. Go take a seat, I’ll get snacks for you, hm?’’

"O-okay." Jay mumbled. Obediently, he walked over to the door and opened it. The dining room had ruby red walls and a dark wooden floor. More of the surreal art hung up on the walls. The only furniture was the large, oval table, chairs, and a cabinet over in the corner. Jay wandered over to it, glancing around the room as he moved, like he was looking for something. He stopped at the cabinet. It contained...china. Fine, fancy china. Like something in an antique shop, or a grandmother's house. He glanced at the lock on the door and reached up, fiddling with the latch. He managed to open the cabinet and grabbed the ornate teapot in the middle of the shelf, examining it closely.

"Beautiful isn't it?"

Jay jumped in surprise and dropped the teapot. He whirled around to see the man again, holding a tray of snacks. He followed the man's slightly saddened gaze down to his feet, where the shattered remains of the teapot lay.

"Sorry-!" Jay said quickly. The man shook his head and walked over to the table.

"Don't worry about it. It was a tacky thing anyway. I didn't like it much." He put the tray on the table and snapped his fingers. The shattered china at Jay's feet burst into flames. He jumped and stumbled back from the fire and watched in shock as the small flames extinguished themselves, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Not even a scorch mark. "Come, sit."

Jay turned and stared at the man. He was sitting with his back to him. Jay gulped and nervously walked over to the table. He sat down across from him, tapping his fingers nervously against the table. "H-how did you do that thing with the fire…?" He asked nervously.

"Hm? Oh-!" The man's eyes widened. "Oh dear- I probably shouldn't have done that in front of you…" he sighed gently. "To put it short, that was magic. It's a skill uncommon in humans, but extremely useful."

"...magic…?" Jay didn't believe him. The other man gave him a nod.

"I know it sounds far fetched, but believe me," he looked over at Jay. Their eyes locked. "Humans know very little of their world. Monstrous creatures exist alongside you all."

Jay blinked. Monstrous...creatures…he looked down as his brain put two and two together. He'd seen one of them. Almost been killed by one of them.

"Something wrong, Jay?"

He looked up. "I-" he hesitated. "I've seen one- a-a monster, I mean." He glanced to the side, pausing as Jason walked in carrying a tray with three mugs on it. Jay chewed in his lip, tapping his fingers against the table again. Jason placed a mug in front of each of them and sat at the head of the table, quickly making himself comfy.

"Drink your tea first, bluebird. You must be shaken up, haven seen something like that." The man's voice was soft, soothing. He pushed the tray of snacks towards Jay. He hesitated, then grabbed a cookie from the tray. He took a bite, and his aching stomach growled with hunger. After quickly devouring the rest of the cookie he took a long sip of his tea. It tasted of...citrus. Huh. Still, it was warm and sweet, and he downed it quickly. Nobody spoke a word as Jay finished quite literally chugging the entire mug of tea. He put down the mug and looked up again.

"What was I talking about again?"

"The monster, my dear."

"Right-" Jay took a moment to gather himself before he continued. "That...thing it-" he frowned. "...it was- hunting me. Hunting us."

"Who's us?"

"Me and my friends. It- it got to my best friend first. A-Alex. It...it drove him c-crazy or something-" he paused. "So crazy that Alex...killed…" he trailed off, his pale, bloody hands clutching his mug. He reached up and wiped tears from his eyes before they could fall.

"What did it look like?" The man asked. Jay didn't see it, but he and Jason exchanged a look.

"It…" Jay racked his brains for memories. "It was tall...and white- its skin was, at least," he pursed his lips, trying to remember anything. Few images came to mind. Standing in a hotel doorway, the thing trying to grab him in the tunnel...laying on the ground looking up at Tim- Tim… "It wore a suit. A black one."

"A black suit…?" The man looked intrigued. Jay nodded.

"And its face it-" every memory Jay could conjure up was so loud. "It didn't have one." He looked up at the man across from him. His golden eyes were filled with terror.

"Him…" he murmured. He turned to Jason for a moment before looking to Jay again. "I know the monster you're talking about. His name is Slender."

"S-Slender?" Jay asked. "We- Alex, called it The Operator."

"Slender has many pseudonyms." The man replied quickly. "He's malicious. A being of manipulation. He'll do anything to get his victims and won't stop until he has them," he explained. "I've been fighting him for centuries…"

"Centuries…?"

"Yes." He replied softly. "I cannot guarantee he won't still come for you. You're not wholly dead. He could still use you." His golden eyes met Jay's. "But I can keep you safe."

Jay gulped. "...you can?" His voice was soft. Scared.

"Yes." The man reached over and offered his hand to Jay. "You can call me Zalgo. And I promise you my protection, Jay Merrick."

#marble hornets #mh jay #jay merrick #jay mh #creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #lore #jason the toymaker #zalgo #zalgo creepypasta

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

100th Sniper/Spy short - The honeymoon 2

Here it is, the final request! Made by my dear friend, Vana, bless him.

Here we go!

"Ready for your first day in my country?"

"Yeah, show me your home, darl', let's go!"

"Wait, before we go. You know why I took you here?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah." Mundy smiled, his cheeks turning pink. "For… I mean because…" He looked at the ring on his hand. "Our honeymoon."

"Then I need to say it before we proceed."

"Say what?" Mundy asked.

"I love you." Lucien looked up with those ice-drop like eyes at his husband.

"So do I, darl'..."

Their lips met, they needed it like a period to their sentence. Lucien and Mundy exited their hotel and on they went under the bright sun of… Bordeaux!

"Some would argue she is the capital of the South West of France."

"Are you part of those 'some'?"

"Oui, I am. Bordeaux is what Paris would die to be, but never will."

They strolled along the streets.

"Paris and Bordeaux have very similar architecture styles. The difference is the mentality of the people, the rhythm of life and look above your head…"

"The sky?"

"Oui. Blue sky here, while Paris has pollution, rude people and almost more tourists than rats!"

"Sounds like you don't really like yer capital city, eh?" Mundy said with a smile.

"It is cultural. Paris thinks they have the elite and the rest of us are peasants. We know that they are played like fiddles, working like sheep, while we get the good weather and the smile on our faces."

"I see…"

The visit lasted the entire day. Churches, places, squares, parks and of course, vineyards! They did it all. Come the evening, they finished their dinner in a restaurant by the quays of the river, La Garonne, and decided to stroll along the riverbanks.

The buildings along La Garonne were brightly lit with their yellow lights, slicing through the blue of the night. The street lamps were made of intricate wrought iron laces and some shed multicolored lights.

They dragged their feet lazily on the quays, their gaits waving left and right, exchanging their usual banter, the one that made them more than friends.

"Gosh that was one hell of a long day…" Mundy said.

"Are you tired?"

"A bit yeah."

"Let us sit down somewhere. Is this bench over there alright?" Lucien asked.

"Sure."

They stopped and took a seat. In front of them, the river reflected the city lights, deforming them slightly under the current of the stream like an oil painting. It was fairly calm now and the quays had their success in the evening. Passer-bys of all ages, families and couples were enjoying the same warm evening than Lucien and Mundy.

"That's quite a lot of bridges you have over the river." Mundy noticed.

"Indeed and the traffic is always dense on them. The right banks used to be full of factories while the left ones were where the selling of the products would happen. But nowadays it has all changed. The factories became ultra modern apartments and the buildings you see behind us, those made of those beige stones, part of them are a museum and the rest is fancy offices."

"Ah, I see…"

Silence fell and they could now hear someone playing the guitar somewhere behind them. The quays had been converted to a space for all. There were playgrounds, gardens, benches, spaces for picnics…

"Lu'?"

"Oui?"

"D'you think… things happen for a reason?"

"To some extent, oui, I do. Why?"

Mundy took a deep breath. The air smelled of the river passing in front of them mixed with the flowers that laid along the quays.

"I don't know, it's just… I think that's it."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"That's it, what?"

"That's it, I'm happy." Mundy answered. "I spent my adult life alone, hunting because that's the only thing I know, and look at me now…? I'm here in France with you and I'm… I'm bloody married now!"

Lucien chuckled.

"Indeed you are, and so am I. But I understand your point. Oui, it seems that the life of running and killing is over, or for you, driving and killing. What I find comical is that it all took me back where it all started, in Bordeaux."

Lucien's eyes went on the river, the lapping sounds of the current, on the surface.

"I love you, Lu'."

"So do I, with all my heart."

"You know, my mind's been a bit stuck on the vows we took." Mundy said.

"Ah, the wedding vows? Strong words, hm?"

"Yeah… Strong words. I thought it was just a movies' thing, y'know, all made up and exaggerated and all… But no. When I said I'd stay with you and only you till the end, I meant it. I meant it in a very serious way, it wasn't jokes or made up."

Lucien smiled and leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder.

"I meant my words too, Mundy. For better and for worse, in health and in sickness." The Frenchman repeated. "Because I know all too well that 'home' isn't a place. It isn't a flat, nor is it a house. Home is when I'm with you, regardless of what is around us. Today we are in Bordeaux watching La Garonne flow, but who knows where we will be tomorrow…?"

"Still in Bordeaux cause the return ticket is for next week?" Mundy answered with a chuckle.

"I guess, oui, but you understood what I meant."

"Yeah, I do." Mundy took Lucien's hand and sandwiched it in both of his. "Gosh I can't think about anything else but you. It's like I've met you and I know I'm in love with you but we didn't meet properly yet and you don't know what I feel for you. You know, those days before you tell someone you love'em, when you're just obsessed, and it's all only in your head, cookin' and boilin' on its own…!"

Lucien smiled.

"Oh I know what you feel and I feel it too. Although in my case, this is quite a first."

"First marriage?" Mundy teased. "You plan on havin' others?"

"Non…!" Lucien laughed on Mundy's shoulder. "That is not what I meant. It is the first time that I sit in front of the river and show her the face of a happy man. I doubt she even recognises me with the grey hair and the tired eyes with lines at the corner."

"I'm sure she does." Mundy answered. "Hard to forget them."

"Forget what?" Lucien asked.

"Your eyes."

The Frenchman felt it in its core, the warmth. He slid his fingers between Mundy's and he felt the ring there. It brought some pink to his cheeks.

"Merci."

[Thank you.]

"Thank you too. You're a good guide, y'know."

"You sound surprised." Lucien said.

"Yeah, nah, I don't know. The more I know you, the more I find things that I like in you."

"Have you found something that you didn't like so far?" Lucien asked.

"Your music taste." Mundy answered.

"What?"

"You have a problem with your music, I swear you must be the only one likin' French stuff from the fifties!"

"Non I am not! It used to be hugely popular and it still is!"

"Popular? Stuff from the fifties? In French? Nah… Only an old frog like you could like that."

"Ah…" Lucien sighed. "The younger generation has no taste whatsoever."

"Oi, I like some good stuff!"

"American pop songs that are broadcast on loop on the radio and dull your senses? The same that have no lyrics, or barely any meaning, no poetry? This is no taste, Mundy, I am sorry."

Mundy chuckled and tilted his head to lean it on Lucien's.

"Funny old man."

"Acceptable young one." Lucien teased.

"Acceptable? Really?"

"Look here." Lucien said and Mundy looked down at him. "Oui, acceptable and only by me."

In the dark of the night, their lips met between their smiling lips and their closed eyes. When they parted, they added to the lapping sounds of the river.

"You will be the end of me." Lucien said.

"Can I be everythin' before that too? I feel like we're skipping quite a lot of things before we got to that point."

"Of course you can, and you are. I love you."

Mundy softened and tightened his grasp on Lucien's hands.

"Love you too, darl'. You're everything."

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy

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wolfcrunch · 4 years

Text

day 1 of @dekusquadweek!

read on ao3

Ah...my head...

Consciousness crept slowly upon the green-clad hero, encasing his slackened body in its lopsided, fuzzy grasp. Black spots invaded the corners of his eyes, eyelids themselves burning in a dull throb. His brain drowsily beginning to wake up, send a shudder down his spine, making him aware of how everything ached.

A groan escaped the confides of his throat, the slight echo of unintelligible words mingling with the silent, still air.

Against the throbbing of his eyelids, an exhaustion trying to pull him under its murky cover once more, Izuku makes an effort to try and open his eyes, feeling as heavy as steel despite nothing, nothing real, stopping him.

No light creeps into the slits as they slowly open, a blurry mass of dark greys and browns, a smidge of white laying out before him. He shook his head, dully aware of how jerky the movement felt as he tried to clear up his vision. A slight ring in his ears resounded, but Izuku pushed through, giving a few more hard blinks as he slowly became more aware.

His head pounded to the beat of his heart, leaving the throbs of pain to seemingly slam against his skull, trying to disorientate him much more than what he was already feeling.

Where...the hell...

Lifting his head up proved to be a challenge, his eyes open enough to make out most of the shapes - or rather, lack of such - that were within his tired field of vision. His brain, lagging behind, noted sluggishly at the concrete floor and walls enclosing him, a single white, patchy wooden door laying before him, paint peeling away and showing the rotten, filthy bark underneath. A voice nagged at him, laden with an ache he couldn't shake off.

Stay aware. Check your surroundings.

Izuku's brain sparked a response, and with his gaze remaining on the old, fickle door, he pulled forward, his body lagging behind--

Something constricted, and Izuku grunted, forced to slump backwards as his gaze dropped downwards, arms pulling at their confines. He could make out the dark ropes and binds, wrapped around his waist and torso, extending them to his arms. His arms were tied behind the chair he was currently stuck to, and after a moment of slow, delayed movement, he didn't need to look further down to know his legs were also tired. Brute force wasn't going to work.

Not with his body feeling like lead, like an anchor sinking underwater, desperately trying to keep his head up. This wasn't good.

This wasn't good at all. He called upon One for All, intending on snapping the bindings restricting him, and going from there. He felt the energy build up, buzzing angrily as it spread through his palms, the familiar warmth of his quirk beginning to spread throughout--

Before it fizzled out, a few weak green sparks dancing up alongside his arms before his quirk entirely faded, leaving Izuku feeling almost empty. He felt a weight gather in his chest, and strained.

It was there, he could feel it's familiar flame...but he couldn't touch it. He couldn't bathe in its warmth. It was just out of reach.

Okay...okay, don't panic.

His eyes slid shut, desperate to try and ward off the throbbing of his head, trying to remember exactly what landed him here. His brain, muddled and disorganized, he tried to remember, just a sliver of a memory.

He'd been working on a case with Todoroki and Shinsou - the trio under word from the Endeavor Agency. It was a case that had taken weeks to get any leads - an illegal quirk-fighting ring, doubled with possible kidnapping due to likely-related disappearances around the area.

For Izuku, a sidekick almost freshly out of U.A, this was a pretty big and important case, and Endeavor had put two of his most trusted sidekicks to the task (with Bakugou being out of the country). Shinsou had come of his own regard, offering to be an insider voice of sorts given his underground work, and Endeavor hadn't complained.

Izuku and Todoroki had been investigating some abandoned buildings in the area, trying to scout out any possible hideouts for whoever was committing the crimes. They'd been a little antsy, and given as Shinsou hadn't contacted the pair within the last week...

Izuku wanted to groan as he came to the realization. They must've gotten too cocky, gone ahead without a solid back-up plan...did he get ambushed? It would explain why body was aching, and why he'd woken up tied to a chair.

What a rookie mistake.

And I can't break out...my head still feels all fuzzy. I hope Todoroki's alright...

Izuku couldn't remember past the point of the pair stepping into the first building, and given there wasn't a ton of natural light, he couldn't tell the tell, either.

