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tamcitrus · 4 years

Text

Fire and moon.

pairing: Benimaru Shinmon x fem. reader

genre: nsfw

words: 3,5 k.

warnings: a bit of degradation, public sexy time, orgasm denial, overstimulation, dom/sub undertones.

tam’s notes: Hi miss @writeiolite ! I’m you HQC secret santa! ♥ I was so nervous when I got you omg sjkdhas because I admire your writing so much, you’re so talented and an amazing person so I was a little afraid my writing wouldn’t be good enough. I’m so thankful for meeting you and all the beautiful people in the server. Thanks for being so welcoming, thanks for letting me help you and be a part of the staff and most of all thanks for being my friend. I hope you like this ♥

I CANT BELIVE IT’S YOUR GIF BUT HEY YOU HAVE A CLUE WHAT THIS IS ABOUT NOW dsjfhksldjf

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When you left the Holy Sol Temple and chose to move to Asakusa, you never expected to find a man that attracted you there. The proto-nationalist land wasn't a place where you expected to have fun. You just wanted to keep a low profile and be in peace.

But then you saw this man, flying through the sky and destroying everything on his way down to finally land in front of an infernal and punch right through his chest. And something sparked inside you. It wasn't your pyrokinesis or a fight or flight response. It was something else.

Shinmon Benimaru. That was his name. Fire Force Seventh Company’s Captain. Asakusa’s King of Destruction. The #1 enemy of the Holy Sol Temple, or so they said.

After that destruction scene, you walked through the city trying to get more information on him. But also, just socialicing. It would be weird for a new citizen to ask too much about the same person. More so if that person was the head of the city.

This “king” wasn’t like others you could imagine. He wasn’t unapproachable, living in a castle surrounded of gold and extravagant stuff. He was there, among his people, walking through the streets and greeting everyone by their name. He received gifts, food, and talked to those that stopped him. You could say just by looking that he was recognized as a leader. Even when he didn’t acknowledge that himself.

The stars were on your side because soon after that you met him in the thermal waters. He was there, sitting with his arms stretched by his sides and with his eyes closed. You felt like a sparkle inside you, almost like tickles. You walked in silence to the other end of the pool, going in and sitting very slowly.

Benimaru felt another presence behind him and then felt the water moving as you submerged your body in the warm waters. He opened his eyes for a second to look at you and then closed them again. He preferred to be alone but as long as you wouldn’t talk to him he didn’t mind the company.

You were quiet the whole time you were there. It wasn’t an unpleasant silence. But you were expectant. You tried to not look at him. You really tried but you allowed yourself to observe what was on your eye level.

He was handsome. Not that you didn’t know that, but it was a whole different experience having him in front of your eyes, not even a meter away from your body. And naked. He was naked.

Of course he’s naked, these are thermal waters, you thought.

You were naked too. Suddenly you were self conscious, even when he wasn’t looking. You crossed your arms over your chest to cover yourself and closed your eyes to submerge your whole body underwater and came up again. You sat there in silence again, looking at the moon, the house behind the man, the rocks and everything but him.

Eventually he left. You looked aside but still you noticed he stopped to look at you for a second too long.

You left a bit later, after you were sure he was long gone. You said goodbye to the nice lady in the reception and went home.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

Later that week, you were alone having dinner in a bar and he appeared.

"I don't know you, you're new here," he said as he nonchalantly sat on your table.

"Do you know everyone in this town?" you asked him.

He sighed. That wasn't the answer he was waiting for.

"I do, actually," he said.

The waitress silently approached and left him a glass full of something.

"Welcome, Benimaru-san. If there's something else you need you can tell us, the house invites you today," she said and walked away.

"Benimaru-san, nice to meet you," you said, playing fool. You knew who he was.

"And you are…?"

"New in town. I really like Asakusa," you smiled. His face looked more irritated than just a minute before. "You can call me y/n."

"No last name, uh?" he chugged the drink the girl left for him.

"I got rid of it," you said. And that was true.

"That's not a lot of information."

"You'll have to buy me a drink and I'll tell you more about me," you winked at him.

He clicked his tongue and you laughed.

“Just don’t cause troubles in my town,” he said and left.

“I’ll try!” you said as he walked out.

All the people at the bar were looking at you but you didn’t care, you had fun and he came to you.

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Would it be worth it to cause some trouble just to see his pissed face again? As you were thinking of some options for “trouble” you went to the thermal house again. And he was there.

“You again?” he said without even opening his eyes.

“It’s a small town,” you casually said.

“Are you following me?”

“Says the guy who showed up on my table out of nowhere,” you answered as you rushed to get into the hot water.

He remained silent again. It was the same as the last time, you sitting in front of him under the moonlight in a comfortable silence.

Even if you were comfortable, you were itching to bug him some more. Still, you just chose to keep your mouth closed. You rested your back on the rocks behind you and found a comfortable position to rest your head too, so you had to do the minimum effort to hold your body. You opened your eyes again when you heard Benimaru getting out of water, you felt drowsy and rubbed your eyes to force yourself to be fully conscious again.

"Don't drown here, this is my favorite place," he said as he walked away.

You looked at him and were about to give some sarcastic answer but then you saw his bare back and his ass and ate your words.

Holy Sol, that body. It had to be illegal to be so built and so handsome.

Before you fell asleep in the water again you got up and left too.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

"So you did cause trouble."

Same bar, same table, same man appearing out of nowhere in front of you. You huffed.

"I defended myself," you explained.

"That's why you beated up some guy?"

"If someone fights me I'll fight back," you explained.

"Which company sent you here?" Benimaru asked.

You laughed out loud.

"I'm not a fire force member."

"You have powers. The Holy Sol Temple sent you here?" he insisted.

"I left the Temple a long time ago," you smiled.

He stared at you, you supposed he was processing the information you just gave him.

"Well, have a nice day, Captain. I might see you later," you said and left him there.

☪ ☪ ☪ ☪ ☪

That night you were the first one in the thermal house. It was weird to be there without Benimaru's big chest in front of you, distracting you from the beautiful full moon that shone over your heads. You positioned yourself again in that way that let you just be sitting without any effort and closed your eyes.

"You again?" you said when you felt the water moving. You knew it was Benimaru.

"This is my town," he answered, ignoring your teasing.

"Right, I'm sorry, your highness."

He clicked his tongue. He thought about what Konro said earlier. Maybe she just wants to provoke you, Waka.

"Are you trying to provoke me?" he inquired.

"Who knows," you smiled.

"I wanna know," he said and closed a little the distance between your bodies.

"I told you you had to take me out first if you wanna know more about me," you licked your lips.

"I could just make you tell me in some other way," he threatened.

"Maybe if you fuck my brains out…" you battled your eyelashes as sweetly and innocently as you could.

He was over you the next second, his hand pulling your hair and making you throw your head back. His body felt warm against yours, even inside the hot water.

"I know you want it too, Captain~" you chirped. "Just stop thinking for a second and let your body take control…"

Yes, he did want it. It was weird to find someone that didn't fear him or admire him as if he was a royalty member. Then you appeared and you gave him all these contradictory signals. It was frustrating. He wanted to erase that cocky smile from your glossy lips…

He kissed you. His mouth was demanding and the hand holding your hair guided your movements at will. You locked your legs around his hips, holding him close to you, and tangled your hands on his long hair. His hands went underwater to squeeze your ass and thighs and you moaned inside his mouth. You felt his leg under your body next and with little effort he walked out of the water with you clinging to him. He walked to the changing room and let you down over the bench that was there. You were about to sit and take his erection on your mouth but he pushed you back down.

"Who told you you could move?" he asked. The answer was implied in his voice. The atmosphere changed, he was in control now. Your teasing wouldn't affect him anymore. You rubbed your thighs in expectation.

You observed him as he slowly walked to close the doors -the one that gave you access to the reception and the back door you just crossed- and then he kneeled between your legs. The fact that you two were already naked saved some time.

He started circling your clit with his still wet fingers. You started whimpering after a minute, his calloused hand was doing wonders on your body. He pushed his middle finger inside you and kept rubbing your clit with his thumb. He moved his finger in circles inside you, enjoying your moans and your walls clenching his digit. He added his point finger in and sucked your clit on his mouth one time after another until you were almost screaming.

"Fuck, that feels so good," you whined.

If he just moved his fingers a bit faster you would…

He stopped and pulled his fingers out to stand up. When you looked at him he took his fingers to his mouth and sucked your juices from them slowly and pumped his dick with his other hand, putting on a show for you.

"Suck," he said as he pushed his fingers with precum on your mouth.

You obliged. You hollowed your cheeks and suck his fingers, moving your tongue around so you cleaned them perfectly.

"You'll have to do much better than this if you wanna cum," he said like he was disappointed.

He was over you kissing you again, his tongue took your breath away. You could feel his dick against your belly, it was so hot and leaking a bit. Your mouth watered at the thought of having it on your mouth. Subconsciously your hand moved to grab his dick but he stopped you.

"It seems you don't understand you can't move unless I say so," he said. He took a belt from a bathrobe and tied your hands together with it. You whined at the restriction and pouted at him.

"Bad girls don't deserve a nice treatment," he said. "And you're a bad girl."

"I'll do better next time," you said with a pout still on your mouth.

He pulled from the belt to make you sit. Your mouth was an inch away from his cock but you stood still. You had to be a good girl.

"Suck me off," he ordered.

It was almost a relief to have his dick on your mouth. You felt the bitterness of precum at the end of your throat and the salty taste of the waters you were in minutes ago. You could barely fit it in -it was logical that such a big man had a big dick- but you still tried. You bobbed your head back and forward and twirled your tongue around his length. He cupped your breasts and pinched your nipples, your muffled moans caused a nice tickling sensation on his penis.

"This is what it takes for you to shut up, uh?" he thrusted into your mouth a few times, going deeper each time.

He growled when he pushed just a bit further than the back of your throat. You resisted your gag reflex and deepthroated him as tiny tears formed in the corner of your eyes. It wasn't unpleasant, it felt good and despite his size he was being careful, which only added to your overwhelming sensation of arousal.

You needed some kind of relief. You needed to be touched or to have Benimaru inside you, but considering his dick was still on your mouth that wasn't an option. So you touched yourself, lucky you had your hands tied in front of your body. It didn't take long for him to realize and take a step back. He sighed and looked down to you, his long hair covering most of his face. You froze as soon as he looked at you.

"On your hands and knees," he whispered.

You obeyed and smiled to yourself at his bored tone. Because his eyes were lit up, he was having fun.

You positioned yourself as you could in the little bench and waited. His big hand was over your ass just rubbing it and squeezing. Then he raised his hand and slapped you.

"Fuck," you moaned.

"I thought you would be able to take orders given your past," he said as he rubbed your skin again. "I guess not."

He slapped your ass again and you moaned. He used one hand to rub your abused skin and the other to tease your entrance. You cried at his touch, your walls were clamping around nothing.

"Ple-please," you cried when he slapped you again.

His fingers were on your clit now, circling it and his thumb was going up and down on your pussy but not inside.

"Do you think you're in position to ask something, you slut?" he bent down to talk to your ear and you got chills.

He slapped your ass again and he could see his palm marked on your skin on a little prominence. He used his fingers again to stretch your pussy and you moaned, his fingers felt good but you weren't full, you needed more.

"More, please," you asked for it. You could talk now that you didn't have his huge dick on your mouth.

He made you turn around again so he could look at your face as he finally gave you what you wanted: his dick inside you. Your face and moans were a mixture between pleasure and relief. And he was having fun. Real fun and enjoyment, not like other times he met someone to satisfy his needs.

He felt your legs trembling and your hips were moving frantically, not matching his movements anymore. So he stopped. You whined and wiggle your hips to get him to move again.

"If you don't stay still I'll walk out through that door right now," he warned.

You sighed, tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. He traced patterns on your thighs with his fingers and observed how you put your tied hands over your eyes. It was taking all of your will to not move. He was stretching you so nicely, you swear you could even feel the shape of his veins on your walls, you felt full and almost satisfied. When he no longer felt the insistent clenching of your walls on his dick, he bent down and took one of your nipples on his mouth. You cursed out loud when he took your bud gently between his teeth. You never expected a tough man like him to be so gentle. Your climax was gone again but it wouldn't take much to build it back up. Benimaru put his mouth to work on your other nipple and gave a gentle thrust that caused you to moan again. How could he stay still being balls deep into you? How could he resist the urge to just chase his climax?

He thrusted again and you felt tight, like your pussy was accustomed to him not moving. It felt good, you fit on him like a glove, just like the right amount of pressure to not fall off. He circled your clit with his fingers again and you locked your legs embracing his hips again to have him deeper inside. He kissed you again and put his arm around your waist to hold you up against him and then your back hit a wall. You throw your hands behind his head to use his shoulders for support and adjust your hold on his hips before he started to thrust again. But this time he wasn't so gentle. He was going fast and strong, his tip touched your g spot every few times and you bit his neck to muffle your moans.

"It will take more than that to mark me," he said in an arrogant tone.

You huffed. You would be all marked up tomorrow with shapes of fingers and hands: on your waist, on your thighs, your ass. You heated your wrists enough to burn the belt restricting your movements and scratched his back with force. Your walls clenched when you heard him growl. That much will do to mark him, so you'll do it again.

His thrusts were reckless and he changed his angle from time to time. He held your waist with one arm and the other was on your leg, spreading it apart for him to get liberty with his movements.

"I'm so so close," you cried in his ear.

He knew it, he could feel it. His dick was being pressed hard in your pussy and it felt better than ever. It wouldn't take much for him to cum either. He kneeled and let your body down on the floor in front of him to take your legs and put in on his shoulders so he could thrust in a different position. Your back arched out of sheer pleasure and you moaned his name again. You couldn’t even warn him that you were on your climax before it happened, you just took his arm and scratched him even harder than before. Fucks and oh-s left your mouth each time his dick rubbed your cervix. You notice he was slowing down and you knew what he was thinking.

“Fill me up,” you said in a lustful voice. “Fill me up, please,” you used your heels to push him back to you.

He didn’t doubt anymore. He was back with his merciless thrusts, balls deep into you again. His dick was a bit harder to take after your orgasm but you couldn’t complain. You just wanted him to cum inside you and you even might be able to cum again just from the thought of if it. He found an angle in which both were moaning and he kept going strong. Your legs were trembling again and he felt tiredness on his muscles too. So he buried his cock on you a few more times and the little hold he had on his body snapped. He cummed inside you and you had another orgasm when you felt his semen filling you up.

After a minute he pulled out and collapsed by your side, both of you were struggling to catch your breath. You could just fall asleep there, or maybe in the warm water? As you weighed your options, Benimaru got up and walked outside and back. He kneeled by your side and cleaned you up.

"Oh, aren't you a gentleman?" you teased him. But you were grateful he wasn't a jerk as he looked he could be.

"Shut up," he said.

He cleaned himself and got dressed. You heard him talk with the old lady manager, asking for water and something to eat.

"There's a private room, you can stay here tonight if you're tired," he said as he observed you get dressed.

"Will you stay with me?" you smiled.

"Who knows," he answered and left.

You followed him to the private room where he was already sitting and eating. You took a seat in front of him and ate too. With a bit of teasing and other bit of luck maybe you could get a second round.

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#i really hope you enjoy this #fire force #fire force scenarios #fire force x reader #fire force benimaru #fire force smut #benimaru shinmon x reader #shinmon benimaru #benimaru shinmon #benimaru x reader #enen no shouboutai #enen no shouboutai benimaru #iolite is a great writer #go check her blog #benimaru smut

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beyejun · 2 years

Text

hi everyone!! first of all sorry for the late intro i had an incredibly busy couple of days and just now have the time/energy to make a proper intro post... laur here back with a new muse! i’m also bejinyoung for anyone who doesn’t know!!

so i was telling myself i’m not gonna rp another skz for a 2nd muse in wannabe if i even had a 2nd wannabe muse at all and then i got slapped in the face with a jisung muse and. now we’re here.

he’s sooo different from jinyoung and that’s kinda why i love him... i’m gonna put more details and maybe some plot/relationship ideas under the cut! but if you wanna get in touch to plot w him, reaching out to me on jinyoung’s account is probably the best bet since i’m gonna be chipping away at replies over there for a bit!!

anyway, about yejun,

TL;DR OF HIS BACKSTORY

knew he wanted to pursue music professionally basically since middle school, however his parents are extremely opposed to the idea and would rather see him do something more “respectable” (aka something that he’ll actually make money at lol)

saved up his allowance to buy his own guitar and taught himself to play with the help of youtube because his parents said that if they were going to pay for instrument lessons, he’d have to learn violin or piano or something more “formal”... so as u can see as a child he was (respectfully) defiant and did his own thing anyway

he made a deal w his parents that if he could get scouted by an entertainment company by the time he graduated high school, he could pursue music. obviously, he is not a trainee or an idol, so that failed. so his end of the bargain was that he’d go to university for whatever they wanted instead.

he had to retake the exam once bc the first time he took it his scores were So Bad so he started a year late and is currently in his sophomore year as an economics major. it’s still a mild disappointment to his parents since he has a brother who is a lawyer and the other is in med school, but it was the best program that yejun could get into.

needless to say. he hates economics. he’s doing his best but his motivation is at an all time low, he constantly feels burned out and tired, and honestly he’s probably depressed but he doesn’t know it bc he doesn’t think he’s “bad enough” to be “actually depressed” but he is just gaslighting himself honestly

INTERESTS AND PERSONALITY QUIRKS

since starting economics school he’s slowly lost motivation to do anything that he used to do for fun, which unfortunately includes playing guitar. he hasn’t touched it in about a year... :(

does the bedtime revenge thing where he stays up late when he really shouldn’t... he says it’s bc he doesn’t want to wake up and have to go to class

because he doesn’t sleep much at night he survives on a delicate balance between a caffeine addiction (he loves a good iced americano) and mid-day depression naps.

kinda hard to get him out and about these days... but that said he’s into video games, mostly team-based first person shooters, and is apparently a tank main. i don’t actually play any first person shooters so i have no idea of the details on this but he’s supposedly a decent player (nowhere near pro but able to be somewhat competitive in casual games)... when he’s staying up all night he’s probably playing games with his friends

also plays minecraft when he wants something slower paced... not particularly good at anything in it but he likes building his silly little house

oh by the way! he has an aunt who lives near his parents who visited often... she’d often make remarks about his chubby cheeks, call him fat and ugly, and after growing up hearing that constantly yejun honestly believes her

another fun (and by fun i mean decidedly unfun) tidbit is that he had a gf he was very serious about in his freshman yr of uni... it was a relatively short relationship but he genuinely thought he’d marry her. until she gave him chlamydia. turns out she was cheating! needless to say they broke up, yejun is now healthy after a round of antibiotics, and he doesn’t want to talk about her ever again. he tried a rebound or two to see if they’d cheer him up but they honestly made him feel worse so he ditched that idea pretty quickly... happy to stay single for now (supposedly)

PLOTS & RELATIONSHIPS

this boy... needs some friends in his life that’ll deal with his depressive tendencies and maybe push him out of his comfort zone. maybe a friend who keeps trying to set him up w other girls to help him find someone who actually makes him forget about his ex? or a friend who invites him out for coffee at least once a week just to make sure he gets out of the house for something other than classes sometimes... other cute ideas too pls i would like to put so much love into his life he has no choice but to get better

classmates too ofc... i dont expect anyone else to be an economics major but maybe they had some gen eds together? or were in the same freshman orientation and stayed in touch? i didn’t specify where he’s going but it’s not an arts school, so this is open for plotting out the details!

along w classmates... study buddies? they dont have to go to the same school or anything tbh they can just meet up at the same libraries, cafes, etc. and work on their own stuff... just having someone else around helps keep yejun on track a little bit better

high school friends too... he went to sopa thanks to the deal w his parents, so anyone he was close with then would’ve probably known about it and known what became of it... he’s a lot quieter and more subdued than he used to be so i wonder what your muse would think about that 🤔

i also do love some good antagonistic plots so maybe some old rivals who are happy to kick him while he’s down... alternatively rivals who miss his competition and want him back in the music/idol wannabe scene to help push them both

considered the idea of him having been in a band in high school with friends that’s since dissolved... so ex-bandmates might be cool

i think those are all of the ideas i have off the top of my head right now... but i’ll add more and reblog this if i think of any!!

