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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 3 years

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Not a Hero (Fellowship x Soldier! Reader)

Synopsis: You, a soldier of Gondor, place duty above all else. When Boromir starts showing signs of plotting against Frodo and the Ring, you take matters into your own human hands, which get a little dirty, and bloody, in the process.

AN: Really wanted to try writing something a little more dark and gritty, and voila! This is the result. I love Boromir so, so much, so this was difficult to write (styled as gender neutral, for all readers)

Warnings: depictions of violence

Pairings: none

You were a soldier of Gondor, which meant both duty and the protection of Middle-earth came first, above all else.

Like most other soldiers, you stood strong, in both mind and heart. However, also just like most other soldiers, you had an intense inclination to get your hands dirty, in the name of service.

Being the most promising in his ranks, Boromir had taken you along to Rivendell. This was where it all started to go downhill.

None could miss the malicious glint in Boromir’s eye, when he watched the Ring. More startling so, none could deny the growing glimmer of murder, when he laid his gaze upon Frodo.

It was nothing personal, and yet entirely so at the same time. Boromir was taken with the Ring, and coveted it deeply. You, for the most part, felt no attraction to the Ring. You perhaps would have, under different circumstances, but as mentioned before, your mind was set, and clouded, by one thing, and one thing only – protecting Middle-earth.

This meant that Frodo, and the Ring, were both under your sword and service. Like a typical soldier, you would strike without warning. You wouldn’t blink once, or think twice, if it fell under the obligation of your sworn duty.

The Fellowship, for the most part, respected this. You held yourself in a high esteem, and diligently shined the insignia emblem on your cloak every night.

Though their races differed from yours, and though yours was arguably weaker in mind, spirit and body, they understood your sense of responsibility. However, what they did not anticipate, was just how deeply that sense ran. In all honesty, it ran deeper than an icy river at night, and was alike, in many ways, to the chilling waters.

Deep, cold and dark – without so much as a shred of mercy towards those who fell in the rapids.

It most definitely first began with the glances Boromir gave Frodo, and then the time he picked the Ring up from in the snow. There were other instances, at camp, where he would sharpen his sword, and glare Frodo down.

The young Hobbit was understandably unnerved. In fact, the entire Fellowship began to walk on eggshells. Whispers began to resonate in the night, about how merciless the race of men truly was. None of them, even Aragorn, were true-blooded human beings. Their souls didn’t work the same way.

This, of course, only became more and more apparent, the more only Boromir fell into the web of Sauron’s luring promises.

With a hard-set jaw, furrowed brows and analytical eyes, you walked behind your captain. You kept your sights trained on him, as he discreetly stole glances at Frodo up ahead.

You all walked through the woods, and did so in silence. This, naturally, made the dark words playing on Boromir’s tongue all the more evident.

He spoke of curses towards Frodo, and darker threats you wished to not repeat. Your hand stayed on the hilt of your sword, at all times.

Boromir may have been your captain, but he did not stand in the way of Middle-earth’s fate. You simply wouldn’t allow it.

Tensions were at an all-time high that night, at camp. Boromir sat seething against a tree, whilst Frodo uncomfortably tugged on the Ring.

Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli had all shared worried glances, before they ultimately fell asleep that night. Two nights of walking without rest was enough to fatigue even the most tireless of the Fellowship’s elite.

You were given the night watch, and happily so too. You could observe Boromir throughout every hour of the dark, as he himself watched over Frodo.

It was a triangle of stares. Frodo nervously studied the ground, before he too drifted off. Boromir maliciously revered him, whilst you burned holes into the captain’s head.

It was only when Frodo began rustling in his sleep, when you leant back against your own trunk, and feigned sleep.

Frodo apparently heard the call of nature, and quietly rose from his sleeping bag, as to enter the woods alone.

Boromir, also having been resting, peeked one eye open. He coldly watched the Hobbit retreat into the trees, before he too rose.

You opened an eye of your own, and idly observed Boromir. He stood, silent as a creeping fox, and retrieved a pickaxe from a sleeping Sam’s rucksack. His weapon of choice that night, so it appeared. More discreet than a sword, that’s for sure.

Once assured that Boromir had walked away far enough, as to the point where your footsteps would not be heard, you swiftly rose.

On silent toes, you walked through the dark. You were younger, faster and agiler than your older captain, and were confident you could keep Frodo safe from harm.

Soon, you found Boromir in the woods. He stood holding the pickaxe, and hid behind a tree. Narrowing your eyes, you emerged into the area.

With a start, Boromir gasped. He then feigned humour, and placed a hand over his chest, as to still his beating heart.

“Y/n, you startled me,” he quietly said.

You didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, you merely only studied both him, and the pickaxe.

“A bit late for an evening stroll, is it not?” you flatly asked.

Kicking himself off from the tree, and lowering his pickaxe, Boromir glanced over his shoulder briefly. Once assured the Hobbit was not yet returning, Boromir turned his head back around, and focused on you.

“Indeed,” he chuckled. “I was merely only ensuring our young Ring-bearer made it back safely.”

Gesturing towards the pickaxe, with a nod of your chin, you snapped your cold eyes upwards to his, and questioned him.

“You need a pickaxe for that?” you knowingly asked.

At once, the friendly demeanour of Boromir dropped. You would have been scared, of his grinding teeth, clenched jar and murderous eyes, had you not been a soldier. This is what you were trained to handle, and handle you would.

“Must I really wear a façade around you, soldier?” Boromir asked through gritted teeth. He stepped forwards, and met you chest to chest.

Barely stumbling back once, you squared your shoulders, and coolly met his glowering eyes.

“What façade do you wear, captain?” you bit back, ever using an even tone.

This caused something to snap inside of Boromir, like the breaking of a red thread previously hanging on. He spoke in low, hasty whispers, and growled down at you.

“We are the only humans in this Fellowship, Y/n,” he seethed. “More to the point, we are the only two from Gondor! You ought to understand why I must do this – I do this for our people, and our prosperity! We need the Ring, Y/n. Help me.”

Your face remained cool, as you stared up at him, with detached eyes.

“No, Boromir,” you flatly denied. “The Ring must stay with Frodo, and us with the Fellowship. Our duty is to our continent, not just our kingdom. We are sworn to our cause, and we mustn’t forsake that.”

“Look at you,” Boromir seethed again in disgust. He ran his eyes up and down your form, and scrunched his nose in disdain. “You are nothing but a loyal dog, blindly following orders – orders that do not even come from your own captain, but Elven filth instead! I will do this without you-“

As he had gone to turn away, and track down Frodo, you kicked the backside of his knees.

Fumbling for just a moment, Boromir lost his balance. At the same time, you swiped the pickaxe from his hands, and held it threateningly.

Turning around, with an even more enraged glint than before, Boromir panted heavily. He revered you in betrayal, and voiced so aloud.

“You are pathetic!” he growled. “You will damn us all! You will damn Gondor!”

“I’m doing this for Gondor,” you replied, for once allowing a snarl of your own to crawl through.

It wasn’t long after, that a brawl of sorts took place. The fight consisted of thrown fists, deep kicks to the abdomen and swinging arms. It then wasn’t long after, that the pickaxe became heavily involved.

Time passed both quickly and slowly, as you stood, hunched over, above Boromir. One swing after another, and blood spurted everywhere. It got onto your face, into your hair and up your nose. Worst of all, it entered your mouth. You could taste the rust of your sin, but simultaneously, the success of keeping Middle-earth safe, for one more day.

However, slipping your attention, Frodo, having returned from his short journey, watched from the shadows.

He winced and trembled, with every blow you delivered to the man’s pulped face. His eyes were wide in horror, as he heard the sickening crunches of metal meeting bone.

Soon, your duty was done. You stood above Boromir, and panted heavily. Even though it was only seconds later, you barely recalled the event. In fact, it simply seemed like a cold white blur, rather than a reality of the past.

You soaked in the sounds of the forest for a few moments – grounding yourself again. Wind blowed through the trees, owls hooted and bugs zipped past.

You stared down at Boromir. He was barely recognisable. A glimmer of guilt flashed through your chest, but was chased away by your soldier’s conscious.

That night, you had taken to a little creek nearby, as to rinse yourself of the blood. You left the pickaxe on Boromir’s body as you did so – perhaps a little frazzled from the event, which was still fresh in your numb mind.

So, on your way back to camp, you quickly bent down, and retrieved it. Frodo observed you, at the late hour it was, as you discreetly slipped the pickaxe into your bag, before leaning against your tree-trunk again.

The next morning, all had felt the sombre presence of death in the air. It hung around like a bad omen, and tainted the wind with malevolent intent.

Frodo barely said a word to you, for he didn’t know how to. He knew he had to say something, but by the heart of him, he still couldn’t believe it to be true. Part of him figured it to be a bad dream. However, the shrill shouting of Gimli soon told him otherwise.

All gathered around Boromir’s fallen body, and grimaced in terror. Who could have done this, they wondered?

“Orcs,” Legolas whispered, keeping his haunted eyes on Boromir’s fallen body. “We must be getting hunted by them at night…”

“From now on, we double the night-watch,” Aragorn ordered. He revered Boromir in guilt. If only he himself had stayed awake, then perhaps this travesty wouldn’t have occurred.

Whilst Merry, Sam and Pippin all teared up in distress, you watched on with cold eyes – completely detached. Aragorn noticed this, but said nothing.

That day, a funeral pyre was lit. Soft words of apology were said, before Boromir’s body was burned.

Frodo hated how the fire of the funeral reflected in your eyes. Every irk of duty was illuminated within your gaze, as you forced yourself to watch on. It was your responsibility, you told yourself, your duty of service.

Travelling that day was done so in silence, and done so faster than ever before. All except you, now thought Orcs to be hot on their tails. Well, all except you, and Frodo.

As sundown approached, and gave way to darkness once more, clouds overtook the sky. A heavy rain began to fall, and drench the woodland camp.

Everyone put their hoods up, and shielded themselves from the wetness of night. You had decided to announce the need of more firewood, and wandered off into the woods – alone.

Frodo watched you with terrified eyes, as he most certainly remembered what had happened the previous night, when you did the same thing.

Aragorn sat on a log nearby, trying feebly to stoke the dying fire. He saw the Hobbit’s distress, and uneven panting. Whether or not Frodo shivered from fear or cold, was unknown.

“Frodo,” Aragorn gently extracted, earning not only the Hobbit’s attention, but the entire camp’s. “Are you…alright, Frodo?”

Swallowing his nerves, and looking between both the ranger and forest, Frodo battled with his inner conflicts. However, the need to tell someone of last night’s horrors overwhelmed him, and with a swift rise of his feet, he fumbled towards your sack.