How long had it been? An hour? Eight? A full day? Maybe even more, knowing how rotten his luck was?

"Ah, so you're awake?"

Izuku's eyes shot open, lifting his head warily as the peeling door creaked open. A dim light shone into the room, a looming dark figure standing in the doorway and seemingly watching the hero. When he didn't reply, the other person - he was unassuming a man - scoffed, walking into the room. Two brown and golden orbs stared at him, and Izuku wanted to fidget under the intense gaze.

"I didn't mean to hit you that hard - you gave me and my clients a bit of a scare for a bit," he sounded much too grave to sound particularly happy, and stopped mere feet before Izuku. "We thought we lost you - being knocked out like that for an extended period sometimes means you never wake up, y'know."

"That isn't what you want?" Izuku hardly registered the words leaving his mouth, a bit slurred towards the end due to whatever blow to the head had hit. A concussion, probably. He steeled himself, gritting his teeth.

The man sighed, clothes rustling as the man shifted before Izuku's eyes were assaulted with a bright, white light that flickered on overhead. It doubled the pain racking about in Izuku's skull, and he hissed, scrunching his eyes shut and ducking his head as if to escape it.

A hand roughly grasped his chin, jerking his face upwards. He could smell smoke on the others breath, fresh and almost revolting enough to make Izuku want to move back, even against the pain.

"Of course not...everyone has heard about one of the new up-and-coming heroes. Deku..." The villain seemed to let Izuku's hero name roll off his tongue, testing it, "a bit lame for a fella like you. But you're sure making a name for yourself out there, hero." He then sighed, patting Izuku's cheek with his free hand. "A bit too much, for my clients ya see. That might be why you can't feel your quirk...they requested I administer some quirk suppressants. I hope they aren't affecting you too terribly."

"Oh?" Izuku pried his eyes open, thankful that his vision didn't remain blurry for long, trying to commit the mans appearance to memory. "And who are these clients of yours?"

Izuku bit his tongue at the grin that slid across the villains face, before he stepped back, allowing him a better look at who he was really dealing with. Ashen, almost grey skin clung to a gaunt, bony frame, minuscule scars crisscrossing across the villains face and what he could see of his arms. He was tall and gangly, all limbs, like he had been stuck in his teenage phase - a head or two taller than Izuku. His clothing options didn't scream villain, a simple beige coat with a white shirt, black pants, and a simple choker of sorts around his neck. The most noticeable features, the ones that stood out the most, were his eyes. Brown with flecks of gold, an expression that spoke both a tiredness that was all too familiar to Izuku, but a hint of something dangerous, making Izuku tense up at the look. To top it off, he had simple, flat brown hair, never extending past his shoulders. For all he could see, just a simple, plain man.

But those eyes...

"I'm sure you understand how I can't disclose that - client confidentiality and all. Much like my name, neither are issues that are too much of a matter, young hero." Izuku cringes as the villains finally lets go of his chin, using his free hand to brush Izuku's hair out of his face. It comes away smeared with red, explaining Izuku's fuzziness at recalling before he's awoken. "You have no need to focus on anything else...if you help me here, you should be able to make your way home just in time for dinner."

Izuku didn't like the sound of that, especially as the mans grin never slid off his face. "Help you?"

"Word has it that you are extraordinary when it comes to quirk analysis," Izuku felt his heart drop at the words, "and my clients are much too eager to get their hands on some of your work, my boy. Truly, many say it is on par with the late principal Nezu of U.A. My clients simply wish to request you help them out as best you can...being a hero, it shouldn't be too difficult for you. Especially as it concerns many of your colleagues-- friends, even."

He felt the dryness of his mouth as he swallowed. "Quirk analysis? What makes you think I'll willingly help..."

"I would rather not to...but this is why my clients requested me to deal with you, Deku." he sighed, crouching down so they were of level height. Izuku held eye contact, wariness settling in and holding him in place as the man moved closer. "My quirk is rather handy in these kinds of situations. But, I'd much rather have this done and dealt with, and it not have to be used. It is not a very pleasant experience."

His quirk? Izuku locked his jaw in place at the implication, steeling his expression as he stared right back at him. "I might be just a sidekick...but I'm not going to let you kick me around and give what you want even under threat," he said, a fiery, dangerous tone he reserved for villains, a far cry from his usual friendly, foolhardy self. "I'd never give you something that can be used against my colleagues and friends. I don't care what you do."

Izuku knew just how dangerous his analysis could be, if given to the wrong person. He might be young, but he had grown past his naive phase. This wasn't something he'd fall into so easily. It was almost easy to forget about his aching limbs and throbbing head, staring right back at the villain who seemed so sure of himself and his tactics.

It almost seemed like Izuku's tone had caught the other off guard, his grin sliding off his face - only for it to come back bigger, something delighted now increasing just how creepy it looked. "I should have expected you wouldn't comply at first - all you heroes are the same."

The villain stood up to his full height, staring down at Izuku, never breaking the contact as he rested a hand, gently, on the heroes shoulder. "Willing to keep your tongues tied...but I guess a little demonstration is in order then, boy." His fingers dug into Izuku's shoulder, who bit in a hiss at the ache coming back full force before letting go.

Izuku could only watch, reaching in a failed attempt for his quirk as the man's eyes slowly changed, the golden flecks expanding and covering up the brown. He loomed, eyes now taking on more of a predatory look as faint lines slowly bled onto his face, dripping down his face and with a faint glow, seeping onto his hand.

"Let's see how long you last - a spot of fun never hurt anybody, right?"

He reached for Izuku's face, palm spread out, and Izuku jerked his head back, desperate to get away despite his bindings. It was useless. Useless.

The villains palm felt cold, and Izuku's eyes glared up at him through the others fingers, who never looked away. It wasn't until scratches began to etch themselves onto his face, deeper and deeper, that he finally realised just what this entailed.

Blood began to seep from the cuts, but Izuku didn't waver.

Hopefully Uraraka and Iida won't have my butt for missing out on dinner tonight.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #dekusquadweek #my writing #midoriya izuku #dekusquad

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digimonnetwork-project · 3 years

Text

Episode I

The seeds are sown...

“Shidou...Shidou....Isamu Shidou pay attention!” There was a dull thud as Isamu was thrown out of his thoughts by the sudden acquaintance of his head and the teacher’s book. At his old school, the boy in question would never have gotten in trouble for daydreaming in class, let alone assaulted for it.

“Gah! I’m sorry, Ms. Mazawa! It won’t happen again!” Isamu exclaimed, bolting from his chair and bowing repeatedly while he rubbed the back of his skull, certain a bump would develop where he’d been struck with the teacher’s book. He pictured something large and swelling, hopefully enough to get him out of math next period, but would go down before soccer practice after school.

“Honestly!” She huffed, twirling her graying hair in exasperation, “Shidou, this is the third time this week. You know I hate doing this, but if you can’t be bothered to pay attention to the lesson I’m going to have to keep you after school.”

Aside from the streaks of grey in her hair, Ms. Mazawa didn’t look more than a few years passed thirty, but her barbaric teaching methods made her seem centuries older. Isamu suspected she might be one of the old monsters of folklore, maybe Arikura-no-baba or Osakabe, but Isamu really didn’t care enough to try to research which one she could be.

“Yeah right you don’t like doing it, you keep kids after school all the time.” A chill ran up Isamu’s spine as Ms Mazawa’s irritated scowl deepened into a glare, making him overly aware of the fact that he had said this out loud instead of keeping it in his head.

She swatted him upside the head with her book a second time. “Shidou, I was just going to keep you in class for thirty minutes to reread today’s lesson, but your smart mouth just earned you a detention spent setting up the cafeteria for the archery club’s fundraiser tonight!” She declared.

“Y-yes ma’am!” Isamu stuttered, getting a giggle out of his classmates, “I’m sorry ma’am!”

“I hope you are.” Ms. Mazawa replied and turned to go back to the front of the class.

Isamu sighed and returned to his seat, brushing brown bangs out of his face and looking at his desk. At his old school, his classmates would have been laughing with him, not at him, he thought reminiscing, again, about his former life. The bangs he just moved fell right back into his eyes. He really needed to find something to keep his hair in place.

“Psst! Isamu!” He turned around at the sound of his name and saw his classmate Masato Namura give him a thumbs up. Beside him, Aki Mikami pushed up his glasses and awkwardly waved at him.

Isamu gave a small nod of acknowledgment to the both of them before facing the front of the class. The two of them were nowhere near the top of the food chain in this school’s social hierarchy, but they were the only friends he had here. He turned his head back out the window, catching his phantom reflection in the glass. How was it that he only had two friends? At his old school he was the cool popular kid that was friends with everyone, how did he become so bad at connecting to people?

In the glass, Isamu noticed more than just his own blue-eyed reflection. Just outside the door way he could make out the faint image of someone standing just outside their classroom. He looked that way just to be sure it wasn’t a trick of the light. Yes, there was a girl standing there, waiting to be invited in.

“Now that that’s out of the way, class...” Ms. Mazawa said, turning to the door, “We have a new student transferring today. Please give her a warm welcome. You can come in now, dear.”

The girl stepped in front of the class with her head held high. The students all have short gasps of amazement at the fact that she dared come in without her uniform on. The transfer student was wearing casual clothes, ankle length beige pants with green trimming that matched her Chinese style shirt and held her bag in front of her like a purse, rather than a backpack. Oddly, the thing that stood out about her wasn’t her lack of uniform, but the fact that she was wearing a white fingerless glove on her left hand with what appeared to be a strange digital watch over it.

“Hello.” She said to them, pulling a strand of her black hair behind her ear. “My name is Ju Ling, my family and I just moved here from Bejing. I don’t have my school uniform yet because of a mix up that gave me the wrong size.” She looked over at Ms. Mazawa who waved her hands for her to continue, “I'm an only child who likes computers, though I’m not necessarily very good with them. Thank you for having me, I look forward to joining your class.”

With a bow, she concluded her introduction and looked at Ms. Mazawa again who directed her to take the open seat next to Isamu. They whispered something to each other and Ju giggled as she came forward, Ms, Mazawa had probably instructed her to make sure he didn’t start daydreaming again. Isamu sighed and began scratching notes on the lecture.

This was going to be a long day...

When the last bell of the day rang, Isamu almost forgot about his detention and started out the door with Aki and Masato when Ms. Mazawa reminded him of his unwanted duties. Basically he was setting up chairs and tables for an hour and half, rather than the half hour lesson he would have gotten if he hadn’t mouthed off, but still that was an hour and a half Isamu wasn’t spending at the park practicing with Aki and Masato.

Another defeated sigh escaped him, tryouts for the Soccer team were a few weeks away, Masato was the right midfielder and Isamu had been the striker for the team at his old school, but Aki had never played an official game. Isamu felt terrible that he had to miss out on training Aki, the blond haired boy wasn’t awful by any means but he needed as much support as possible.

The archery club supervisor met him outside the door where he saw another of his classmates, Kaiyo Nakano, lined up as a volunteer. Isamu knew she was a volunteer, number one because he knew she hadn’t gotten in trouble, secondly because Kaiyo seemed to volunteer to help out with every club, though she was only an active member of the chess club.

“Hey, Shidou, I’ve already signed us both in” Kaiyo greeted, taking the opportunity to partner up with him, “It’s easier for me to work when I’m not in a skirt, so I’m going to change out of my uniform before we start. You go ahead and change too, that way you can just leave right after we’re done.”

“Oh? Okay, thanks.” Isamu replied, he hadn’t even known they were supposed to sign in as volunteers, but with Ms. Mazawa nowhere in sight, he supposed there had to be some way for them to prove he’d actually done the detention work. Deciding not to waste time, Isamu went to his locker at a slight jog and grabbed his casual clothes to change in the nearby boys bathroom.

As he swapped clothes Isamu’s text alert beeped and he juggled his phone to check it as long as there was no one to scold him for texting when he should be working. The message was from Gorou, a friend from his old school. Isamu’s heart skipped a beat, he’d messaged Gorou about hanging out over the weekend three days ago, what had taken him so long to reply? To his disappointment, Isamu opened the text to find a simple “Sorry, can’t come ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” in response to his invitation.

Isamu dejectedly put his phone away without replying and finished changing so he could get to work. He stepped out of the stall sporting a pair of capris and white shirt with the word “REAL” printed in english lettering on the front, and a black track jacket with blue stripes running down the sleeves. He folded his uniform into his school bag and started back to the gym, running into Kaiyo again on the way.

Apparently she’d had the same idea to change in the girl’s bathroom. She was dressed in a pale pink shirt with the words ‘Be Kind” written under a graphic resembling a heart made out of an arrow, an army green jacket, light shorts, and long striped socks.

“Looking sharp. Leave your bag by the door and don’t forget to pick it up when you leave” She winked at him with a friendly, teasing tone and led the way back, and took him over to a supply closet once they dropped off their bags. She went on to explain “It's actually not a lot of work to get this all set up, but it takes two people to carry one table, sometimes more for the big ones. Mr. Kojima and Mrs. Arai will tell us where to put them, we just have to coordinate and do the heavy lifting.”

She wasn’t kidding about it being heavy, Isamu could hear her grunt as she pulled a table out from the closet and was soon grunting himself as he grabbed the other end and helped her lift it away. “And you volunteered to do this?” He blurted without thinking, he really needed to stop that, it usually got a laugh in his old town, but around here, it usually got him in trouble.

But to his surprise, Kaiyo did laugh, “What can I say? I like to keep busy. It sure beats going straight to my homework.” She said, they both paused for a moment while the supervisors instructed them on where to move the table to. Kaiyo showed him how to set it up, and they were quick to return to the supply closet to get another table.

For a little while, Isamu actually felt like he was finally connecting to people as Kaiyo introduced him to other students from around the school. He’d never needed anything but soccer in his life for a long time, but as he was socializing with the volunteers and other kids in detention, Isamu thought Kaiyo probably had the right idea by volunteering with other clubs outside of his personal interests.

It didn’t take long to get everything set up, and as much fun as this had surprisingly turned out to be, Isamu was the first one out the door when everything was done- after just barely an hour rather than the hour and a half they’d thought it would take. What were the odds that Aki and Masato were still at the park? Isamu didn’t want to leave them hanging, and considered texting them when he found there was no need to.

They were waiting outside the school gates for him, already changed out of their uniforms. Masato had dark grey jeans with yellow stripes on the side, and a vest half zipped over an old graphic tee from the 80s. His dark brown hair was kept out of his bangs with a red bandana that, for some reason, Ms. Mazawa let him where in class.

“Man, they sure kept you in there long enough, did’ja have to clean the toilets with a toothbrush or something?” Masato griped as he picked his bag off the ground and stood back from the school gate.

“Ms. Mazawa told him to help set up for the archery club, I don’t think that’s what they do in detention.” Aki told him and pushed up his glasses, his white jacket was zipped up all the way and had an orange stripe running horizontally across his chest and shoulders. He had dark green pants tucked into long boots, and his bag was strapped over his shoulder.

“What would you know about it? You’ve never gotten a detention!” Masato teased, lightly punching Aki’s shoulder, playfully, Aki stepped on his foot in response.

“He will if he keeps hanging out with you.” Isamu joked back and turned to Aki, “And yeah, I was totally scrubbing toilets with a toothbrush, all detention kids have to!”

The look on Aki’s face was priceless, it took all of his will power not to laugh, “Y-you’re kidding, right!?” His glasses slipped further down his nose and once more he had to push them back into place.

“About the toilets or about you getting in detention because of me?” Masato slinging his arms around each of their shoulders, at which point Isamu couldn’t help laughing, ruining the joke entirely.