#.ooc #be:intro

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

Note

If Bella was somehow bitten somehow and woke up alone during New Moon, but the Cullens didn't find her (I don't know if this is still 'Edward mercy kills Bella' territory but if it is then maybe her gift knows this and starts blocking Alice) and she became a nomad, would she still do the diet and if so for how long?

This is shockingly in the realm of possibility and not necessarily in the land of Edward mercy killing Bella.

Though there are some dangers Bella would have to avoid somehow for survival.

Bella is Bitten Alone in New Moon

We have one vampire who meets Bella during New Moon and another who with very little difference in the timeline would have run across her: Laurent and Victoria.

In the case of Laurent, he and Bella have a chat, he decides Bella smells delicious and he'll spare her the pain of being slowly murdered by Victoria, and just as he decides to go for it he gets run down and eaten by giant wolves.

Bella survives her vampire encounter.

In the case of Victoria, she never really gets close enough to do damage until the fight between Edward and Victoria and Riley and Seth in Eclipse.

So we have a few ways this could go:

Laurent's a few seconds ahead of Sam and company. He manages to get a good bite in and doesn't crush Bella on impact. He's run off by the wolves and Bella survives.

The problem here is that Bella has now been bitten and there's no coming back for her. It's a tragedy, and the wolves will feel a shared sense of failure and burden that they failed to save her, but she's dead anyway. They have to kill her before she fully turns.

Bella's gift, while powerful, doesn't appear to help in this kind of situation. Though, that said, in her dire need it could suddenly give her the ability to project illusions like we see in Renesmee. Doesn't seem to be how Bella's gift typically rolls, but hey, this is her darkest hour.

Otherwise, Jake could pull his alpha move much earlier in order to save Bella's life. He ignores Sam's order, flees with the turning Bella, and dumps her in the wilderness somewhere with a note from Jake that she must never return to Forks. She wakes up alone, only guessing though not knowing what Jake has done for her, and stares blankly at the wilderness.

If Victoria catches up to Bella, well, it's not looking good. All too likely, Bella dies painfully, and Victoria leaves a video tape of the entire ordeal in the Cullen house for when they eventually return (as they surely will).

Though, that said, the ease with which Victoria accomplishes this and the complete lack of Cullen intervention could catch her off guard. Perhaps... Edward doesn't actually give a rat's ass. That says terrible things about James' needless death, but Victoria's holding this girl hostage. She will die, in the most painful manner imaginable, and the Cullens aren't there.

Victoria might turn Bella out of pity or else turn her as she figures out, in part from Bella, that Bella becoming a vampire is Edward's worst case scenario. However, in that case, it's unlikely Victoria would abandon Bella, so Bella wouldn't be on her own.

Which, I think for this post, makes Jake's alpha sacrifice the most likely path. He dumps Bella's half-vampire body somewhere in nowhere Canada.

Bella After the Bite

Being dumped in the wilderness helps a lot. For one, Bella already has unbelievable control, for another this is Edward's penguin scenario. There is no one else out here for her to eat even if she wanted to.

So, following the diet is easy.

And it's something she'd very much wish to do. Bella sees the world of vampires divided into two types of vampire: the good Cullen vampires who don't eat people and the bad vampires who, well, eat people.

This left such a mark on Bella that she has very little idea of what a vampire even is.

Bella would be horrified at herself if she became a bad vampire. In wanting vampirism she wanted the vampirsim she sees in the Cullens. Bella might be miserable and alone, without a friend in the world, but she would be horrified to choose anything other than the Cullen way of life.

At least, at first.

The Return of the Cullens

There's a few paths for Bella after she's dumped in the middle of nowhere.

Alice sees that Bella's become a vampire, an abandoned newborn, and is wandering aimlessly around the wilderness somewhere. Even though Edward has forbidden contact, this is probably enough to motivate Alice who was genuinely worried.

She likely goes behind Edward's back and tries to find Bella with Jasper and possibly the rest of the Cullens.

Edward, of course, is still in Rio being a miserable saint for leaving precious human Bella.

Eventually, they manage to find her, and there's a lot of miscommunication, very hurt feelings, and heartfelt apologies even from Rosalie because look what happened to this poor girl. Though they each, either reluctantly or more enthusiastically, agreed to leave this was not what they had in mind.

Bella forgives them quite readily, as she did in canon, because she has the self-esteem of a thimble. The Cullens are awed and very grateful, Rosalie would never have forgiven them for this.

It probably takes them both a) a while to decide how best to tell Edward and break the news to him b) a while to get a hold of Edward because he's ignoring all their phone calls.

Eventually they do, it's a shit show, for the purpose of this post we'll say he does not mercy kill Bella. He might actually be feeling too guilty for that. Instead he grovels on the ground constantly, begging Bella's forgiveness, and refuses to enter a relationship with her because he's unworthy.

This undoubtedly upsets Bella, because she's also unworthy and Edward knows it and doesn't love her, but that's not the point of this meta.

In this world, the Cullens keep Cullening after picking Bella up, Bella's adopted into the fold and made Edward's twin sister due to looking the most like him (which, of course, makes them look actually incestuous in high school to add to the Cullen mystique).

With the support of the Cullens, living the Cullen lifestyle, and having the control that Bella has there's no question of ever leaving the diet.

Bella stays on the wagon.

Bella Seeks Out the Denali

Alice is successful and doesn't see Bella's future for whatever reason. Edward will be so proud. Bella is left alone in Canada to eat moose.

Eventually, Bella decides that however great being a vampire is, she's lonely and miserable. She wants companionship.

Well, obviously the Cullens hate her, so even if she could find them they probably never want to see her again. But what about the Denali?

Bella's already in Canada, she could head over to the Denali National Park in Alaska, and surely the least she could do is actually introduce herself.

Of course, the coven sounds blonde, hot, aggressively female, and very intimidating. Tanya's history of wanting to bang Edward has Bella feeling very small and worthless. More, the Cullens may have told the Denali all about how stupid and ugly Bella, Edward's current human girlfriend, is and they've all laughed at her.

However, Bella's so desperate for companionship, for some connection back to her old life, that she goes for it.

She makes it to Alaska, wanders around until she eventually finds the Denali coven, and introduces herself. The Denali are weird assholes, but Bella's so oblivious she actually doesn't notice.

That said, they've had their brush with the law, and Tanya doesn't want a newborn running around by herself. Eleazar also gives a truly pompous, awful, speech about compassion to their fellow man. It's unbearable, Bella finds it charming.

They take Bella in, she can be the dark-haired sister. Her control is so good the three single ladies quickly take her clubbing and encourage her to sleep away her troubles with human men.

Bella quickly finds that, when you're on the vampire end of the equation, the relationship with human thing is kind of gross. These people smell like food, are squishy and overly warm, and have the substance of tofu.

Bella feels even worse about her relationship with Edward.

She sleeps with human men anyway so that the Denali sisters won't judge her/will think she's cool.

They're so proud of her.

Regardless, Bella stays on the diet as the Denali follow the diet. She will likely have a few accidents with her human lovers, and will be inconsolable, but the coven will be there to offer comfort and help her get back on the wagon.

Bella stays on the wagon

Bella's Low Self-Esteem Wins and She Becomes a Hermit

Bella can't return to Forks and she's so ugly, stupid and boring that even though she's a vampire if she met anyone new they'd realize how ugly, stupid, and boring she is.

Better to just forsake society altogether and live with moose.

Bella's able to do this for quite a long time. Years even. And it's... fine. But her life has no purpose nor any direction to it.

She becomes tempted by society. How many years has it been? Has the world changed since she left? Has Forks changed? Is Charlie still alive? Is Renee? What about her classmates?

Bella starts travelling and visiting human cities and, thanks to her control, she does very well.

However, it's very likely that one day she'll slip, she takes her control far too much for granted and all it takes is one mistake.

And that's where Bella starts getting into trouble.

She's horrified at first, of course, and that likely doesn't break her. She gets back on the wagon, but the second time it happens...

There are no consequences to her breaking the diet. She has no companions, no one cares. Why is she living in constant agony, every single day, for people who will one day die anyway? Why is Bella choosing to suffer?

As time goes on, as humans start to mean less and less to her and all the humans that she knew when human herself are dead, Bella starts forgetting the reason that the diet seemed so vital to her existence.

At one point, it stops meaning anything at all, it's just Bella pointlessly choosing to live in agony.

Bella falls off the wagon.

TL;DR I think it'd take a while, at least ten years, but if she becomes a solitary nomad, it would inevitably happen.

#twilight #twilight meta #twilight headcanon #twilight renaissance #bella swan #jacob black #edward cullen #anti edward cullen #edward/bella #anti edward/bella #alice cullen #the cullens #the denali #tanya #eleazar #anti eleazar #meta #headcanon #opinion

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spinningintheshadows · 3 years

Text

Song Lyric Prompts Volume 2:

There is a playlist for this list in order here

“Do you ever get a little bit tired of life?”

“Will you even look back when you think of me?”

“Somebody’s gonna love you. Take all the dark, turn it to light and paint you sky blue”

“They’re judging me, I’m judging you, we ain’t got nothing else to do”

“Don’t wake me up in the middle of the night, because I finally found you”

“I lose my voice when I look at you, can’t make a noise though I’m trying to tell you all the right words”

“If all it is is eight letters, why am I in my own way?”

“If I said I want your body, would you hold it against me?”

“They say don’t go to bed angry but I guess that’s where we are”

“Things you take for granted when you grow up by the beach”

“Go on then, love, and show me your heart, ‘cause you are enough as you are and I’m awestruck”

“Is it really your anxiety that stops you from giving me everything, or do you just not want to?”

“Welcome to the world that we live in. A perfect collision, it’s beat down, it’s broken, it’s bright. Welcome to happiness, sadness, to love and to madness”

“I always hear you on the background laughing, you know I hate it when you’re not around”

“These days you’ve been stuck in my brain, wanna play you over and over again”

“Secrets don’t make friends. We make love and love falls apart”

“Tell me you’re okay, yeah what’s that like? Rose tinted glasses, it must be nice. Doing your best while you die inside”

“I’m happy to see the happy back in your eyes”

“You make it hard to miss this hometown”

“A bad boy seems like a good idea until it’s too late”

“Couldn’t keep running, had to hit rock bottom to know”

“I wanna get back to where we started, to the summer night. You know, you know, you know, you know we got it right”

“I realized you are destined and meant to be mine”

“Keep switching your alibi, stuttering when you reply”

“But fuck, I’m so alone, and really need some help”

“We’re dancing on the edge of anxiety’s ledge and I might fall again”

“If we’re said and done, I know that I shouldn’t say that I still care but I still care”

“I haven’t slept in days but who’s counting”

“So I drown it out like I always do, dancing through our house with the ghost of you”

“Too many bottles of wine, can’t get my ducks in a row”

“Got me panicking, manic, and I can’t get no sleep”

“I’ve got a feeling I don’t get a grip I will slip and fall completely under”

“Some days you start singing’ and you don’t need a reason”

“I need a little more luck than a little bit, cause every time I get stuck the words won’t fit”

“Must be the music that’s got me shaking like an addict”

“I bite my tongue so you don’t hear me”

“I’d unfuck you if I could”

“Here’s to now and nothing else, in the crowd all by yourself. To the hellos and the goodbyes, the lows and every high. In this moment I could die with you.”

“Just watch from a safe place so I never have to lose”

“I don’t really understand this life and why we’re all here.”

“If you need me now, I’ll be there somehow”

“I’m so sick of watching while the minutes pass as I go nowhere”

“Let’s see how far I’ll go now that I’ve lost control”

“If I could go back and erase you from my mind, I’d do it in a second”

“I was so scared of losing you, so I lost myself instead”

“I fell in love, in love with you suddenly.”

“Your heart belongs to someone else and I’m always here to keep you company”

“You say you’re sorry and you want us to fix what’s wrong, but I’d rather dye all my insides blonde”

“These last two years were the worst of my life”

“So hold on tight it’s a fast ride in the end”

#prompt list #lyric prompts #this took forever ngl #song prompts #writing prompt #writing prompt list

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husheduphistory · 3 years

Text

Ghost Blimp: The Mystery and Missing on the L-8

On Sunday, August 16th 1942 Richard L. Johnston was going about his business. He had just finished waxing his car in Dale City, California when he looked up and saw something huge creeping out of the sky and towards his house. Suddenly it hit a utility pole, electrical wires broke sending sparks cascading down to the street, and Johnson ran into the house to protect his mother. When he came back outside there was a large group of people in the street including Fire Deputy Marshal Sean Wood and Johnston’s next door neighbor, volunteer fireman William Morris. Johnston’s car was completely hidden under a massive fold of what looked like canvas. When Johnston woke up that morning he probably didn’t expect that a blimp would land on his car that day. And yet, moments later the scene became even more bizarre.

In August 1942 the United States Navy was on high alert. Within nine months after entering World War II Japanese submarines sunk at least six Allied ships off the American west coast and shelled one of California’s largest oil drilling facilities. The fear of another attack on American soil was high and in order to keep an eye on the sea along the west coast the Navy took to the air, deploying blimps to cruise over the ocean and watch for any suspicious activity.

World War II Navy blimp. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

The blimp that landed on Johnson’s car was the L-8 airship, acquired by the Navy from the Goodyear company and commissioned on March 5, 1942. It was an excellent machine, completing over 1,000 trips and never requiring any work beyond routine maintenance. The two-man crew tasked with piloting the airship had records as impeccable as the craft itself. Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody was a 1938 graduate of Annapolis and although he was only twenty-seven years old he was highly regarded with his commanding officer describing him as “one of the most capable pilots and one of the most able officers” under his command. Cody was relatively new to flying LTA (lighter-than-air) airships, but in April 1942 he proved his ability when he flew the L-8 to deliver cargo to the USS Hornet before the ship departed for Doolittle’s Raid over Tokyo. It was that trip that earned him his promotion to Lieutenant in June 1942. Ensign Charles Ellis Adams was eleven years older than Cody and had twenty years of experience flying LTA airships, but only earned his commission the day before their flight together making his trip with Cody his first flight as an officer.

Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and Ensign Charles Ellis Adams.

The L-8 delivering cargo to the USS Hornet. Image via National Archives.

Their task together was a routine anti-submarine mission, fly out from Treasure Island, patrol a fifty-mile radius of San Francisco, then head to the Farallon Islands before heading back to Treasure Island. When they left Treasure Island at 6:03am there was approximately five miles of visibility with the Golden Gate Bridge off in the distance. At 7:38am Cody radioed Moffett Field and reported their location as being four miles east of the Farallon Islands. Four minutes later Moffett Field received a second message from Cody, “Am investigating suspicious oil slick—stand by.” Since an oil slick could indicate an enemy submarine below the waves it was not unusual for the airship to investigate the scene. As the L-8 descended closer to the sea its movements were seen by a fishing boat, the Daisy Gray, and a Liberty cargo ship, Albert Gallatin. Apprehensive about seeing the Navy airship creep closer to the surface of the water and then set off two flares, the ship crews pulled in their nets, manned their guns, and nervously waited to see what happened next. But, as they watched the L-8 nothing out of the ordinary happened. The blimp circled for about an hour and crews from both ships could see two men in the gondola. At approximately 9am the blimp again rose into the air and restarted its route back toward San Francisco. Everything appeared normal to the ships and spectators below, but personnel at Moffett Field were getting nervous, they had not heard a word from the L-8 since 7:42am and were not able to reestablish any communication. Two Vought OS2U Kingfisher floatplanes were sent to look for the blimp and other aircraft were asked to keep their eyes open.

The intended flight path of the L-8 aircraft. Image via unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com.

At approximately 10:49am a series of blimp sightings began to roll in. A Pan American Clipper pilot reported seeing the blimp over the Golden Gate Bridge, then at 11am one of the Kingfishers spotted the L-8 three miles west of Salada Beach at approximately 2,000 feet. Although a height of 2,000 feet would typically be avoided by an airship for safety reasons, there was no indication of the ship being out of control or in danger and it began to descend. The next plane to spot the blimp, an Army P-38 pilot, also saw no indication that the airship or its crew was in any distress when it was seen near Mile Rock, seemingly on its way back to Treasure Island. Within minutes an off-duty seaman named Richard Quam saw the L-8 as he was driving along the highway between San Mateo and San Francisco and he decided to take a picture of the sight. He may have been the first person to capture that something was amiss, the blimp was now noticeably bending in the middle.

The L-8 airship visible sagging as it flew over Daly City. Image via National Archives.

Things began to happen quickly. At approximately 11:15am the L-8 was seen approaching the shore of Ocean Beach in San Francisco but its motors were now silent and there was noticeable sagging. It touched down on the beach for a moment but kept moving until it hit the side of a hill, knocking off one of its 325lb depth chargers. Now carrying 300lbs less, the airship again rose, clearing the hill, and moving further inland. Thousands of people now watched as the L-8 staggered overhead obviously in peril. But, according to witnesses, the ship was not unmanned, in a later interview seventeen-year-old C.E. Taylor told reporters that as the blimp descended he was watching the cabin through his binoculars and that two men were clearly visible inside the entire time.