What he revealed to everyone at the camp, stunned them entirely. The mood dropped, into one of horror, and their uneven breathing was drowned out by the rain.

Not long after, and you returned, with an armful of logs. As you entered the camp, you spoke. However, you soon stopped, following the Fellowship’s hostile reaction.

“I apologise for the wait, it proved difficult to find dry wood,” you explained, glancing at the group.

Everyone stood around Aragorn, and snapped their attentions back at you, the second you reappeared, and spoke.

Unsettled by their presence, you knitted your brows. Making a move to place the firewood down, you questioned both them, and their silence.

“What’s going on?” you curiously asked, walking over to the fire, as to dump the logs.

Dusting your hands off, you squinted in the rain, as you looked back at Aragorn.

After sharing a dubious glance with both Legolas and Gimli, Aragorn brought the pickaxe forwards. You stared at it in quick shock, but placed your own tough façade on.

“Where did you get that?” you slowly asked.

The pickaxe was covered in blood – Boromir’s blood, to be exact. It’d take a fool to not trust Frodo’s frightened words, and the clear evidence.

As they stood in a huddled group at one end of the camp, and you alone in another, a tense exchange of words took place. The rain pelted on, and drenched everybody, like miserably drowned rats.

“Did you borrow this?” Aragorn tensely asked, shaking the pickaxe in gesture. However, when you didn’t respond, he questioned you again, although, his tone shone in more desperation – coveting answers. “Why did you not tell us?”

You analysed the weapon briefly, and the blood that coated it. Looking away, and studying the ground momentarily, you replied. Your jaw was set again, and your brows hardened.

“I was going to,” you sincerely replied.

Finding that you said no more, and planned not to, Aragorn shook his head – completely at a loss.

“Why would you not tell us what happened?” he pressed again.

Legolas, Gimli and the Hobbits all nervously looked between one another, as the tension in the air rose – akin to frogs in boiling water.

“I couldn’t,” was all you could offer, with another aversion of your briefly lifted eyes.

“You killed him…you killed Boromir,” Gimli stated, in a manner of shock. Sure, he didn’t appreciate Boromir, not in the slightest, but this…this was something else. This was murder.

Everyone knew it too. This was something their divergent souls couldn’t comprehend, nor fathom. The Elvish heart of Legolas sunk with dread, whilst Gimli’s Dwarven one brimmed with horror. The Hobbits’ filled with desolation, and the Dúnedain blood of Aragorn ran cold.

You had murdered Boromir in a way only a human could – bloody, brutal and cold. It was simply unnatural to the rest, and their lack of comprehension quickly frustrated you.

“He was going to kill Frodo,” you defended yourself, narrowing your gaze down at Gimli. “Was I supposed to just let him?”

“I don’t think you were supposed to do this,” Merry retorted, shaking his head in shock, whilst his eyes remained wide in disbelief. “None of us are…”

You started incredulously for a moment. Shifting your weight, you further narrowed your gaze, and bit back with an increasing tone.

“Do you think I had a choice?” you defensively asked.

“There’s always a choice,” Legolas rebutted, creasing his own brows.

That was the final straw for you. These beings, so high and mighty above your own human blood, were belittling you, for something only you could muster the strength to do.

“Well, I can’t do what you can, archer!” you snapped, raising your voice. “Nor can I do what Gimli does, or Aragorn, or even the Hobbits! I know you wouldn’t have done it – you probably would have just figured something out, correct?”

Though the question was aimed at all of them, Aragorn answered. Most by now had flinched in retreat, for the human before them ticked like a timebomb.

“I’d try to figure something out…” Aragorn mulled, with a voice ever-so tentative.

“Right! Because you’re Aragorn, the Dúnedain!” you barked again, now most definitely able to be heard over the rain, with a series of defensive hand gestures pointed at the soaked ground. “But not all of us can be Dúnedain, or Elves, or Hobbits, or Dwarves! Some of us have to make mistakes! Some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes! Some of us are HUMAN!”

Your words intertwined with the harsh rain, as cold beads ran down your face, and past your enraged eyes. You stood as defensive as a cornered snake, which, in that moment, the six non-humans all considered your race to be.

“So, that means you had to kill him?” Gimli asked again in response, hardening his own tone. However, horror still ran deep along his inflection.

Flaring your nostrils in anger, your eyes burned brighter. They weren’t appreciative, and simply didn’t understand what it meant to be a human soldier. You weren’t raised in a cosy Hobbit-hole, nor an Elven palace or Dwarven mountain. You were raised in the army, and consequently, a killer.

“Yes, I had to kill him,” you tightly said at last.

With one last clench of your jaw, you leaned forwards, and lowly uttered a final response out.

“You’re welcome.”

With that, you moved back to the campfire, and began placing log after log onto the flames. And, just like only a human birthed from primeval men could do, you, and you alone, restored the fire.

Left standing in shock, the six beings all stared between one another. This was one cultural difference that didn’t quite sit well with them. However, the killing had been among the race of men – human to human. Who were they to inflict their differentiating ideologies onto you?

Pure humans were something entirely different, indeed, and none knew if they liked it that much.

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flowers-of-io · 3 years

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Shockwave

Read it on AO3 here.

It is thirty-six hours later when the shockwave hits.

The Stranger—Elisabeth—let them stay in her camp out in the frigid nowhere, just a tiny round cabin with a bed and a table. She has driven off into the blizzard for supplies, and Eris quietly notes the subtle sign of trust that was leaving her and the Drifter alone in her personal space. It is cosily warm inside, well-insulated Braytech door keeping the cold out. She can see the snowstorm raging on the other side of the glass, white and blue and violent like the power crackling in her fingertips.

They sit on the opposite sides of the table, an old radio between them fighting through the snow to catch any signal that might slip through. Between the cracks of static and scraps of broadcast, there is silence.

This is the first time Eris has really sat down, stretching her back and legs aching from the hike. Between her mad escape from Io and what happened in the City, and persuading Zavala and the flight to the Jovians, she did not have time for as much as think. Head spinning as she danced from one purpose to the next, time slipping past her, reality squirming and bending. She has not slept in a long time.

The radio hums and Zavala’s voice pierces through, cracking and out of context. “…confirmed that Io, Mars, Titan, and Mercury have disappeared. We don't know why. We have lost contact with Deputy Commander Sloane and Gensym Scribe Asher Mir. We are deploying…”

She cannot hear him anymore.

Realisation hits her like a train at full speed. The assailed planets are gone. Her beloved, sacred Cradle, the Tree of Silver Wings – they are gone.

Sloane is dead. Asher is…

She has known. Since he squeezed her hand goodbye, and his red shadow began to darken her door every night, she has known what choice he would make and struggled to respect it. But it was too calm of a sorrow, she realises now, like leaves falling upon a grave, and she did not wail or claw her fingernails against the sandstone. There was still a thread of stupid hope, one that she hung upon by the little finger and refused to admit it, refused to acknowledge she believed there was still a chance, an unfinality of loss possible to revert. That threat is strangling her now, sharp and merciless, and Eris struggles to suck in a breath.

Drifter moves, his heavy coat rustling as he slouches forward towards the radio. He stares at it intently, silent, until Zavala’s voice is drowned in static again.

“Guess our pals kicked the bucket,” he says with such tremor in his voice Eris is not even angry.

She turns the realisation around like a bitter pill in her mouth, sticking fingers into the wound to get used to the pain. It is best constant, she has learned long ago, rather than the sudden spikes when she would touch the hurting place inadvertently. She digs deep to find some visceral core of horror; she imagines Asher dead in a hundred atrocious ways, his body broken and dismembered, crushed into red pulp, blew apart from the inside in an eruption of sizzling radiolaria. The deeper she reaches now, the safer it will be to sleep – the images familiar and predictable, horrent with spikes she already knows the placement of.

Skittish thoughts propel her to run off into the storm, let the blizzard lash her skin with an icy whip and scream until her larynx bleeds, until she cannot hear the din in her mind anymore. But she will not lose her composure. The days of punching walls and hollering into the night are long past her, shed along with the skin of chitin and blood she had been wearing for too long. She has only just started to bloom again—she will not allow it to trample the gentle scaffolding she has so arduously put up to hold her. She will not break.

Somewhat absently, she can see Drifter staring at her from across the table but her brain is screaming too loud to process it. He must have noticed some change on her face, or maybe how her hands started to shake and fiddle with the beads hanging by her belt, because he keeps his eyes on her—cautious, searching. As if looking for a handhold to grab and drag her out of the pit of horror she is thrusting herself into over and over.

“You saw it coming?” His voice seems to echo from far away.

“I should have,” Eris murmurs, nausea swelling up in her throat. “I should have persuaded them… I should have been there.”

In a desperate attempt to chase off the fuzz of thoughts hurtling through her mind at lightspeed, she stands up and regrets it immediately; the horizontal axis of her vision rotates by thirty degrees and she leans on the table with her full weight for support. Drifter stirs, then reaches out but she waves him off.

She can manage. She has been worse. It’s just another arrow to the same knee—does it make any difference?

She thinks about how her bloodied fingers traced the letters she had never sent to the people she would never see again. Piles of ink-stained paper, trembling sentences seeking comfort and asking forgiveness of the shadows she projected in her mind instead of the real flesh and bone. Real was too frightening, real could judge and shun her, real required a vulnerability she was terrified to reveal. She dreamed of a day when she would be steadier, braver—her hands no longer flinching away from touch, her words bold and sure of themselves—when she would send the letters out, confident of the fearful affection they disclosed. The correspondence she had truly written to herself.

Scrap-sentences circle in her head, squirming into her ears and eyes and mouth slithering between her teeth bitter like poison. Everything she will never tell him, one more thing the paranoia took from her, all the honest words and quivering confessions she feared to account for and how he will never know how she loved loved loved—

Staggering, she slumps onto the cot. Guilt is burning acidic in her chest and she cannot keep from shuddering any longer, burying her face in hands and smearing the ichor all over her cheeks. These eyes cannot cry and oh how she wishes they could, remembering the warm release of tears streaming down and tasting salt on her lips. There is only the black ooze now, seeping into her mouth and ears as she sleeps, drying on her eyelids and sticking them shut with a black wax seal. She is shaking so wildly her back hurts and tries to stifle the wail that creeps upon her lips, threatening to escape instinctively like a held-back breath.

The letters she never sent; alas, the promise had been made. She should have been there.

She had sworn.

The mattress dips down beside her, a movement she hardly registers. Only when an arm wraps itself around her loosely, a tentative loop for her to lean into or move away from, do the floodgates truly break. She curls up against Drifter’s chest and starts sobbing, dry and ugly sobs like frantic gasps for air above water.