“Well, never mind.” He said, freeing himself from Masato and sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “Sorry to have kept you guys waiting, you still free for practice or-”

“-Shidou!” All three of them turned to look, surprised to hear Kaiyo calling for Isamu.

She was running toward them from the school entrance. She’d been a volunteer and was free to go whenever, but Isamu was under the impression that she was going to stick around to decorate too. His face flushed a little when he saw the reason she was running to catch up with him.

“What’s up Nakano, can’t you see we’re trying to escape from this place?” Masato trilled with a mischievous grin.

Kaiyo skidded to a stop and panted for a second before she looked at Isamu and smiled as she handed him the bag she was carrying with her. His bag, that he must have left at the fundraiser despite her warning not to. “You forgot this.” She winked at him, “Tanizaki wanted to hang it from the basketball hoop but I told him it was mine. You owe me big time.”

“Ah, th-thanks Nakano.” Isamu replied, taking his bag back and flipping it over his shoulders.

She waved her hand dismissively, “You can just call me Kaiyo if you want.” she said, hiking her own bag onto her shoulders and turned away, heading down another street, before shouting over her shoulder “See you guys in class tomorrow! Don’t forget your homework again, Namura or Ms. Mazawa might actually make you eat lunch in the hall this time!”

Masato made a face while Isamu quirked his eyebrow at the bizarre sounding punishment, “It’s worse than it sounds,” Masato said, “Anyway, I guess I better get home and do that homework. You guys alright practicing without me?”

“Actually, I’d better do the homework too.” Aki said, pushing up his glasses and looking at the ground, “After all we have that math test coming up and it’s my worst subject.”

“You say that about every subject.” Isamu rolled his eyes slighting, very aware that he needed the practice for the math test more than he needed practice for the soccer try-outs, “Man, sorry about the detention guys, I hate to have you waiting for me and not have time to actually practice.”

Masato clapped his shoulder, “It’s alright, we can practice for a while and then do homework together at the park. I fail, you fail, what do you say? We can always practice more this weekend, you guys free?”

“I’m always free.” Aki replied with a shrug. “And studying together would probably be good for all of us, too” they both turned to Isamu, waiting to hear his answer.

His fingers brushed his phone and thought about Gorou, but remembered that his friend claimed to be too busy to hang out this weekend- somethin he was never too busy for when they lived on the same side of the river. “Yeah, I’m free too. Who wants to race- huh?”

Isamu paused mid sentence, staring up at the building across the street where the air had seemed to distort for a second. Aki and Masato both looked the same way, but there was nothing to see. Isamu quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light, “Sorry, seeing things I guess.” He said, though he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling of being watched, “Anyway, I’ll race you guys to the park!” He pushed his way passed them and took off at a run, giving them no choice but to give chase.

Isamu laughed as he ran, Masato quickly started gaining on him with Aki no more than a few feet behind. The park was a few blocks away, and all three of them were exhausted from the run, “I’m.. so...slow…” Aki complained as they panted by the water fountain.

Masato checked the clock on his phone, “Actually... I think we... broke our record” He said.

Isamu clapped Aki’s shoulder, coughing slightly, “And you... kept up, just fine...I had guys on my team… At my old school...who were much slower…” He told him.

It took a few more minutes to convince Aki that he had done well, before they all agreed to sit at a picnic table and complete one page of homework before they started practice. Working together they actually managed to complete two pages before they remembered they wanted to practice some, too. Aki had a duffle bag which he kept his swimming trunks and towel in, as well as his uniform and clothes when he needed to change, and now it had become home to their soccer ball.

Between homework and practice, Isamu forgot about the strange distortion he’d seen outside the school, but while they were practicing the feeling of being watched started to creep up on him again. Not wanting to frighten Aki or Masato, he ignored the feeling and focused entirely on being the instructor, teaching both of them a trick he’d picked up at his old school to pass the ball between teammates while feigning a shot at the goal to confuse the other team.

At long last, they’d had enough practice and went back to their homework where it was harder to ignore the feeling of being watched. It was starting to alarm Isamu greatly, “Man, guys, I’m starting to get really tired” He sad, stretching to try to avoid suspicion of why he was suddenly backing out of the study group, “I think I’m finally getting this, so I’m going to head home for dinner and finish up tonight. I can text if I need extra help right?”

Masato nodded, “Yeah, it’s starting to get late, too” he said, “My aunt will get worried if I don’t at least call.” Aki agreed, and they all got up to leave the park- the feeling following Isamu, though neither Aki nor Masato seemed to be concerned. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to put them in danger so he tried to discreetly hurry them along.

However, the three of them spent a few extra minutes talking on the side of the road and finalizing plans for their weekend meet up before they finally parted ways. Aki and Masato lived three blocks away from each other, but Isamu lived in an apartment in the opposite direction.

Having lived down here long enough to have learned a few short cuts, Isamu avoided the crowded main roads by taking less used alleyways, hoping to lose whatever was haunting him. This particular street was a back road behind a few convenience stores that occasionally company trucks used for deliveries, but Isamu rarely saw anyone actually using them.

His text alert beeped again, making him jump slightly, but he stopped to check it, this time the message was from another of his friends from his old school canceling their plans to hang out the next day. Isamu frowned and put his phone in his pocket without texting back. He’d only moved across the river for his father’s new job. Why was it so hard for everyone to meet him?

The boy became so lost in his thoughts that his sense of alertness started to fail. Isamu had his phone out again, looking up what assignments he had to for his classes and trying to decide what he needed to complete after dinner and what could be done during lunch tomorrow when he noticed movement. Isamu looked up, now absolutely certain that it was not just his imagination, or a trick of the light.

Where he had seen nothing but an odd ripple from the corner of his eye, something melded into view. It looked like a giant chameleon wearing military gear. “Found a good one!” A raspy voice called out from the monster’s direction. Wait- that thing wasn’t the one speaking was it?

Faster than Isamu could make a run for it, a long slimy tongue lashed out of the creature’s mouth and wrapped around his body. He screamed and wiggled desperately, but was yanked closer to the chameleon’s open maw. Isamu closed his eyes, not wanting to see his upcoming doom, and wondering if the creature would kill him first or if it intended to swallow him whole and alive.

Neither option appeared to be the case, however as mere meters from the beast’s jaws, the tongue suddenly lifted him high. Isamu hardly dared to open his eyes again, but eventually had to when the raspy voice demanded he did, confirming that it was in fact the giant chameleon that was speaking.

Isamu struggled to breathe in the firm grip of the tongue, but did as commanded and opened his eyes to look at the creature, which was scrutinizing him the same way he might inspect the latest electronics while deciding what was better quality.

“Yes, yes. You’ll do.” The monster muttered, Isamu whimpered as the tongue started to retract back toward the creature’s mouth, certain that this time he was going to be lizard chow, but to his relief, Isamu’s toes brushed the ground and he was released. Isamu toppled over, landing face first onto the pavement. “You’ll do just fine.”

Instinct told Isamu to get up and run, but logic reminded him that the creature would catch him with its tongue again if he tried...and maybe this time he would end up as dinner. “I...I’ll do just fine for what...?” Isamu asked, clearly food wasn’t what this monster was after, for now at least, but he had no idea what it really wanted from him.

The answer came with a massive foot being pressed onto his back, pinning him to the ground. “My Tamer!” The creature replied, “I am Chamelemon! And I need a leader like you to make me stronger!”

Chamelemon spoke as if Isamu should know what that meant, “You seem plenty strong to me!” He said, and wound up again regretting his tendency to say what was on his mind, when the pressure on his back increased as Chamelemon pushed him harder into the ground.

“Don’t be a fool! I barely scrapped through the war on my own! I need you to be my Tamer!” Chamelemon growled, “Now, make me stronger or I’ll kill you!”

Isamu wasn’t really in a position to say no, even if that’s all he wanted to do. Who did this thing think he was, what did he mean leader? Sure he had taken charge of Soccer practice but that hardly made him a leader. What could someone as powerless as Isamu do to make Chamelemon stronger? Two shapes appeared in Isamu’s peripheral vision, a black one and a white one. Female voices cried out strange words.

"Moon Surge!”

“Sun Bash!”

He managed to turn his head just enough to see the white shape, some kind of dog-like animal, shoot a small blast of light energy at Chamelemon. Though Isamu couldn’t see it, the black one on the other side of him was doing the same thing. The combined blast was powerful enough to knock Chamelemon back, allowing Isamu to scramble away.

With a good look at his rescuers now, Isamu realized that they were an almost identical pair. The canine features extended only to their faces and body shapes, their ears were long and tipped with tuffs of fur that were red on the black creature and blue on the other. They had long tails with spikes on the end.

“Ju! Get ready” The white one called, glancing behind her, passed Isamu forcing him to look as well.

He was surprised to see the girl that had transferred into class just that day. Ju looked equally surprised to see him, but didn’t dwell on it long as she focused on whatever it was that the white creature had told her to prepare for. Ju lifted her arm, pressing buttons on her digital watch.

The black one dodged a lashing from Chamelemon’s tongue, “Leptomon! Ju! We need to act now!”

“Don’t rush her, Cannismon!” the other replied, shooting another blast of energy from her mouth.

“All set!” Ju called, looking up from her glove, “Do it!”

The small dogs leaped between Isamu and Chamelemon, and their bodies began to glow. “Eclipse Snare!” they cried in unison and bounded forward, black and white energy trailed their every move.

Chamelemon attempted to squash them with both his tongue and his claws but Cannismon and Leptomon were much faster than him. The pair encircled him several times before their glow diminished and they sprinted away . The trail of energy they’d left behind tightened like a noose, trapping Chamelemon in its coil!

Ju took a few long strides forward, holding her gloved hand in front of her, “Initiate data conversion!” She shouted.

A computerized voice replied “Data conversion initiating.” A beam of light shot out of Ju’s watch and struck the giant lizard. Chamelemon started to pixelate, “Conversion in progress.”

“No!” Chamelemon struggled in his bonds, much like Isamu had while trapped by his tongue, and just as fruitlessly. Bits of his body broke off in small pixels and were dragged down the beam into the watch. The process was slow at first but picked up speed, and soon there wasn’t enough of Chamelemon left to struggle.

When he vanished entirely, the beam returned to Ju’s watch and the computer voice announced, “Conversion complete. Scanning new data....Scan complete. Digimon identified: Chamelemon. Would you like to view Chamelemon’s profile?”

“Not now.” Ju said and lowered her arm, pressing another button on her wristwatch.

The air around them pixelated in a similar manner to how Chamelemon had vanished, but aside from that, nothing seemed to change. “Digital Construct deactivated.” The computer said.

Ju then turned to Isamu, “You alright?” She asked.

Isamu’s mouth was hanging open in shock, “Wha- Did you kill it?” He asked.

Ju laughed, “What? No! No, I never kill Digimon. I just converted his data into something a little easier to carry.”

Isamu jumped when two small bodies suddenly pressed up against him, “If a Tamer converts a realized Digimon back into scan data, they can take them back to the Network, or even all the way back to the Digital World!” The one that had been called Leptomon said, bumping her head against Isamu’s hand like she wanted him to pet her.

“We always send the hostile ones back to the Digital World. If they attack humans in this world they’re not going to be welcome in the Network.” Cannismon added, wagging her tail, but keeping back from Isamu.

“Digimon? Network? Digital World?” Isamu looked at Ju for some kind of explanation, but the transfer student was busy giggling.

Finally she stepped over and offered him her hand to help him back to his feet. “That’s a little hard to explain, but Cannismon and Leptomon seem to like you, and they don’t usually warm up to strangers. Maybe Chamelemon was onto something, choosing you.”

“I don’t understand.” Isamu exclaimed, digging his hands into his pocket, “Choosing me for what?”

“To be a Digimon Tamer.” She replied, lifting her glove to him so that he could see that it was not a watch on her wrist. She lowered it and held her hand out again, this time in greeting. “I know I introduced myself this morning, but I think we should have a more proper one. I’m Ju Ling, I’ve been a Tamer for three years. These are my partners, Cannismon, and Leptomon.”

“Nice to meet you!” Leptomon said with a sing-song-voice, Cannismon gave the same response in a less enthusiastic tone.

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Isamu Shidou.” He replied, shaking Ju’s hand and looking at the creatures at their feet for a moment before turning his eyes back to Ju. “What’s a Tamer?”

Next episode

#Digimon #Digimon fanfic #Digimon FDD #DigimonFDD #Digimon fanseries #chapters

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moccahobi · 4 years

Text

Amor Erratur [Yoongi x OC]

Warnings: Angst, there was an illegal act but also it is a dystopian world?

Summery: Yoongi’s life was fairly put together. He would go to work organizing the raffles, talk with the one good person at his office, (Y/n), and marry whoever he was paired with. If only pesky feelings didn’t get in the way of it all.

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So... this is the first project that @btswriterscorner is doing! It is an amazing network with amazing people and I am excited to continue working with them! Be sure to check them out and the other works that are happening in the same universe as this one!

The monotone tap, tap, tap of office computers filled the air, and an overbearing stench of burnt coffee pushing everyone to keep working. Offices had the potential of being lively with everyone smiling and talking, but not Yoongi’s office. No, Yoongi’s office was a beige government facility that wanted everyone and everything to be utterly silent when possible. Of course it wasn’t always quiet but the cubicles were made of fabric that purposely absorbed sound and there were walls that separated the main social area from the main work area. Yoongi had been working at the raffle facility since he graduated high school and after almost five years of working in it, he had risen somewhat high up on the ladder.

Now he had the final say in the results. His job was to make sure that everything was in place and that there was nothing out of place. It was interesting to see, but Yoongi didn’t always do his job to the fullest of his abilities. One point he even saw a hoobae of his change his partner to be someone else. Not all of the results had much of a rhyme or reason and the original results of Yoongi’s hoobae was one of those results. As Yoongi was the final check, he let it pass. Later that month, his hoobae was transferred but Yoongi was glad the man got to marry someone he wanted. He wasn’t always that lenient, at one point he even had to report a hoobae for trying to alter a major result, but Yoongi tried to be lenient when he could.

With a sigh, Yoongi grabbed his mug and stood up. He had been working for almost four hours without a break and desperately needed more coffee. Of course Yoongi always needed coffee and if it wasn’t for Y/n coming by and refilling Yoongi’s mug with the burnt coffee the office always served, Yoongi would have had to get up much sooner that day. The idea of visiting Y/n while on his break made Yoongi get excited. She was a cool person to talk to. With that in mind, Yoongi took a detour on his way to the break room, heart speeding up slightly as he did so. He found himself counting cubicles before making it to Y/n’s, his heartbeat speeding up more and more (most likely from all the caffeine he drank so far setting in) until he made it to Y/n’s desk. She was laughing and talking to Mina, a coworker who started about a year ago.

“Hey Y/n-sshi, I didn’t say it earlier but thank you for the refill.” Yoongi said, interrupting whatever conversation the two were having. Mina was glaring at him, but he didn’t care. Yoongi never cared when he interrupted people’s conversations at work.

“No problem, Yoongi-sshi! I know how you run on it and I wanted to brew a new pot.” Y/n said with a smile that made Yoongi’s heartbeat pick up once again.

He tried to ignore his feelings though. He learned long ago that emotions, romantic emotions specifically, were not something one should have. They granted harsh punishments ranging from a decade in prison to death depending on where one lived. The tiny crush Yoongi had on Y/n would pass… even if he’s had it for almost a year now. It would go away because it should go away.

“Would you like a refill now? I am going to get myself more coffee too.” Yoongi asked, hoping no one could read his inner turmoil.