Finally, at 11:30am the blimp came to a clumsy rest on top of Richard Johnston’s freshly waxed car. Sirens blared and firemen surrounded the blimp, slashing it open in an attempt to save Cody and Adams inside. But, when the rescuers got to the gondola they found a scene that made no sense. The door was open, the microphone for communication was hanging from the doorway, a hat was resting on the controls, the life raft and all parachutes were still in place, but Cody and Adams were nowhere to be found.

Once the initial shock of the crash wore off a feeling of worry began to quickly take over. The L-8 was traveling an extremely visible route and was tracked and seen by hundreds of people and ships, with many reporting the same as young C. E. Taylor, that the men were visible inside the cabin. The Navy immediately launched a search for Cody and Adams and the craft was inspected for any clues to solve the disappearance. The engines were in perfect running order, the ignition switches were on, and there was four hours of fuel left. The only thing that was unusual on board was that the blimp's batteries were drained and part of the fuel supply had been dumped out with no obvious explanation why.

The scene after the crash of the L-8. Image via National Archives.

For three days the shore where the blimp initially crashed and the Pacific coastline was heavily searched but there was no trace of the two missing men. A board of investigation was convened by Navy Commander Francis Connell and over the course of seven days thirty-five witnesses gave their testimony of watching the L-8 hover overhead with nothing seeming suspect. Multiple people both on land and at sea at the time reported seeing the men inside and there being no indication that they ever fell or jumped out of the gondola. In the end it was determined that "no fire, no submersion, no misconduct, and no missiles struck the L-8.” While that may have answered some questions the big one still remained, what happened on the L-8 between 7:42am and 11:15am that made two Navy officers stop communication and vanish before crashing their blimp in a residential neighborhood?

Unfortunately, there were many theories but no concrete answers to that question. Some believed it was a simple tragic accident, that a malfunction with the door led to one man falling out at a low altitude and the other following him out in an attempt to save him before they were both lost to the sea. Others proposed much more elaborate theories, that the men were secret spies, that they were lured close to the surface of the water and grabbed by enemy forces, and some even said that the men ended up killing each other by falling out of the blimp during an argument over a woman. Some guesses tried to remain optimistic, that the men fell out but they were able to swim to shore and would be found hiking back to civilization any day now. Maybe they were picked up by a passenger ship after falling from the aircraft, they just had to wait until they were returned home. But, time ticked forward and the men never reappeared. Shortly after the crash the wives of both men were told that their husbands were officially missing. It was becoming painfully obvious this was not going to change and one year after their disappearance the men were declared dead. The Navy officially classified the incident as “100% Unknown/ Undetermined.”

The L-8 was repaired and continued to be used as a training vessel until the end of World War II when it was returned to Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company. It was refurbished, renamed America, and was used to broadcast sports events until it was finally retired in 1982.

Nearly eighty years after the disappearance of Lieutenant Ernest Dewitt Cody and Ensign Charles Ellis Adams there is still no official explanation as to what happened on that clear August morning over the Pacific coast

After its retirement the gondola of the L-8 was fully restored and is currently exhibited at the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Florida.

The refurbished gondola of the L-8 on display at the National Museum of Naval Aviation. Image via www.history.navy.mil.

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

Sources:

Mystery of the Ghost Blimp by John J. Geoghegan https://www.historynet.com/mystery-of-the-ghost-blimp.htm.

The Crew of the L- 8, https://unsolvedmysteries.fandom.com/wiki/The_Crew_of_the_L-8

The Bizarre Tale Of The World War II Ghost Blimp And Its Missing Crew by Gina Dimuro, https://allthatsinteresting.com/ghost-blimp

In 1942, a war blimp fell out of the sky onto Daly City. Its crew was never found by Katie Dowd and Andrew Chamings, https://www.sfgate.com/sfhistory/article/SF-Ghost-blimp-Daly-City-15739903.php

Ghost Blimp Mystery of WW2 – Crashed in San Francisco & Crew Was Never Found by Ruslan Budnik, https://www.warhistoryonline.com/instant-articles/mystical-disappearance-pilots.html.

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katelynn-a-fan · 2 years

Text

Won't You Shake My Hand?

Word count: 1.1k

AU/Genre: Past Life/Farm Adventure

Pairing: Intruthomality (Patton & Remus & Thomas)

Summary: Thomas needed to make money, but he gets assigned to a farm in the middle of nowhere with some... interesting people.

Warnings: Mention of Blood and Gore

Ao3

Thomas frowned as the sweat dripped from his brow, nearly blinding him for a moment.

All around him, the stalks of corn that flanked the road rose above his head, yet that was not enough to block the sun as it seemed to pummel his skin with heat.

Why couldn’t they have dropped him off at the house?

“Great.” Thomas muttered.

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for the work. Far from it.

But with the track record of this temp agency’s placements for him. A farm so out of the way the nearest town only had one yellow flashing traffic light.

Yeah, he wasn’t going to hold his breath.

As he grew closer to the farmhouse at the center of the field, more and more things began to take shape.

What had appeared to be a pristine white farmhouse now gave way to, yes, a white farmhouse. However, the white paneling was obviously speckled with… something. Reds, purples, but what had splattered the most was a sickening green that had bile churning in Thomas’s gut.

Yikes. Thomas had a sudden urge to pinch his nose closed. Surely that’s not what I think it is.

With that, there also came into view a brightly colored handmade sign that announced: Welcome to our farm! Just knock on the door or come right in, we don’t mind.

“Strange business practice.” Thomas said to the corn stalks blowing in the breeze around him.

Though… I suppose any criminal would have as hard a time as my agent did finding this place. But… then again so would the police…

Thwip!

Thomas jumped back as a blur of color flew past him, back into the cornfield it had come from.

“Woah!”

He craned his neck as the sound of corn brushing past each other retreated until it was gone. A single iridescent feather drifted back and forth before it landed at Thomas’s feet. He tilted his head as he regarded it.

“What was that?”

The cornfield didn’t respond. For it had no lips.

A muffled sound came from the farmhouse. Dampened by the walls, all Thomas could determine was that it was human. He was not yet close enough to discover the exact reason and source.

Strangely, there were no sounds as Thomas grew close. And he wasn’t being watched, something in him could tell.

Only once his feet hit the creaking porch steps did another sound ring out. This time, the source was much more apparent.

“No! I won’t!” A voice came, petulant and short, despite the baritone timbre.

Another voice, slightly lower yet raising as high if not higher than the first in it’s insistence. “You have to! That temp is going to be here any minute and-”

Thomas rapt his knuckles against the slightly chipped wood. The other voice fell silent. If he had time to think about it, he might have laughed at the timing.

“Hello? I’m the temp the company sent” Thomas said. “My name is-”

The door flung open.

Beyond it, a low murmur of words rumbled in the house before one silhouette all but pushed the other into the light from the doorway.

The man very nearly matched the splashes on the side of the house. All along one side of him ran a line of that purple, red, and green substance. Decorating that, however, was a dusting of soapy suds that nowhere near dented the mess on the man’s body.

Thomas hoped that the man’s shirt had been green before whatever happened. He certainly wasn’t going to get near that side of the man.

“Ah! Hello handsome~!” The covered man smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Re!” The figure from behind this ‘Re’ exclaimed. He had also stepped into the light.

Thankfully he was a fairly clean guy with a collared blue shirt and had on a pair of yellow janitorial type gloves meant for industrial cleaning rather than- Well-

At least someone was going to clean all that stuff of ‘Re’.

It was a wonder it didn’t smell. At all.

“What? I just said hello! Besides, I didn’t know the inside of a cow were ‘that sticky!’ Even Bubo didn’t know that and he climbed into-”

Re was cut off as the blue shirted man tugged hard on the back of Re’s shirt.

“Remus, we have a guest!” The blue man said through gritted teeth.

“And remember it’s not ‘Bubo,’ it’s Beta Delta, I wouldn’t want to be remembered for just when I died. Not when I’ve done so much.” The words were barely audible from the man’s lips, so he surmised that whatever this conversation was, he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

But Thomas could make out their words anyway, plus he could see the slip of the cleaner man’s smile into faux niceness from a mile away. And strangely he got the feeling that he shouldn’t be able to understand…

Turning back to Thomas, the blue collared shirt’s smile slipped into a smile more of sympathy. “Sorry about him, he’s a bit-” An elbow from Remus. “Hard to pin down.”

“No… problem?” Thomas assured. His face turned slightly away.

“Oh! Where are my manners!” Blue man piped up, that nice, genuine smile finally leaking into his expression. “My name is Patton and you’ve probably gathered that this here is Remus.”

From behind Patton, Remus waved his hand in greeting with all the energy of a charm of hummingbirds.

Patton stretched out his hand to Thomas instead.

Yet…

Suddenly something about the act was both strangely familiar yet oddly different. Something about the shape of Patton’s fingers, the smell of hay mixed with the petrichor of the recent rain… or something…

But when Thomas grasped Patton’s hand, images flash across Thomas’s vision/mind.

Death, life. Blood, tears. But through all of that, those two blue and green hands stretching out to meet his, intertwining with his… bound together with his.

Patton, the name that had been strange and somehow now suddenly… not, his eyes widened. He seemed to have seen what Thomas had, squeezing Thomas’s hand, exclaiming “THO! It’s you!”

With a gentle tug, the handshake turned into a gentle pull inside. A blur of words and movement as Patton began to speak a mile a minute about how long it had been.

Before Thomas realized it, the door had closed behind him…

But despite that, with these two strangers in particular, he found he wasn’t afraid.

Actually, watching both these men jump around in excitement. his lips began to curl into a smile. Full, bright, and a well of all the emotions slamming into him.

And in the back of his mind, there’s the strangest feeling.

The feeling that despite everything, it was as if he was meeting some old friends after a long time.

But… that couldn’t be right…

Could it?

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #intruthomality #intruality #tw blood mention #past life #farm #ranch

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evilzoldyck · 4 years

Text

Goosebumps

You should have taken the offer to go through the Haunted House together with your friend. The ominously decorated attraction that appeared fun and harmless from the entrance now became unnerving as you lonely walked down the hall, hands gripping tightly to your chest. It was your friends’ idea to visit this low-key haunted amusement located in the middle of nowhere, deep into the woods and far from the metropolitan area where the main entertainment took place.

Initially, you were opposed to the idea as the infamous ‘Haunted House’ your friends extolled was too far away and thus didn’t carry any signal in the area. Also, the ticket fee for one was way too pricy that it was enough to sour your night despite one of your friends, Jay, offering to spot you in which you politely declined.

The drive was far and so the place was about to close up soon when you arrived and after seeing all your friends’ enthusiasm in the pursuit for adrenaline, you couldn’t help but feel guilty for bringing the mood down. In the end you acquiesced, paid the fee and entered the house at your own discretion.

You thought it was ridiculous that company made you sign a contact beforehand, something about promising not to sue or whatever. You knew it was all just an act to heighten the customers’ anxiety instead of an actual legal precaution. Things wouldn’t be so bad inside as it was policy that their employees mustn’t directly touch or use an object to make physical contact with the customers.

However as of right now, you wished you could take those words back. For an underground seasonal business, they’ve managed to pull off an incredible event. The house was situated like a maze in which each room had a different elaborated concept which sometimes included your participation to get to the next stage.

The last room included a very convincing Witch with decent prosthetic makeup on her face and a shrilling laugh concocting a death potion in her black rusty cauldron. She instructed that you bring her the eyes of a goat, toad spit and a rotting tooth in return for your life, which generally meant she’ll show the exit. The challenge was a bit stress inducing as her ‘un-dead servants’ kept trying to grab at you while she wickedly reminded you to hurry up or else she would feed you to them.

In just a few minutes you’ve managed to collect all the ingredients, thankfully the spit and the eyes came in a jar. She begrudgingly took them from your hands and pointed to you a hidden exit before her servants came running at you in full speed, making you stumble into the small door and closing them shut. You could still hear her laughter through the door as you heaved out a sigh. Though your blood was pumping and your heart was beating out of your chest, it was a scare that left a smile on your face. Perhaps you now saw the appeal of haunted houses and rollercoasters.

In the end of a long narrow corridor was a red door. The sign underneath a glowing green exit read another in ‘blood’ to push hard for the ghosts in the mansion wishes to keep you here forever. You let out a small laugh and began to push at the handle, frowning when it wouldn’t budge. Putting all your weight against the door you whined when you made no progress.

Feeling chills down your spine, you grumbled at your Halloween costume, it didn’t help either that the place went crazy with the AC and the fog machine. Fixing your bloodied nurse outfit down and rubbing your arms to soothe the biting cold, you turned around and jumped back slightly in surprise at the sight of someone else with you.

A tall and large-build man stood imposingly from behind you. He wore dark pants and a single sleeveless shirt that was so thin you could make out the shadows of his bulging muscles and pectorals which made you blush and look away for a second. Either he was very serious about his character concept or he was just built like a Greek god. You cleared your throat and reverted your gaze to see that he was holding a large blood stained machete and a mask to cover his face.

“Um could you help me?” while pointing at the door you managed to ask guessingly. “What do you need to me to?” You asked once again, figuring out this was supposed to be the last challenge. However the man didn’t say anything, he just stared at you through the mask and though you couldn’t clear see his line of sight, you felt him raking his eyes up and down your body.

Growing uncomfortable at the stifling silence, you see a glint in his hand which revealed to be a key that he was holding. “Is that the key?” you hopefully questioned as you reached out for the key, knowing you won’t get a response anyway. “May I-“ you gasped when he held it out of your reach suddenly. You wore a tiny smile as you played this rather childish game, reaching out and jumping on your toes as he held it high above his head. You could feel the deep reverberations of his chest as he chuckled at your feeble attempts.

It was at that time you noticed you were far too close to him. Letting out another sharp gasp, the man pulled you close to him by the waist. With your hands to his chest, you could feel his strained muscles from underneath his shirt; his thumb softly rubbing your hips. You were sure this guy just violated one of the rules of this place.

When you were about to push him away, he brought the key close to your face finally allowing you to take it. Squeaking out a small ‘thank you’, you felt his grip reluctantly loosened as you turned back to the door to hastily unlock it. You noticed he was still boring his eyes into you as you closed the door from behind, not making a single movement as he stoically watched you close it. Stepping into the cool night air, you shrugged the strange the interaction off and decided against reporting him to the place. You didn’t really want to deal with the confrontation.

You heard a call of your name from the distance and smiled in relief. Reuniting with your friends around the car you joyously shared tales of your experiences inside. “I don’t know how you did it alone, I was with Mina and I almost went crazy.” Your friend Leigh-Anne exasperated, holding her hand into her still pounding heart.

“You should have gone with us!” Mina quipped. “I nearly socked the clown when he came out of the box- and when he came charging towards us I swear I nearly fainted.”

“Well you were fine enough to run and leave me behind!” jested Leigh-Anne, “you closed the door while the clown was still chasing after me. My heart was about to burst at that moment.”

“For real we were screaming so much you’d think an actual murder was taking place.” She sighed. “But it’s not as crazy as you two,” Mina pointed to you and Jay. “How could you both go alone?” you shrugged at her question and replied that you wanted to make the experience scarier for you as Jay agreed. Now thinking about it, maybe going as a group would make it more fun.

“The last one though,” you trailed. “Don’t you think it was a little weird?”

“The Witch?” Jay asked, raising a brow.

“No the last one, just by the exit.” You clarified to your friends, pointing at the door where you just left. However their expressions didn’t shift. “You know the guy with the machete and a mask? He was the one that held the key.” Your friends continued to look at you like you grew a head. You furrowed your brows in confusion. “You couldn’t possibly miss him he was so tall and huge.”

“There was no one there,” Mina laughed. “The exit was unlocked anyway why would there be a key?”

“I didn’t see anyone either on my turn too, the Witch just pointed the way out then it was over.”

“Holy shit, did you see an actual ghost then?”

“What? No, no he was real.” You awkwardly chuckled along. “Are you guys being serious right now?”

“That’s three to one, you’re being haunted.” Leigh-Anne made spooky noises and played with your hair teasingly as you rolled your eyes light-heartedly. When the lights finally shut from the establishment you all made a move to get inside the car.

“He was there.” You enunciated once more before getting inside.

“I believe you,” playfully sang Jay from the drivers seat.

The moon was at its peak, shining so brightly it made the drive just a bit easier without the streetlights to assist. Your friends were still happily engaging on sharing the stories of the place, occasionally making jokes at you and the mysterious ‘masked ghost’. Waving them off you returned your attention back on the window, it just came to you how deep inside the forest you were as trees were all your eyes could see. Not a moment later the car suddenly stopped as the engine sputtered and died out.

Jay cursed and propped the hood open before letting out another curse. “Um I’m going to go back and get help. Something wrong with the battery.” He quickly explained as he retrieved a flashlight from the glove compartment, getting ready to sprint.

“Wait! I’ll come with you,” you offered, getting out of the car. Jay refused, saying it would be quicker if he went alone. “You calling me slow?!” you called out as he was already far into the distance.

“There’s a reason why I was school’s best track and field and you weren’t!” you heard his faint yet breathy voice retaliate back at you as you scoff out a laugh at his remark.

Half an hour went by and you all started to get worried when he didn’t return. “I’m going after him,” you finally stated, getting ready to get out and run. Mina stated that she’ll go too while Leigh-Anne stayed back, suggesting that someone should stay in the car in case he came back.

Trekking down the road with your hand in hers MIna suddenly asked, “you know when you said you saw someone else in the Haunted House back then,” you hummed back in reply. “You were just joking right?” She gripped your hand tightly as you looked at her worried face. “It was just a joke to rile us up, there wasn’t actually a huge masked man with a machete?”

Knowing full well what she wanted to hear you replied back, “yeah of course.” Nonchalantly shrugging it off like it was nothing. “It was a poor joke now that I think about it.” Guilt tugged at your insides but you knew you couldn’t scare her even more, now that you were all at an extremely unpredictable environment.

You heard her sigh in relief and hugged your sides, “I knew it. You’re such a bad liar.” You weakly laughed at her jest and tried to push the thoughts of the strange man away. When you finally arrived back to the place it looked like a proper abandoned house. All the lights were off, you should’ve expected that as it was way past their opening hours, but all the cars that you assumed were the employees’ were gone too. You and Mina knocked on every door and window to get a response but your own voices echoed back at the empty place.

What’s stranger is that you couldn’t find Jay anywhere too. His flashlight, however, was found on the ground near the exit of the house. You figured there was no way that he could have went inside for all the doors and windows were barricaded shut. After a good twenty minutes of searching around the perimeters of where he could have gone, you and Mina decided to get back to the car with a heavy heart. The walk was fast but silent, neither of you had anything to say to each other.