He caresses her back, slow and soothing movements of a warm hand against the fabric of her cloak. Eris can hear her own wailing resonating through his ribcage.

“I should’ve been there,” she mumbles, her jaw trembling so hard it is difficult to push the words out.

“I know you were close,” Drifter hums, “but what use would be for you to die there? It’s not like you could’ve done anything.”

“He would comfort me in my darkness… and dying… I could not.”

He shifts and Eris feels his other hand gently press against her head. It is soft and warm and comforting, enclosing her in this tight dark space like in a blanket fort. It helps her slowly calm down until she is not heaving anymore, shivering only from time to time with leftover sobs.

“There was a kid in Eaton. A place I used to live,” Drifter says when her breathing is almost steady, “Taught her to fly a kite. Once it got stuck in a tree, almost at the top, and she climbed all the way up to get it. I asked her if she wasn’t afraid of falling.” There’s gentleness in his voice, one she has never heard there before. “And she said she wasn’t, ‘cause she knew I’d catch her if she did. Knew I’d save her.”

His thumb rubs gentle circles against her temple, lulling her, and Eris struggles to stay focused. She is too exhausted to think, and a terrible headache has begun to settle in, hammering against her sinuses, and Drifter’s tone is deep and calming, as if he was telling a bedtime story.

“When Eaton burned… when she took a bullet and stumbled and fell… I caught her. But I couldn’t save her.”

“At least you were able to offer comfort… One last time.”

“And did it change anything? She’s dead anyway.” Drifter shakes his head, a rustle of cloth sounding so odd with her ear partially covered. “You did what you could, sister. Don’t beat yourself up for it.”

The guilt will not subside until many, many moons later, and it is still gnawing at Eris’ bones in this moment, but the sharp, blinding fear has somewhat subsided into a dull ache. Maybe it is the catharsis of crying, or the initial shock having tumbled past, but an odd haziness overcomes her and her strained muscles begin to ease. The terrible weight of the loss is still dark and grim – she dreads to acknowledge it, fears the moment she will have to look under the cover and face it in all its irrevocable finality, yet for now it sits tucked away somewhere in the corner of her vision, present but bearably distant. For now she is warm and safe and breathing.

They do not speak more, just sit in hazy silence as the storm rages outside.

#bring tissues this is sad #am i over asher's death four months later? nope #character death tw #destiny 2 #my fics #eris morn #the drifter #asher mir #bad coworkers #cousins #gensym scribe #eris morning #sad man from the basement #destiny 2 fics

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years

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Best Part of Me -Chapter 41

Warnings: mention of mental health issues

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @ocfairygodmother

She stands in the doorway that leads from the house into the garage, watching him as he works. Just three hours ago those hands -so big and strong, calloused and scarred, powerful- had been patiently and gently braiding his little girl’s pigtails; securing them with ribbons. Now they inspect a variety of automatic and semi-automatic weapons; stripping them down, cleaning every individual piece, then expertly putting them back together. His movements are methodical and efficient; never hesitating, never second guessing, just fluid, effortless motions of a man with years of experience behind him.

It’s been years since she’s seen him THIS intense. A level that only comes with the game; memories of past jobs and the things he’s had to do to survive and the knowledge that he’ll have to resort to them in the near future. His lips set in a thin, stern line and his brow furrowed with both concentration and worry; eyes dark and focused. Haunted, even. A man whose fractured and tattered brain holds very vivid recollections of the things he’s seen and heard. Whose hands know what it’s like to take the lives of others; whether through hand to hand combat or with the squeeze of a trigger. It isn’t an easy thing to do; even when your own life is in danger. You always wish there’s another choice; one that won’t result in bloodshed and death. You kill out of necessity, not desire or enjoyment. Not because you thrive on the snapping of bones or the sight and full of someone else’s blood covering your hands and body. Not because you ‘get off’ on the sick thrill of watching someone take their last breaths; seeing hope and then life drain from their eyes. You do it because if the shoe were on the other foot, they’d be rejoicing in your demise.

There ARE mercs like that; who have become accustomed to killing. Desensitized. Physically and mentally enjoying the brutality and the finality. She’s witnessed it first hand; those that brag about their kills (the more gruesome the better) while their eyes glitter with victory and excitement. But that’s not Tyler. It never has been. The reputation of a merciless, savage, stone killed killer being built upon hearsay and other peoples’ expectations on what he SHOULD be like. She’d known he was different right from the start; the moment she’d stepped foot into that shack in the outback and actually engaged laid eyes on him and engaged with him. She’d gone into that meeting with that reputation and all the gossip and stories fresh in her mind; preconceived thoughts and opinions that had initially clouded her judgment. She’d been surprised -pleasantly- to discover he wasn’t what other peoples’ running mouths had put into her mind. Much younger than expected. Far more attractive. With those blue eyes that held so many regrets and so much pain. Guilt. Even. So troubled and haunted; a man with deep, buried trauma and secrets. And she’d been the fortunate one; who’d gotten him to open up and let his guard down. Who’d helped him learn to trust -and more importantly, to love- again.

This is the old Tyler. The one standing in front of her now. The one that’s focused on the job and everything that comes with it. His personality is different; closed off, irritable, unapproachable. Yet she knows how to deal with it. With HIM. She’s walked on the particular batch of thin ice before; learning how to take the extra ‘edginess’ that creeps into his voice, the up and down moods that encompass everything pure and utter calm to volatile rage. She’s the one person who can engage with him during those moments. Confident that he’d never do or say anything to intentionally hurt her. It’s the nature of the beast. That bad that comes with such an unpredictable and dangerous existence.

“Is it okay to come in?” she asks. And when he looks up and glances towards her, she notices how his features momentarily soften; the creases on his brow disappearing, eyes lightening, a small smile curving his lips.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re just so into it. I didn’t want to bother you. Or get in the way.”

“Babe, you could never bother me. You know that.”

His words -and the obvious change in tone and demeanour- help quell her own anxiety and frayed nerves. It’s been a hell of a forty eight hours. The last half being especially stressful; ews of more threats and the upcoming arrival of Saju’s brother (who’d insisted that the only safe way to speak was to do so face to face) and both Nathan and Koen planning on coming to temporarily bunk with Ovi in the guest house. It’s just too much, too soon. And trying to fake ‘normalcy’ for the sake of children is not an easy thing; exhausting both physically and mentally.

“I come bearing gifts,” she says as she walks through the garage, the cement floor cool against the bottom of her feet. In one hand she holds a plate of food; filled to the edges with reheated leftovers from last night, in the other a bottle of water. “You haven’t eaten much since yesterday and I know how you get when you don’t fuel up properly. Where do you think Millie gets her ‘hangriness’ from?”

“That’s all you.”

“Please. You get so bitchy and ragey. And I don’t want to put up with that, so…” she offers him the plate. “...eat. Please. You can’t run on an empty tank.”

“You worry too much.”

“So? I worry. It’s what I do. You think you’d be used to it by now. Humour me, okay? I’m trying to take care of you here. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m not a child.”

“No. You’re not. But you ARE my husband and I love you and I just want to baby you sometimes. So swallow some of that pride and toxic masculinity and let me do it. Stop being so difficult, Tyler James.”

He smirks at her use of his full name. “You’re stubborn.”

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black. You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a lot of stubborn people. I’m trying to take care of you. It’s who I am. Do you want to make me cry?”

“Never.”

“Then shut the fuck up and eat something.”

“You know what..” a slow grin spreads across his face. “...you’re a pain in my ass.”

“It’s a very nice ass, though.” she praises, and he lays a hand on the small of her back and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“Yeah? Well yours isn’t half bad either,” he says, his hand sliding down to tightly grip one of the cheeks through the fabric of her shorts; pinching lightly as he kisses her. Long and slow and soft; her body rising up onto her tip toes and then leaning into his. “Thank you.”

“I don’t want you to ever say I don’t do nice things for you,” she teases. “I swear if I hear one negative out of you…”

“I’ll be nice,” Tyler promises, and then takes the plate of food from her. “You do spoil me. I’ll give you that. You good?”

“I’ve had better days,” she admits. “I’m a little...on edge. This is all happening so fast and it feels like I can’t even catch my breath. And then I see you in here doing this…” she nods in the direction of the table filled with weapons and plastic containers packed with various supplies scattered about. “...I didn’t think this would all happen so soon. It’s a little...overwhelming.”

“I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t have to.”

“I know. I’m not blaming you at all. It’s a messed up situation all around. And I know you’re just trying to protect us and I love you so much for that. I do. It just hurts. Watching you like this. Seeing the Old Tyler come back.”

He gives a nod in response, both brows arched.

“Not that I don’t love that Tyler because that’s the Tyler I fell in love with in the first place. It’s just scary. Thinking of you getting back into things.”

“You’re worried that new Tyler won’t come back.”

“A little, I guess. It’s okay with them both hanging around. But I don’t I’m ready to deal with just the old one. It doesn’t make sense, I know. But it’s how I feel.”

“It’s going to be okay,” he assures her, as his hands move to her side and he places a kiss on her temple. “He’ll come back. I promise.”

“Let’s just concentrate on what’s right in front of us,” she suggests, attempting to be more cheerful. “We have our weekend coming up and then Millie’s birthday. Normal stuff. I need that right now. Normal. Our version of normal, at least.”

Tyler nods in agreement; kissing her once more before giving her ass a final squeeze and a light tap before carrying the plate of food to the work table across the room and perching himself on the edge. He watches her as he eats. The way she slowly circles the table, eyes thoroughly scanning the various weapons; some cleaned and complete, others still in pieces. Old habits die hard, no matter how many times you attempt to kill them off. This had been very much her life as well; time in the corps, time on the job. Their skill sets vastly different; her the brains behind a mission, him the brawn. But it’s still ingrained in both of them. And it fills him with both a sense of pride and sadness. Proud how strong and intelligent and resilient she is; knowing what she’s capable of and all the people she’s helped rid the world of and the lives she’s had a hand in saving. But also disheartened that she even HAS to revisit her former existence. She’d been more than willing to give it up, content in her decision to be a wife and a mother and concentrating solely on those things. And now her old self is making an appearance and he absolutely hates that for her. That she even has to think about anything job related, never mind the threats that have been made towards not only them, but their children.

“I don’t know who the guy is that gave you these things, but he is no rookie,” Esme comments. “It’s quantity AND quality. I don’t know I want to know how much you shelled out for all of this.”

“He owed me. A huge debt I could have collected on over the years but never did. So this is how he paid up.”

“Someone you were supposed to kill?”

“Something like that. People wanted him to suffer. Thought it made more sense to keep him in one piece.”

“Good call. He’s obviously a guy you want on your team. There’s more where these came from?”

“If I need more I just have to ask. That’ll cost me though.”