“She drinks tea in the afternoons, Yoongi-sshi. I’d love coffee though.” Mina said with a sneer like smile, her hand moving to rest possessively on Y/n’s shoulder.

“She’s right, Yoongi-ssh, I am trying to cut back in my coffee intake, but if there is any hot water, I would love some more of that.”

“Ok. I can do hot water.” Yoongi said with a smile before walking past and into the break room.

As soon as he entered the room and saw no one was there, he closed the door and let his smile drop. Mina was a fake and annoying bitch and most days he could barely tolerate her, given he could barely tolerate most people here. The job was cutthroat. Time and time again he saw coworkers get fired for one unknown reason or another. He even had a new supervisor after the last one was cut randomly before the new year. Yoongi had no idea how he had managed to last in the job for so long, his emotions occasionally taking him over. Which was something that was heavily frowned upon when one works in the government. He even missed a week or so after his mom died because he simply couldn't cope with his emotions the way his job required. He never understood why he was chosen for this job, many of his colleagues are emotionless on good days and Yoongi was simply... reserved. At times he had to be in order to survive in such an office. Yoongi had a fairly high up position and he didn’t doubt that if he showed emotion, his coworkers would be trying to get him in trouble for stuff. Except Y/n. Y/n was too kind and caring to do that… she would never do something like that. Soon enough he had a pot of coffee brewing and a pot of water boiling.

With that done, he looked out the window to see everyone working away in their cubicles. The office was dull and grey and everyone seemed to wear dull and grey clothes that made them blend in. It was like office camouflage. Soon enough, Yoongi found himself staring at Y/n, as he often did when he had a reprieve from work, who was typing away on whatever assignment she was now working on. She was one of the few people Yoongi got to interact with that didn’t seem borderline psychopathic. She was always friendly and helpful, and Yoongi loved that. Soon enough, Yoongi found his eyes slowly raking down Y/n's body, even if he didn’t mean to. She was very beautiful… which didn’t help his crush. There was even a possibility that a small spark of anxiety and hope ran through him when a new list of results came in at the prospect of him and her being paired. It most likely wouldn’t happen though. At least, that is what Yoongi told himself to keep his hope low.

He just... used the word love… for a person. Belatedly realizing this, Yoongi spun around and faced the stove, fear squeezing his heart. He had never felt such a strong emotion before. He barely felt love towards his parents. He never saw or experienced love outside of what he read in old books and movies he got to see in the depths of his grandfather's basement. It was whispered about in his seventh grade history class before the teacher talked about why such an emotion was suppressed and banished for the better of mankind. Never had he seen anyone express love though. Not even his hoobae who got to marry the person he wanted to be with. His government teacher explained that it was frowned upon and punished if one felt love. The teacher never explained how the government found out but spies were everywhere. For all Yoongi knew, the second he thought he loved Y/n his fate was sealed. He could be arrested tomorrow and never see his dad or his brother again. He wouldn’t die even if he was arrested though. South Korea didn’t put people to death because of emotions, they simply jailed them. Of course Yoongi most likely wouldn’t be jailed for thinking such a feeling. At least he hoped.

The scream of the pot brought Yoongi back to the present, quickly turning the stove off before walking out of the break room with it. He needed to keep himself calm and collected.

"Piping hot water for you, Y/n-sshi." Yoongi said with a smile, carefully pouring more water into Y/n's "This Coffee Makes Me Awesome" mug.

"Thank you, Yoongi-sshi. You didn't have to brew me a pot." She said quietly before turning back to work. At that, Yoongi made his way back to the break room, excited to have some coffee and relieved to be away from Y/n. She was amazing but Yoongi didn’t want people to realize his thoughts. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he found himself thinking about what it would be like to be married to Y/n. She would be an amazing partner. He could practically see her doting on him and laughing at all his jokes. Oh how he would love to be married to her.

Yoongi just so happened to get an email about needing to start on the raffle results for people born his year... which included Y/n. If they were both meant to marry someone... Yoongi could easily switch the names and get Y/n to be his partner. He was the last check so no one would have to know. Once the coffee was brewed, Yoongi had it all planned out. He was going to simply change the names if both him and Y/n were on the list. There was no way anyone would know. He quickly made his way back to his desk and went back to checking through the final list of raffle winners that was sent to him. Sure enough, both him and Y/n were on the list and he quickly moved his name down to be with Y/n and her original spouse up to Yoongi's original spouse.

With a sigh of relief, Yoongi leaned back in his desk and took a long sip of his coffee. Maybe he should quit drinking coffee too.

What a joke. He was almost 75% coffee by now.

The second Yoongi swiped in the next day, he felt like something was off. He just knew that some of his coworkers were looking at him more than normal and the air in the office felt stale today. His heart felt like it was having a cramp from how hard it was beating. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Maybe he couldn’t go into work today. He wasn’t having a heart attack though, Yoongi knew that. He was simply feeling paranoid. At least, that is what he told himself. He was feeling unwanted and illegal emotions and now he needed to stump them quickly or he could be jailed. He couldn’t be jailed though. There was no way for anyone to know that he was having these thoughts or that he did anything wrong. No one could know. He was safe.

Yoongi quickly got into his seat and logged onto his computer, hoping that none of his coworkers would notice him acting differently. There was nothing different about today. Nothing at all. Only, when Yoongi logged onto his computer, he knew that there was in fact something different about today. There was an email from his supervisor… that had been marked with a red flag of importance. It mocked him. Yoongi fucked up yesterday by changing those names and his supervisor knew. His dumb infatuation with Y/n was going to get him jailed. He would never see his dad again. Missed calls will be all that his dad will remember him by. Yoongi was doomed.

As Yoongi continued to read the letter, he got even more worried. His meeting was at 9 in the morning. Nothing good came from a meeting so early in the day. Plus, he only had ten minutes to prepare for his inevitable arrest. Was there some way that he could prevent it? Plead that it was an accident? Plead for his life? His heart was beating quickly in fear and if it weren’t for the fact that he was at work, Yoongi might have broken down into tears. This was the end of him and he didn’t want his asshole coworkers to catch on to Yoongi’s demise. Too many of them were working here after working in the jailing unit. They were quick to catch on to anything and everything that might be suspicious. No doubt they were suspicious of the growing sweat stains that were no doubt showing on his shirt. Any of them could have reported him yesterday and any of them could arrest him today.

Y/n gently setting a mug of coffee down at his desk brought Yoongi out of his reprieve, her smile momentarily releasing him from those anxious thoughts. She was smiling at him as she set it down. Yoongi quickly took a sip of his coffee and nodded at her, not able to focus on anything but his meeting that was happening soon. He needed to prepare for that as best as he possibly could. Y/n hung back as if she wanted to say something to Yoongi but Yoongi had no time for any social interaction even if it was from Y/n. Especially if it was from Y/n.

He pulled up a random document on his computer to act as if he was actually getting work done so that Y/n would leave him alone. For all he knew, the document was about a project he did last year, but Yoongi didn’t need to actually read it. Y/n left shortly after Yoongi opened the document and for those few minutes Yoongi had before meeting with his supervisor, Yoongi tried to come up with a valid excuse for altering the results. None of them seemed to work and before he knew it, his time was up.

Shakily, Yoongi got up and slowly made his way towards his supervisor’s office. Each step made his feet feel heavier and heavier as if telling him that he still had time to run and go on the lamb. His life didn’t have to end here. Yet Yoongi didn’t turn around, and soon enough the golden plaque of his supervisor’s name was staring him in the face.

Namjoon.

His supervisor’s name was Namjoon. Namjoon was the name of the man who was about to seal Yoongi’s fate forever. Yoongi took a deep breath in, the office air feeling heavy in his lungs. He needed to relax. Stealing all his strength, Yoongi knocked on Namjoon’s door firmly. If this was the end of his freedom, he wanted it to end with him acting brave.

After a faint “come in”, Yoongi entered. The inside of the office was shrouded in shadows and there was some faint, high pitched noise that seemed to emanate the whole office. In the middle of the office was a large desk that commanded the whole room with nothing on it apart from a lone lit candle. It wasn’t until Namjoon cleared his throat that Yoongi finally looked up to see his supervisor. In the dark, Namjoon looked much younger than Yoongi expected. He might have been Yoongi’s age or a little older. This was the man who would punish him for doing wrong. This man would lead to Yoongi’s demise.

“How are you doing today, Yoongi-sshi?” Namjoon asked, his voice gruff as he looked Yoongi over before looking down at a file.

“I… I… I have had better days.” Yoongi finally settled on, feeling his nervousness grow higher by the minute. Why in the world was Namjoon asking such a simple question.

“Makes sense. You have been in this department for how long?”

Yoongi coughed, “I have been working here for almost six years now. Although you have my file. You should know th-”

“Why did you accept this job Yoongi?”

“I didn’t have a choice. This was the only job that came up when I did the job test in high school.” Yoongi shrugged, worry building as Namjoon kept speaking. Why was he asking so many questions? He did something illegal and he was going to jail for it, right?

“And did you go to college before working here?”

“No.”

Namjoon nodded before getting up and walking over to a file cabinet in the corner of the office. He hunched over the cabinet, quickly thumbing through many files before pulling one out. In two steps, Namjoon made his way back to the desk and set the file down.

It was Yoongi’s.

“From what I have read of you, you seem to be very smart. So tell me, Yoongi-sshi, why in the world did you think it safe, let alone smart, to alter the results from the raffel?”

Yoongi’s gut dropped, this was exactly what he was worried the meeting would be about. His worst nightmare was confirmed now. He was going to jail and it would be the end of him.

“I… I… I don’t know.” Yoongi finally got out. Despite all the attempts of thinking up excuses, he had nothing. Nothing he could say could get him out of this situation.

“You don’t know, or you won’t say because it could be more incriminating?” Namjoon asked, leaning forwards and looking Yoongi dead in the eyes. His stare was piercing. It made Yoongi want to shrivel up in his seat and hide but at the same time, there was something about it that seemed to be curious.

“I… I don’t know.” Yoongi finally got out, his words a mere whisper in the room. He looked down at this point, too scared of looking Namjoon in the eyes and him understanding what he meant.

“You see.” Namjoon started, his voice as quiet as Yoongi’s, “I think you do know why you did it but are just scared of incriminating yourself. I understand that. Thing is, I am on your side Yoongi. I… am not one for the current regime. I won’t turn you in… but I want you to do something.”

“Are you blackmailing me, hyungnim?” Yoongi asked, not believing his ears.

How could his supervisor say that! Yoongi didn’t agree with the regime either but they had ways of keeping people silent. Yoongi barely even dared to think of anything that was too radical because he has heard stories of people thinking illegal things and them being taken away.

Namjoon laughed, “I am not, Yoongi-sshi. It is ok to talk here. I have set it up so their bugs can’t listen in. Before we talk more… I need to know, why did you alter the raffle results?”

Should he believe Namjoon?

Could this all be a lie?

Would it even matter? Yoongi most likely had a life sentence already. There wasn’t much more punishment that could happen if Yoongi talked about his feelings or government distaste. South Korea didn’t have the death penalty.

“I… I did it because I love Y/n. I want to be with her.” Yoongi finally said.

It was a strange feeling to finally voice such an emotion. His whole life, it had been frowned upon to feel this way, let alone speak about those feelings and here he was voicing his love for a coworker to his supervisor. It felt good though.

Namjoon nodded and leaned back in his chair at that, “That is what I was hoping to hear. Sadly, I got a letter from my higher ups that we needed to remove five random couples from the list and you and Y/n just so happened to be one of the couples on the list. I hope you don’t mind. They would have checked it themselves anyways.

“Now, what I need from you,” Namjoon licked his lips and leaned closer once again, “I have ties to the revolution… I want you to do some work on the side to help the revolution. What do you say?”

“What?” Yoongi asked, not fully registering what Namjoon was asking of him.

Namjoon sighed and shook his head, “I want… no need you to do some work with the revolution. If you want to be with Y/n in a romantic way, you will help. If you want anyone else to even have the chance to feel what you are feeling, you will help. It would be small stuff. Volunteering with kids and planting ideas of love in their heads. Tiny stuff.”

Yoongi nodded, barely able to keep track of all that was happening inside his mind. One minute he was scared that his life was over and now he was being asked to join a revolution? How had his day changed so drastically? This was absolutely not what he expected to have happen today.

“I… uh… how does that help with a revolution?” Yoongi asked, his mind still stuck with the idea of him not going to jail. He was going to call his parents the minute he got home from work. It was too long since they talked.

"It makes people want what we preach to them. Never underestimate the magic that stories and care can have, Yoongi-sshi. Now, get out of my office and continue working. I will be sending an email to you some time today about the next meeting you have to do." Namjoon said, dismissing Yoongi with a wave of his hand.

"Wait-- I have to meet another person before I can start working?" Yoongi asked once he stood up, "Why can't I just get to work?"

"The revolution doesn't let just anyone's help. We will not risk the safety of our fellows without doing checks first. Now get to work Yoongi-sshi." Namjoon said, getting up himself to grab something from the filing cabinet. Yoongi didn't stay around to see what Namjoon was going to work on next, instead opting to get to work. He had cold coffee and a large number of requests to sort through himself.

Yoongi sat anxiously in one of the booths at a dark and grimy bar. His hands were limply resting by his sides, not wanting to touch the table and whatever had made it sticky. Namjoon had emailed him that fateful work day and that was how Yoongi found himself in the bar booth, waiting for someone named Jeon Jungkook to meet him. Anxiety made Yoongi come half an hour before Jungkook was said to meet him. Some hoppy beer sat in front of Yoongi but he could barely stomach more than three sips. The bar was in a low income area of Seoul where many manual laborers lived but almost everyone in the bar seemed to be celebrating one thing or another. All yelling happily and ordering more drinks than Yoongi might have ever drunk. The noise was shocking and a wave of pain ran through Yoongi every time some new person entered as the drunk people shouted a cheer. Yoongi watched as someone sauntered across the bar and made his way towards his booth.

Was this man Jungkook?

He was in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt but both of them seemed almost too small for him as his muscles were very visible through them. If this was Jungkook, Yoongi had no idea what many other people in the revolution looked like. Were they all strong and scary looking? Before Yoongi had much time to think more about those in the revolution, the man sat across from Yoongi. It was Jungkook. Jungkook's black hair shielded his eyes from Yoongi, but he had no doubt that Jungkook was giving him a once over. A shudder ran down Yoongi's spine and he felt himself shrivel into himself.

"Yoongi." Jungkook said, his voice softer than Yoongi would have expected.

"Jungkook?" Yoongi asked, forcing himself to sit back up and look Jungkook in the eye as best as he could. It was hard, especially when Jungkook opted to keep staring at Yoongi instead of speaking.

They must have sat there staring at each other for a minute before Jungkook cleared his throat and started talking, "Thank you for meeting. Sorry it took me so long to get in. They didn't believe my ID."

"Why wouldn't they?" Yoongi asked, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook.

"I look young. That is besides the point. Namjoon thinks you will be a good addition to the Seoul section of the revolution. Do you think you would be a good addition?" Jungkook asked, reaching across the table and stealing a sip of Yoongi's beer.

Yoongi let him, too nervous to even drink it.

"You have shit taste in beer by the way." Jungkook added, pulling a face from the bitterness of the beer.

Yoongi let a tense laugh loose at Jungkook's comment before starting, "I don't know why Namjoon thinks I am good for the Seoul section... I think I would like to help though... love is a great feeling... I have only felt it a little, I mean I think I have only felt it a little, but I want people to feel free to feel love. Love is a good emotion..."