It was when you saw the car with one of the door opened that you two began running towards it. “Leigh-Anne?” Mina gasped at the sight of the empty car. “What’s going on?” she exclaimed, tears springing up her eyes and as you were about to reply, you finally saw him. The masked man from the Haunted House with his machete freshly coated in blood, stalking leisurely towards the both of you. Mina turned and widened her eyes at the sight, grabbing her hand in yours you both made a run for it into the woods.

Breathing heavily through your nose you could hear his boots thumping against the ground, his speed gaining close to you both. At one point you both let go of each other’s hands to run faster and soon you couldn’t hear or see her anymore.

Knowing better than to call out her name and give out your location you began to look at your surroundings but it was so, so frustratingly dark. The kind of darkness that made your head ache from trying to see anything. The moonlight couldn’t offer any help for the trees’ thick foliage covered it all. Your eyes couldn’t make out anything and only when you heard Mina’s terrifying screams and a sudden silence through the dense forest did you find the strength to keep running.

Tears stung your eyes while your lungs burned like fire from overexertion. Tripping on a rock, you sobbed out a pathetic weep as you crawled forwards, not doubting that your knee was badly scraped in the process. Seeing as you were grabbing onto rocks, you glanced up to find a raging river in front of you.

Thick pairs of hands grabbed at your sides making you scream in response, kicking away at your assailant and scratching at his arms. The man grunted as he pinned your arms down with one hand swiftly and locked your legs together with his thighs. It was only then could you see your perpetrator clearly, his green eyes wide and dilated as he took in your form. Your breath was caught in your throat at how truly menacing he was up close. There was blood sprayed on his white mask and the smell of him thick with iron and sweat. For a moment you were paralysed with fear as he studied your face, fingers trailing your wet cheek softly along with your lips and nose.

The man came closer and placed his head between your breasts, breathing in the scent of you deeply. He must’ve lost himself in you for a moment as he caressed the curves of your body, relaxing his other grip on your hands. You made a quick decision to grasp onto a nearby stone to hit him straight on his temple. The man grunted in pain from your attack but didn’t fall in the end, your heart was at your throat when you realised you had messed up perhaps your only chance to escape. He glared angrily down at you and when you attempt at another swing, he blocked it by capturing your small wrists in his strong calloused ones.

“Agh!” you cried when he broke it with a simple squeeze, letting the rock fall from your hand. Nevertheless, that didn’t relent you from trying to fight him as you squirmed in his powerful hold. It was as if he knew that you weren’t planning to stop fighting him did he pick up the same rock you used to hit him with to successfully knock you out in one swift strike.

Groaning softly in pain, you feel yourself move through the air by a pair of secure arms. Looking ahead of you with your blurry vision, you saw the man stare ahead at a light that slowly came into view. There was a cabin dimly lit inside, tucked deep into the forestry and not that far from the river. You couldn’t bear to take a guess of what’s to happen to you the next time you woke up and so you let sleep cloud your consciousness instead.

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

The Edge of Summer

Author’s Note: happy birthday @kyungseokie !! this has been sitting in my wips since january when i attempted to write this for his birthday. and that...came and went like a lightning bolt so here we are. im finally tossing this into the wild! wanted this up an entire hour ago but my internet died so T~T HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LUV U! Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader (oc; female) Universe: this is an installment to the Did You See universe however Kyungsoo does not have a full story. this will be the only story centering on him | you do not need to read the other stories to understand, enjoy, or appreciate this one Genre: friends to lovers; fluff; romance; angst; au Summary: As summer comes to a close, your friends make the annual trek to the lake house for one last hurrah. You’ve done this before - countless times, but this year Baekhyun brings his new girlfriend along with him and this, of course, means some plans have to change. You just have no idea how much will change by the end of the trip. Rating: PG-13 Warnings: some strong language; a lot of lust; baekhyun being the worst wingman to exist; it gets pretty spicy by the end but like..only if you squint? just playing it safe yall Word Count: 13.1K

It is only when Kyungsoo’s hand falls delicately into his lap, fingers grazing your thigh with the aimless of touch of nonchalance that you decide:

If you make it out alive, you are going to kill Baekhyun.

Three hours into the road trip, and you think the conviction of this decision carries with it the bitterness of gunpowder and the relief of satisfaction, two distinct feelings entirely befitting the situation you have found yourself in. A five hour journey is long enough on its own, time blurring seamlessly around you in the close confines of a car - but, when pressed against Kyungsoo like this, against the strong muscles of his arms and thighs, feeling the heat of his warm skin radiating into yours, five hours is centuries of pining. These hours are too long for anyone to survive, the weight of yearning compressing your lungs into phantoms of their former glory, breath too quiet, and too slow, afraid of disrupting the fragile pretense of peace.

Being this close to him, this close to the embodiment of your pining, carries the same impact in your bones as a cataclysm, and so you grimace in dismay, silently aware that you might not even live to make good on your silent promise. Baekhyun will live another day and you will wither amongst the remainder of your desire, buried with yet another promise you failed to keep.

Somewhere in an alternate universe, you are happy, and this happiness comes easily. In a different life, you are comfortable, riding in Chanyeol’s car with him, his girlfriend, and Yixing, listening to the playlist Chanyeol had enthusiastically curated for the journey. You would be laughing, talking, teasing - or, perhaps, none of those things, instead luxuriating the jovial warmth that always seems to bloom in their company, the kind that overtakes you without warning, mind unfocused and hazy with thoughts of freedom.

Instead, your back presses into the middle seat of Junmyeon’s old car, knees and thighs aching with the effort of making yourself small between Kyungsoo and Yixing. Glancing to your right, you eye Yixing’s placidly neutral expression, his unfazed smile as he teases Sehun, reaching forward to ruffle his hair from behind the seat. Briefly, you envy him, his loud laugh and the way things are always uncomplicated for him - the way he always gives over out of love, even if he has the briefest moments of internal protest.

At 8AM, Baekhyun insisted he bring his new fling on this vacation. It was important, he said, his eyes pleading with you and Yixing, the puppy dog expression you'd grown used to fixed securely in his cheeks and pout. Chanyeol’s car would be the couples car, and so it was important he be there to set the mood. Yixing had eyed him amicably, biting the inside of his cheek with an endeared sense of amusement, complaining only because the plush seats of Chanyeol’s car were far more comfortable and because it would insight a brief riot in Baekhyun that served only to amuse him further.

And he conceded almost immediately, an ever supportive wingman, winking at Baekhyun before excusing himself to gather his things.

You, however, protested valiantly, arms crossed over your chest and heart unmoved. Baekhyun pleaded, promised french fry dates and to do your dishes for a week - even though he does not live with you, even though you actually enjoy doing your dishes, and, still, you protested, lips pursed and eyebrow cocked in disdain.

But, standing gracefully in the doorway, the sunlight gliding over his shoulders, craving an angle against his jaw you found almost holy, far too magnificent to be human, Kyungsoo laughed. The deep honey chocolate of his tone brought gooseflesh to your skin, teeth biting down on your tongue to keep your spine from trembling; your favourite laugh, and one he so rarely gives only to you. Behind him, Chanyeol’s tall frame lingered by his car, calling for anyone to get in so he could make his departure, and you think Kyungsoo’s bemused, affectionate smile is really what you agreed to.

Hours of his smile, even if it was put out, even if it was a barely there glimmer of fond annoyance, even if it faded almost as quickly as it came - this is what you agreed to.

Even if it meant letting your own heart break, and mend, and shatter once more, chest tight with the burden of proximity.

‘I can feel you looking at me,’ he mumbles, just softly enough that only you can hear the dulcet nature of his voice, teasing and sharp.

Shifting beneath your gaze, his arm nudges gently into yours, soft and supple and smooth, the cotton of his white shirt reduced to little more than rough muslin in comparison. He keeps his head turned as he looks out the window, one hand in his lap while the other holds his chin in its palm, trees and grass streaking past beneath an endless expanse of blue sky. Sunlight pours through the window onto him, casting shadows along his jaw and cheeks that somehow make the curvature of his lips ever more pronounced in profile.

Around you both, conversations live and die, the rippling cadence of Yixing’s laugh losing its edges as you continue to stare, unblinking, at the hard edge of Kyungsoo’s jaw.

‘Is there something you want?’ At this, he directs his attention to you, your dry mouth and unwavering gaze, hand still cradling his chin as he regards you expectantly.

His eyes move over you slowly, taking their time getting acquainted with your features in this light. You feel him where you never feel anyone - all over you, yet ephemeral and nowhere at all, this kind of touching a mystery that runs deep. In a single moment, he is both above and beneath you, walking over the map of your skin and treading just below the surface, the blood in your veins rushing to your heart in celebration. The air in the small car becomes thin, lungs tight and breath constricted. Your hands curl into fists, pressing nails into the muscle of your mount of Venus, but it is not in frustration or fear, rather, instead, the only way you know how to suppress this insurmountable adoration.

By stopping the surrender before it starts, you do not even have the choice to give in.

Perhaps, in the same life in which you are riding in Chanyeol’s car you are also bold, brave enough to give him the best words, the most beautiful words, the ones you keep perpetually beneath your tongue, waiting. How would he look in the aftermath of honesty? What smile would you be given? Would you even survive? You’re unsure, the aspects of such a reality hidden from you now, and so you swallow thickly, giving moisture to your voice to ensure you can speak, even if it is not entirely brave.

‘You’re blocking the window,’ you lie, surprised that you sound so confident, so calm, when the border between your bodies has been so ruefully challenged.

Eyes squeezing closed, they press into crescent moons as his cheeks rise up along the bones, and Kyungsoo laughs, genuinely amused by the absurdity of your statement. So unlike the booming force of Chanyeol’s laugh or the high pitched delight of Yixing’s, Kyungsoo’s low and deep giggle is a thunderclap in the center of your chest, an endless roll of electric pleasure along your nerves. The force of it has him jostling into your side, shoulders vibrating through the humor, and you feel yourself bristle, wholly unprepared. This moment of contact brings with it the absence of thought, the absence of protest, running far deeper than you imagined it could. In a single moment, your longing threatens to unmake you, wanting more of his pleasure, more of his joy, certain nothing is as sacred or magical as this.

Offering you a sardonic, yet amicable smile, he leans back into the seat, making himself as small as possible to take up the least amount of space. Tucking his arms into his sides, he moves away from the window entirely, and releases a hiss of breath through his nose. One eyebrow cocked in question, he pouts, the fullness of his bottom lip sticking out childishly.

‘Is this better?’ he asks through grit teeth, though his smile is tucked in the corner of his lips as a secret; dawn just about to break over the warm glow of his skin.

In this position, his shirt becomes constricted and stretched over his chest, shoulders, and abdomen, revealing the deep contours of his torso. The mid-morning sun casts him in gold, making a home of the pores of his skin and revealing amber flecks in the chocolate of his eyes. Immediately, your tongue becomes heavy, the taste of light filling your mouth, the taste of him and the heat of your unbridled wanting. Even with the smallness of space he has created, gaps between your bodies revealed where he has since retreated, the warmth between you both is a fire that refuses to die, and, in the aftermath of his simple question, you feel yourself flush.

‘Yes, much,’ you nod, hoping your expression is cordial and unmoved. Because it is true. You find you enjoy this view far more than the one before. ‘Now, if only you can stay like that for two more hours.’

Once more he laughs, enjoying your teasing banter as he relaxes into his previous position. All over again he relaxes into you, comfortable and content, strong muscles of his thighs vibrating into your legs as the car bounces over a bump on the highway. It frustrates you how swiftly the butterflies in your stomach wander into your heart as you watch him, stuttering in its rhythm as a stubborn reminder there is no escape, no fail safe to liberate you from this craving. If anything, the closeness you must endure over the length of this trip is only furthering your desire to shorten the ever present distance between your hearts.

‘Why did you give Baekhyun such a hard time this morning?’

His question interrupts your thoughts, words soft yet his tone carries with it a deceptive bite.

Narrowing your brow, you almost snort in surprise. ‘Because it’s ridiculous. Changing everything around at the last minute,’ you explain incredulously. ‘It’s ridiculous.’ Settling back against the hardness of the middle seat, you stare straight ahead, casting your unfocused gaze out beyond the windshield. ‘I can’t believe you’re even asking, as if you wouldn’t do the same.’

In the years you have known him, there has never been a moment where he allowed Baekhyun to get away with anything - not least without an argument or some form of protest. Moving Kyungsoo from one opinion to the next requires a fair amount of convincing and explaining, and, usually, results in his profound frustration until he gives over just to end the conversation. This morning, Kyungsoo said nothing, and his laugh, his smile, and his acquiescence is more out of place than your childish protesting.

Chuckling, he turns back to the window beside him, nodding slightly. ‘You’re not wrong,’ he muses in agreement.

Silence befalls you both, one that does not contain walls or barriers but is gratified. Kyungsoo comfortably nestles into his position, ready to maintain this pose for several more hours, and you turn to look at him, bewildered.

‘That’s it?’ He seems both completely satisfied with your answer and disinterested in continuing the conversation, and your mind races with a confusion so thick you think your hands could break it. ‘That’s all you wanted out of that?’

Tossing you a placid smile, he nods once more. ‘That’s it.’

Searching his face for answers, you translate his words over and over, breaking them down into their smallest pieces to grasp at what lies beneath. ‘Did you ask just to get a rise out of me?’

He keeps his eyes on the world outside, basking in the gold of daylight. It refuses to let him go, the sun, like always, pretending it is you.

‘Maybe so.’

It’s after you’ve dropped your bags in your large room, the one with the bay window overlooking the lake, that Kyungsoo asks you to help him make lunch.

You’re not entirely sure where the others have gone, and you find yourself in the open kitchen hugging yourself, looking around the mess for some way to busy your hands. Too many insulated bags and groceries line the counters, the chaos of them inciting a productive sort of stress, the kind that makes you ready to sort and fix, in your veins. Kyungsoo moves around the room with a confident ease, and for a moment you envy him; the answers already seem to live in his actions, not a single moment of question as he clears space and makes room.

Outside, you hear the deep baritone of Chanyeol’s gleeful howl as it heads towards the lake. Baekhyun’s voice follows, higher in pitch but just as eager, and in the silence of the room you hear Kyungsoo chuckling to himself. The smallness of his smile is betrayed by the light in his eyes, his own happiness a private paradise he shares only with those who choose to look.

And even before you had any control over it, before your mind could remind you that you value yourself and your solitude most, you had chosen him. You will always choose him.

‘Do you want to help me cut the vegetables?’

He doesn’t look at you as he asks the question, unloading the set of knives he brought for the week with careful motions. The silver blades seem to gleam in the midday sun, and you recognize them as the ones you bought for his birthday the year previous. He hadn’t asked for them, hadn’t even suggested you buy him anything, but as you passed the culinary shop window, mesmerized by their sharpness, their danger, their promise, you wondered - would they be a present or a plea? An offering of his happiness or yours, a moment of union between you both in which he would feel joy and you would be the cause of such magnificence.

They’re well worn now. Even from where you stand, you can see the streaks along the blades from multiple sharpening sessions, and as he holds them you can see the hidden strength that lives in his hands. His hands, rough and powerful, yet still more fine than sand and warm as maple. You have never told anyone about your admiration for the elegant length of his fingers, the peaks and valleys of his knuckles, and the way they seem to hold you, transfix you, satisfy you simply because they are proof beauty is not a face or a voice, but an art inherent to all things living. You suppose you will never tell anyone, his hands a poem for you alone.

Peering up at you curiously through the length of his lashes, he patiently waits for your answer and, for the second time today, you feel him. He is becoming an invasion, your defenses drawn down over the many hours beside him, the length of your thighs still tingling from his touch, and you are so aware of him the ripeness of this attention causes you to shiver.

‘Why are you asking me?’ you ask softly, taking a few tentative steps towards the island where he stands. Everything about your motions, your words, is careful, tender, mindful that this kind of question is fragile. ‘You never let people help in the kitchen.’

He stills as he lifts his head to appraise you, unabashedly taking you in and holding you under the ferocity of his gaze. Any other man and you would call this entrapment, but you are used to giving him everything, used to his penetrative stare and the way he always, without fail, seems to witness every flawed and contradictory piece you try to keep buried.

‘Because I want you to,’ he says, as if wanting anything is simple.

Aimlessly, you nod at his response, scanning the island counter as you approach with your arms hanging limply at your sides. You’ve surrendered to him without your own permission, but you are not terribly dismayed by this. He asks for help and speaks of wanting as though it’s an easy request, yet the tension at the back of his throat, minimal and almost imperceptible, implies this is something big and bold and frightening for him to say. For as long as you’ve known him, you both have been difficult, anxious, battling yourselves more than you battle the world around you, and so you do not comment on this ask - do not comment on the emotion of it - because you could still be wrong, and he could still take it back.

‘Aren’t you the one with the chef’s license?’ you tease, coming to stand beside him, unloading the food and organizing them into piles to be moved to their respective cupboards or shelves. ‘Wouldn’t my peasant hands ruin your julienne?’

‘Har har.’ The sound of his sarcastic laugh makes you blush, looking over your shoulder as you tuck unneeded cold things into the refrigerator. ‘And no,’ he continues once you’re beside him again, ‘I don’t need things to look pretty today, I just need them to taste good.’

Handing you a knife that fits perfectly in the palm of your outstretched hand, your eyes meet for a moment that is long enough to generate a spark. It blossoms within your blood, the mark of friendship and the mark of love blurring together the same way grief so often follows joy, weaving together to create something tender and something reverent. You look at him, and this moment feels eternal.

‘Besides,’ he mumbles, moving to guide a bunch of scallions, some tomatoes, and freshly peeled garlic on to the cutting board he has laid out for you. ‘Sometimes the most beautiful things in the room are the ones with flaws.’

Entirely unsure what to say to this, you simply bob your head with a noise of interest, a feigned motion of understanding. He does not seem to notice the way his words pierce you, cutting at wounds you have long since done your best to hide from him, and you are glad his smile endures. From the corner of your eye, you watch him carry on, cutting into an onion with little pomp and circumstance, the ghost of his words a phantom that chooses to haunt only you. Your hand trembles only slightly as you move the garlic into position, and you grip the handle tightly to keep your motions steady and even, gathering all your strength to root into the base of your joints.

Moments slip past you freely, moments where you are silent save for the deep inhalation of breath that fills your lungs as you watch him cut. Your friendship with Kyungsoo is still relatively new, in your eyes - two years on and still there are details of his life, his history, his character that elude you. Still, you know him well enough, likely somehow have always known, that he is complicated and oftentimes impossible, unfathomable, thinking too hard about every nuance and detail that colours his choices.

But when he cooks, when he is in the act of creation, making a whole reality to be touched and tasted with his bare hands, you find he has never been so certain of anything. As he turns the onion, halving it swiftly before quartering it, there is no doubt in his actions, no hesitation, and he seems to relax into this confidence, mind wandering freely because there is no room for its criticism.