“How much?”

Tyler shrugs. “Haven’t discussed stuff like that yet. I thought you wanted normal. Because this...you...not normal.”

“This used to be. Normal,” she reasons. “The normal me.”

“It doesn’t have to be anymore.”

“It’s just kind of hard not to fall back into old habits. I figured as soon as you decided to get into it..to start a business...some of it might come back.”

“It doesn’t have to come back for you,” he points out.

“We’re a team, remember? Partners. Not just in marriage and being parents. In everything.”

Her fingertips skim over the barrel of an automatic rifle and he sees the look in her eyes; one he’s recognized some days when he glances in the mirror. The look of someone who has seen too much. Things a regular person can’t even begin to comprehend.

“What you take on, I take on.” she says.

“It doesn’t have to be that away.”

“It SHOULD be that way,” she argues, then sighs heavily and yanks her hand away from the gun, as if it’s dangerously hot to the touch and has scalded her skin. “Is it okay?” she asks, and then forces herself away from the table, nervously wringing her hands together. “The food?”

“It’s perfect. Didn’t realize I was this hungry. Thank you. You’re a good little wife.”

She sidles up next to him, placing the bottle on the table and leaning stomach first against the edge. “I try. That’s what matters right?”

“Baby, you do more than try. You get shit done.”

She gives a small smile, “You think they’ll be okay?” she asks, as her fingers absentmindedly pick at the label on the bottle of water. “The kids? While we’re gone?”

“We’ll only be gone three days.”

“It only takes a second for things to go to shit.”

“It’s not like we’re leaving them alone to fend for themselves. Ovi will be here. Nathan, Koen. The neighbor and her people have their eyes and ears on things. They’re in good hands. I’d be the first to say you’re not going if I thought otherwise.”

“It’s the first time leaving Addie for even an hour,” Esme frets. “I didn’t think I’d be this nervous about it. It’s not like she’s my first.”

“You’re a mom. Moms worry about their babies. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first or the last. It’ll be okay. THEY’LL be okay. We’ve got good people taking care of them. I wouldn’t leave them with just anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t. You don’t even like leaving me with just anyone and I’m an adult.”

“And we need this. Some time away. Just us.”

Esme nods in agreement. “You realize we haven’t been anywhere together...without kids...in seven years?”

“We were in Dhaka,” he teases.

“Dhaka does NOT count. We didn’t even really know each other then. And no, Tyler. Knowing someone’s favourite sexual position and where their G spot is does NOT count as knowing them. Regardless of what you think.”

“We went away for the weekend after we got married,” he reminds her. “To Byron Bay.”

“I was pregnant with Millie so technically we weren’t alone.”

“Still acted like honeymooners though.” he grins. “Even with a baby in you.”

“We still act that way,” she laughs. “And it’s been six and a half years since we got married.”

“Six and a half? Feels like sixty,” he chides.

She frowns.

“I’m teasing,” he says, and leans in to kiss her. “That's a good thing though, yeah? That we still want to fuck each other as bad as we do?”

“It’s flattering. I mean, I’m not exactly the same person I was when we first met. I definitely don't look the same.”

“Neither do I.”

“But you just get better with age,” she laments. “I just get worse and worse every day. I’ve just become more of a mes. And not a hot one either.”

“Stop. Stop talking like that. I fucking hate when you do that. I wish you could just see yourself the way I see you; if you just saw yourself for one second through my eyes. And maybe you’re right. Maybe it does make me biased because I think you’re the most beautiful woman on earth. Because I think you’re cute and sexy and everything and anything in between. But it doesn't make it less true. I wish you’d stop tearing yourself down like that. Because it fucking kills me inside and I don’t know what more I can do or say to make you see yourself like I do.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she admits, her voice trembling, eyes welling with tears. “I just haven’t been ‘right’ in what seems like forever. Since before Addie was born. Maybe even before Declan. I thought maybe it was just postpartum and that it wouldn’t go away on its own. But now I realize it’s been there and it’s getting worse and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Stop talking like that.”

“But there is though.” Esme insists. “There’s something wrong. I don’t know what is; I just know it’s there. It’s always been there. Just sometimes it doesn’t bother me and other days it does but I just cope with it and deal. I don’t know what it is or how to stop it and just feels like it’s choking me and it’s trying to take over. And I don’t want it to take over.”

Placing the nearly empty plate of food beside him, he reaches out and lays a hand on the back of her head. Drawing her into him; spreading his thighs as she stands between them, her head coming to rest on his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. If she even wants him to say anything. So he opts for silence. One hand still on her head, the other on the small of her back; securely holding her place, feeling the way her hands tightly grip the back of his shirt.

“And it’s not you,” she speaks through tears. “I know you’re thinking it is. That it’s you and it’s getting back onto the job and all the stuff with Mahajan and the neighbour and all of that.”

“It doesn’t help.”

“But it’s not that. And it’s not you. You’re the only thing that feels right and makes sense any more. It’s like there’s something or someone sitting on my chest and squeezing my heart and it just keeps getting tighter and tighter and I can’t breathe. It’s like I’m drowning and I can’t save myself. Or maybe I just want to save myself. Maybe I just want to take over and then I don’t have to deal with it anymore.”

“Don’t talk like that.” It’s a plea; raw and emotional. Torn apart inside by hearing those words come out of her mouth; feeling the tears that soak straight through his shirt.

He’s been there. That deep, dark place that threatens to swallow you whole. You know you should be fighting like hell to scratch and crawl your way out of it, yet it seems so much easier to give in and let it take you. It’s tiring: physically and emotionally. All you want is relief. Even if it is permanent. But to hear her talk that? The one person who’d crawled into that dark place with him and helped him out of it? It’s a pain like he’s ever felt before.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says. “I can’t battle my own mind like this. I’m tired.”

“I know you are.”

“And I can’t be a good wife and a good mother like this. I know I can’t. And you’d better off and they’d be better off it…”

“Don’t,” Tyler orders. “Just don’t. Don’t even say what I know is coming next. Because it’s not true. It’s never going to be true. I need you. And our kids need you. So don’t ever think otherwise.”

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. One day I feel fine and the next I feel like this.”

“There’s a lot going on,” he attempts to reason. And none of it is good and it’s making everything else seem a lot worse. We’re dealing with a lot of shit and…”

“And now I’m moaning and crying to you and you have enough to deal with. You don’t need me being a whiny little baby on top of it. You've got enough on your plate. You don’t need this crap too.”

“Didn’t you just say ten minutes ago that we’re a team? That we’re in this together?”

“I didn’t mean this. I meant what you’re dealing with. Not my stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid shit,” Tyler argues. “It’s very real and very scary shit.”

“But it’s MY shit.”

“It’s OUR shit. You’re more important than any of this other crap. You’re all that matters. You and the kids. Everything else can wait until we figure out what to do for you. You don’t make me deal with all my mental crap alone. Why would I make you do it by yourself?”

“I don’t know why I feel this way. I shouldn’t. I have a great life. I have you and I have beautiful, healthy children and I’m in this amazing country and everything should be perfect. I should be happy. And I AM. It’s not about you or the kids…”

“I know it isn’t. You don’t have to explain any of this to me. I’ve been there, remember? I’ve been in this place. Many times. And you’re the one that always gets me out of it.”

“But what if I can’t get out of it? What if it’s too late?”

“It’s never too late,” he assures her.

“And what if I don’t want to get out of it? What then?”

“That’s just your brain talking shit. That’s not you talking. You’re the last person who would just give up. Just take a breath and try and relax. Don’t think about a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

She sniffles. “That’s pretty deep, Tyler.”

“I have my moments.”

“I’m sorry.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “For what?”

“Being like this. For being fucked up. This is NOT what you need right now. You have so many other things to worry about and I’m just making it all worse.”

“You’re the only thing that matters to me. You should know that by now. Everything else can wait.”

“Maybe we do need to go away.”

“That’s not a maybe. That’s a definite yes.”

“It just hurts,” she admits. “But I don’t know what hurts. Or how to stop it from hurting.”

“Are you taking your meds?”

“That’s a turn of events,” she gives a small laugh. “You asking me that.”

“Are you? Taking them?”

She nods.

“You promise.”

“Every day, same time of the day. Maybe they’re not strong enough.”

“Maybe you need to call the doctor. Or the therapist.”

“She’ll want us both to go in. And I know you hate going there. And it will just make you miserable.”

“But if that’s what would make YOU feel better…”

“I don’t need to go see her. I’ll be fine. It’ll go away. It always does.”

“And it always comes back,” Tyler points out.

“Maybe I just need those three days away. Maybe I need that time alone with you. God, that makes me sound like a horrible mother. Like I can’t stand my own kids and I can’t wait to be away from them. Like…”

“You know what?” He takes his face in his hands. “Stop. Everyone needs to get away. Even from their own kids. We have five under six. If anyone deserves a break, it’s you.”

“I appreciate you stroking my ego and trying to make me feel better. I do. But…”

“Just stop,” He presses a kiss to her lips. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve got a shit on your plate. That I put there.”

“Okay, YOU stop now. This isn’t about you, Tyler. This is me and my fucked up brain and…”

“And we’re going to deal with it. You think just any woman could deal with what you do? Not just five kids but everything else that you’ve got going on? Me and my bullshit? The job? Mahajan and all the Dhaka crap you’ve just still going up there? You think just any woman could put up with all that?”

She swallows noisily. “I guess not.”

“You’re the strongest person I know. That I’ve ever known. I love you and I need you and I don’t ever want to hear you say I don’t. That I’d be better without you. You know where I’d be without? Dead. That’s a maybe. And I’m not just talking about what happened on the bridge. That was the start of it. There’s been tons of times since then that you’ve kept me going. So I don’t want to hear that shit come out of your mouth ever again. Understand me?”

Esme nods.

“Regardless of what your brain tells you. I need you here. My life is better because you’re in it. I wouldn’t even have a life if it wasn’t for you. In more ways than one.”

Her smile is brighter now, her grip on his shirt loosening. “You really are getting sappy in your old age.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just love you and I don't want to do this life without you.”

“I love you,” she says. “You have no idea how much.”

“It’s fun to guess.”

“I don’t think you can count that high. It’s tough for a guy who has to drop his pants to count to twenty one. Good thing you never lost a finger or a toe.”

Tyler grins. “Smart ass.”

“I do love you. Maybe I loved you too soon. But it felt right and it felt perfect and I don’t regret it. Not for a single second.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, and then her lips; thumbs clearing away the few remaining tears. “It’s going to be okay, baby. You’re going to be okay.”

“You know what would make me feel better?”

“If I went down on you?” he chides.