Jungkook nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. Yoongi saw his eyes for the first time and was once again struck by the gaze Jungkook was pinning Yoongi with. If looks could kill, Yoongi might have been dead.

"And how do I know that you aren't going to snitch and try to get money from ratting out the Seoul chapter?" Jungkook asked, taking another sip of Yoongi's beer.

"I... Why would I?" Yoongi started, "Namjoon found me doing something illegal too. If I even tried ratting myself out I would get jail time as well."

"That means nothing to me. Blackmail or not. " Jungkook scoffed.

"You'll just have to grow to trust me then." Yoongi said with a sigh.

What was he supposed to say to a stranger? Never in Yoongi's life has he had to keep such a secret and now Jungkook was asking for proof that he could keep it? Yoongi had no idea what he could possibly say.

"I think I am willing to trust you, but if I even hear that you are attempting to rat us out, I will find you and hurt you myself... or better yet, I will hurt your precious Y/n." Jungkook said, taking one final swig of Yoongi's beer before getting up, "You'll be emailed a date, time, and location for the first part of your work."

Before Yoongi could ask any more, Jungkook had disappeared into the crowd and Yoongi was once again left alone in the dark and gritty bar.

Was this the right place? Yoongi had no idea but the longer he stood outside of the orphanage, the more stares he got from random people who were passing by and Yoongi hates getting stared at. The building was a monotone and sad looking grey and it made Yoongi wonder if the inside looked as depressing as the outside. He hoped not. The idea of children being stuck in such a depressing place made Yoongi’s heart ache.

“Are you the new person Jungkook sent to read to the children?” Someone asked walking up to Yoongi with a small smile on her face.

She wore a simple pair of blue jeans and a large manilla sweater. Her black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, frizz sticking out all over her head. Yoongi felt over dressed in comparison to her even though he was simply wearing khakis and a polo. He didn’t have time to change after work. He didn’t doubt that by the end of this program he would feel gross, but after seeing the look of the outside of the building, Yoongi didn’t mind. If reading stories to the orphans would bring them happiness, he would do it willingly. They need happiness.

“I am. Yeah. Name is Yoongi.” He finally said, slowly walking into the orphanage with the woman in tow.

“My name is Gi . I have been working here for a year now. I can show you around before the children get back from school.” She said, sliding behind the front desk and grabbing a key, “I am glad that you decided to come a little early. It gives me time to not only show you around but also how to set up for the reading.”

“Wait-- I am here early?” Yoongi asked, not even bothering to ask why the children were arriving back from school so late in the day.

“About half an hour early.” Gi said, walking over to a side door and unlocking it, “Let me guess, though. Jungkook said that this was when you had to arrive?”

Yoongi nodded, following Gi as she led the way into the living quarters of the orphanage. They were as dull and grey as the outside of the building save for the occasional motivational poster.

“That is so like him.” She laughed quietly, “Please continue to come early. It does help with setting up. Anyways, this is where we will mostly be.” Gi started to explain what they would be doing and how to set up.

There was a closet full of pillows and books that Gi and Yoongi would be using. His job was to get the children to relax after a long school day and then help them with their homework if they needed it before cleaning up. It would most likely be a simple job and for the first time since Yoongi was in high school, he felt excitement towards doing something. This excitement didn’t fade after one day of work, nor after volunteering for a whole week. That weekend, he and Gi met up to plan the next week and he felt even more excited. The pattern of working there in the afternoon and evenings on weekdays and planning with Gi on the weekend continued for two months and before Yoongi knew it, he found himself anxiously waiting day in and day out for the time he spent with not only the children but also Gi. His days were bright and colorful even though he worked and volunteered in such grey places.

It wasn’t until he came back from a bathroom break and saw himself admiring Gi help a middle schooler with their math homework that he realized he no longer felt any love towards Y/n. Maybe all Yoongi felt was a strong infatuation but he had never experienced such a strong emotion before that. Yoongi leaned against a wall and smiled at the scene in front of him. Children were playing and working together on homework. In the center of it all was Gi: a wonderful and caring woman who also happened to be part of the revolution. In the time Yoongi has spent with her, he got to know so much. She was in a loveless marriage to a man thrice her age who eventually became a close friend of hers. Her husband and her had a kid who was now two before he passed due to a heart attack. She worked as an editor in some large and boring newspaper. There she met another friend of hers who eventually got her to work with the revolution.

She was an amazing person with a large heart.

Yoongi cast a glance her way before slowly walking over. Maybe he liked her romantically. Maybe she was a reason Yoongi wanted to believe in the revolution. Maybe he would walk to the ends of the earth to be with her. Yoongi chose not to think about that right now, instead getting onto his knees and helping another kid near Gi.

He could get used to this work.

73 notes · View notes

writer-levi · 4 years

Text

Writober Day 2: Awakening

New. They felt shiny and new. Sitting on the edge of a cushioned exam table, they studied their once wrinkled hands and formerly fragile fingers. Well, now their own. They were a shade darker than they remembered, and taller too. Wiry grey hair-- once sun-kissed blonde in youth-- fell dark, heavy and bouncing across their shoulders. This was… this was unreal.

"How do you feel?" asked the doctor with an easy smile. They looked up at the woman with light haired pulled into a sleek bun in disbelief.

"This is real, isn't it?" They shook their head and looked down at their young hands again. "This isn't my body."

"On the contrary, it is," the doctor replied. "It's the avatar you picked in the catalogue. We modeled everything to your request, every fine detail. See?" The woman gestured towards the mirror in the exam room, mainly there for this very purpose in the Re-aging process.

They dared to look, and a gasp caught in their throat. Caramel eyes looked back, not those dull brown they used to have. The face was smooth and clean, and the small cropping of light freckles stood out against the beige skin. Coils and coils of beautiful dark brown hair hung from their head. They slowly got off the table and approached the mirror, cautiously as if the reflection would reach out and grab them.

"Oh my… I… I'm not an oldster anymore."

"Word to the wise, upgrade your vocabulary and get used to this. It's yours until the return date."

They let their eyes, gorgeous eyes, drift over the reflection. They ran their hands over gentle curves.

"This is me… this is exactly what I picked when I paid for- Return date. We still haven't discussed the return date."

"Don't worry about that now. We will get to that. Just enjoy your fresh second life right now. You're new, with new talents and desires. Only very few people get a chance to embark on a second life with Lazari Incorporated. Enjoy your avatar."

A steady smile came to their face. "Wowie. I'm a looker. I mean…" They exchanged an amused look with the doctor. "I'm hot."

They had so much planned with their new found youth that they let the thought of the return date drop to the back of their mind. After all, death was inevitable. They just didn't have to die now or die all withered away.

That was more than could be said for the poor soul that had once been the avatar.

((Original characters and idea.))

#writober #writing #scifi

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elenatria · 5 years

Note

I noticed Valoris sudden travel & stay at Chernobyl. They don’t bring any logistics (spared clothes for change). Imagine Boris barking at his staff to bring the most suitable clothes & he coordinating every shirt, tie, trousers, & suits for Valery in the hotel room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824418/chapters/47870353

“I hate yellow curtains.”

“What?”

Valery didn’t register Boris’ cause of annoyance atfirst. He was peering through the hotel window at a couple of girls in blueuniforms and white aprons, massaging the bridge of his nose as if to get rid ofa headache that wasn’t there, the ghost of a sensation that was too dull andvague to be considered pain. Maybe it was just the tension from the twosleepless nights he had already spent in Pripyat, maybe it was the radioactiveair getting the best of him already.

Maybe it was the fact that they had just sentencedthree men to death.

How could he stay there for days, weeks, and completethe enormous task of containing a disaster worse than Pompeii and Hiroshima puttogether if his body couldn’t take the pressure? If his spirit could be easilycrushed by the fates of three people he didn’t even know?

“I said I hate yellow curtains,” Boris rasped bringinghim back. “They remind me of piss.”

Valery stifled a chuckle shaking his head. “Maybe youshould have them changed,” he proposed under his breath. “Then again, you’dhave to change everything in here, the wardrobe, the sofa, the walls, eventhe phone–“

“The phone is orange,” Boris corrected him briskly. “Youknow what, perhaps I should have the goddamn curtains changed.”

He picked up the phone and dialed a number. “Yes.Shcherbina here. Give me my assistant, Stepanov.” He drummed his fingers on hisknee and let the handset rest on his shoulder leisurely scanning the room forevery last bit of imperfection before inspecting Valery’s form from head totoe. His eyes lingered on the scientist a bit longer than usual, causing him toshift his weight from one leg to the other with growing discomfort.

“Yes, Yevgeny,” Boris greeted his assistant clearinghis throat.

Valery let out a sharp breath when the deputy chairman’seyes finally focused on something that wasn’t his awkward flabby frame.

“Bring in a new set of curtains, anything butyellow,” Boris ordered. “Yes. Petrol, petrol sounds fine. No, I don’t need toask the hotel manager for permission,” he snarled, “tell him I can’t sleep withthose curtains. And, Yevgeny, go buy some shirts and ties. I don’t know, mediumsize…?” He glanced at Valery once more, his eyes pausing at the middle where theshirt buttons strained over the academician’s belly. Valery sensed the silent judgementand crossed his hands over his stomach, embarrassed.

“And briefs…” Boris continued on the phone, his voice huskierthan usual, without taking his eyes off the scientist as they glided just alittle under the belt line. “And suits. Yes, navy blue, brings out the eye colour.No, not my eye colour, you idiot, I already brought my own suits. I cameprepared for this trip and I certainly do not wear medium size, are you blind?No, we don’t have time to find a seamstress, bring in whatever you find. Justdon’t buy any cheap ones, we’re not dressing up labourers here.”

Boris’ mouth slacked open mid-sentence and closedagain as he pursed his lips in irritation. “N–. Never mind who they’re for,all you need to know is that they must be here by noon. Is that understood? Perfect,you still have a job.”

He hung up without a single word of goodbye and lethis heavy hands fall on the arms of the chair. As he turned to Valery his eyes grewsofter. Oddly enough, he wasn’t the bossy statesman anymore.

“See how easy that was?” he bragged with a contentsmirk, “petrol curtains. Better for blocking out the sun.”

Valery’s brain had stopped functioning the moment herealized Boris wasn’t buying clothes for himself. The Deputy Chairman of the Councilof Ministers had just decided to redecorate his hotel room and worst of all, hehad ordered him a whole wardrobe of clothes. Clothes he hadn’t evenasked for.

“How did you know I didn’t bring any clothes?” thescientist muttered as his glasses fogged up.

“You’ve been wearing the same suit for two days nowand your collar is getting yellow around your neck,” Boris observed eagerly sittingup and made a semi-circular gesture, mimicking the roundness of Valery’scollarbone. “I’d suggest you take a bath – in your clothes preferably – but itwould do nothing to remove your sweat, your shirt is too white. You should buysome beige shirts instead.”

Valery lowered his head. “Beige makes me look pale…”

Boris stopped and stared at him as if he was teaching theState Anthem of the Soviet Union to little green men. His chest bubbled up in aburst of laughter. “Anything makes you look pale,” he teased. “You’rethe palest person I’ve ever met.”

Valery shook his head and turned to the window again.

His disappointment didn’t get lost on Boris whostopped laughing, stood on his feet and strode toward him. He rose a strong handto cup his shoulder but Valery stopped him in his tracks with a curt sideglance.

Don’t.

No words.

The glance was enough.

Boris let his hand hang limply on his side.

“Pale is—” he stuttered searching for the right word. “Paleis beautiful. I think!” he rose his hands in the air arching his brows likea child begging for approval.

Valery scoffed and shook his head. “Don’t try to saveit, Boris, it’s too late.”

Boris’ eager smile faded away as he searched Valery’sface. However, he didn’t seem disappointed. He didn’t have the look of a man whois used to giving up.

“Gingers are often very very pale, even paler thanblondes like me,” he explained.

“You’re a blonde?” Valery cocked a brow trying not to soundtoo curious.

Boris brushed a hand through his grey hair. “I used tobe,” he said cockily. “There are patches on me that are still blonde, patchesnot… open to public view,” he whispered in a playful conspiratorial tone.

The audacity.

Valery’s lip crooked into a slow side-grin.

He wasn’t going to honour Boris with a full-blownsmile. No. He hadn’t earned it yet.

Boris’ gaze travelled from Valery’s blue eyes to thefreckles peppering his upper lip to the greying temples under his glasses. “I…haven’t met enough gingers in my life,” he apologized as his eyes rested onValery’s mouth. “Didn’t mean to treat you like an extra-terrestrial.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Valery reassured him andsighed. “I guess I’m not used to people observing me and… buying me clothes. Imean… thank you, you didn’t have to—”

Boris shrugged indifferently. “Don’t thank me yet – thoseshirts I ordered, they’re probably not going to be beige.”

Valery let out a timid chuckle staring at his shoes asa pale shade of pink rose up his cheeks. He was feeling too exposed, too nakedto come up with anything sufficiently witty.

Maybe it was useless to hide from that man.

A hesitant but triumphant smile rose on Boris’ lips.

He took a step closer to his new friend and pointed athis blushing cheeks.

“See?” he nodded, his voice full of warmth, the kind that Valery hadn’t experienced before. “You’re not that pale anymore.”

#chernobyl #valoris #valery legasov #boris shcherbina #jared harris #stellan skarsgard #chernobyl fanfiction #valoris fanfiction #ignorant hard-working bastard #chapter three #yellow curtains #ao3 #elenatria #fluff #slow burn #clothes #prompt

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allthephils · 5 years

Text

From the Passenger Seat

This work was written for the @phandomreversebang and was inspired by this wonderful art by @dnovep.

Word count: 4002 Rated T (Mild references to sex and homophobia, mental health, established relationship)

Read on AO3

“Phil.”

His name lingers in a fog of sleep before dropping to the bed. The mattress dips with the weight of it. There’s one quick, deep breath before he presses his face further into the pillow and sinks back into a disjointed dream.

“Phil!”

It’s loud enough to break through now, dragging consciousness with it. Phil resists with a grunt, turning away from the sound but a hand comes to grip his shoulder, shaking him abruptly before pulling away. He hears a heavy put upon sigh and finally allows his eyes to open, slowly letting in bright morning sunlight. “What time is it?”

“Finally.” Dan is stood now. Phil twists to see him zipping up a bag and stepping into his shoes. “I’m leaving, just thought you should know.”

“Leaving? What time is it?” Phil can’t make sense of anything. The way the sun streams in says it’s early, so much earlier than he ever gets up. He’s not looking at Dan because his eyes have settled on the duffle bag sitting on the bed near his feet. He searches for a memory he must have lost. Was there a plan? Is Dan going away today?

“It’s like 6:30,” Dan says, like that’s a perfectly reasonable time to be waking Phil up. He’s bothered, annoyed. Judging by his tone, it must be quite a burden to drag Phil from a dream this way. “Go back to sleep. I just thought I should tell you before I left.”

Dan grabs his jacket off the back of the desk chair while Phil watches, confused and only half awake. Something squeezes around his heart like a fist, clenching tighter every second as awareness creeps in. The night before had been rough. Dan spent most if it sulking, complaining about every little thing, while Phil mostly stayed quiet and tried to leave room for Dan to vent. His offers of affection were ignored, his empathy met with derision. Dan had snapped at Phil, refused to talk to him. He’d rolled his eyes at Phil’s insistence that they not go to bed angry. I’m not going to bed, he’d said you are. So not my problem I guess. Phil was genuinely hurt but there was no getting through so he did go to bed, falling asleep alone to a soundtrack of the too loud television coming from the lounge.