‘To The Lighthouse or A Room of One’s Own?’ he asks, unprompted.

Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you begin slicing the garlic into small pieces as you consider his question. ‘To the Lighthouse.’

You're unsure who started this game, the habit of asking one another questions on your preferences, something that feels so fundamental to your relationship you imagine it is genetic to the very fabric of its existence. It no longer matters who started it, you think, only that it has persisted without ever fading, something you look forward to whenever you're together. Baekhyun finds this game rather comical, often wondering why you even bother when you both know so much about one another at this point old topics must be rehashed. But each time, every time, he says this Kyungsoo simply looks at you with an expression that could stitch together the stars and you know, together, that he is wrong.

Even if a topic is revisited, the answer is always different. In this way, you ensure that you know one another and you still never stop knowing.

Kyungsoo hums at your response. ‘Why?’

This is yet another unwritten rule of the game: for whatever you choose, you must offer a quote or a reason, the one thing you cling to that makes the choice feel superior over the other.

Three months ago, he loaned you both these books, and you had finished them rather quickly. The day you returned them, your fingers grazed as he took them from you, the resulting tremor of this touch leaving your hands caught in a fire that would not cease for days. He didn't ask what you thought beyond if you'd enjoyed them. You suppose he'd been saving it for this moment.

Pressing your palm into the flat of the knife, you compress a clove of garlic and dig deep. You'd given your answer automatically, on impulse, and hadn't truly considered the fact that you must quote the line that made your breath catch and your very bones quake. It hits you now that he's read these words, felt this kind of swooning even if there is distance between your twin heartbreaks; eyes kissing the same page long after one another has departed.

‘It was not knowledge, but unity she desired,' you begin, focusing intently on chopping so as not to lose your will, 'not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself - which is knowledge.’

His knife falters in cutting the onion, the blade slipping against the wood of the cutting board as you finish speaking. Glancing out of the corner of your eye, you watch the juice spread beneath his perfect slices, his lips parting slightly as he takes in a slow hiss of breath. Steadying himself, he gathers his composure and begins chopping once more, nodding in agreement.

It is your turn to ask a question, but you take this moment of silence to watch the light from the wide kitchen window nestle between his cupid's bow, understanding with your whole chest why the moon fought so hard to claim the sun.

‘Are you okay?’ you murmur, keeping your tone quiet and gentle, concerned yet distanced, not wanting to embarrass him.

‘Mhmm,’ he hums, flippantly avoiding the question.

‘Dexter or Supernatural,' you inquire, moving your pile of minced garlic to the corner of the board as you gather the bunch of scallions.

‘Dexter,' is his confident reply.

'Have these already been washed?' you divert, and he glances to your hands, nodding. Lining them up, you continue.‘Why?’

Sighing, he unwraps a large cut of fish from its paper packaging, considering his choice. ‘We all make rules for ourselves,' he quotes. 'It’s these rules that help define who we are. So when we break those rules, we risk losing ourselves and becoming something unknown.’

Amidst your meticulous slicing, you feel yourself bristle. In the choice between the two, you agree - Dexter would be your first choice. Yet, you had not expected him to pick this quote, this particular choice carrying with it the weight of your identity. Your understanding of yourself and your needs has always been wrapped up in these few lines, your desire for rules and control the very thing that allows you to relate to the world. Everyone you know finds things both disruptingly and disturbingly true about themselves through their relations with other people, through their relationship to their surroundings.

You relate to yourself and to them through the rules you have cultivated, based on your experiences of others rather than their integration into your life. You want to break free from this, aware that this is only yet another way you stand to complicate your understanding of everything, but you rely on it.

And, it seems, so does he.

He is soft and sensitive, and yet conversely so rigid, operating within his own rules. To step outside would be a great unmaking, and, for one blissful moment, you find there is no space between where you end and he begins. In this understanding, you are both slinking toward a new reality.

Glancing down at your cutting board, you pout. The scallions will be uneven.

Kyungsoo swallows with a low cough, clearing his throat. ‘Neruda or Siken.’

A wide smile blooms across your features, this question perhaps one of the easiest he has ever asked. ‘Siken.’

Using your knife, you push the chopped scallions to the top of your cutting board and slowly roll a few of the tomatoes down to the center. Your smile falters, already picturing the mess of squashed pulp that will come from this. Years of cooking for yourself, but still your hands are too heavy for delicate things. With a small sigh, you angle your knife over the ripe curve, the skin so smooth you think your knife might slide right off without any incision at all.

As you start to press your knife down, Kyungsoo stops you.

‘Try like this.’

Coming to stand behind you, he takes your hands in his, joining you in holding the knife and holding the vegetable, the touch from his fingers feather light and, conversely, heavy as steel. Your breath halts its journey in your lungs, blood too warm and stagnant in your veins, your heart faltering amidst this disruption. The heat from his chest radiates into your back, meandering down your spine and into your legs, all over your nerves until you wonder if there is anything left of you, any part of you he has not touched.

He makes being near him feel like a season, full years and days lived in the wake of a breath; your every breath heavy with him, and the things your heart yearns to offer him. Every second full of an exhale transmutes into the precipice of a life well lived, because he is there and smiling and sharing the world with you even if he is not sharing the ardor in your lungs. Kyungsoo is the fifth season, a season unto you, an oncoming wind between the border of summer and autumn, between the heat and the chill, neither a warming nor a cooling but a possibility of both all at once.

You know this. You have always known this. But, recently, in the days you find yourself absent from him, your heart unmakes the memory of these small euphorias, unpossessed and eternally lonely, unwilling to cling to that which it cannot keep. And so you are whelmed and unmade by the totality of him, forced, now, to stitch yourself into someone entirely new, someone who knows how it feels to be close.

He guides your right hand forward, easing the knife slowly along the tomato until the base is what presses into the skin, not the middle.

‘Why Siken?’ he whispers, and he is close enough his breath tickles at your ear, cascading down your neck and into your shoulder. He spills over you, and you tremble, knowing he feels you but he says nothing, polite enough to maintain your pride.

He asked you a question. You know he did, and it takes work finding words when he is doing his best to consume you like this, your eyes watching as he, and you, together, slice a tomato into thin circles. The rhythm he creates with your twin hands is steady, even, almost musical in the way you can anticipate the sound of it, and it grounds you just enough to remember you are about to give absolutely everything away.

If he does not know yet, if he has not known, you suppose he will know now. But he asked. And so you will tell him.

‘Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us,’ you whisper, matching the volume of his voice. You know he will hear you. You wonder if he will feel you. ‘These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we will never get used to it.’

Kyungsoo eases the knife down one last time, and keeps it there, pressed against the cutting board as the slice drops mutely against the other pieces, the juice from the vegetable seeping deep into the wood. His thumb moves slowly over yours in small circles - you’d like to call them reassuring, but as he steps closer behind you, as his other hand moves his fingers over your knuckles, you wonder if there is any reassurance to be found here.

In love, in lust, the solidarity you have found in your hobbies and your, almost selfish, avoidance have dissolved, leaving you exposed to the full extent of his soul. No, there is no reassurance in this liminal space, the moment in which you will either become unbreakable or tragically unrecognizable threatening your very sense of self. Had you known when you met him that it would feel this way? Had you known that loving him would be not unlike a benediction?

The problem, you think, is that even if you had known, nothing would have stopped you. In every life, in every choice, you love him like a beginning and an ending, your heart incapable of knowing much other than craving him.

His hands drift away, peeling off your skin, slowly, as though he is reluctant to leave. Turning until his nose is tucked into the hair just above your ear, he inhales deeply, hands coming to over just above your hips. The energy between you is a live wire, your mouth running dry and your tongue coming to wet your lips, feeling yourself grow parched. Kyungsoo takes a long breath, filling his lungs with nothing but you, before he exhales and whispers into the shell of your ear.

‘Can you handle it?’

You’re not sure if he means the quote or the rest of the tomato, not sure if he means if you can handle this, with him, or the rest of your existence without him. You aren’t entirely sure of much other than the force of your attraction, the sheer power of it, and the way you think it will fuel your every thought until your bones become ash, this love a windmill in your chest.

‘I think so,’ you mumble in affirmation, glancing over your shoulder to offer him a small expression of encouragement, hoping you look convincing.

His eyes have grown dark, the chocolate of his irises tempered with an impenetrable black, and a flush spreads across his cheeks so warm and pink you would think he’s been sugared. Immediately, you regret seeing him, the lust in you becoming a sea, the swell of it so deep and so strong, you fear you might drown in it, in him.

‘Actually, I’m feeling a bit warm.’ Side stepping along the island, away from him and out of his orbit, your words are rushed and hurried. Running a hand through your hair, you look at him, pleading. ‘Are you okay to take it from here?’

‘Yeah, are you okay?’ he asks furrowing his brow, concern evident in his voice.

‘I’m fine,’ you nod, looking everywhere but his face. ‘It’s fine. I just need to dip my toes in the water to cool off. Text me if you need me to come back?’

He laughs, watching you affectionately as you turn away from him, heading to the sliding door that leads to the brilliant green grass of the back yard. ‘Okay,’ he calls, his voice following you out.

You know that he will not.

You know that there is a barrier that stands between grief and loving, a door to walk through in which there is a boundary between the knowledge of love and the acceptance of it. He opened the door. You stepped through, momentarily basking in the reverence of it, only to leave, shutting it behind you, likely forever, to wallow in the ever comforting loneliness of wanting.

‘Are you joining me?’

Chanyeol’s girlfriend sits on the dock, leisurely swinging her feet in the water as she cranes her face into the sun to watch your approach. Covering her eyes with her hand to block the sun, she offers you a curious smile as you slide off your sandals and sit heavily beside her. Leaning back on your hands, you let the sun warm your neck and chest in contrast to the cold lake water that laps lazily over your feet and midway up your calf, pressing your fingers into the rough oak. The water’s chill walks up your skin, soothing the tension in your nerves that lingers from Kyungsoo’s breath, smile, lips, and voice.

In the distance, Chanyeol’s laughter mixes with Yixing’s and Baekhyun’s. Just beyond their small circle, Sehun and Jun canoe in amusement, the paddling of their oars a relaxing rhythm amidst the chaos that surrounds them. Baekhyun’s new girlfriend swims close by, her laughter jubilant yet reticent, still testing the limits of her comfort. Eyes still closed, you tilt your head to the side, remembering how you felt the day you were integrated into this group - shy and uncertain, the closeness of the bonds surrounding you both frightening and awe inspiring.

Chanyeol made it easy, as he always does, but, strangely enough, Kyungsoo made it easier. Even without loving him, without the intense desire to be near him, you would have chosen his company over all the rest. He said your name like it was something special, like he was careful with it inside his mouth - like it mattered. He wanted your opinion on everything, wanted your thoughts, wanted your voice first. You’ve lost count of the parties, the gatherings, the movie nights, the drinking games, and as a result all the times you’ve wound up next to him, tucked into a corner just talking and just learning.

Kyungsoo made it easier than all the rest, simply because he demanded you at his side.

Opening your eyes, the light seems to sparkle in the places where it kisses the water, putting a glimmer against your skin.

‘How did you do it?’The words taste bitter and heavy against your tongue, and you find yourself grimacing as you speak.

Chanyeol’s girlfriend, the Countess as he likes to call her, turns to face you. You feel her eyes move over your profile, patient despite her confusion. ‘Do what?’

‘Tell him you loved him.’ Chanyeol dives under the water only to break through the surface behind Baekhyun, dunking him with a gleeful howl. Would it have been easier to manage your feelings with someone so vocal? Someone with such little restraint? Sitting up, you press the base of your palms into your eyes and release a mournful sigh. ‘How did you own up to it?’

‘Well, I didn’t have to do much,’ she laughs. Looking at her, the expression your features decide to wear feels plagued by uncertainty but she does not see you. Her gaze has drifted to where Chanyeol swims, to his broad form and his musical laugh, her own expression softened beyond measure. She smiles as she speaks, unbridled in her admiration. ‘You know Chanyeol. He’s the least discrete person and also not terribly patient.’ Tossing you a knowing grin, she giggles affectionately and you cannot help but laugh, her happiness naturally contagious. ‘The beauty of those things is he figures out what he wants immediately and then acts on it only after he’s decided it’s to his benefit. He’s very discerning that way.’

Humming, you glance down at your legs and lean back on your hands once more, pouting. ‘Did you know, though? All that time, did you know?’

‘No,’ she shakes her head. ‘I suppose, looking back, there were always signs,’ she concedes quickly, ‘but we’re so similar, I would go between thinking it was just our way of communicating and connecting to thinking it was flirting, but only when I was alone. When I was with him, I just wanted to enjoy being with him.’

‘How?’ You don’t mean to sound so incisive or desperate, but the feel of Kyungsoo’s hands still nestles deep within your skin, and you can sense him there even after he has departed. You are certain that you will spend the rest of your life with him pressing against parts of you long dormant and long ignored. ‘How do you do that? How did you not lose your mind being so close to him?’

‘That’s giving me far too much credit,’ she laughs, body jostling against yours in her amusement.

On instinct, as though the very sound itself is a siren call, Chanyeol ceases his movements and turns to see her, the teasing smile he’d been sporting with Yixing fading into one of contented devotion. In a single instant, the mere sight of her smooths away all his edges. There is something unspoken, yet eternal, lurking in the depths of his eyes, his yearning a boundless loyalty that declares her as his treasure.

‘I always wanted to be close to him, and I was always on the edge of my sanity. But..’ her speech dies slowly, voice tight with emotion. Considering her words, she holds his stare and refuses to look away, seemingly adrift with him. Instinctively drawn to him, she leans forward slightly, the bones and the core of her pulling her to him as best they can. ‘He makes me happy. In the purest, most simple sense of the word he makes me happier than I’ve ever been able to really...attain, if that makes sense.’

She looks away from him then, turning to regard you rather seriously. ‘Happiness has always been a choice I have to make, but it’s also something that is elusive.’ All too easily she adopts the austere tone she so often uses when giving you advice - words stern and slightly cold, though still doing her best to remain supportive and encouraging. ‘When I’m with him, he sustains it. I’m not stressed and I’m not anxious, I just get to be. You have no idea how unbelievably peaceful that is. If I spend my time with him overthinking, it rushes me to a feeling, to a place we don’t need to be in. I don’t want to overthink, I just want to be with him.’

She takes him in once more, all the tension seeming to leave her muscles as her eyes touch what her hands cannot, visibly comforted. ‘More than anything, I just want to be with him’

Fundamentally you understand her statements, your heart responding and reacting to the sentiment with little input from your mind. A language has started to develop within you, the kind that seems to be spoken by Chanyeol and the countess, a language that exists where words fail entirely. There are no words to describe the way you yearn for Kyungsoo, not a single syntax that could contain his grace, his imperfections, the breadth of his very soul. There are no words, yet you comprehend all of it - you feel all of it, the very act of this understanding a transgression against your sense of self.

Shaking your head, you groan, doing your very best to stay the same, to stay guarded. ‘That’s too much to think about.’

Chuckling, she pokes you in the shoulder. ‘I know this is about Kyungsoo.’

Waving her hand away, you hurriedly hush her with a loud hiss, looking to the group and back again. Running your fingers over your arm, you massage the slight pain with a small frown. ‘They might hear you,’ you whisper, aghast.

She snorts. ‘They’re too absorbed in whatever competition Chanyeol has created. And it’s not like this is a big secret. But okay. I’ll be quiet..er.’

The blood in your veins seems to chill, matching the temperature of the water at your feet. Eyes wide, you whisper, ‘People know?’

‘Yes,’ she nods, like nothing has changed, like this single fact is the most inconsequential thing in the world. ‘I’m pretty sure everyone knows, except for Kyungsoo which is shocking.’

With a groan, you fall back onto the dock. Heated by the direct sunlight, the wood sends heat through your shoulders and spine, an otherworldly compassion that does its best to ease your tension. Draping your arm over your eyes, you sigh. ‘Must you always tease me?’

‘Yes. It’s my duty.’ Patting your leg gently she offers little condolence, her voice a sarcastic lament.

In the ensuing quiet colours move amidst the darkness behind your eyes, sunlight infiltrating the small gap between your arm and the bridge of your nose, and providing a kaleidoscope of purple and green. Lilacs and lilies are carried in the rustling breeze, the opposite side of the lake decorated with a field of flowers, its tall grass and array of blossoms just as dense as the hunger in your blood. If you were alone perhaps you would weep over this, the inward nature of this secret desire fueled by the feel of his fingertips and his laugh and his breath on your neck - it is enough to consume the very heart of you, leaving nothing in its wake.

To give in to this would be to render yourself unrecognizable.

‘Have you ever wondered who you would be if you weren’t trying to think your way through feelings?’

A groan of discontent bubbles in your chest, her question simultaneously full of good intentions while still demanding you confront the change occurring within you. Like always, she insists that you take control of it, that you become a participant in your very unmaking - that you surrender to it, as though the only thing you must endure is yourself. How much of this can one survive, you wonder. How much of a person can survive the devastation of wanting?

‘That’s not entirely helpful.’ You know that you are whining - you can hear the cadence of your unease seep through the last of your syllables. But this cannot be helped, you think. Your great resolve has been terribly weakened.

She inhales, preparing to reply, only to be interrupted by the sounds of splashing water making its approach. Removing your hand from your eyes, you lean up slightly and squint through the changing light to see Chanyeol, his arms breaking through the water as he swims to the dock. Pressing his hands onto the wood, he lifts himself up to linger between his girlfriends legs, getting both you and she wet. You roll slightly to the side in surprise, doing your best to avoid more water getting on your clothes, but she just leans forward, the stars and the moon shifting through her eyes she takes him in.

‘My love,’ she giggles, kissing his nose. As she pulls away, he follows after her, leaning forward for more, but she is already looking behind him, brow furrowed. ‘Aren’t you in the middle of some kind of challenge?’

‘Yeah,’ he laughs, folding his arms on the dock and resting his head as he gazes up at her. ‘We’re trying to see who can knock Jun out of his canoe first.’

Cocking an eyebrow at him, you smirk. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

‘He’s got a life jacket,’ he shrugs, entirely nonchalant. ‘Anyway, I need a good luck kiss.’

Running her hands through his hair, she lets her fingers toy with the tips of his ears as she speaks. ‘You know you’ll win even if you don’t get one.’

His eyes flutter closed under her thoughtful touching, swooning into her orbit as he hums. They stay like this for a moment, awash and enraptured with one another. Their world is foreign to you, a place of belonging where they live only with each other, and more vulnerable and brave than you could ever comprehend.

When he looks at her again, there is a silent communion that passes between them, words and conversations living and dying on their breaths without any speech at all.

‘Still,’ he pouts, and she understands, instantly pulling him up as he raises.