“Well yeah, that’s an obvious answer. But maybe that can wait until later. It would make me feel better if we could get out of here for a little bit. Just go into town for a while. Just us. I can get Ovi to watch Declan and Addie and we can just do whatever.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I gotta pick up something anyway.”

“What kind of something?”

“Something that’s none of your business. A surprise.”

“For me?”

“Maybe…”

“How will it be a surprise if I’m with you?”

“Stop giving me a hard time. I’ll distract you with ice cream.”

“Now THAT’S a good idea. Do you think you can spare some time? I know you’ve got a lot going on and…”

“I’ve got all the time in the world for you. I’ll just finish up here and lock everything up. It’s nothing I can’t do later.”

“AFTER you go down on me,” she teases.

“I promise I will do that first.”

“I’ll hold you to that. I’m going to freshen up. I probably look like shit.”

“You’re beautiful,” he informs her. “Even when you cry.”

“You really are the most biased husband on earth. I won’t hold it against you though.” She places her hands on his shoulders and stands on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I won’t be long.”

“Maybe you can find a pair of jean shorts and a yellow tank top,” he says, as she heads for the door.

She pauses on the threshold. “I was going to save those for our first day away. So I can be wearing those in the shack and you can be having serious deja vu.”

“And getting a serious hard on.”

“I don’t think Koen would appreciate you living out your kitchen table fantasy.”

“He doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

She grins. “I like the way you think. No wonder I married you. Smartest and best decision ever.”

“I knew your ex, remember? You definitely traded up.”

“I definitely did,” she agrees.

He sighs heavily as he watches her go. Never remembering a time he’d felt this helpless.

****

He’d forgotten how nice it is when it’s just the two of them. Even something as simple as holding hands while wandering through the downtown core or leisurely browsing in stores and window shopping at others; sitting on a bench and ice cream while chatting and people watching. Little moments that so many take for granted and that he’d never realized he’d missed so much. Aside from a three day honeymoon (if it could even be called a honeymoon) in Byron Bay, the only time they’ve ever been truly alone was in Ireland after she’d arrived to help out with the Michael McMann fiasco. There’d been no kids to interrupt them and they could actually eat their meals together and have conversations where they could actually listen to what the other was saying; give one another their unwavering attention and concentrating on each other for change. He’d missed his kids, naturally. Terribly. But there’d been something...special...about that alone time with her.

For six years they’ve put all their excess time and energy into raising a family. To the point they’d almost forgotten about what it was like to exist outside of that. Only a year before they’d been strangers getting to know one another in Dhaka; in the most carnal way possible. Shortly after, everything had gone to complete and utter shit and he’d woken in a hospital bed with tubes and wires coming out of what seemed like every inch of his body and he’d been so relieved to see her sitting there. As if his brain had desperately wanted her to be there when it woke, and was terrified she wouldn’t be. And then they’d found out she was pregnant with Millie and they were suddenly living together and struggling to learn how to co-exist as a couple and expectant parents. It hadn’t been easy. There had even been times he’d wondered just what the hell he’d gotten himself into it. There was no way he was capable of being a husband and a father; carrying too much baggage and far too damaged for her to actually tolerate for too long.

Five kids later and she’s still hanging in there. Putting up with him even on his worst days and always looking at him like he’s the most incredible man on the entire planet. Always trusted; always feeling safe and secure and confident in his ability -and willingness- to protect her. And he’s not sure what he must have done in a precious life to deserve her, but he knows it must have been pretty damn good.

“Do I get to see what’s in there?” Tyler asks, when she emerges from one of the women’s shops with a paper bag -complete with ribbon around the handles and pink and purple tissue paper sticking out the top- clutched her chest.

“Nope. I told you. I was buying something for when we went away.” She’s back to her normal self, or at a semblance of it. The colour back in her face and the sparkle returned to her eyes. And as much as she’d hate to hear him say it, she looks cute. With her hair in a simple ponytail and just the slightest touch of eyeliner and mascara making those huge eyes stand out even more. Clad in a simple cotton sundress dotted with black with yellow, pink and blue flowers.

“For me?”

She nods. “For me but for you at the same time. It’s a surprise.”

“A sexy surprise or…”

“I’m not telling you. Will you tell me what’s in yours?” she nods at the purchase he carries; a much smaller bag from the jewellry store three doors down.

“It’s not from me. It’s from the kids. They want to give it to you.”

“It’s from you. Don’t lie. Why do you want me to think it’s from the kids?”

“Because I don’t want you calling me cute or soft or romantic or any of that shit.”

She cocks her head to the side. “Is it cute and romantic?”

“Esme…”

She grins. “Tyler…”

“You give me a hint and I’ll give you one. Deal?”

“Fine. It’s two pieces.”

“What color is it?”

“You don’t get to ask questions. You said I just had to give you a hint. I gave you one. Now you get to wonder what it is for the next three days. What’s my hint?”

“It’s something you wear.”

“That’s a shitty hint!”

“It’s something sparkly that you wear.”

“Where do I wear it?”

“You don’t get to ask questions either. There’s two things, actually. One is from me, the other IS from the kids.”

“Two surprises? My birthday isn’t for two months. And it’s past Valentines Day and not even close to our anniversary. So you’ve either done something really bad or about to do something really bad and want to try and soften the blow.”

“Or...maybe…” he lays a hand on her hip and pulls her into him. “...I just wanted to do something nice for you. Maybe I thought you deserve nice things and I don’t always come through with them.”

“I don’t need ‘things’. You know that.” She’s never been a materialistic person; agreeing to marry him without even an engagement ring and not once, in six and a half years, ever mentioning the desire to have one. She’s simple and low maintenance; happy with just that rose gold wedding band and that weathered and frayed bracelet he’d bought off a vendor at the market in Dhaka. Seven years ago.

“I know. But I want you to have things. Don’t argue with me about the things.”

“Well I like the things?”

“I think you’ll love the things.”

Both her arms wrap around his waist, two fingers on one hand hooking around a belt loop on his jeans, and her eyes sparkling as she smiles up at him. “As much as I love you?”

“I don’t know. How much is that?”

“A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“As much as Millie loves glitter and unicorns. Times a million.”

He grins. “That’s a hell of a lot.”

“You can’t compete with that. You can say you love me more but there’s no way. There’s no way you can love me more than THAT.”

“I love you more than your son likes hot dogs in his spaghetti.”

She laughs, her forehead falling onto his chest. “Okay, you win. Nothing can top your namesake’s love for that. I will never debate you again when you say you love me more.”

“You never stood a chance,” he drops a kiss on the top of her head and then lays a hand on the small of her back.

It’s both loving and protective without being overbearing. The desire to keep her safe is the strongest it’s ever been; eyes constantly surveying the crowd even in their own small town. Anxious to keep her as close as possible even as they walk the familiar sidewalks; pulling her tightly into his side or even bringing her in front of him if he feels someone passes by a little too close. And it’s on one of these occasions, when he draws her into his right hip, that she feels the press of his holster against her.

“Really?” she asks.

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“You really they’d try anything with all these people around? And never mind that, do you really think someone could be watching us right now?”

“Michael McMann was watching me for a week in Guatemala and nearly two in Colorado and we had no idea.”

“But Salena..Allison...said they were keeping an eye on things. That they’d contact us if they heard of any close by threats. It thought these people were still in India.”

“That’s what she said. Who’s to say Mahajan doesn’t have contacts that already live here.”

Esme frowns. “Have you noticed anything weird.”

“Nope.”

She stops walking. “Tyler…”

“Just keep walking okay. Walk in front of me.”

She stares at him pointedly.

“Please? Just walk in front of me. I’d feel better if you were in front of me.”

“There’s someone watching us right now isn’t there.”

“I don’t know for sure. So just do me a favour…” he places his hand back on her hip and guides her in front of him, then moves his palm to the back of her neck. “...just walk. Normally. Don’t rush. Just pretend that everything’s fine.”

“Oh God,” she grumbles.

“Just a guy that’s been every place we’ve gone. Seems a little too interested in what we’re doing. Always looking away when I catch him watching us. He’s mostly looking at you so it could be just some fucking asshole checking you out.”

“Why would anyone check a woman out while she’s with her husband? Especially a husband that’s built like you?”

“He’s a pretty big guy.”

“Bigger than you?”

“Not by much.”

“Not by much? You're six three and you weigh two thirty five. That’s big enough!"

“It’s probably nothing. Normally they don’t like to call attention to themselves.”

“Who’s they?”

“Bad people. Usually they’re not that noticeable. He’s just been a little too...I don’t know...around.”

“Maybe he’s checking you out and thinks YOU’RE the hot one,” she teases.

“Stop here. I want to stand with your back against me and pretend you’re taking a selfie but you’re really taking a picture of him. Okay?”

“I haven’t done shit like this in a while,” she frets.

“Just relax and do it. Trust me.”

Sighing heavily -and nervously- she leans with her back pressed against his front and takes his cell phone as he offers it to her. Plastering a fake smile on her face in hopes of not seeming suspicious. The man in question passing by mere seconds later; at least three inches taller than Tyler and maybe twenty pounds heavier. He doesn’t even glance in their direction; not even the slightest bit of side eyes or a glance over his shoulder as he continues down the sidewalk.

“Get it?” Tyler asks.

She nods and turns and tucks his cell phone in the pocket of his jeans.

“Good job, baby,” he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Good job.”

“Can we go home now?” She’s dangerously close to tears; entire body trembling. “I want to go home now.”

“It’s okay.” he lays a hand on the side of her face. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I just want to go home. Please take me home.”

“Okay,” he says, then kisses her softly before wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her in the direction of the truck. “We don’t have to leave. It was probably nothing. Just me being paranoid.”

“I regret all the times I ever called you that.”

“Three quarters of the time I WAS being paranoid.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“Calm down. Everything’s fine. YOU’RE fine. I’ve got you. Nothing’s going to happen to you when I’m with you. You should know that by now.”

“Let’s just go home. I’ll feel better when I’m home.”

“Alright. I’ll get you home.”

She snakes his arm around his waist and leans into his side; head tucked under his arm. “It’s going to be okay, right? We’re going to be okay?”

“We’re going to be just fine,” he assures her. And hopes he sounds more confident than he feels.

#tyler rake #tyler rake fan fic #tyler rake fan fiction #extraction #best part of me #chris hemsworth character

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sftyyoongi · 5 years

Text

“stubborn”

request⇀ Sooo can I request for a Jungkook smut where you two have angsty sex because you two were just arguing about religion earlier because you two have different views on it (weird shit ik) and like he shows you that you two can still be together despite that difference because he can fuck you over pretty good skdkfjsjhfd because he knows you're secretly still a slut for him and him only--- (let there be alot of degrading too)

pairing⇀ jungkook/reader

genre⇀ smut

warning⇀ pwp, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected sex, slight degration, both the reader and jungkook are stubborn bitches, lots of arguing

word count⇀ 1,682

You’re fighting again. It’s become a routine recently. You can’t say why, but both you and Jungkook had grown very stubborn. Arguing over little stupid things. Today’s topic was, oddly enough, religion.