“Wait, Dan. You’re leaving?” Phil says, voice shaky and cracking, his body reacting before his mind is fully aware of the fear he’s facing.

“Yeah, I’ll…” He turns as he speaks but stops short when he sees the alarm on Phil’s face. “Phil?”

Dan looks so tired, his eyes are pink and heavy, ringed in blue grey, his mouth pulled down at the corners. All the while, his body darts and weaves around the room.

“Phil. What?” He’s so terse, Phil is almost afraid to answer.

“You’re leaving? What does that mean exactly?” Any attempt to appear detached is lost to the panic rising in Phil’s throat.

Dan just stares at him for a few moments and then, “Jesus Phil, I’m not leaving you. I’m just leaving.” There’s that eye roll again. It’s so dismissive and it stings, it really does. Phil wonders if it felt like this for his mum when he would roll his eyes as a teenager. Dan’s not a teenager though.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know.” Again with the irritation, like Phil has no reason to worry, no right to know what to expect.

“Are you ok?” Phil asks, earnest, and sits up, reaching for his glasses.

“I don’t know.” An honest answer, matter of fact.

Phil throws the covers off himself and stands, reaching under the bed to pull out his suitcase. He pulls shirts from the closet leaving a mess of hangers on the floor. Three drawers slam one by one as he grabs what he needs from the chest. He doesn’t actually know what he needs because he doesn’t know where they’re going or how long they’ll be gone but he grabs a change of jeans and some pajamas, a handful of underwear and a pile of single mismatched socks and shoves in all into his case.

“Get the chargers and my pillow, I’ll be fast.”

Dan is still stood in the middle of the room watching Phil. “Fast at what?”

Phil has already turned on the shower and he climbs in in lieu of answering. He keeps his hair dry and washes as quickly as he can, then steps out to dry off and brush his teeth. He grabs hair product and his toothbrush and opens the door to find Dan in the same spot.

“Fast at what?”

“Showering. Did you sleep at all?” His chargers are right where he left them. He throws on jeans and a t-shirt and grabs a tour hoodie off the floor. The last bits packed, he zips up, grabs his pillow, and walks toward the door.

“Dan?”

Dan hasn’t moved.

“Dan?!”

He startles.

“Are we going?” Phil is losing patience but he’s trying, he’s trying so hard. This isn’t the first time Dan has run off in search of a conclusion to the story in his head. It hasn’t happened in a while and this scenario is definitely new. Waking Phil up for a goodbye, however ill tempered, is an improvement.

“You’re coming with me?”

Phil just huffs and walks past Dan to grab his bag too.

“Come on.”

They get an Uber to the rental car lot because Dan is too embarrassed to let Phil ride the tube holding his pillow. They don’t talk once they’re seated in the back seat. Phil politely deflects any conversation from the driver.

The morning is dreary and grey, a little too on the nose for Phil. He thinks a little glaring sun might do a world of good right now. Maybe it would boost Dan’s serotonin levels just enough or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe, to Dan, sunny skies would be an affront today, an assault on the senses. Maybe sunny skies would bring out the friendly in this driver and bring crowds to this rental lot. Maybe dreary and grey is a safety net.

Phil’s a safety net too though and he could really use a little sunshine right now. It’s not about him, he knows that but he can’t pretend this doesn’t scare him, doesn’t bring back all sorts of memories of hard times, bad days, and worse nights. If Dan can choose to be off meds, to let these days come sometimes, then Phil can choose to cling to him for dear life. We all have our coping mechanisms.

Phil loads a cooler into the backseat of the rental car before climbing in and setting two coffees into the cup holders in the center console.

“Where did you get a cooler?” Dan sounds angry but that’s just how he sounds on days like today.

Phil answers him with forced neutrality. “Tesco.”

“And Starbucks? You did all that while I was at the counter?” The look dan gives him could best be described as suspicious but there’s a hint of gratitude way in the back of his words. Phil holds onto it and shrugs.

“You won’t tell me where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone,” Phil says, “so I got snacks. You’re welcome.”

It takes a real effort not to mirror Dan’s mood. It’s not fair to be angry so Phil breathes deep and watches the scenery go by, bland as it is. He sips his coffee and reaches behind him to pull a box of doughnuts from the cooler. Vaguely political chatter drones from the speakers. It might be interesting if it weren’t so early. Dan waves away the offer of a doughnut but reaches over a few minutes later to take one from the box.

The landscape is dull as the sky. It all runs together, rushing past Phil’s window, beige and grey and muted green. Dan’s hands make the steering wheel look like one of those toys you’d give a baby in their car seat. He fidgets, gripping in pulses and twists. The muscles of his face twitch and spasm as he clenches his jaw and Phil reaches out to touch the hard edge of it.

“Babe,” Phil sounds small, “can you relax your jaw?” He clears his throat, “it’s gonna be sore.”

Dan inhales through his nose and lets his jaw soften. It’s a small thing but it feels like a victory and Phil’s shoulders relax the tiniest bit. He tries to remember everything he’s learned, things the internet taught him in the middle of nights made sleepless by worry, and things Dan taught him, vulnerable and open in Phil’s arms on one of his better days. There’s an inner dialogue unfolding that he’ll have to repeat on a loop until Dan is on the other side of whatever this is. All he can do is be here, strong and open-hearted, a witness to Dan’s strength, reflecting it back until he can see it for himself.

A sign rushes by, the off ramp for Wokingham is ahead. It distracts Phil from his thoughts.

“Oh Wokingham,” He says, “is that where we’re going?”

The laugh that follows is scathing. “Wokingham? Phil, are you actually joking?” Dan shoots him a look that matches his tone, “Fuck Wokingham.”

Phil’s eyelids are heavy, his head wobbles on his neck, and it’s clear Dan isn’t interested in chatting. Reclining the seat, he hugs his pillow and feels himself drift. He’s not falling asleep, he’s just getting comfortable, resting his eyes.

A cold rush of air sends a shiver over Phil and he reaches for a duvet that isn’t there. “Dan. It’s cold! Roll up your window.” He curls in tighter but his eyes flutter open to see Dan reach out and crank the heat up. The droning voice Phil had drifted off to has been replaced by something deep and loud, an angry voice half sings, half raps, and Dan sings along, hand drumming the beat into the steering wheel.

“Pull over, I need a wee.” Phil sits upright and throws his pillow into the back. “How long was I asleep?”

“An hour? Hour and a half? Wasn’t really paying attention.”

The nearest exit takes them to a petrol station and Phil runs inside, grateful for an actual toilet. He’s never been great at having a wee on the side of the road with his nervous bladder. When he comes back, Dan is leaning against the car, a picnic of road snacks laid out on the boot. Phil pauses just outside the shop, taking a moment to look. From here, Dan is only beautiful. He looks cool and strong, no sign of his crumbling resolve, no chemical imbalance, no dark circles, no trauma.

“Glad you’re eating.”

Dan holds out the pastry in his hand for Phil to take a bite. It’s a thing they’ve done a thousand times and Phil basks in the normal of it.

“When I get diabetes, you’re going to have to give me the shots.” A joke in poor taste, another small hint of normal for Phil to hold on to.

Phil gathers up wrappers and bottles and takes it all to the garbage. By the time he’s back, Dan is back in the driver’s seat.

“It’s bloody cold.” He says, starting the car and cranking up the heat. Phil breathes into his hands and looks to Dan, carefully choosing his next words.

“Feeling a little better?”

The twitch in the muscle of Dan’s jaw says he chose wrong.

“Better than what?” Dan says with a laugh that’s not at all funny.

The music is up and they are on the road again, making their way over the bridge to Wales. They don’t talk. Phil usually knows what to say, what not to say, how to just be there. He knows the heavy, shut down numbness of Dan’s depressive episodes and the weepy desperation that sometimes comes when the clouds are about to part. Maybe this is what it’s like when Dan runs off. Maybe the mood swings and the worry in Dan’s brow are par for the course. He hates that he doesn’t know. Running away like this has always been something Dan did without warning. Phil has never been privy to this piece of Dan’s puzzle but he can see that Dan’s mind is racing. He thinks he knows how that feels but he can’t be sure. He wants to know what to say. He wants to make stupid jokes and eat pizza and go home and cuddle. He wishes that he could be enough.

Outside, the blue sky has cracked through the murky grey clouds. The sea is calm, rushing past on both sides and soon they��re driving right along the coast. It brings to mind family holidays and morning walks with his mum but beneath the comfort, there’s an undercurrent of fear. Any moment, those dark waters could rise up, crash over them, envelop this little town they’re in. He conjures an image of he and Dan on the Isle of Man, watching the sunset, kissing on a high cliff where no one could see. Staring into the water, he clings to a heavy handed metaphor. He and Dan run deeper than most could imagine, so constant in their ebb and flow, so strong in their quietest moments. He’s lost in those thoughts when he feels the car pull off the road and realizes they’ve arrived. Somewhere.

Before he can ask, Dan is out of the car and walking toward the water. Grabbing a blanket from the backseat, Phil finds a grassy spot without too many rocks. There’s a lighthouse in the distance and the sound of the sea in Phil’s ears as he stands and watches Dan stretch his arms above his head. The blanket isn’t much barrier from the poking grass and pebbly sand but Phil sits anyway. Phil watching Dan, Dan watching the sea, birds screaming overhead. Enough time passes that the light has changed, the clouded sun giving a glow that feels like early morning though they left that part of the day at home. Finally, Dan turns and begins the walk back. He sits but the distance between them is miles wide.

“You ok?”

“No.”

Of course he’s not ok. “I can read on my phone or play a game. We could probably get a signal here, watch something.”

All he gets is a heavy sigh in response.

“I’m sorry.” Phil squeaks out. “Maybe this is your thing. I should have stayed home. I just get scared Dan.” Dan stretches the crick out of his neck and Phil wishes he could shave some of that annoyance away. “I try so hard not to make it about my feelings when you’re like this but things have been pretty good,” Dan’s brows shoot up, he’s picking at the grass next to blanket, “or maybe just familiar, I don’t know. But I’m having flashbacks if I’m honest. Last night was hard, this morning was hard.” Phil continues, “No, not hard, terrifying.”

Dan’s head turns just slightly and the flash of his eyes makes Phil want to reach out and pull him in but he stays put.

“Sorry I was a twat last night.” Dan tucks in his legs and pulls the blanket around his knees. “But I’m ok Phil. I mean I’m not, but I’m figuring it out.”

“Ok but that’s what scares me Dan. The only times you’ve ever scared me is when you’ve said you could handle things.” Phil’s lip is sore where he keeps biting it. “It just makes me think back to right before you started therapy. You kept insisting you were fine and then, well you weren’t. Do you remember what you said to me?”

“No.” He answers, exasperated.

Phil looks right at him and speaks slowly. “You said, ‘It’s getting scary Phil.’ Then there were tears. You weren’t really crying but there were tears. And I held you there. And you said you were scared. You said it a few times.”

“Ok, Yeah. I remember,” Dan says, “I was scared. That was a darker place than I had been before.”

“And now? Are you scared now?”

Dan turns his body toward Phil, finally looking at him. “Not like I was then. I’m not on an edge anymore. I would never do that do you.”

“Will you please come here?” Phil is really trying but he has to touch him. He’s the most important person on the planet and he can’t survive this moment without something, just a touch, he’ll take anything.

Dan lays his head in Phil’s lap and Phil’s fingers are instantly in his hair. It’s a fix and the itch under his skin finally subsides. He’s aware of the utter codependency, the addiction he has when it comes to Dan but he doesn’t care.

“I’m not going to do anything I can’t take back. This is different. I’m different.” He rolls on his side, curling against the cool air. “The thing is though, that means there’s no way out.”

“Jesus Christ Dan. How can you just say that?”

“Hear me out.” Dan has readjusted his position several times already and now he sits up, one leg folded in, on leg sort of wrapped around Phil’s so they are finally, finally close. “If I’m gonna do this, if I’m gonna feel everything, I can’t stagnate, I have to keep moving forward, making my life what I want it to be. You can’t be the only good thing in my life Phil.”

“I’m not. You have so much Dan.”

“Whatever. Some days you are. I want to have a good life with you, not just for you or because of you. Does that make sense?” He’s brushing his fingertips up and down Phil’s neck, searching for some connection and knowing he needs it as much as Phil does brings more comfort than anything could. He nods, it’s a small thing but it’s all he’s got.

They sit like that for some time. Dan watching Phil, Phil watching the sea, birds screaming overhead.

“So what were you doing last night? If you weren’t depressed or whatever, why were you up?”

“I was writing. All night. And drawing and outlining and my brain was about to combust so that’s why the drive.” There’s almost a smile now, the sunshine Phil’s been waiting for.

“Oh. Cool. What did you write?”

“Welp. Phil. I was working on a script, a concept really, for a video. It’s way too long right now, I’m gonna need your help cutting it down.”

“Of course.” Phil is lost but he waits.

“It’s my coming out.” Dan says, his eyes expectant.

“Coming out? Like, of the closet?”

“No Phil, it’s my coming out into southern American society. I’ll need a chaperone, will you escort me to my cotillion?” At least he’s laughing.

“Ok, I’m just surprised.”

“What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever you need to do to be happy.”

Dan laughs, “Well I don’t know about that lofty aspiration, but I think it will help.” He leans back a bit, gets a good look at Phil’s eyes. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m asking. This is gonna out you too. I can’t exactly not mention the guy that made me commit to one dick for the rest of my life.”

Phil huffs a relieved sort of giggle, “so you aren’t sad, or numb, or any of that?”

“Not today. Just nervous, excited, anxious, terrified, maybe a little sad after writing my story down, but just normal sad.” He lays back down, so tired, like talking about this has used up the last of the adrenaline that was keeping him up. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“We don’t have to talk about this now.” Phil says, back to the important work of stroke Dan’s hair.

“Actually, we do. Kinda the whole point of this little trip. You’re the one that came along and uninvited bub. Can’t escape now.”

“Yeah, I mean, say what you want Dan. I’m already out to everyone that matters.”

Dan looks up at him. “I can think of 4 million people who matter who don’t know.”

“Oh come on, they know. I talk about hot guys all the time.”

“Yes Phil, I know.” Dan says with utter contempt in his voice. “And sure, the lesbians know, but what about all the people who will just assume we’re straight unless we literally leak our sex tape? What about all the people in denial because they’re just so in love with big daddy Philly.”

“Ew. Stop.” Phil crinkles his nose. “I’m not subtle Dan. And I don’t care if they know for sure, they’ll figure it out.”

“Ok babe. You do you. I’m just saying, you could maybe help some people.”

“How did this become a conversation about me?” Phil watches Dan snuggle in and close his eyes. “Let’s just get through your video first. See how it goes. You know mine will be pretty low key. If I decide to make one.”

“Alright.” Dan bats his eyelashes at Phil. It’s not intentional, just a thing that happens when he feels like this. “Thanks for hijacking my road trip. I love you.”

“Wait, what about your family, Dan?”

“Guess that’s step one.” He sounds so sleepy now, the words slur a bit, his breathing slow. “I’ve got till June. Maybe I’ll do it at Easter.”

“The June video.” Phil says.

“Has to be June.” He yawns. He looks so small sometimes. “A year is enough time thinking about it. I’ve got to rip off the plaster.”

Everything is different. Different to last night, different to this morning, different to last year, and so different to a few years ago. It doesn’t mean an absence of fear. Loving Dan means a small corner of his heart will always be hollowed out, lying in wait for the next time he sinks. But he’s reassured, for now.

There’s a little shack of motel up the road, generously referred to as a bed and breakfast on the website. Phil drags Dan awake after a half hour or so and leads him to the car.