The prelude to this kiss is just as intimate as the act itself, and you look away, gazing over your shoulder back to the house, back to where Kyungsoo cooks, alone and possibly lonely, abandoned because you have not yet learned how to truly hold the sun in your hands. In truth, you are too fond, too enamored, too lost in him to remember yourself when you are with him; and you are too comfortable, too in control of your emotions to forget yourself, remembering all your flaws and the way they will inevitably be highlighted, all the light in the universe culminating in him and illuminating everything, including you.

Chanyeol swims away once he is satisfied, and you swallow the words that have threatened to rise in the back of your throat. In considering Kyungsoo, you have once again considered the reality of love - they have made you consider love, and there is something easy about the conversation you had before he arrived, so you do your best to return knowing, depressingly, she will not let you escape.

‘You both are assholes you know?’ you tease, nudging her gently.

She watches him hungrily, lips red and swollen, before she looks at you once more, distracted. ‘I meant what I said.’

‘You’re not helping,’ you groan, exasperated.

‘Only because you want to apply logic to your feelings.’ Having collected herself once more, her spine straightens, words full of authority. ‘Sometimes, feelings don’t make sense and sometimes they just are. Who are you when you aren’t thinking about how you feel?’

‘I don’t know,’ you shrug, defeated. ‘I can’t know because I don’t even understand what you’re saying. What do you mean by don’t think about how I feel?’

‘Yes, exactly!’ she says, far too enthusiastic for such a non-committal answer.

‘You know I understand even less now, you know this right?’ you murmur flatly, looking back to the water.

Gaze unfocused, your friends are a blur of action far away from you. Their colours merge and mix while you try to surrender your conscious mind in favor of feeling. Every breath you take is full of him, every inhale and exhale an ode to the way you both see and feel him without ever looking at all. The first summer you met him, everything was pure happiness. July was oppressive in the way it kept you perpetually warm, but you thought you would forget him, that the feeling would fade - this kind of craving dies with summer, the twilight of the season bringing forth a reality too harsh for summer’s fruit.

But he has not left you. Not once. Not even a little.

‘How does he make you feel?’ she tries, taking a different approach to her questioning. ‘Don’t think about why you feel it, just think about what it is.’

To you, the question is inherently frightening, the tendrils of it dripping down into the cage of your ribs and tightening, finding all the places the ache in you is the most special and the most tender. The question is frightening, but it bears an even more frightening answer - a frontier and the unexplored desert of truth.

‘Safe,’ you admit, acknowledging, horribly, that while you are safe with yourself, you are, perhaps, even more safe beside him; his aura, a temple. ‘He makes me feel safe.’

When you look at her once more, you’re certain you are something pathetic, but she simply takes hold of your hand and squeezes it, the reassurance of her touch a threat to the dam of solitude locked inside your chest.

‘Then,’ she begins, almost too soothing and too sweet for you to stand, ‘the next time you’re with him, let yourself be safe and nothing else. I think everyone wants to know who they are when they’re safe, without question.’

The problem, you think, is that you have always known who you would be if you let yourself go. The problem, you think, is that you have known and done your best to spirit it away, aware that to feel as much as you do, about everything, would render someone monstrous.

To be free and open and safe with him is to be hungry - not the absence of yearning, but the sheer, irrevocable abundance of it.

'Listen, the Baroness needs your room.'

Baekhyun corners you in the hallway long after the sun has set. Cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, the wine from dinner and the beer from the fire pit still linger in his bloodstream, giving him the sort of dazed, sleepy appearance that usually makes you soften towards him. Leaning against the wall for support, his closeness allows you to smell the smoke and ash from the bonfire on his clothes, and if he had posed any other question, said, quite possibly, anything else, you would have ruffled his hair and given him a hug, wanting to be close to him.

Instead, you rear back slightly, so bewildered you are certain you have mental whiplash.

'What?' The word comes out quickly, more an exclamation of sound than an actual word. ‘The who?’

Baekhyun shrugs, sheepish. ‘You know how Chanyeol calls his girl the Countess, Jongin calls his Duchess.’ He sways as he speaks, a sign of his drunkenness or a sign of his shyness at the question, you cannot be sure. ‘I’m trying this one out for mine.’

Humming, you nod. ‘That’s very nice. And no.’

'Come on,’ he pleads, already starting to whine. ‘You can share with someone else, but she really needs your room.'

Crossing your arms, you mirror his pose and lean against the wall. The dim light of the hallway puts shadows under his eyes, making his expression look far more forlorn than it likely is.

'Absolutely not,’ you say, sternly. Twelve hours later and you are in the same position as this morning, protesting against the unfairness of his requests. ‘I paid for that room out of my own pocket. She can't just come on this trip and freeload. Besides, didn't you bring her on this trip to get laid? What are you going to do, astral project through walls?'

'No, not really, I mean maybe but not exactly,’ he stammers, doing his best to piece his argument together. Too tipsy to mask his meaning with the smoothness of words, all he can do is suffer the truth of his emotions. ‘It’s not exactly like that but I can't make it that obvious.’

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, exasperated. 'Baekhyun, it's already obvious.'

'Don't you know there has to be finesse to this?' The barely restrained emotion in his voice dismantles the playful tone he has done his best to adopt, the intensity of his desire not something to be trifled with.

But so too are you unafraid of a challenge, your mind already made up, your heart already enclosed in your room with the lakeside view.

'What are you, seven?’ you laugh, incredulously. ‘I think she knows exactly what you're looking for out of this, it's why she's here at all.'

'It's not that obvious,’ he pouts.

'Literally, why would anyone agree to go on a vacation with a bunch of strangers and one guy they only kind of know?’ you challenge, unable to fathom any other conclusion. Even in the beginning, when Chanyeol would invite you out, your proclivity for quiet nights at home always had you leaning toward spending the evening with a book until he would mention Kyungsoo’s name. The sound of the word alone would draw you out, his name dissolving the essence of your loneliness if only for one night. ‘She's here for the same thing as you, just get it over with.'

'I don't just want to fuck her!' he exclaims in a loud whisper, both your eyes widening at his admission.

In the aftermath of his outburst, there is a looming silence in which you are uncertain what else there is to be said. It weighs down on you, on your shoulders and on your heart, the uprising in him so unlike his usually soft and sweet demeanor. He has never been one for committing, never been one for avoiding what he wants either, and so this limbo between wanting her to be his while also keeping her at arm’s length puts a throb in the center of your temple.

Squeezing your eyes closed, you dig your nails into your arms. 'I'm so confused about what's happening here.'

'I really like this girl.’ It’s the most careful Baekhyun has ever spoken, as if he is just as perplexed as you by the sheer tenacity of his emotions. Hearing himself say the words seems to put a colour in his cheeks, deepening the shade of his blush beyond alcohol, beyond the kiss of the afternoon sun. Baekhyun grows almost weary in his relief, glad that he has said it out loud, to someone. ‘I don't want to just make it about that one thing.'

Resting a hand on his shoulder, you offer him a sympathetic smile. Over the years of your friendship, you have watched him fall in love several times a day, with so many different things, his heart an atrium that endlessly nurtures romance and affection. It’s rare for him to settle on one single person, and even more rare for him to act on it.

'I respect you,’ you say slowly, pressing your thumb into the strong flesh of his arm in solidarity, ‘but I still paid money for that room, so it's not happening.'

'I'll pay you back for it,’ he tries, starting to sober beneath your perpetual refusal.

'Baekhyun -'

'Kyungsoo's room has two twin beds,’ he blurts out in a rush, all his words condensed on a single breath. Feeling yourself pale, the axis of the world seems to shift beneath your feet, your vision suddenly blurred and unfocused, dizzy, and he takes your surprised silence as volition to speak. ‘It's like a pleasant surprise! You can share with him.'

Even in the dark, you can see the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, the sparkle of an ulterior motive lurking in the depths. It would not be the first time he attempted to be your wingman, would also not be the first time he would fail at such an endeavor, and your hand slides away from his arm, falling limply at your side. You watch him, slack jawed at the horror of it all, stomach dropping all the way down to your toes.

'Baek, no.’ It is your turn to plead, amazed your voice even makes a sound with how dry your throat has become.

'Oh, come on!' Baekhyun has the audacity to laugh, slapping your arm congenitally as if his encouragement is enough to placate you. 'I'm trying to help you!'

Sarcastically, you snort. 'You're helping yourself and clinging to the hope that it would ever be about me.'

Somehow immune to your admonishment, he simply wiggles his brow salaciously. 'You know you like the idea.'

'Fucks sake, I should never have told you about this,’ you hiss, crossing your arms over your chest once more. ‘I got drunk one time and now you think you can play matchmaker.'

Baekhyun sighs, shrugging his shoulders. 'Listen, I already told her she can have your room -'

Rearing back, you blink rapidly, appalled and bewildered. 'What the fuck?'

'And Kyungsoo already agreed to letting you stay in his,’ he continues, ignoring your seething disdain as though this is simply a negotiation about where to go for breakfast.

Blood rushing away from your cheeks, running to service your overactive heart, you simply stare off into the distance, beyond Baekhyun, beyond the house altogether, to a time in history when you would not have to spend the evening sharing his air. 'I hate this.'

'I know.’ It’s his turn to rest a hand on your shoulder, his expression somehow far less sympathetic than yours had been. ‘But if this is the only way for both of us to get what we want, then someone has to put some fire under your ass.'

Shaking your head, you do not allow him to come into focus, mumbling with scathing contempt. 'Wow, I actually hate you.'

'You move at a glacial pace.’ Assuming the conversation is over, he removes his hand from your shoulder and turns away, no longer giving you any opportunity to complain. ‘At least now we all can say we tried.'

Hurriedly, you follow after him, pushing off the wall and gathering the strength to move your things from your lakeside room to Kyungsoo’s, the phantom memory of his skin on yours awakening once more.

'Why are you still talking?’ you call after him.

But he just tosses you a sly wink over his shoulder, laughing to himself as he heads down the stairs.

‘I can hear you overthinking from across the room.’

The light from the moon creeps in through the sheer curtains covering the window, Kyungoo’s voice filling the space, dancing on the rays, with a tired rasp. He’s worn himself out - laughing, yelling, drinking. Somehow, the sound is thick and heavy, sinking down and deep into places long left untouched, your body wired by the sound of him alone.

'Just go to sleep,’ he chastises, turning over in his bed.

It is only the two of you contained in this small space, twin beds side by side, close enough you can hear his breath. Pressing your head against the pillow, your mind has become divided in two, living in two places at once - this moment, and your time spent with him in the kitchen, doing its best to rationalize the difference. Cooking with him, he was all over you, hands on yours and chest against your back as if he was learning how to make a home of you. It was different then, almost too tactile to comprehend but the sun through the kitchen and living room windows somehow made the world seem wide.

His touch had a distance, a space - even if you could not see it, you could sense it, the light finding its way through, reminding you there is a line between your body and his, a line between simply touching and truly feeling.

Now, in the dark, everything, even the gap between your mattresses feels close - too intense, too raw, to real. The darkness is oppressive, like that, a brief moment in time in which you are aware of the edge of things. Resting in the center of your bed, you are aware of the edge of your limbs, the absolute limit of your body. In the room, you are aware of the edge of your bed and the way there is just enough distance between yours and his for a single person to stand. In his bed, you are aware of the edge of his lips, and the way his breath cascades over them, facing the window to kiss the moon.

And you are aware of the edge of your resolve, threatened and thinned to breaking by the way the light casts him in silver, illuminating all the parts of him you find sacred.

‘You’re wide awake too,’ you say to the ceiling, not allowing yourself to see him. ‘I guess that makes us even.’ Biting your lip, you close your eyes and sigh. ‘I’m not the only one who can’t fall asleep,’ you finish quietly.

Kyungsoo laughs, warm and rich, utterly intoxicating, no trace of irritation in his words as he speaks. ‘Okay,’ he muses. 'How about this.’

You hardly have time to knit your brow together in thought before he begins singing, the rich honey of his tone turning the room into amber. He doesn’t often do this, a talent he likes to keep to himself. Sometimes, when he is drunk, he can be convinced to be the start of a song, not the result, but even this takes an equal amount of convincing as it does bottles of beer. But you have found, over time, that the talent itself is not so secret - hidden, but not entirely forbidden.

When he is with you, somehow you always hear his music, your ear always finding and listening to his voice first. You have found there is not a single moment he is without music, the way he speaks a melody unto itself, but when the sun goes down and the others go to bed, and it is just you and just him, and the dying embers of a fire that blazed too high, he sings with you.

He sings, often, just to make you smile.

'Oh, dear god, is that supposed to be better?' you laugh, skin tingling with adrenaline and a down turned corner of your cheeks as though you are saying goodbye to a time in your life when things were safe.

Kyungsoo interrupts himself, and even though you do not see him, even though you cannot yet bring yourself to look, you know he is beaming. 'I'm not going to stop until you sing along.'

He continues singing and the joy in you sets itself free, liberated like a terror. You would be frightened if this moment were perfect, would feel the world dissolve around you, his voice a nightingale leading you to perish. You would retreat from all of this, except -

'I hate this song,’ you sigh, flopping your arms atop the mattress to signal your unrest.

'I know,’ he persists, turning in the bed to face you. The darkness does little to hide the intensity of his focus. If anything, it feels heightened, the angles of your profile burning beneath his scrutiny. ‘But you know it.'

In spite of yourself, you close your eyes and let the bliss send shivers through your veins. When you are not looking, held in the darkness of your own making, your body becomes otherworldly, something entirely outside of yourself, someone you don’t recognize. How far have you crossed? What line have you transgressed and ignored, blithely meandering into the irresistible territory of passion? It’s all over you now, your smile full of teeth and your mind empty, save for his melody and the advice of Chanyeol’s girlfriend:

Who are you when you are not trying to think through emotion?

It happens in the limbo between who you are and who you want to be, the room suddenly a cathedral devoted to your wanting. With your eyes open, your love takes a verbal form, this voice yours yet better, enhanced and empowered, and you sing because you no longer can help it. Nowhere near as confident or stable in your notes, your voice does its best to hold onto the words, finding the center of the notes almost too late before it’s time to move to another, but, strangely, you don’t find yourself blushing. It is not, you think, that the darkness has made you less inhibited, rather that with a song you hate and a smile at your lips, you simply don’t have it in you to mind.

'There it is!' he celebrates, raising his arms off the mattress and clapping.

Pressing a hand to your forehead, your shyness in the dark somehow even more amusing, you cackle. 'God, this is terrible.'

Adjusting his pillow, he hums. 'Exactly.'

The aftermath of your twin voices seems to reverberate around the room, long after you both have fallen quiet, the echo bouncing off your skin. This kind of euphoria could only be brought by him - his intelligence, his stubbornness, his perceptive intuitiveness. With only the echo and the memory sustained, your breath becomes unsteady, reminded that this place, this room, will no longer just be a place but a sanctuary and you will no longer just be you, but you will, forever more, be his.

'Sometimes,' you begin, words a whisper that you know he will still hear, 'you're funny.'

'It's just something I'm trying.' Such a simple statement, one full of humor and sarcasm but one with a texture that makes you press your tongue to the back of your teeth as he says it. He sounds tired of running - from himself, from all the great complexities he finds in the world, but not from you. 'Just something I want to try for a little while.’'

'All the time.’ Your own words are abrupt, clipped at the end of their syllables as you rush them out, needing him to hear the correction - to not miss it, not for a second. 'You're always funny, all the time.'

For a long while he considers your statement, and, in the absence of sound and conversation, the air in the room becomes thick, sluggish in your lungs. Your fingers curl into the sheets, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling because now, if ever, it would be terribly dangerous to turn to face him. At least, you presume, he finally knows. He must know, the layers of this confession wholly befitting the hallowed energy that lingers between you.

Swallowing thickly, you let him take his time, forcing yourself to be patient. The darkness has brought everything together, the gap between your beds somehow closed, as though he is right next to you, even unreachable as he is.

'You're the only one who sees me that way,’ he says finally, and you hear the care laced in his voice, doing his best to articulate his appreciation.

You want more of him, more of this sound, more of everything he keeps tucked away where prying eyes cannot follow. You want all of him, his very existence an addiction.

'It's because I see you.' This time, you are more brave, more confident, and there is a pleasing dissonance to your voice, the old you starting to become devoured by the new.

Tonight tastes different on your tongue. Something about the moon and something about the sun, about the way you have spent too long in the light with your private luxuries shrinking ever further away, has allowed you to gather blossoms of starlight, their twinkling mysteries putting a hope in your joints that has never dared to trespass until this moment. All your life, the darkness has been a shroud and a veil, a cloister keeping you contained only with your yearning thoughts and your inadequacies, an invasion that has wormed its way within you for too long. It leaves you now, spilling outward and shimmering in the moonlight, leaving you free and empty, with room to nurture a burning flame.

Kyungsoo remains completely still, and you have the passing thought he does not move for fear of causing your retreat. 'And what do you see?' he asks softly.

Fingers pressing deep into the feather comforter, you hum. 'It depends.'

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, the very sound a ripple of thunder in the night. 'That doesn't sound reassuring.'

Taking in a deep breath, you hold it in until your lungs hurt, smothering the doubt, the fear, and the inexplicable notion that this will fail until you can convince yourself you are indestructible.

'It depends on how long I let myself look, and depends on what you feel that day.’ Furrowing your brow, you tuck the inside of your cheek between your teeth. This should be sufficient, but he is so much more than a summation of looking, a summation time. He is something that is held without time, something you wish to behold eternally, even long after you are dust. 'It's not that you're mercurial,’ you continue, doing your best not to cringe at the clarity in your voice, ‘it's not that you're not consistent. I think I just see other things because I take my time looking.'

How would he look if you said these things to him in the daylight? What would the midday yellows and oranges reflect if he looked at you, and let himself be seen? Would you tell him your looking extends beyond admiration, beyond mere affection, and into the shuddering truth of love? To say all this in the sunlight, what would become of you?

You think it’s for the best that you will never have the answers to these questions, the night the only thing clinging tenderly to your pride, protective and secure.

'And do you like what you see?'

His voice is full of bashful apprehension, the rustling of his own sheets a symphony to accompany his tentative questioning. He shifts restlessly, hopefully, and you feel the sound with your whole body.

Licking your lips, you press onward, getting used to breaking the darkness - getting used to feeling raw and open. 'That also depends.'

'On what you see?'

Unable to help yourself, you finally turn to your side and look at him, eyes adjusting almost instantly to trace the nuanced details of his face, the moonlight painting silver shadows along his features. You’ve been lured to him, driven to see him now that he is asking to be seen, wanting your eyes on him; the very question begged you to look, and to take your time looking. Incrementally your longing grows, a swell in your chest that challenges the very depth of the lake, rushing through you until it cannot be contained.

'On whether you want me to like it,’ you clarify.