“I’m just saying that it doesn’t seem that realistic.” Jungkook shrugs, closing your apartment door. You two had been hanging out with the rest of the boys when this subject came up. A few of them were talking about how they practice a religion, and you happened to mention that you didn’t really believe in that sort of thing. Jungkook then got mad, saying that you never told him this and you had suggested to take the conversation elsewhere. So here you are.

“Like yours is that realistic either.” You quipped as you remove your shoes, trekking deeper into the home. You’ve been arguing ever since you left the dorms, and now you just want to rest. But, of course, Jungkook keeps going.

“Well at least my beliefs give me something to have faith in, you just want people to think you’re smart.” Ouch. And this is how the fights end. One of you say something particularly hurtful and then you ignore each other until the other apologizes. Which takes a while considering how stubborn you both are.

You narrow your eyes at him before turning and heading to your bedroom.

“What? Are you mad now? You’re not exactly the innocent one in this argument either.” Jungkook declared before following you. You sit on the edge of the bed and cross your arms, tilting your nose up, trying to look as annoyed as possible. Jungkook sits behind you, running his hands up and down your arms. “Come on, baby.”

You shake his hands off you before standing, turning to look at him. He’s sporting a pout, most likely trying to guilt you into forgiving him. You don’t back down. “Don’t call me that, I’m upset with you.”

He stands before you, seemingly towering over you. But you don’t back down as you glare up at him. He touches you again, this time putting his hands on your hips, shoving his face into the crook of your neck. He runs his tongue up the side of your neck before biting your earlobe, leaning in to whisper, “Don’t be mad. I can make it up to you.”

“Sex isn’t the answer to everything, Jungkook.” You bark but don’t make a move to push him off. He nips at your neck before pushing you back on the bed, positioning his body between your legs. In this position, you can feel his arousal. You roll your eyes. How does he always manage to get turned on at the most random times?

“Really? So you don’t want this?” He punctuates his words with a hard roll of his hips, causing you to let out a quiet moan. Curse your hot boyfriend who can always get you in the mood. He lifts his head from your neck at the sound, smirking. That son of a bitch knows how hot he gets you. “That’s what I thought. So shut up and take it like a good little slut, yeah?”

You whimper at his words before nodding your head. He kisses up your neck before meeting his mouth with yours. You open your mouth immediately, wanting to feel his tongue on yours. The kiss is hot, aggressive, fast. Teeth hitting teeth and tongues swirling together. He pulls back and stares at your already fucked out expression.

“I love this mouth of yours, you know that?” He rests his thumb onto your bottom lip and you instinctively take it into your mouth. He groans, watching you suck his finger like your life depended on it. “Gonna put it to good use, yeah?”

You understand what he means, sitting up and waiting for him to make the first move. He stands from the bed and watches you get onto your knees before him, your hands shooting up to unbutton his jeans before freeing his hard member from the material. You take him into your mouth, using your hands to cover what your mouth can’t. Jungkook’s sounds encourage you to keep going, his moans and groans, an occasional gasp. He’s always been a vocal lover and you adored that about him, the noises he makes sounding like music to your ears.

“Fuckkkk... that’s so good, baby.” He runs his hand through your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. He begins to rid himself of his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Your jaw starts to ache but you keep going, wanting to make him feel good. He pulls your mouth off of him by your hair, staring into your eyes. Your hand continues stroking him as you look at each other. He breaks the eye contact, throwing his head back with a groan. You kiss the tip of his length and he grabs your hair with a fist before shoving his length into your mouth again. This time, he fucks your throat. You grab at his thighs while he continues to use your throat.

He begins to slow his movements, loosening his grip on your hair before taking himself out of your mouth. You look up at him and wait for his next move, watching as he fights to catch his breath. He takes one last deep breath before lifting you up to take your mouth with his. The kiss is slower this time, gentler. Jungkook pulls back to look at your face.

“God, you’re so perfect. So good for me.” He kisses your jaw before pulling your shirt over your head, unclasping your bra when the shirt is out of the way. He trails his mouth all over your neck and chest, nipping and sucking, definitely leaving marks.

He kisses you on the mouth one last time before pushing you towards the bed, laying you down on your back. His head travels south as his hands in unbutton your shorts before pulling them down, along with your underwear. You sigh as he kisses your inner thighs his mouth touching everywhere except where you need him the most. Jungkook finally kisses your bundle of nerves, causing you to gasp as you writhe beneath him. He grabs your hips before nipping at your inner thigh. “Don’t move.”

Seems like he’s still mad, even though he has no right to be. You’re the one that should be mad. First he insults you then he somehow made you forget all about it. Your previous anger comes flooding back into your mind and you close your legs. He doesn’t deserve to taste you if he hasn’t even apologized to you yet.

“Seriously? You’re still mad after you just swallowed my dick?” The nerve.

“You’re the one that was gushing about how much you loved my mouth you perve.” You snapped before sitting up.

“I’m a perve now?” He sounded offended. What a baby.

“Yes. You get a fucking boner in the middle of our fight? What’s wrong with you? The only way that could possibly turn you on is if you were a perve.” You cross your arms, fully annoyed with Jungkook now.

“It’s not my fault your fucking hot! Sometimes I just can’t control it when I’m around you, fuck!” You can’t deny the rush of heat that stirred in your core at his words, causing you to squeeze your thighs together. The truth is, he has the same affect on you. And he definitely noticed it.

“Can we just talk about this after? I really want to fuck you right now.” He pleads, rubbing your thighs with his hands. You scoff before turning onto your hands and knees, not wanting to see his stupid perfect face while you do this.

“Just get it over with.” You can tell he wants to say something but decides against it at the sight of you wiggling your ass in his face, patience running thin. He grabs your hips and positions himself with your entrance. You hold your breath in anticipation before he finally slides in, inch by inch. He doesn’t wait to let you adjust when he bottoms out before ramming into you again, causing your arms to give out and your face to fall into the sheets. Jungkook grabs your hair as he continues to drill into you, his pace merciless. You start to meet his thrusts in the middle, the room filled with moans and groans and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“F-fuck, Jungkook.” You moan out when he begins to draw circles into your clit, pulling your body up against his chest. He wraps his hand around your throat as you arch your back.

“Is it good, baby?” He whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck- so good..” your whole body is hot as you clench around his length. He can tell you’re close, pushing you back into the mattress to pick up his pace. His thrusts into you so hard and it’s so good that you’re glad he’s holding you up because at this point your bottom half doesn’t work at all.

“I’m c-close, Jungkook.” You warn him as you limp your body entirely, letting him use you. He changes his thrust to a slower, deeper pace, hitting all the right spots.

“Gonna come, baby? Gonna come all over me like the slut you are?” You whimper at his words, practically crying at how good he feels inside of you, “Then do it. Come all over me, baby...”

So you do. Your whole body tenses as the euphoric feeling passed through you in waves. It’s so good that you don’t even notice he’s cumming too, feeling you up to the brim.

You both collapse after you come down from your highs. Breathing heavily as Jungkook rolls onto his back beside you. You both sit there for what seems like forever before Jungkook finally says something.

“I love you. And I really am sorry.” He conceded, putting his hand on your cheek. You smile, leaning into his palm. “I know.”

a/n⇀ my first one shot! it’s a lot shorter than I planned it to be but I really wanted to post it. keep requesting guys:)

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scrawnydutchman · 5 years

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“There’s Always More Show”; A Bojack Horseman Essay

It’s about time I talked about one of the finest ongoing shows in animation right now. I. LOVE. Bojack Horseman. I must have binged the whole series 5 times at this point, and it’s rare for even my absolute favorite shows to get me to do that. The dialogue is so poignant I have entire exchanges between characters burned into my memory. The jokes and societal commentary are so on point that many lines have gotten me to burst out laughing among company.The characters themselves are so complex, so filled with depth, that they are all well deserving of their own analysis. The writing is SO tight and the storytelling so consistently engaging that I hang onto every little detail. I swear they foreshadow events from as late as season 4 and 5 as early as season 1. Even it’s animation, while admittedly pretty primitive character rigging with a handful of noticeable errors, takes some amazing creative liberty at times, particularly with subjectivity in the drug trips. While the art design has taken a few people off guard for it’s blinding colors and it’s premise has discouraged a less open minded audience with it’s animal-human hybrids living among people, those who stick with the show will get a sophisticated while simultaneously wacky romp that is both the silliest and most real show you can watch right now. So with a show this dense that has characters this deep, there are many themes it tackles such as the perpetual meaninglessness of existence or the pursuit to being a good person, but there’s a more central theme Bojack keeps bringing up which I’d like to talk about.

Oh and, uh, Spoilers incoming for Bojack Horseman . . . obviously. Get Netflix and watch all of this show right now before reading. seriously. But for those reading who don’t care about spoilers but are interested in what makes Bojack so great and may like to watch it themselves, here’s a brief summary:

Bojack Horseman (played by Will Arnett) Is a horse-man hybrid living out the so called “glamorous” life style in Hollywood, Los Angeles (later called “Hollywoo” in the series for reasons I won’t spoil here). Out of work, out of shape and out of touch, Bojack wastes away his days in sorrow as a past-his-prime actor who goes day to day being disrespected. Back in the 90s he was the star of a very famous “full house”-esque sitcom called “Horsin’ Around” and he longs for the days where he was in the prime of his life, but nowadays he mostly just sits around the house watching old reruns of his show. He constantly struggles with depression, dependancy on narcotics . . . and the ongoing guilt he feels for every shitty thing he’s done in life . . . and as viewers will no doubt find out . . . Bojack has a LOT of baggage. He finds new friends in life like his responsible ghost writer of his memoir Diane Nguyen (played by Alison Brie), his easygoing freeloader and best friend Todd Chavez (played by Aaron Paul), his happy go lucky Labrador rival Mr. Peanutbutter (played by Paul F. Tompkins) and his workaholic pink cat agent Princess Carolyn (played by Amy Seradis). The show centres around his ongoing relationships with these people as well as their own journeys of self discovery . . . and the occasional wacky schemes. Through his surrounding positive influences can Bojack learn to grow past his personal demons? Or will his shitty tendencies and depressing outlook permanently spoil the lives of the people closest to him like he so often fears?