“You can’t drive Phil.” Dan mumbles.

“I can and I am. It’s just ten minutes. No complaining.”

The lady at the front desk wears a scrutinizing gaze as she checks them in. Phil repeats yep just one room, more than once.

As they make their way up the stairs with their bags and Phil’s pillow, Dan whispers, “We’ll have to make some noise for her sake, after I get a nap.” Phil giggles looking over his shoulder.

They choose a movie and Dan’s asleep before the title appears. Phil isn’t far behind. Eventually, he gets up and ventures out to bring back a real meal. They eat and talk about all the ideas overflowing in Dan’s mind. Phil makes Dan take a shower and he doesn’t even unzip his bag, just climbs into bed to make that noise they’d talked about. In the end, they’re rather quiet but for breathy sighs and whispered affection. Dan is happy to do this Phil’s way, to let the weight of him hold him steady and let himself be adored. And so Phil does adore him, covering his skin in kisses, keeping their bodies impossibly close. He’ll taste every sweet and bitter piece of Dan and hear the soft sounds that only he’s allowed to hear. Dan will end up draped over Phil, drifting off yet again. Silky brown curls will slip around and past Phil’s fingers again and again and he’ll remember a time when he was the only one who got to see these curls. The years of hiding so many pieces of them are coming to an end but some things, the most important things, will always belong to just the two of them.

#phanfic #prb19 #prb #myfic

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gaasaku-fanfests · 5 years

Text

Misfits (part 1 &2)

Title: Misfits Author: clem-chan Rating: T Word Count: 27 388 Summary: Marrying a CEO in the midst of a romantic scandal to pay for med school is not the happy ending Sakura imagined for herself. The arrangement that started as constant bickering soon becomes so much more... If only her husband was hers to fall in love with. GaaSaku. Modern!AU Warnings: There is a light make-out session hence the T rating. There's also mention of child abuse and childhood trauma. Minor ships: light KankuKiba, very light ShikaTema, mention of NejiTen.

Author's Note(s): Two little things to mention: First, I wanted to keep this accessible to all, so I have cut out more raunchy scenes which will be posted in the AO3 version of this fic soon. Second, I have this headcannon where Gaara and Sakura are just two misfits. :P So, that's what this story is about: two misfits forced together. XD Hope you enjoy it! ^_^

Trope: Arranged Marriage

. [warnings are for overall fanfic, not individual parts.]

PART 1

Gaara Sabaku focused on the clock over her grandmother's office.

It throbbed. Time passed. He ignored everything else.

In his peripheral vision, his grandmother's mouth was blurry, her lipstick stretched, a floating cloud of red, as she shouted at him. His hand closed around his wrist watch, and he narrowed his eyes at the little hand moving slowly on the wall.

In 15 minutes, he would excuse himself to his meeting with new investors.

In one hour, it would be time to prepare for his interview: make-up, change of clothes, a microphone clipped to his tie.

In one hour twenty minutes, he would be on air answering questions about his recent acquisition of a dying familial company. What were his plans to revive it? He had prepared a stiff answer outlining five main business strategies.

"Are you listening, Gaara?" Chiyo Sabaku snapped and slapped the newspaper on the table in front of him.

Slowly, Gaara turned his head toward her, his pale eyes reluctantly glancing away from the clock. His grandmother's cheeks were rosy, her neat beige suit uneven across her shoulders from her gesturing. His brother, Kankuro, cleared his throat and nudged his thigh, widening his eyes at him. Gaara blinked back at him, until Kankuro mouthed: "answer her."

"Yes," Gaara replied, and Kankuro nudged him again. "Yes, I'm listening, obaasan."

Chiyo glared at him, breathing sharply from her nose. She pulled at her suit jacket sharply rearranging it over her small frame. Stiffly, she walked back to her desk and sat down, surveying her two grandsons with a twisted mouth. The title of director of the hospital gleamed in front of her as she laced her fingers together.

"Well, let's discuss how we will fix this."

"It's not that bad, obaasan, I mean..." Kankuro drawled out and he reached over the table to spin the newspaper toward him. "We can only see his hand on her back, and... Well, good for you little bro. That's clearly some tongue action."

Gaara grunted.

"Shut up, Kankuro," Temari said icily.

She hadn't moved the window since Gaara and Kankuro had arrived. She stood still, her arms crossed over her chest, her back rigid, her face only a shadowy profile.

"Well, obviously, you're all blaming me," Kankuro said dryly, "but I didn't know he would lose his tongue and hands along the way when I asked him to pick me up."

Temari turned toward them, her eyes narrowed at Gaara.

"You should have called me," she snapped.

"You were with that lazy bum of yours," Gaara shrugged, and he glanced back at the clock.

"Why you little..."

Temari walked promptly toward her brothers and grabbed the newspaper. She hit her brothers' heads with it rolled tightly. Gaara and Kankuro grimaced, trying to cover their heads.

"OI! CALM DOWN!"

"Temari..."

"Enough!" Chiyo shouted with her palms raised.

She sighed and massaged her temples.

Temari hissed insults at her brothers before taking her place by the window. Her body stiffened in an angry cold posture. Her golden skin shimmered in the high sun, her teal eyes piercing through them.

Kankuro tsk-ed his fingers combing through his hair.

"If this is how you react whenever we mention that-" he started sardonically.

"I said enough!" Chiyo repeated with a tired voice.

Her chair spun toward her degrees and prizes hung across her wall. She had built the hospital from the ground, just as Gaara had built his company from the gaping hole of his father's dishonour. She sighed.

"Gaara, bring out your girlfriend into the spotlight and we say it was her."

Gaara shifted in his seat.

"She broke it off with me," he said dully, his eyes following the new turn of the little hand on his grandmother's clock.

Soon. Soon.

Kankuro swore under his breath and he glanced curiously at his little brother.

His face was expressionless, but his jaw was clenched. Like when he was lying. Kankuro closed his eyes, grimacing, praying Temari wouldn't notice.

Chiyo clicked her tongue, her brows furrowed.

"You should have told us. There's this scandal, and the chairman's elections are two months away... oh, dear me. Why did you buy off this little useless company, huh? Do you think you can afford to make mistakes right now?" her voice boomed, and Gaara shifted again in his seat. "The board of directors are already angry with you, and now this!" Chiyo slapped the picture with a disdainful hand heavy with jewelry. "I think it's time we consider arrangements," she concluded bluntly.

Kankuro picked at the leather of the armrest, glancing sideways at Gaara. His little brother didn't react, his eyes drawn again and again to the clock.

In eight minutes, he would excuse himself to his meeting with his investors...

"You're not arranging his life, obaasan," Temari said breathlessly, and Kankuro looked over his shoulder at her.

She was biting her lip, her face pale, her dark lipstick slightly smudged. They were the elders, but somehow Gaara had carried the family crest alone ever since he was a child.

"He doesn't have a choice!" Chiyo shook her finger at them. "Caught kissing, like a teenager. Tsk, you don't think investors will turn away from him now? Unmarried, and unable to provide a clean image of a serious reliable man… This family is nobility." her voice was shrill, and the siblings all bowed their heads, flinching. At their father's funeral, the few who did show up said: 'This family was nobility. What a shame. Poor children, they'll grow with nothing but disgrace.'

"We can't afford the scandal. We bury it with a real marriage announcement and call this his wife."

"Obaasan, please! He's still young!" Temari protested, but Gaara stood up buttoning back his suit jacket.

"I'm not a child anymore, Tem," he said and smoothed the wrinkles, readjusted his tie. "I appreciate the concern, but she's right. Arrange it, obaasan, pick someone who needs my protection, fame and money."

"But..." Chiyo faltered, now standing up too. "We should consider the noble families..."

"No," Gaara said coldly, the corner of his mouth twitching. "This is how I want it. Now, if you would excuse me, I have a meeting with my investors."

-X-

Sakura Haruno waited, tensed muscles that snapped and spasmed. Her bun was too tight at the base of her nape. Her clothes felt like irritating wool against her skin, rubbing her raw. And always the thinning grating voice: 'you don't belong here.'

The waiting in front of the director's office was empty, pale grey armchairs were spread across the room, small tables by their right side. It was airy and elegant, and Sakura wished she had removed the hot pink nail polish half-chewed away. Or chosen a softer colour that could blend with the room. A neutral colour. An expensive manicure she couldn't afford.

Sakura winced and reached for the glass of water the secretary had placed to her right.

She had buried the letter of summon in her purse, but the words still spun in her head, the numbers wailing, harassing her above all. Her mind was loud, divided, despite the calm and serenity of the waiting room.

She had arrived 30 minutes early for her appointment with the director of the hospital, and she wished time would stop, so she could finally have enough time to breathe. Come up with the money. Pay off her crushing debts.

Biting her below lip, Sakura rubbed her hands on her thighs smoothing again her dark skirt. Her nails dug into her thigh when her leg started shaking. She tried to straighten her back, her fingers jerking to quell the urge to nibble on her thumb. Her back still in a rigid position, Sakura craned her beck to look at the secretary half-hidden behind the tall reception desk.

The door of the director's office opened briskly.

Sakura sprung to her feet, clutching her purse, her eyes widened in surprise.

A young man in a suit emerged, his eyes on his wrist watch. His red hair was unruly, but the rest of his appearance was calculated, from the colour of his tie to the one of his pocket square in his breast pocket. A woman and a man hurried after him.

"You can't possibly agree to this," the woman shouted, and her heels clicked rapidly, loud.

Her blond sandy spilled across her neck, slipping out of hair ties as she shook her head. She put her hand on the man's arm as if to stop him or comfort him, but he didn't seem to notice. The other man trailed behind his hands deep in his pocket, his steps reluctant, his dark eyes drifting across the familiar touch, as if he were a stranger.

Sakura felt herself blush at the loudness of the woman's voice, her partner's indifference and the other man's uncomfortable silence.

"Hn, this is final," Sakura heard the red-haired man replied in a dull voice, as they brushed by her.

Sakura bowed quickly.

The secretary stepped close to her, her hands delicately joined in front of her in a gesture of respect.

"Director Sabaku will see you now, Haruno-san."

Sakura startled, tearing her glance away from the trio waiting sullenly by the elevators. She cleared her throat readjusting her purse strapped over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Sakura smiled and bowed her head.

Sakura's fists shook as she followed the secretary. She squared her shoulders. She straightened her back, smoothing distractedly her skirt one last time. She had dressed up in her best clothes. There ought to be a way out.

You don't belong here.

If your tuition is not paid in its fullest by next Friday...

The director's face was drawn, carved by wrinkles that jerked. Her usual warm brown eyes bored through her. Sakura bowed stiffly, her hands growing cold.

"Sakura, sit."

Sakura sat down slowly in the closest armchair, smoothing her skirt under her. She cleared her throat when the silence between them stretched, and all she could hear was the ticking of the clock above the director's office.

"How are you, Chiyo-sama?"

"Enough with the niceties and the small talk," Chiyo snapped and stood up abruptly. "I want you to tell me what happened."

She paced, her mouth quivering with mumbling to herself.

"The school-"

"The school didn't send me anything other than this ridiculous letter stating you're to be kicked out of the faculty, and your student visa cancelled."

"I didn't get a scholarship for next year," Sakura said quietly with a forced smile. She squared her shoulders. Again. Rigid back. She was uncomfortable. Maybe she was even delusional about becoming a doctor in a strange land.

She had lived one day at a time, counting and recounting coin. There was nothing left to count now.

"I'll find the money another way. It's just the delay..."

"You have a student visa, Sakura," Chiyo interrupted her frowning at the letter in front of her. "At the end of this semester if you're not enrolled at the university, you have to go back home. There's nothing I can do."

"I'll find the money, Chiyo-sama," Sakura injected more firmness, more confidence in her voice. "If you could just plead with the board of directors..."

Chiyo threw her reading glasses on the desk and leaned back in her chair. Sakura snapped her mouth shut. She had never noticed how small and frail the director looked, half swallowed by an armchair and her title. Her head bobbed back against the headrest of her armchair, and she moaned.

Chiyo bent over swiftly, her arms back on her desk, her fingers laced together.

She filled the room once more.

"I'm sorry, Sakura. I'm being harsh with you because of my grandson," she clicked her tongue and shook her head. "He caused me quite the headache this morning."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Chiyo-sama."

The director cocked her head to the side, her glance piercing. Sakura blushed under her scrutiny, her hands curling swiftly to hide her hot pink nails.

"Sakura… Are you in a relationship with anyone?"

Sakura blinked, surprised by the gentle tone.

"No," she laughed nervously, glancing away as her face burnt. "I only have time for my hospital shifts and studying."

"Any family back in Konoha?"

She shook her head.

Director Chiyo leaned back on her arm, knocking her knuckles on her desk. She still watched her intently. Sakura shifted in her seat, involuntary, limbs folding back uncomfortably on themselves. She was small, a small girl in a big room. In a big world.

"I'll make sure you have all the money you could ever dream on. You can finish your studies, be the doctor we both know you can be."

"Chiyo-sama!" Sakura gasped.

Chiyo held up a finger.

"If you marry my grandson."

"What?" Sakura stammered, colours draining from her face.

"He's a CEO who has made one too many mistakes lately. He needs someone like you to appear next to him and improve his image. You make sure he looks like a good reliable man, and I make sure you finish your studies."

"Chiyo-sama… I…"

"I'm not going to lie," she interrupted and her chair rolled toward the wall behind her where her whole life was displayed. "He was caught on camera kissing a lady. I'll spin this around for the family honour; this was you and, he's married to you."

"I can't get married," Sakura said dully in her native language.

Chiyo turned her chair back toward her, her brows furrowed.

"Now, you listen to me: don't throw your future away. You have nothing." she waved her hand in front of her and Sakura blanched, wondering if she would ever look like she belonged. "You're smart, but you have no family crest, no money, no family. You could have everything, if you say yes. How do you think I got to sit on this chair, huh? You think, I said no to using a man's title or influence? If a woman isn't ruthless about what she wants, she never reaches her full potential." Her featured softened. "Just meet him, first, and then decide."

"I'm running out of time… If by next Friday..." Sakura muttered, frozen into place.

"Well," Chiyo said with plucked lips. "I suggest you meet him and decide quickly."

-X-

Gaara Sabaku, his name infiltrated her thoughts as Sakura lay in the darkness.

Director Sabaku had written his name neatly above his phone number on a piece of paper with the hospital's header.

"Think about it," the director had repeated when she had walked her out of her office. "Think about it." Her glance had cut through her.

As always, Sakura's mind was divided, two clear pieces that fought ruthlessly against one another: she couldn't do this. She would do this. There was the meek girl, terrified, crushed by loneliness, that trailed after the woman she had become. Squared shoulders, no glance back to the past, she reminded herself sternly.

Sakura rubbed her temples.

She had received a second eviction notice. It was now Tuesday and the passing time was now rushed, leaving her chasing behind a dream breathless. She needed money.

She needed to belong here. As a doctor. As anything else than the meek girl with the big forehead and giant dreams who was bullied.

Sakura rolled and tossed in her bed, her sheets tangled around her, then kicked off her bed, pooling on the floor. She groaned and rubbed at her face, sitting up. She moved her hands away from her face and glanced at her ring finger. Her hands trembled.

She couldn't do this.

She would do this.

As a doctor, Sakura couldn't afford trembling hands.