Leaning up to support his head on his hand, he looks at you and the hunger painted over his expression is enough to have your fists curling into the mattress. It stirs in you the need to be consumed, to be loved by his mouth and the palms of his hands, the greed in you not unlike an uprising. The flush in your neck spreads over your chest, your shirt constrictive and tight, suddenly no more room for you and all this impossible craving. Even still, Kyungsoo still remains calm, a king in the world of pleasure, looking at you as though you are a gift for feasting.

'I think people always want to be liked in some way, don't you think?’

A low growl lurks in the back of his voice, tone dropped down an octave to find gravel you have never heard before. All month, the nights have been uncharacteristically cool, heralding the slow death of summer as it bleeds into autumn, but you are heated. His gaze lives beneath your skin, now, a fire that refuses to burn out.

‘And,’ he carries on, as though you remain unlit, ‘I also don't think your opinion of me should depend on me. That's for you to make.'

Lips parted, mouth wanting to take him in, you mirror his pose and lean up on your arm. Slowly, you shake your head. 'That's not what I meant.'

The rasp in your voice surprises you both, and he smiles at the tension he has created, excited at the prospect of snapping it.

'Then what did you mean?' he presses, and you would rejoice at the sensuality of it, at the way the fullness of his lips shapes the words, but the appetite within him is like a hand at the center of your throat.

'I meant whether you want me to like it...' The admission drifts away, the choir of blood in your heart on fire with the weight of honesty. But you are glad for this burning, the fire that eats at you every bit his as it is yours. 'Whether my opinion matters.'

'Your opinion matters.' Kyungsoo doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t allow room for ambiguity or dishonesty. His eyes narrow, penetrative and demanding, keeping you still. 'You matter.'

Unfurling your hands, your fingers press into the sheets as though they are his shirt, his hands, his skin. The angular brutality of him has unmade the careful concealing you have spent years constructing. Hours ago, you had admitted that Kyungsoo makes you feel safe but now you are realizing the peril of letting him in - realizing you are the torment and the danger, little more than the ghosts of your desires. Now, you are starved for him, your tongue a desert aching to be drenched.

Tossing the sheets to the side, Kyungsoo moves his legs over the bed and rises to a stand, taller than you’ve ever seen him stand. Steel keeps his spine straight, shoulders rolled back in pause as though his mind is catching up with his limbs, before he crosses the small space and comes to sit on your bed. You don’t trust yourself with him this close, not anymore. Not after you have learned to love, not only him, but the very act of loving him.

Shifts closer to you, close enough he could touch all of you, not just your legs, your hips, your waist, your chest, but so too your face and your lips - close enough you can taste him on the air. With your lips parted, every breath you take is full of him, tongue wet and heavy with his flavor.

‘What are you doing?’

‘We aren’t like the others,’ he says plainly, fingers toying with the sheets beside your hands.

Your eyes drop to his hands, avoiding the power of the intimacy you find in his expression. It feeds into the room, your tongue coming to lick your lips and he takes in a shuddering breath, the very sound sending a jolt of desire between your thighs. Taking your silence as permission, he continues to speak, the very anguish of his words exhausted at the prospect of not having you.

‘We don’t…’ Taking a deep breath, he glances around the room, searching. ‘Flirt,’ he settles, though even this word does not seem to satisfy him. His gaze on you is hard, urging you to look up and see him, to meet his eyes and witness him. When you do, you’re certain you could smell his very heart, your blood suddenly full of his seductive magic. ‘At least, not like they do. I don’t make speeches and you don’t surrender, not unless you’ve been given explicit proof that it’s safe. That you’re right.’

It’s as though he looks down into you, deep enough that his gaze means to caress your ribs, your bones, wrapping himself around your spine until all your senses belong to him.

‘You see me.’ His teeth glide roughly over his bottom lip, nipping it quickly before releasing it, the blood beneath the skin rushing to make it more plump than it was before. ‘And I see you. I have never stopped seeing you. I’ve not wanted to stop seeing you, finding you, learning you since the day I met you.’

If you are the devil lurking in the dark, the hungry one with eyes of greed then he is the lust, the one who has torn through you and pulled out the language you have only just started to understand. The moment that follows is enormous, a moment in which you realize love is not only the act of feeling but the act of seeing, of being seen. He describes you as though he knows you, as though he knows the clawed and ugly parts of you that threaten to tear the fabric of your existence apart, and as though he loves even what he sees in those.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aware of gravity, of the way language is not only a syntax but a physics, and of the way he has slowly inched closer and closer, your vision full of only him. With your eyes adjusted to the dark, you come to see yourself as a hawk, able to find yourself in his eyes, able to see yourself as he sees you - pupils dilated and not allowing you the privilege to remain invisible. In feeding on him, you feed on yourself, and so, too, you suppose does he feed on you, on himself, on the carnal savoring of your longing, united.

‘What are you saying,’ you whisper, certain he hears you, certain he hears your plea to be explicit.

‘I’m saying,’ he begins, lifting his hand to cup your chin. He holds it in his hand and pulls you close, his breath on your lips a fever, the feel of his bones pressing into yours sparking a voracious desire to be devoured, ‘if you are thinking of taking a risk, you are safe.’

His truth is a dawn breaking over your skin, spirit sanctified by the permission he grants you. Before you can even comprehend your actions you press your hands into the mattress and give yourself the momentum necessary to close the distance between your lips. The sheer force of the kiss gnaws at you, his free hand coming to wrap around your waist to pull you close. Flush against him, you think you are powerful enough to eat the moon, to eat the sun, to have him and keep him buried beneath your tongue.

He moans against your mouth, the sound of it shuddering against your chest and vibrating through you. Your own arms wind around his neck, fingers toying with the soft hair at the nape of his neck, unable to mind that this new position is awkward and difficult to sustain. You have managed much worse, have contained whole stars in the center of your chest for years and still have survived - you think you can manage the slant of your waist as he holds you against him, unforgiving.

Running his tongue along your lips, he asks for permission you are eager to grant, slipping his tongue against yours in a tentative stroke of possession. In your mouth, he is the blunt edge of a knife, cutting you deep enough that you think no other hands, no other lips will have their fill of you - no one else will have their fill and still find themselves engorged with an unconquered thirst. Sucking his bottom lip between your teeth, you nip the flesh to a swell that feels warm and plump.

He smiles against you, pulling his lip away and you smile too, his voluptuous mouth a blessing.

‘You’re wrong,’ you murmur, grazing his lips as you speak.

Insatiable, he kisses you again, stealing what he can of you until you are breathless. ‘How so?’

Moving one hand from his neck, you cup his cheek and laugh, a sound he eats with his own chuckle. ‘We are exactly like the others.’

Author’s Note v2.0: i do not own the quotes from Virginia Woolf - To The Lighthouse; Dexter, the TV show; or Richard Siken - Scheherazade

tag list: @yehet-me-up @wonderlustlucas @junkfoodwriting @taestfully @heatofmyexoheart @majci @ahgishaman @softly-savage-mint-yoongi @lamichellee

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emospritelet · 4 years

Text

Heatstroke - chapter 15

Bad Darcy!

[AO3] - 1,469 words

Lacey’s new peace with Gold made no real difference to her life, other than that she could pass him in the diner or on the street and not want to hurl herself into the sun. He was polite but distant whenever they met, and a part of her was disappointed that the coffee and cake in the back of his shop hadn’t led to a reciprocal offer from him. Ruby said that he never went out drinking, so looking around for him as she downed rum and coke in The Rabbit Hole was a pointless exercise. Which didn’t stop her doing it.

“Just march into the shop, unzip his pants and get on your knees,” suggested Ruby, waving her drink around as she gestured and making it slosh dangerously in the glass. “You know you want to.”

“I do n—” Lacey closed her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’m not going to.”

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My liberty, when he presses charges for sexual assault...”

“I swear.” Ruby shook her head sadly. “I’m just gonna have to shut you two in the store room at the diner and let you bang it out.”

“...and you get charged with false imprisonment.” Lacey shrugged, reaching for her drink. “At least I’ll have company in jail.”

“Fine, just carry on pining then,” sighed Ruby, sitting back.

“I am not pining.”

“You are too.”

“Wondering whether someone’s good in the sack is not pining.”

“What would you call it then?”

Lacey pursed her lips, pondering.

“Curiosity,” she said eventually. “There’s something about him. Something that gives me that good, low-down feeling, you know?”

Ruby took a drink, setting down her glass and leaning on the table with a wide grin on her face.

“So,” she said. “What do you think he’s like in the sack?”

“I dunno.” Lacey wrinkled her nose as she thought. “He’s really - careful - with his hands. And he has long fingers, did you notice?”

“No.”

“Well, he does,” said Lacey, shifting in her seat. “I think he’d be good.”

“He never dates,” said Ruby. “He’s gotta be out of practice.”

“It’s not like you forget how, right?”

“I guess.”

“Besides,” added Lacey. “Every guy I’ve been with has been a selfish ass who couldn’t make a woman come if their lives depended on it.”

“Fair point.” Ruby took another drink. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing…” Lacey groaned the word and let her head roll back. “It’s not like anything would ever happen. I reached out and I was forgiven but that’s as far as it goes. He’s not interested.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ruby fairly. “Maybe you should just ask him out.”

“No way.”

“Don’t be a weenie.”

“I flashed his son!”

“Yeah, and you apologised for that,” said Ruby. She suddenly looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should speak to Neal.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay, okay!”

Ruby was grinning, but she took another sip of her drink, setting down the glass.

“Let’s move the subject away from Sex-God Gold,” she said. “You working on anything cool for the paper?”

“If you consider the Storybrooke Flower Show cool, then yes.” Lacey stabbed at the ice in her drink with a straw. “It’s the last event before Zelena’s charity dance.”

“You going to the dance?”

“Only because Sidney managed to get me in to cover it,” she said. “Not sure Zelena wanted me there, but screw her.”

“Granny and I are helping with the catering,” said Ruby. “Zelena wanted something a bit more high-brow than we’re used to, so we’re putting on our fancy pants and making canapés.”

“Guess I’ll see you there, then,” said Lacey.

“You should ask Gold for a dance,” said Ruby, with a grin. “A little slow dancing, a little smoochy-smoochy and then maybe a little heavy petting in the mansion gardens.”

“Oh my God…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Lacey opened her mouth, closed it again, and took a drink while Ruby cackled loudly.

“Knew it.”

“Even if that was true,” said Lacey loftily. “He’s not going.”

“Really?”

“So he told Zelena, and given I’ve never seen the guy out socially, I guess it’s true.”

“Oh.” Ruby slumped in her chair a little. “Back to Plan B, then.”

“There is no Plan B,” said Lacey sternly. “Plan A ended in total humiliation. I’m done with plans as far as Gold’s concerned.”

“Hmm.” Ruby looked unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

The next morning Lacey was feeling a little thick-headed, and was relieved when she remembered it was Saturday. She was tempted to laze in bed with a book for another hour or so, but she was parched, she wanted coffee, and Darcy would need his breakfast. Grumbling to herself about the fact that she and Ruby were a bad influence on each other, she threw back the covers and got up to grab her robe.

Darcy was nowhere to be seen when she got downstairs, and Lacey opened the door to the back porch before going to put on a pot of coffee. She glanced out of the window as she was getting out the milk, and frowned curiously as she spotted Darcy in the middle of the patch of lawn that she still hadn’t gotten around to tidying up. He was on his back, feet in the air and tail lashing as he played with something long and black. A snake? Fuck!

Lacey almost dropped the milk on the counter and dashed out of the back door in a trice, leaping down the porch steps and across the lawn, where she drew a stop, shoulders slumping as realised that the thing Darcy was playing with wasn’t a live snake. It wasn’t even a dead snake. It was, however, a black silk tie.

Darcy had paused in his wriggling as she had approached, and gazed up at her with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. He was purring, his tail twitching against the yellowing grass, the length of black silk lying across his belly with both ends in the dirt.

“Oh man…” Lacey shook her head. “Really?”

She snatched up the tie, whisking it out of the way of a grasping paw and spreading it between her hands.

“How did you even get this?” she demanded. “You raiding Gold’s wardrobe now, you little sneak-thief?”

She inspected the tie, biting her lip in dismay as she saw the dirt coating it, and the tiny silk threads pulled loose. The logo on the back announced that it was Armani, and Lacey wanted to groan.

“You’re killing me,” she said flatly. “I bet this thing cost more than my best shoes.”

Darcy wriggled, paws swatting at the air, and Lacey heaved a sigh as she glanced at the pink house next door. Great. Think this might take more than a coffee and muffin to make up for.

She glanced down at herself, noting that she was in a short nightdress and robe and very little else. Okay, I am definitely putting on clothes before I go over there. Gold can wait until I’ve had my coffee before he loses his shit.

Her head jerked around as she heard her phone ringing in the kitchen, and she wagged a finger at Darcy before trotting back into the house. She smirked as she saw the name on her phone screen, and flicked at it with her thumb to answer.

“Jefferson,” she said. “What have you got for me?”

“Straight to business, as usual,” sighed Jefferson. “Here I was thinking you were gonna whisper sweet nothings to me for a little while.”

“Stop flirting, you know you don’t mean it.”

“When has that ever stopped me?”

Lacey chuckled, dropping the tie on the counter as she reached for a cup.

“True enough, I guess.”

“So how are things in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” asked Jefferson, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s called Storybrooke, and it’s a town. It’s not the back end of beyond, it’s bigger than you think.”

“Bet you can’t get pizza after eleven pm.”

“That is not the mark of civilisation, Jefferson.”

“I beg to differ.”

Lacey sighed, amused.

“Do you have information for me or not?” she asked. “Come on, spill, I got shit to do.”

“Okay French, buckle up,” he said briskly. “The not-so-lovely Miss West has had her finger in a number of questionable pies in this town, and your boy has a few secrets to spill.”

Lacey grinned.

“Okay, hang on, let me get my notebook.”

She rummaged in her purse, fishing out her notebook and pencil and flopping into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You owe me a drink, by the way,” added Jefferson.

“You can collect if you ever visit me in Bumfuck - uh, I mean Storybrooke,” said Lacey impatiently. “Now come on, spill!”

#fic: heatstroke #golden lace fic #golden lace #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 5 years

Text

Masterlist Henry Cavill's Characters

updated: July 9th 2022

not actively writing for him anymore

Fic Ratings (read warnings in fic for details):

(G) General Audiences

(M) Mature

(E) Explicit: only suitable for adults

Getting away with it (series) (E)

August Walker was dead. At least that’s what people believed for almost 2 years. When the CIA found reason to believe that he was alive they made it their top priority to find him. Including sending one of their best female agents to recruit his twin brother. Walter Marshall.

Sugar Bunny (mini Series, finished) (E)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Meeting August Walker, CEO of one of the most successful real estate agencies in the states in a coffee shop of all places, turned into one of the best things that could have happened to you. You became his sugar bunny and against all your willpower you fell in love with him. Oh if only everything would be so easy, and if only August was really only a CEO of a company…

Play with me 1 2 3 (Mini series, (E), ongoing)

After the events of Santino d’Antonio’s death, John was finally free. Yet he was bored. The normal life he longed for wasn’t exactly like he pictured it. When Winston contacted him with an offer to work for August Walker who had taken over the seat at the high table of the Italians after their death, he said yes to more than just a job.

Never mine (M)

When you got a phone call in the middle of the night, asking you to assist in an interrogation of a high-level target you didn’t really think about it. Until you were there and saw just who you were there for.

Punishment (E)

The MI6 knew who to send to find August Walker. And August Walker knew exactly what buttons he had to push to get what he wanted. At least he thought so until he woke up chained to his own bed. Naked.

Playing with fire (E)

August Walker was the new chief of the fire station in town. He could have every girl in town. Except you. Because you didn’t want to be just another number in his long list of conquests. But just once wouldn’t matter… right?

Lust (E)

When August finds himself in a little town in the UK after his last meeting with Hunt he needed to lay low. And what better way to lay low than “dating” the town’s most favorite preschool teacher. Though with time he grew bored. That was until her Daughter visited them for her summer break...

Loss (E)

Your husband had to learn a lesson. That he would have to sacrifice your marriage by losing a bet to August Walker seemed something he just accepted. That he would lose you to August in that process wasn’t something he expected.

writing prompts:

Redemption (G)

600 years went by since August Walker died on that mountain. You failed as his Guardian Angel, spending years waiting for the next human to be born you could watch over when you found out August was still around. As a Demon.

“You’re nothing but my fuck-doll. Say it.“ (E)

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re mad.” (M)

-> a little enemies to lovers drabble (M)

A perfect shity day (E)

When your car broke down in the middle of nowhere you were more than glad when a police car drove by.

An eventful day (G)

Walter is coming home from a long and exhausting workday.

Reckless (E); Dark Fic

Waking home at night after a concert with her best friend she didn’t notice the police car standing on the other side of the street. Or the man following her in the middle of the night on her short way home. She could already see her house when she was pressed with her back against the wall, her hands handcuffed over her head. She should have listened to her husband earlier who wanted to pick her up…

Requests:

Hate to love you (E)

Walter Marshall seemed to hate you since the first time you stepped into the police department. But when you found his daughter sitting on your desk one morning, and began to spend time with her, he seemed to warm up to you.

pastime activities (E)

The mission to spend a week in a luxurious suite with Napoleon Solo, shadowing a polish politician sounded tempting. But when said politician did nothing but spend his time in bed with his young side chick, things got exhausting. Listening to someone else having sex for 8 days straight while being stuck with Napoleon was a challenge you didn’t know your sanity could handle. Or your body...

Crazy for you (G)

Sy invites you over for dinner. Things don’t go as planned.

Long distance (G)

Falling in love with an Army Captain just weeks before he had to leave again, wasn’t something she had planned on. And Sy didn’t even know how much he wanted to have a family until she told him she was pregnant 2 months into his deployment.

In the cloak of the night (E)

A night on which your friend ditched you, turned out to be the most eventful night you maybe had in your life. All thanks to the tall and handsome stranger you met and who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Not even when you were waiting for the bus to take both of you to your place…

Happy (M)

Dancing with Sy at night at a gas station.

Happy Christmas (E)

A snow day in with Sy ends in more than just reading a good book and watching some crappy tv

#Masterpost various #fanfic #fanfiction #henry cavill #august walker #walter marshall #napoleon solo

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carrioncrows-readers · 3 years

Link

You may not be good at a lot, but damn if you don't know business and numbers.

Content Warnings: major content warning for sexual harassment, explicit violence

When Jacob first brought you to the brothel, you thought he'd genuinely lost his mind — you made it quite clear you weren't interested in fucking him for money. With his arm around your shoulders, you were prepared to make quite a lot of fuss if he tried anything — but he didn't. Instead, he offered you a bookkeeping job for steady pay, with room to take "freelancing" on commission should you so desire. It was unexpected. It was — nice. The place is nice. A bit gauche, and good lord, those curtains are tacky, but you didn't expect prostitutes to be so…

Well. Nice.