Spoilers begin NOW

In what is perhaps my favorite episode of the show, episode 6 of Season 5 titled “Free Churro”, Bojack gives an improvised eulogy for his recently deceased mother . . . and that’s it. The episode is just a full 20 minutes of Bojack talking about his dead mom . . . and struggling to find anything positive to say about her. His mom was nothing but cold, hard and abusive to Bojack his entire life and Bojack laments about how he never received a single loving gesture from his mother for as long as he’s known her . . and now that she’s dead that chance is permanently gone. In his ramblings, he mentions an episode of Horsin’ Around in which the writers juice the idea of main cast character Olivia leaving the show for good, only for her to be written back into the status quo, because as Bojack puts it

“Of course that’s what happened, because what are you gonna do? Just not have Olivia on the show? You can’t have happy endings in sitcoms -- not really -- because if everyone’s happy, the show would be over, and above all else the show has to keep going. There’s always more show. (And) You can call Horsin’ Around dumb, or bad, or unrealistic, but there’s nothing more realistic than that. You never get a happy ending, because there’s always more show.”

That right there sums up the entire ongoing struggle of every character in this show. In many ways, Bojack Horseman the Netflix series is like a typical sitcom turned upside down. You have an ongoing setup of colourful, over the top characters doing outrageous things for our amusement, and in a lot of ways they’re actually terrible people but they’re just SO endearing that we have to keep tuning into their antics. Much like how an average Friends episode is about every titular friend trying haphazardly to cover up a lie for 20 minutes when their problems would so easily be over if they just had the maturity to be honest about how they’re feeling, characters like Bojack, Todd and Mr. Peanutbutter are always up to something silly whether it’s poorly covering up a lie or coming up with elaborate sabotages for selfish ends. But there’s one core difference. In Friends, everybody forgives each other in the end. In the gritty and merciless world of Bojack Horseman . . . every wrongdoing has long term consequences, some of which can never be forgiven.

Bojack’s antics especially cause permanent stains on his relationships. When he sabotaged Todd’s rock opera by getting him readdicted to a video game so he wouldn’t leave, he permanently makes a wound in his and Todd’s relationship. He only makes it worse when he has sex with Emily, Todd’s best friend and kinda-sorta girlfriend. Todd had faith in Bojack early on in the show, but he makes it apparent later on that the less he has to do with Bojack the better off he is. Todd’s an easygoing friend that can forgive easily, but Bojack really tests his patience. As he said once he found out Bojack had sex with Emily

“You can’t keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it okay. You need to be better.”

In the luxurious yet phony and superficial world of Hollywoo, everyone has an outlook on life as if it’s a sitcom. The center of mass produced film and television has everyone believing in achieving against the odds, amending their wrongs in the end and getting satisfying conclusions as if the credits of their very own movie will roll any second. But real life keeps on hitting these characters like a truck, as if to say “there is no happy ending , you aren’t the main character and the harm you’ve caused is permanent. Get used to it.” Bojack gets his hard hitting reality more prominently than anyone. He keeps looking for backdoor solutions to his pain like getting back with Charlotte, starting a new Horsin’ Around spinoff, finding meaning far away from L.A. or straight up finding solace in drugs, but every solution to his search for meaning ends in him hurting somebody else even more. He has to separate the idea from his head that shitty things like nearly sleeping with your old friends daughter is just a wacky sitcom hijinks situation, and that the guilt he feels is just an ongoing conflict he feels every day. He even tries at one point to get forgiveness from his old show writer Herb Kezzaz after betraying him, only to be greeted with Herb saying

“No. I’m not going to give you closure. You don’t get that. You have to live with the shitty thing that you did for the rest of your life.”

Sometimes Bojack will go to more silly extents for his so desired “happy ending”, like humming his own credits as he embraces Sarah Lynn when she comes out of rehab.

But as screwed up as Bojack is, he’s not the only one who’s mind is warped by the empty promise of a “happy ending”. Diane Nguyen, for as much as she comes off as the moral compass of the show who isn’t afraid to call anyone out for their bullshit, is what I like to call “Bojack lite”. While she’d be grossly offended by the accusation that she’s anything like Bojack, she shares a lot of his toxic traits. Sure, she’s not actively life ruining for anyone, but she has a tendency to harshly criticize people as a means to deflect any criticism towards herself and she often manages to find the negative connotation to even the best of situations. Also, she struggles with getting drunk a lot too, which is often enabled by Bojack. Diane makes a lot of rash decisions in her life hoping she’ll find some sort of “happy ending”. She married Mr. Peanutbutter longing for a simpler, more laid back life for she just settles down with her loving husband. However, unwilling to keep up with Mr. Peanutbutters love for spontaneity and grand gestures, she ends up divorcing him, deciding instead to try and find solace in being her own woman who doesn’t need a mans affection to be happy . . .but that leaves her empty too. Every time she gets what she asked for, she ends up having to fight all the challenges that go with it, and those challenges end up obscuring her vision of that made her want that thing in the first place. She thinks it’s something wrong with her, like she just can’t ever be satisfied.

“Why can’t I be happy? Am I busted?!”

If we’re comparing each Bojack Horseman character to standard sitcom fare, Mr. Peanutbutter likely comes the closest to fitting the mold of what we expect from a likable television comedy protagonist. Everyone loves him. He’s endearing, he’s funny, he’s sweet. He makes silly mistakes but has a good heart, and even if he does touch some raw nerves along the way he can usually win his audience back with some sort of grand gesture. If Diane is Bojack Lite, then Mr. Peanutbutter is the yin to Bojack’s yang. They live virtually the same lives to a point where Mr. Peanutbutter even got famous off of what is blatantly a knock off of Horsin’ Around, The key difference though is that while Bojack is incurably pessimistic, Mr. Peanutbutter is obnoxiously optimistic, and why wouldn’t he be? He sees the good in everything and everyone and manages to get his way shearly through people loving him. He never has to learn anything because nobody ever challenges him. But that precisely is the rub. Mr. Peanutbutter is a cautionary tale about what would happen if you DID get that life full of happy endings and comfortable conclusions. Much like how many a sitcom protagonist never learns to tell the truth or to take responsibility for their own health, Mr. Peanutbutter never grows past his mistakes. It’s why he always does grand gestures for Diane despite her repeating several times that she doesn’t like them. It’s why he keeps dating women much younger than himself. It’s why he keeps getting divorced. He never takes any kind of long term lesson from what happens to him and never evolves as a person. Nowhere is this more prominent than in Season 5. Whenever Mr. Peanut butter does something wrong, he’s usually blind to the responsibility he must take to it. He either dismisses it as somebody else being mean or unreasonable or he makes an empty promise to not do it again. But for the first time ever, he partakes in betraying somebody he cares about. After divorcing Diane and getting with Pickles the Pug waitress . . . he has sex with Diane again behind Pickles’ back. This time there’s nobody to blame but himself . . and he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that he did an unforgivably shitty thing. In fact, he’s the least equipped character to do so in the whole show. He even pleads for Diane to break the news to Pickles and tries to force a silver lining by getting back with Diane as a result of it. In the season finale, when Mr. Peanutbutter has to tell the awful truth and knowingly hurt somebody close to him . . .much like a sitcom character, he instead pulls a happy ending out of his ass and decides to propose to Pickles instead. He actively decides not to do the tough, but right decision, and thus does not evolve. This is especially interesting in the finale because, for the first time ever, Bojack is a step ahead of Mr. Peanutbutter when it comes to committing to making things right. After Bojack nearly strangles Gina to death on his drug high, he turns himself into rehab with the help of Diane and starts taking real steps to self improvement. In contrast, Mr. Peanut butter . . . is just up to his same old tricks.

You wanna talk about reaching that sitcom happy ending? It’s all this workaholic cat ever thinks about. Princess Carolyn leads life with the philosophy that with enough grit and go-getter attitude you can make anything happen for yourself . . . and to an extent that actually serves her pretty well. She gets out of her hick town to pursue her dreams as an agent and whenever the other characters are knee deep in their own mess she’s always the one with the solution to get them out. She compulsively helps people while refusing to take help for herself because . . well, she wants a happy ending . . .but she wants to be the one responsible for it. She had an opportunity as a kid to have everything in her life decided for her but once she had her miscarriage and that dream fell apart, she instead decided to pursue a career in the big city. She made tons of sacrifices to get where she is including leaving her own mother, and she’s also afraid of falling into the same trap of dependency she almost fell into as a kid again. That’s why she rejects Ralph Stilton’s offer to help her with her adopted baby, even though he’s irrefutably the best boyfriend she ever had. Time and time again Princess Carolyn will willingly be pushed right up to the edge before she accepts any kind of help, because she thinks doing so is a sign of weakness. She keeps herself motivated with fantasies about that wonderful happy ending, whether that means living in a cottage in a beautiful painting or succeeding enough that some future ancestor can give her class a family heritage report all about what a great ass kickin’ gal she is. While Princess Carolyn is definitely the most well adjusted and most durable to the constant hustle and beating down of reality, she’s got her own toxic tendencies as a result of thinking she’s a main character. She thinks she’s got to do everything on her own . . . . and if she doesn’t get past that insecurity soon, it may swallow her whole.

At long last we come to mr. Todd Chavez, the endearing little brother of Bojack Horseman’s family of main characters. Upon first glance, Todd seems the least prepared for life’s harsh reality out of all our leads. He’s a 20-something year old with no real job, no real responsibilities and no real goals in life. He’s very upfront and honest about how he spends his time, be it spending all day watching Youtube videos . . . or building a knockoff Disneyland. And yet, when we analyze him with the thesis that these “sitcom characters” are all trying to get by in a cruel and merciless world, we suddenly realize that ironically . . . Todd grows the most naturally out of everyone. Bojack lets Todd down time and time again and rather than accepting status quo as God like many a sitcom character might do, he takes it upon himself to distance his relationship with Bojack. He initially has faith in Bojack to be better, but doesn’t beat around the bush when he’s lost his faith in him. When he realizes that he was nothing in common with Yolanda aside from being asexual, he breaks up with her before prolonging the painful inevitable. The cast of Bojack Horseman go through their share of changes in what they want and who they want to be, but Todd is always the one who knows what he needs and makes an honest effort to be better. He’s surprisingly wise for an adult manchild flunky. But he gets up to wacky sitcomish schemes too, about as much as Mr. Peanutbutter (who is often his partner in crime with these things) . . . yet even then through his ernestness and cuttthroat honesty he manages to overcome better than the other characters.