Sakura bent over her bed on all fours to pick up the bed sheets from the floor. She wrapped them around her, lying back on the bed. She unlocked her phone, biting her lip as she typed his name in a search engine. She scrolled down her heart throbbing, her breath caught painfully in her throat. The majority of headlines showed him in a blurry photo half-turned away from the camera. His head was bent over a petite woman, his eyes closed. From the woman, she could only see a shadowy figure wrapped in a long coat, a delicate hand cupping his cheek.

Could this be me? Sakura wondered involuntarily.

She didn't sleep.

She stared at the ceiling.

She stared at her ringless hand.

She stared at her medical textbooks, the eviction notice placed on top of it, the letter from the university about her tuition folded next to the pile.

Could she be that ruthless about her future?

Yes.

***

PART 2

For their meeting, Sakura had chosen a busy coffee shop near the hospital.

Her leg bounced and she bit at her thumb.

Sabaku Gaara walked it at 10 o'clock sharp, and Sakura instantly recognized him as the young man who had dashed out of Chiyo-sama's office before her appointment. His deep red hair was as unruly, locks falling across his forehead, and over his pale eyes.

She stood up on shaky legs. Square your shoulders. Straighten your back. Chin up, she urged herself, but his appearance had knocked the wind out of her, leaving her unstable. It was the intensity of his sunken stare, the fatigue etched in his features, the way he wore a designer's suit, and people stared at him. Some recognized him, and a hushing uncomfortable silence fell over the coffee shop.

"Are you Sakura?" His voice was low, deep. Bored.

"Yes, nice to meet you, Gaara-sama," she bowed, and he merely sat down, unbuttoning his suit jacket with a precise flick of his wrist.

He looked at his watch.

'Rude,' she thought, annoyed. He hadn't even used a suffix for her name.

Sakura sat back down slowly, her lips pinched. She reached for her cup before remembering it was empty. He watched her with unsettling eyes. She pretended to drink, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Her eyes darted to the pieces of red ink on his forehead, half-hidden by his hair. 'Oh dear god, is this really a CEO?'

"This is unbelievably awkward," Sakura said nervously to fill the lapsing silence, "and not just because you go around kissing mysterious women."

"Dancer," Gaara said, and betrayed nothing. "She was a dancer, and I was quite drunk."

"You mean a stripper?" Sakura blushed.

Gaara raised an eyebrow at her.

Sakura gulped, her hand playing again with the empty cup. He followed her gestures with indifference, immobile, immutable. He was a man in a shield.

"Do you want some coffee, Gaara-sama?"

"I don't have much time," he replied stiffly, and he closed his mouth abruptly. "I apologize. My brother told me not to say that."

Sakura cleared her throat. 'What a weirdo...' she thought.

"Alright, I'll go straight to the point: If we do this, we need a contract," Sakura said thickly.

"A contract?" His head tilted slightly. "Other than a notarized marriage contract?"

"Yes, I marry you under some conditions."

Gaara nodded sharply, and gestured for her to go on before glancing at his watch.

"Have you drafted this contract?"

Sakura reached for her purse and rummaged inside. She heard him shift in his seat, and she wondered if he only moved, only betrayed things when no one was looking. She finally pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. She smoothed it over, her tongue poking out between her lips.

Gaara shifted in his seat again, his lips pinched, his brow twitching.

"Isn't this a medical assessment form?" he pointed at the header. "Does my grandmother know this is how you use the hospital's supplies?"

Sakura cleared her throat, her face flushed, and began to read: "Number one, I won't do the pageant wife thing. I work at the hospital. I'll show up next to you when I can, not when you need me to. If I'm working, I'm working."

Sakura paused looking up at him. He still stared at the piece of paper, his lips thin and his jaw set.

"Do you have any questions or…"

"I'm waiting for you to finish," he replied coldly, and he tapped on his wristwatch with one index while his stare remained on her.

Sakura tensed, uncomfortably jerking back in her seat. Squared shoulders. Straight back. Chin up.

"Number two, you touch me without consent, I saw your head off."

"I don't think you can include threats in a legally binding contract. Try to reformulate the sentence accordingly."

He was unshakable.

He was the voice in her head telling her she didn't belong.

"Number three," she pushed on, and her words rubbed her raw. "I won't be your housekeeper or your cook."

His lips curled back in disgust, he designated her contract vaguely.

"I'm certain housekeeping is not a possibility for you."

"Number four," Sakura snapped raising her voice above his. Her heart pounded. She would be heard. And she would not bow if he weren't going to bow back to her. Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up. "You pay for my tuition in full, and you give me the same amount as my scholarship per year until I'm done with school. Then, I become a doctor and I pay you back."

"Hn." Gaara neatly pushed his suit jacket aside and took out a business card from his inner pocket. "Here."

Sakura blinked at the card and took it with both hands. Inwardly, she kicked herself. There she was again being formal to a rude man without manners.

"What's that?"

"The email of my executive assistant," Gaara said and stood up, his eyes on his watch. "I'm not signing anything that isn't typed out on an acceptable piece of paper, and reviewed by my legal team."

Gaara buttoned back his jacket suit and readjusted his cuffs with precise movements. His movements ticked like a clock, a unhurried precise rhythm.

"You're leaving?" Sakura stammered and in spite of herself, she stood up too, the card shaking, wrinkling in her grasp.

"Yes, we're done, aren't we?" Gaara looked at her sharply.

"What about you?" Sakura frowned. "Don't you want anything? You're just..." she flinched under his cold stare. "You're just alright with marrying me?"

"I need this marriage. You also need it. What more is there to discuss?" Gaara said with disinterest and glanced once more at his watch. "My assistant will send you the non-disclosure agreement."

"Hey!" she called after him, half-sitting back on her chair.

Gaara turned back toward her.

"What is it?" he asked calmly, but his mouth twisted with impatience.

She licked her lip, her fists tightening by her sides. Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up.

"I think I'll add a STD test as Number five."

-X-

The camera wobbled, then settled showing Tenten sitting in her kitchen. She propped a piece of cookie in her mouth, her eyes narrowed at the screen. She munched slowly, brushing off crumbs from her lips with long fingers in the same absent-minded manner.

"He's hot," Tenten said simply, scrolling down the official pictures of Gaara. "Not hotter than Neji, but still hot."

In her own corner of the screen, Ino snorted, and pushed her thick hair back in a gesture that was so familiar, Sakura's heart lurched.

She missed home.

She missed her friends.

Sakura smiled wider, her face, her heart aching, as she nodded and nodded. And smiled and smiled. He wasn't her happy ending, but being a doctor was.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Ino asked again, her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do we know about this guy? Maybe he's a serial killer."

The webcam gave her usual intimidating glance a grainy quality. If she were here, she would know immediately know how Sakura was feeling. She would toss her hair and talk and talk until Sakura cracked. Until she followed what she said as she always did. Tenten would hum to herself and pile up ice cream on the table, carelessly handing them spoons, to shut up Ino, and to comfort Sakura.

"Hmmm... Sakura can take him, right, Pinkie?" Tenten asked.

Sakura nodded again, and she moved her computer, so her face would blur momentarily.

"But, there's still an issue," Tenten added her mouth full. She licked the chocolate off her fingers. "You don't even know if he's a real ginger."

Ino wrinkled her nose, and Sakura laughed, a fake nervous laugh that was high-pitched, deformed by the microphone of her laptop.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Ino asked.

"Okay, I'll be crass: you haven't seen his dick, and whether it's acceptable."

"Tenten," a muffled voice said sharply with a hint of amusement.

"Jesus, Ten," Ino giggled.

"Oh god," Sakura gaped.

Shakily, she passed a hand over her forehead.

"What? Act all puritan if you want, y'all, but I've never seen any of you buy clothes without trying them out first. That includes you, Neji," Tenten yelled, her eyes shifting beyond the camera. "So, you should... you know, try him out first."

"I can't believe you're already married, you clown," Ino huffed, speaking at Tenten. "She can't just ask him to audition for her husband's position!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not surprised you aren't married. Neji's friends I have introduced to you were boring." Tenten turned her head away from the camera. "Love, do you have any non-boring friends for Ino?"

"I'm not getting involved in this," a man's voice answered. "Tell Sakura congratulations on her engagement."

"Neji said you should definitely find out if he's real a ginger," Tenten turned back toward the camera and winked, despite her husband protesting in the background.

"Oi, Sakura, does Gaara have a brother?" Ino asked and fluttered her eyelashes at her.

"I'm hanging up!" Sakura shouted as it was their ritual.

"Also, what are you going to do with your hair and that forehead for your wedding?"

"Shut up, Pig!"

"Bye, you guys!" Tenten said serenely.

Sakura logged off and ran a tired hand in her hair.

In two days, she would be married.

In two days, her debts would be paid off.

She reached across her laptop for her phone. She massaged the back of her neck, leaning back on her chair.

"It'll be alright. I'll become a doctor," she said to herself, with the same firmness Director Sabaku had employed with her.

-X-

There was no ceremony, no aisle or flowers.

Her wedding was cold, surgical, the atmosphere oppressive, the notary's office crammed with paperwork.

Gaara and Sakura sat in front of notary Shikamaru Nara as he drawled out the marriage contract, stopping occasionally to yawn. Behind their chairs, Gaara's siblings stood guard with his grandmother and a man who had introduced himself as Kiba Inuzuka.

They towered over her, reducing her to a spectacle.

"Do you, Sakura Haruno, accept to take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?" Shikamaru asked and his eyes gleamed, sharp, contrasting with his slow lingering movements as he pushed the contract in front of her. He held up a pen for her.

She couldn't do this.

Sakura glanced back at Chiyo-sama, and the old woman nodded stiffly at her. Sakura hadn't noticed the white flower pinned to her old-fashioned suit before.

She would do this.

"Yes," she said and her voice crumbled, stumbled over the word.

She took the pen and scribbled her signature at the bottom of the page. She held the pen to Gaara and took it from her with touching her.

"And do you, Gaara Sabaku, accept to take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Before he had finished his question, he signed, the movements of his wrist stiff and quick.

"Yes, are we done here?"

"Gaara!" Kankuro hissed, and he swatted the back of his head. "I did not bring champagne for nothing."

"Yes, you did," Gaara replied, unfazed, and he stood up, glancing at his watch. "I have a fundraiser that starts soon."

Nimbly, Gaara buttoned back his jacket, ignoring his family.

"For crying out loud!" Kankuro swore, and turned toward his sister. "Tem... Stop ogling your boyfriend, and stop him."

"The fundraiser is important for his image right now," Temari narrowed her eyes at Kankuro before reaching over the desk to readjust Shikamaru's tie.

"Tema..." Shikamaru smiled and squeezed her hand.

"Could you just be careful about your tie?" She whispered at him, with softening features.

"Holy fuck, isn't this just great?" Kankuro rolled his eyes, and Kiba touched his shoulder, grimacing. "My sister is being groped, and my brother is being a dick."

"Watch your tongue, you punk!" Temari hissed.

"How about he watches his hands?" Kankuro shot back, glowering at Shikamaru.

Sakura flinched, her eyes wildly drifting across the building tension in the room; Kankuro and Temari's faces flushed angrily, Kiba and Shikamaru wincing, shifting from one foot to the other, seemingly used to their arguments.

Gaara surveyed his siblings, his face expressionless.

"I'm leaving now," he announced coldly.

"You're not leaving before the rings, Gaara!" Chiyo-sama snapped and the siblings flinched at her thundering voice, reacting as one.

They widened their eyes, and Kankuro stepped in front of his boyfriend, throwing out his arm in front of him in reflex, Temari digging her nails in Shikamaru's hand. Something dark shifted Gaara's features, his eyes ferociously gleaming.

Sakura flinched away from them.

Then, the tension was gone, they moved again, apart, bickering in whispers, as if they had never been frightened.

Gaara approached her again and handed her a diamond ring, his face emotionless. It was an elaborate ring made of twisted bands grouped as one and incrusted with diamonds.

Sakura reached for the ring, smiling thinly, and her heart throbbed painfully.

She put on her own ring.

"Let my assistant know if it doesn't fit."

Gaara walked away without another word, his head bent over his watch.

Sakura held back her tears, already exhausted. She gripped her purse, her arms crossed over herself. She held on herself, full of emotions boiling, swirling, wanting to break free. The back of her throat hurt, her mouth quivered.

She would not cry in front of them.

"Where are you going?"

Temari stepped in front of her, blocking the passage to the door. Sakura recoiled at her boisterous nature.

"I have a shift at the hospital," she replied thinly.

"I'll drive you."

"It's not necessary-" she protested weakly, fumbling for an excuse, anything, that would allow her to break free from her.

"Maybe Kiba and I should do that? We're just much better company," Kankuro interjected, and again Sakura felt she wasn't really there, a part of this moment. She was the pawn between a tugging war led by Gaara's family. Uneasily, Sakura looked past them, but Gaara was already gone.

"No, it should be me," Temari said icily and she brushed by Kankuro, gripping Sakura's wrist. "Come on."

He gave her a small smile, shaking the bottle of champagne.

"Welcome to the family, little sis," he said, and his face grew cold, in an instant.

Kankuro dropped the bottle on Shikamaru's desk, startling him. He snarled at him.

"Enjoy, lazy bum."

Temari walked with big strides, Sakura, shocked, staring at the diamonds gleaming on her finger. Her insides were knotted together. She passed a moist hand on her forehead. Did she truly say 'yes' to a stranger?

"Get in," Temari ordered, and she snapped her fingers at her driver.

The driver ran around the car once Temari had disappeared inside the car, and opened the door for Sakura.

Silently, he closed the door after her.

Sakura's hands involuntarily caressed the leather of the limousine's interior, her eyes widened.

The engine purred gently, and they moved.

Temari's fingers tapped on the armrest, her teal eyes narrowed at her, her face pale, stony.

"I wanted to have a little chat with you since you are now family," Sakura's small smile faltered as Temari's face quivered in repressed disdain. "Image is everything for this family. Get a haircut, better clothes, make-up you can't buy at the pharmacy."

"You disapprove of me," Sakura breathed out, and her nails sank into her arms.

Her body shook. She wanted to lie down and poured out her pain, her anger, her fear. She felt weak, at the hands of these strangers.

"Your image is unflattering to us, and frankly, I don't care about you," Temari answered brutally. "Gaara insisted on choosing someone who was beneath him, that's his choice, but good taste... It can't be acquired. Fifteen years from now you'll still be the girl from the gutter."

Sakura didn't reply, her mind bleeding, severed pieces afloat. One part of her wanted to scream and bash Temari's head in, the other part, wanted to cowered. She wanted to scream herself raw. She wanted to disappear. She knew she was nothing. She wasn't nothing. There was no harmony in her mind, only her mantra. Squared shoulders, straight back, chin up. She was fatally wounded, but she was a doctor.

So, she said nothing. Holding in her pain the same way she would have pressed against an open wound: until everything was numb.

The car slowed in front of the hospital.

Sakura grabbed the door handle.

"Don't," Temari snapped imperiously. "The driver opens the door."

Without hesitation, Sakura hurled the door open, and she heard Temari cursed under her breath.

She turned her head toward her, her eyes flashing with anger.

"I don't know whether you're really full of hate or if you truly love Gaara-sama that much to be talking to me like that..."

"I don't care what you think," Temari replied coldly.

Sakura slammed the door shut, and brushed by the stunned driver. He bowed his head stiffly.

During her shift, Sakura reimagined each aspect of her wedding until her lies were convincing and she could call her friends without her voice breaking.

There were flowers.

Chiyo-sama walked her down the aisle.

Gaara squeezed her hand when he put on her ring.

And her new family was lovely.

They were everything she could have ever hoped for.

#GaaSaku #gaasaku-fanfests #GaaSaku Fic & Art Challenge #fanfic #clem-chan

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