Come to find out, the woman who left a lipstick stain on Jacob's cheek (you aren't jealous; you aren't) is named Jenny. Jenny is in the elected position of being madame (you didn't know madames were elected?) of the establishment. Which also happens to be the name of the brothel itself. The Establishment. Tongue-in-cheek, but effective.

She's full-bodied and impossibly soft, brown hair piled into curls on top of her head. The pearls she wears are gifts from clients, apparently, and it's become so much of a running joke that for her birthday, the girls saved up to get her a new set of pearl earrings for fun. You have no idea why she wears them all at once.

She peers over your shoulder as you scribble in the ledger, writing down dates and numbers, trying not to get a headache putting it all together. Unfortunately, you haven't had time to sharpen up your sums.

"Ms. Jenny," you glance at her from the corner of your eye, looking for a way to fill the silence since no one is murdering the pianoforte, "can I ask why you haven't done the bookkeeping yourself?" She hums and smiles at you. You notice dimples in the roundness of her cheeks, like craters on the moon.

"Well, dearie, it's because I can nary read nor write. Neither can any of the others — been meaning to hire a bookkeeper for a bit, just never got 'round to it, I suppose." Suddenly and for, of course, no reason at all, you want to disappear into the floor. You should have guessed. Now you feel awful.

You look at your notes. You had all the girls tell you a rough estimate of their earnings for the past six months; some were more accurate than others, but you get the feeling that Jacob just wanted to find you something to do. He doesn't take a massive percentage anyways; usually, it fluctuates depending on how much they've earned that month. Always enough for a comfortable living after expenses, always favorable towards the brothel residents. You've no idea why, just that he somehow manages to supplement his own income enough that it doesn't put him in the red.

"I see," you say, pausing to add up all the earnings for July, minus overhead. Jenny leans in with her eyes narrowed and pokes your side, making you jump so high your ass almost hits the ceiling.

"You're a right hard one to read you are; what's that supposed to mean? Hm?" She pokes you again, and you feel your cheeks burn bright red.

"Nothing! Nothing, I just — felt terrible for asking, I suppose. Ow." You rub your side — does the woman have knives for fingers, or is your skin just made of paper? She pokes your arm — definitely knife fingers.

"Well, no harm done."

You sit quietly, shuffling papers in the ledger until everything is tight and up to date — it's not doing too terribly for a Whitechapel brothel. Still, there are some improvements to be made — namely, the settlement of customer debts.

How ironic that you have become the creditor now.

You set your pen down and lean against your steepled fingers, a plot crawling up the back of your mind and settling in. You ask Ms. Jenny, since she is much more familiar with the Rooks than you, to find you a few burly men. And to tell them to bring weapons. Blunt ones.

This is your job now — you'll be damned if you're not going to do it well. Besides, this isn't something you should bother Jacob with.

It isn't tricky to track down your debtors; one look at you smiling in your silks and velveteens, a train of rugged brutes behind you, and people scrape the ground to tell you where your targets live. They know what's coming, and they're not eager to try and quell the storm. You knock very politely on the door to an apartment in a run-down shack of a building, watching it crack open a hair's breadth. That is all the opening your boys need — they muscle in and push Mr. Curtis to the ground. You ignore him swearing to shut the door, folding your hands in front of your stomach.

"Mr. Curtis! I believe we have business."

"I don't know what you're fucking talkin' about," he spits. A simple nod of your head is all the excuse one of your enforcers needs to start walloping Mr. Curtis about the head until he begs you to stop him. You do, the smile on your face ever so slowly becoming a genuine manic grin.

"You owe my employer quite a bit of money. Do you have a wife, Mr. Curtis? I assume not if you visit brothels so often, but I wouldn't put it past you to cheat, either." Curtis rolls onto his side and covers his weeping nose, and you're fascinated by the slow drip-drip-drip of red into a puddle on the floor. "You have one month, which I find very generous. Can you read?" You don't receive an answer, just a low groan of pain that sends a tingle up your toes; you pull a piece of paper out of your pocket, the ink already dry as you sit it on a side table. On it is a sum of money, a date, and Curtis' name.

You leave him to lick his wounds, damn near skipping out into the darkened street. You visit three more houses in short order before returning to the brothel to see Jacob leaned over the intake desk, talking with Jenny. They both have lit cigars between their fingers. You had no idea Jacob smoked. He turns his head, and you suddenly feel self-conscious of where you've been.

"Done terrorizing the whole of Whitechapel?" He asks, but he doesn't sound unangry. Not that it doesn't stop you from worrying that he's simply putting on an air of calm. You quail and fiddle with the ends of your gloves, staring at your shoes.

"I apologize-"

"Think nothing of it," he says and comes over to pat your shoulder. "Debts need to be paid, and I appreciate you looking after my people. Your people now, too, I guess." Your people. You stare at Jacob and his toothy smile around his cigar, his hand still settled on your shoulder like it belongs there. You clear your throat and shrug it off, hurrying to the desk to note down when your debtors are supposed to send in their payments. It's mostly just to keep your hands busy.

Your people.

You've never really belonged to a group before. You exist in the gray strata between the middle class and the aristocracy, scathingly referred to as the nouveau riche by your would-be peers and mistrust by the working people of London, you belong nowhere. Unwelcome in the clubs and symposiums of the genteel, nor the pubs and coffeehouses of the mercantile caste. You didn't even have that many friends among the newly rich, either. Even for them, you were too… off. Violet Morvell was someone who tolerated you enough to call you acquaintance. Or so you thought.

The idea of having people is foreign and exciting, and terrifying all at once.

***

Your time at the brothel is well-spent. You buy yourself a math primer with the salary you get and brush up on your sums. With that knowledge in hand, you are brutally efficient with the finances of The Establishment. You set up a sign-in sheet and record every name that comes through the door, much to the patrons' shock and chagrin. The burly doorman you recently hired on is insistence enough they give you their real names, which in and of themselves are insurance. Occasionally he has to throw out a tirading customer, but they usually come back for their fix of unfortunate women. Sex, you suppose, is at the root of most vices.

At the end of the month, all four of your debtors turn their money into your capable (you hope) hands. You didn't have to visit them a second time — they either respect Jacob Frye too much, or they're too terrified of him to keep skimping on his money.

You begin educating a few of the girls on manners, etiquette, and how to properly play a pianoforte without sounding like they're torturing a cow. When you suggest that the brothel start serving tea and coffee to waiting customers, Ms. Jenny happily converts one of the rooms into a small kitchen. It makes more overhead, but in the end, the payout is astounding — it makes the patrons feel special, and men who feel special are pleasantly inclined to give more in terms of tips. Pun intended. Jacob would be proud of that one, you think.

It also attracts wealthier clientele, whom you are more than happy to charge extra for the pleasure of pretty company. The Establishment prospers with you holding the purse strings; you almost dare yourself to feel proud. The Rooks have taken to calling you bookie, of all things. Sometimes they even invite you out for drinks.

You've never had a nickname before. You think you might like it.

The English winter drudges on and turns into an English spring, and you settle into a rhythm. You moved into an apartment in Whitechapel, a nicer one (in comparison — it's still poverty when set beside how you used to live, but you think you're slowly acclimating to it) closer to work. You spend most of your time with Ms. Jenny and the girls anyway — most nights, you find yourself passed out at your desk until Ms. Jenny shoos you to a couch in a dark corner by the stairs. She begins to insist that you call her Jenny, just Jenny — but that seems like a breach to you, a line you're just not ready to cross yet, no matter how many times she covers you with a blanket and lets you sleep in the receiving room.

At the end of every month, you meet Jacob in a pub to hand over his cut and go over the ledger. He always lingers to talk with you after, and you've gotten to know him, you think. As much as you can know someone who somehow manages to head both a crime syndicate and an alleged, shady reactionary freedom movement. At least that's what you can glean from the whispered conversations he's had with you when you ask after it.

"I think I know that look," he says, pointing his glass at you, "what are you thinking about?"

Damn him and his sharp eyes — you really must be more careful about your expressions.

"I realize that I don't actually know you at all," you say, swirling your glass around in your hand to slosh the wine inside. Frye's response is a dry chuckle and little more than that, grabbing the bottle of wine and refilling his own cup. You know he's not partial to wine. You know he prefers milds to bitters and finds that lager doesn't have the malty taste he enjoys, but he drinks it when he goes to Evie and Jayadeep's. But beyond that? He may as well be a ghost to you.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he says. You watch him chug half his cup before he sits it down again, wipes his mouth, and clears his throat. You sit your glass down, a companion piece. You'd threaten to kick him over not savoring it, but the wine they serve here isn't worth savoring.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

"Hobbies?" He seems utterly baffled by the idea.

"You know — things you enjoy. That you do on your off time."

"I think it's so incredibly, endearingly bold of you to assume I have off time." He smiles and then leans his chin on the heel of his hand and makes a show of thinking. "I do enjoy a good game of cards."

"Does that count as a hobby?"

"Why wouldn't it? Not everyone can afford to learn croquet or whatever they teach at Fancy Lads and Lasses School for Fancy Lads and Lasses." That stings — you take a drink of wine to lessen the bruise that puts on your ego, and Jacob visibly softens with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. That was unkind of me."

"No — no, you're right." You look down at your hands, smooth and uncalloused, and rub your thumb against your palm to keep them busy. "I'm coming to learn that the world is very different from what I thought."

You don't know why you said it. Or why Jacob Frye touches his fingertips to yours after a long, pregnant pause. You startle, and you look up to see him with that softened smile.

"It's a lot to take in." He pulls his hand away; you find yourself missing the brush of it. Your fingers curl into your palms of their own accord.

"When did you first learn about all this Assassin and Templar business?" You ask.

"About four minutes after Evie, right out of the womb. We were raised in it. Our parents were both Assassins, so were our grandparents, probably their grandparents too. It's a good thing we keep dying young; otherwise, we'd be twice as inbred as Her Majesty and company." You gasp.

"That is the queen you're insulting!"

"She's a right shit old bird, is what she is," he plants a hand on his chest, looking wounded. "She almost took Evie's knighthood! Because we dared ask politely for her not to steamroll over all India and probably gleefully kick puppies in the process."

"Evie was knighted?"

"Henry and I too, but I didn't want the damn thing."

"You're a knight?" He curls his lip, topping up your glass and sighing. He nods his head as though it's a burden, and you snort into your wine glass. The dismay strangely suits him — he doesn't seem the type to want or even know what to do with a knighthood. You can't imagine him in a suit and medal either, no matter how hard you try.

You're about to ask him what his parents thought about him being here when someone grabs a chair and muscles their way to your table. You're pushed damn near into the wall, scowling and moving if only to keep your wine from spilling. You recognize the idiot who stuck his nose in — his name is Smith, and he's a bastard.

You've had to throw him out of The Establishment more than once; you'd entertain the idea that he has some sort of vendetta against you, but he's not worth the effort of thinking about. He downs his bottle of lager and sits it down onto the table, swaying in his seat. His eyes are bloodshot under the greasy, unwashed blond mop of his hair. He grins at Jacob with all his teeth after he greets him warmly. Loudly.

You cow in the corner as the whole bar turns to look at your table, trying to hide in your skin. For the most part, Jacob seems annoyed. Still, he greets Smith with the impatient smile of a father whose child interrupted an important meeting. You can see a muscle twitch in his cheek when Smith leans on you, his hand wrapping like an uncomfortable snake around your waist.

Your heart freezes, and every muscle you own goes rigid like stone as he spreads his palm over your hip.

"Didn't know you visited the Judies, boss! How much does ol' bookie go for these days? Gold or silver?" You grip your wine glass until your knuckles threaten to split, hot behind the ears as he leans in. His breath smells like a month's worth of stale beer. You fix him with your eye and pull your lip away from your teeth, speaking through a tight jaw. Usually, that is enough to get the handsy ones to back off; not tonight, apparently.

"You know very well that I work the desk. Nothing more, Mr. Smith."

"Yeah, with that stick up your arse, I bet you don't get many Johns. No room." He winks at Jacob, who simply sits and lets you wallow in your misery, the smile gone from his face. You look at him, pleading, as Smith leans even further in and plucks your wine glass out of your hands. You can't move. You can't stop him.

"Aw, c'mon, poppet! Give us a smile." Jacob grits his teeth until his jaw is white, a warning snarl curling his lip away from his teeth.

"That is enough, Smith."

"What? Boss, I'm jus' havin' a little fun. Hazin' the greenies, you know how it is." Smith turns back to you, leering ever closer, the rank of his breath falling across your cheek. "You're having fun, aren't you, darling?" The world melts away, candle wax as his hand travels down to rest on the outside of your thigh. You can only think of Thomas Fucking Morvell. His hand around your waist. It feels so suffocatingly like he's there instead of Smith, and something-

Something in you.

Snaps.

You think you might be seeing yourself outside your body, your hand wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle as you slam the motherfucker into his big mouth. It explodes in a haze of glass. The force pushes him backward, out of the booth, onto the floor, and he covers his bleeding face with his hands and screams, screams, screams.

"You stupid fucking cunt!" Smith wails more obscenities at you, but you aren't listening. Your ears ring. The bottle feels oh-so-right in your hands, perfect. Jacob stands when you do, eyes wide and eyebrows high, but he's not quick enough to stop you from straddling Smith's chest and grabbing his lacerated jaw with your hand. Glass cuts into your fingers. He stares up with one eye swollen shut with blood and the other ballooned in horror. You raise the shattered, razor-sharp bottleneck over your head. You feel like an animal.

You wish you could say something clever — but your teeth are pressed so tightly that your words wither and die at the pass. Smith shrieks when your arm falls towards his eyes in a violent arch.

Aren't you having fun, poppet? Gimme a smile.

Something firm and solid stops your arm and wrenches you up with so much force you spin, and the bestial part of you uses the momentum to try to punch out at whatever's caught you. You've never thrown a punch in your life, but by God, are you going to throw one now. Something grabs that arm too.

You force yourself to refocus, panting hard and covered in blood from a million tiny cuts, splattered in Smith's gore and stale beer.

Jacob is staring at you, holding your wrists tight and firm to keep you from hurting someone else — or yourself. Then, finally, the horror dawns on you that the bar — the entire bar — is staring at you. You drop the bloodied bottleneck; your chest feels like it's going to implode. And yet Jacob keeps staring.

"You," he says, more to himself than you, "are full of so many interesting surprises."

***

You are cleaned up, bandaged, and taken to a private room above the bar. You spend minutes (hours, feels like) pacing. Back, forth — back, forth. You chew at your bandages and lament that your nails are covered, gnashing like a beast to try and bite them to the quick.

When Jacob opens the door, you want to throw yourself at his feet.

"Jacob," your voice wobbles, your breath coming out in short gasps, "I am so, so sorry-" He cuts you off with a raised hand.

"No, I'm sorry."

...What?

Whatever for?

You stare in stunned silence while he rubs the back of his neck. "You were obviously uncomfortable, and he just — kept touching you. And I didn't stop him. I'm sorry."

"You — You told him to stop." You want to laugh. This is a trick — this has to be a trick.

"That is not enough." He sighs. "Considering I know what it feels like." He grimaces at the floor, arms crossed, and you collapse back to sit on the bare mattress, hearing the frame creak its protest under your weight. The two of you exist in oppressive quiet until Jacob pipes up from the door.

"But — that was impressive, back there. And you've shown a lot of initiative and drive these past few months. I think you should join us — the Creed." It sounds like a speech he's rehearsed for months, shocked into pulling it out now at the most inopportune of times. It's damn-near comical, but you can't bring yourself to laugh.

"Again, with your crazy cult of conspiracy theorists." You sag, running a hand over your face. "Fine. I'll join you. What else do I have to lose?" The silence that follows is awkward and strange, so you try to fill it with conversation. "What did you mean when you said you knew what it felt like?" Jacob leans against the wall, watching a patch of the floor behind you with great interest. It takes him a moment to speak, but he sounds distant. Weather vaned to a place in history far away.

"His name was Maxwell Roth."

"The old leader of the Blighters? The one that set fire to the Alhambra?"

"The very same." You try to conjure him in your mind from what you remember. You come up with a shadowed figure in a mask and a cruel grin; you only know that he was much older than the two of you. You pull your knee to your chest and block out the thoughts as Roth slowly mutates into a figure you know far, far too well, and hate far, far too much.

"I'm sorry," you mumble.

"Don't be — it was a lifetime ago."

"A year," you smile; it doesn't reach your eyes. "But those can feel like lifetimes, can't they?"

"Sure as the sun shits gold, are you right." He moves to sit beside you, his hands folded between his knees, back bent. "He — I loved him. At least I think I did, afterward. After he died. He'd call me darling and my dear, and he made me feel so — so damn good about myself — all the things I'd accomplished like I was special. But I think we both loved a man who was," he trails off, trying so hard to find the words. You finish for him, hauntingly familiar with the feeling.

"Different from who the real man was," you say. "You loved the image you had in your head." And afterward, Jacob fell in love with the nostalgia.

"Right." He pauses and then coughs, the tips of his ears red. "We never had sex. I mean, afterward, shit — yeah, there were men. But for Roth and me — he was just touchy-feely. I thought I didn't mind then, but looking back on it now…" You feel nausea coil in your stomach; it's like looking in a mirror.

You never would have known. Or maybe he's just not as broken as you.

But to hear that you're not alone — you can find some measure of comfort in that, even if you're horrified to see your doppelganger sitting by you. You ask Jacob if Evie knows — she doesn't. She never will, if he has anything to say about it; all she knows is that something changed when he killed Roth, maybe for better or maybe for worse.

You don't know what to do — so you hesitantly lean against him, hoping that you're a comforting weight. He lets you. You stare straight ahead to keep from crumpling like a paper crane.

"I'm glad you said yes," he says. "This isn't — it's not a life I ask you to join lightly."

"What do I have to lose?" You repeat yourself, finally feeling brave enough to glance up, watching Jacob light a match and catch fire to the end of a cigar — the same one he's been smoking for a week, you realize. He must be saving it. "Does your mother know you smoke those things?" Not that it'd make much of a stir — they're meant to be healthy for the lungs anyhow. It's just unfortunate about the smell.

"Didn't know her," he says, almost as a throwaway comment as he takes a deep drag of smoke. You jolt, the shock of it filling your bones. "What?"

"Nothing," you say, fiddling with the selvage of your bandages. "I simply realized that we have much more in common than I thought."

#dig yourself a hole #ac syndicate #jacob frye #m #general #multichapter #i will say. you DO get to hit someone in the face with a beer bottle in this one #catharsis <3

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