Conclusion:

*decided to include this gif because i love the animation in it*

Hollywoo is a world of sitcom characters pulled out of the TV and trying to get by in everyday life under the harsh, uncompromising grip of reality. In a culture so entrenched in it’s ideals of maintaining superficial likability and celebrating yourself no matter what you do or who you hurt, each character’s mind is warped into buying the illusion that for how screwed up they are there’s a happy ending waiting at the end of the horizon for them. They all deal with it with different levels of success. Some take change in life with stride like Todd. Some think they found their happy ending but only remain empty like Diane. Some get everything they ask for and thus never evolve and never better themselves like Mr. PeanutButter. Some cling on for deal life as they get everything thrown at them, believing that they’ll be rewarded in the end, like Princess Carolyn. And then . . . some are a depressing cocktail of all of those things. They have opportunity land at their feet and think they’ve finally done the thing that will preserve them, only to find themselves empty. They work through the pain in their life hoping that at any point they’ll get some grand gesture or reward that makes everything they endured worth it, only for that chance to become officially non existent. But occasionally . . . very occasionally . . . they do something wonderful and heartfelt and sincere that maintains a glimmer of hope for their capacity to be better. That is Bojack Horseman. Bojack hurts the people closest to him much like his parents did. He remains bitter and sad and petty and self important . . . but he IS better than his folks. He’s like his late mom . . . only for him the grand gesture really does come.

But as Bojack says

“The grand gesture isn’t enough. You have to be consistent. You have to be dependably good. You can’t just screw everything up and then take a boat out on the ocean to save your best friend or solve a mystery and fly to Cansas. You need to do it everyday, which is so . . . hard.”

The truth is, all of these characters, even Bojack, have the potential to be better as long as they deconstruct their worldview shaped by watching television. They have to rid themselves of the illusion. The illusion that there’s some great happy ending that’s going to make all the pain worth it. The only ending in life . . . is death. Until then, there’s always more show. Time’s arrow neither stands still nor reverses; it always marches forward. There will be days these characters make mistakes and days they do great things . . how much they do of either is up to them. Sometimes they’ll do things that they will never get closure for . . things that can’t be forgiven . . . but that doesn’t ruin their capacity to do right the next day. Bojack’s right . . .it IS hard to do better every single day. But as the jogger near Bojack’s house says “It gets easier”.

And my essay concludes . . . .riiiiiiight after this anecdote.

I think what makes Bojack Horseman so special is that it holds up a mirror to how a screen infested world has permanently warped our sense of self worth and our understanding of how life really works. In a way, we’re all “sitcom characters” roaming around real life. We think of ourselves as the main characters of our stories, that there’s some sort of satisfying conclusion waiting for us. That we can win whoever we want back with a grand gesture and that we never have to evolve, we just have to be “good enough” . . .and that’s all . . SO wrong. That mentality makes us toxic. It makes us self important and hypocritical and petty, while also leaving us empty. It makes us incomplete. We all have to learn that there’s no ending until we die, that we have to do good every day . . . and that we aren’t the main character. Everyone is important. Maybe we’ve been watching too many sitcoms and have had these fallacies drilled into our heads . . . and maybe Bojack Horseman is like a rehab for those bad tendencies. As Princess Carolyn points out in the finale of Season 4

“I got into this business because I love stories. They comfort us. They inspire us. They create a context for how we view the world. But also you have to be careful because if you spend a lot of time with stories you start to believe that life is just . . . stories. And it’s not. Life is life . . . and . . .that’s so sad, because . . .there’s so little time and . . . what are we doing with it?”

#bojack season 5 #bojackthoughts #bojack spoilers #bojack horseman #netflix #netflix original #animation #television

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pennys-th0ughts · 4 years

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Robert Gray - The Origin of Pennywise 🤡 Chapter 1

Papers were scattered all over the desk and the dim light coming from an old oil lamp was fluttering in a lonely corner of the room. It was raining outside one cool November night of the year 1873 and the cobbled streets of Derry were almost empty. The sky was black ink like and the moon was bigger than usual. I was sitting on my armchair next to the window watching the last persons leave the street heading to the warm refuge of their homes.

The rain drops crashing against the window were falling down the glass getting thinner and thinner until the rain became a light drizzle. My eyes were focused on an old naked tree which had been stripped from all its leaves; it seemed to be dead since a crow was holding onto one of its branches looking erratically sideways. A seemingly endless night had woken up from its brief nap time, wet weather made it longer but sometimes the fresh breezes get to cool down my unstoppable mind from overthinking.

Stores were closed and finally the silence took over the sidewalks as insomnia used to take over my tired body and restless mind. I was twenty five years old and I suppose it was an advantage to be that young and have no commitments yet while being the sole heir of the only medicinal store in town. I could use my freedom at will and do whatever I pleased, managing my times since I was my own boss at work. The burden of such responsibility fell down on my shoulders when my father passed away, a couple of years after my mother decided to leave us because of a serious case of fever that my father couldn’t cure. I guess he felt defeated for not being able to cheat death this time and the corrosive feeling of guilt was what finally submitted him one night during his sleep.

The formalities concluded and after an orderly ceremony, the family’s lawyer made me sign some papers, then it all became in some kind of beneficious curse I needed to keep on going in order to survive. My father was the only apothecary in Derry and he began teaching me from an early age the art of mixing drugs to create specific medicines, so my grandfather did with him and so on.

Business flourished when a new disease wave attacked the small town leaving many fatal victims and several people in a critic health state. The only hospital was packed and people who couldn’t get medical attention in this facility had to stay indoors to prevent spreading the illness. There is when I stepped in. During a whole month I wouldn’t stop preparing thousands of dosses commissioned by the hospital and many other wealthy families. I would end up working night and day to fulfill the town needs for medicine to cure diphtheria, soothe the pain and reduce the fever. I got to really enjoy my work, but one day I couldn’t take the overwhelming pressure anymore that made me snap, so I started looking for an assistant to help me out with the preparations and also someone to deliver them. Speeding up the delivery could definitely save other people’s lives.

Shadows of death were still lurking and swallowing everything in its path, turning the alleys darker and the houses emptier. The plague was spreading faster than we could cure it and the atmosphere in Derry was getting heavier with sadness and hopelessness. During the nights, streets looked like pathways to afterlife and the little oil lamps hanging at the entrances were like golden eyes, always watching and waiting.

Two days passed and interested people didn’t make themselves wait much longer and started to come to the drug store asking for the jobs. They were all willing to help but none of them fit with the qualities I was looking for. Until one day I finally found her, or perhaps she found me. Her features were as I imagined them and even better; she had little hands and long fingers, she was meticulous and careful. Her name was Charlotte Wise but she was known in town as Ruby, a well-deserved nickname since her hair was red as the stone. The day she came into the store everything changed, as if a sudden peacefulness had taken over the place. My new assistant would transform not only my work but also my life from that moment on.

Spring arrived after the dark days left Derry and its people slowly tried to get back to normal. Charlotte and I began having more time to spend in each other’s company so I decided it would be a good opportunity to teach her something new related to her job. We were still working as usual but the environment inside the shop had some kind of magic that was making it springier. Andrew, Charlotte’s younger brother, took the delivery job and he was doing very well, we didn’t receive any complaints about time or packages delivered in bad conditions. The boy was attentive and helpful, just like his beautiful sister. Agility was on his side and he was making a great use of it with the bicycle he got for the job. When work increased we bought a new mean of transportation so the boy wouldn’t get caught under the suffocating heat or merciless storms.

That year ended with a happy ending for Derry and we started a new one even happier. Charlotte and I had gathered enough money to begin a new life; she wanted to live with me so we bought a small but modest house two blocks away from the shop. Her brother would inherit his sister bedroom in their mother’s house so things couldn’t have settled down any better. I proposed Charlotte to be my wife one hot summer morning to which she merrily accepted. We got married at the chapel and later we had a delicious brunch under the willows of the park. That day and the ones that would follow would be memorable.

August, 1875

Charlotte’s contractions were getting more often and she will soon start her labor. We found out she was expecting later that summer which to me was like more wonderful news. I was in the middle of a preparation to help diuresis when someone came to the shop and let me know that my wife was in the operations room. I left Andrew in charge of the shop until I got back and rushed to the hospital taking the carriage; it will get me there faster.

I got to the Derry Public Hospital just in time to hold my wife’s hand and help her with her labor. Although she wasn’t looking so well she was doing an amazing job, showing her braver side, as always. The nurses were extremely careful and gentle; they were coming and going, taking wet cloths and other objects to the room.

After a long struggle Charlotte finally delivered a beautiful baby girl into this world. The doctor cut the cord and put her on my wife’s arms; he turned around and made me to a side to talk privately.

– Congratulations Mr. Gray – the literate man said squeezing my shoulder-. Your daughter is in perfect shape – he made a pause and, with a lower tone of voice added- but I'm afraid your wife is in delicate condition now. She has lost too much blood and she will require an intensive iron treatment to overcome the anemia she might possibly develop.

The doctor gave me a prescription with the steps to follow and a food diet, I thanked him for his advice and went back with my wife that had fallen asleep cuddling our child. The little girl was oddly quiet, she seemed confused and curious yet she was paying attention to her surroundings very carefully. I came closer to take a better look at my tiny wonder and took her little hand with my fingers that she immediately held on to firmly. My heart was pounding inside my chest like a machine out of control, making me sweat almost profusely. Nervousness, excitement and curiosity were a complex mixture, as the ones I was so used to prepare with the only difference that this one was totally out of my knowledge.

Charlotte was indeed exhausted and very pale but I could see the joy sparkling in her face. She made a huge effort to open her eyes which eyelids seemed too heavy. Once she could finally fix her eyes with mine, she grabbed my hand and made me sit next to her. She looked at me in silence for some minutes as if trying to dig up my feelings somehow and figure out what was going on inside my head. Slowly the light in her eyes started to fade away, like a candle about to be completely consumed.

– Promise me you will always look after her, Robert – she pleaded in a whisper.

I nodded bitterly without saying a word knowing that, deep down inside she was, in some way, asking me to do something she wouldn’t be able to do and she just wanted to be sure we would be okay. I stroked her cheek so tenderly that the very contact with her smooth skin made the tips of fingers ache. I hugged them both as if I was trying to protect them from the world and the coldness it owned, but my arms seemed not to be enough. Nothing seemed to be enough to replace the turmoil of divided feelings I was being prey of that very moment so, I did what I was the best at, I began mixing them just to find the balance between happiness and sadness, wholeness and emptiness.

Five years later

Snow was covering Derry like no other time of the year and streets looked like unpolluted highways to heaven. There were some children playing in the front gardens of their houses, some were throwing snowballs at each other and some others were building snowmen. Augustine was having a hard time building her snowman since the snow kept on crumbling or the little branches didn’t stop falling from their holes. I was watching her through the window and her persistence was one of the many reasons of my smile. I grabbed my coat and went outside to help her finish what for her seemed to be a colossal monument. She was almost six years old and her mother and I had the chance to pick a name for her which I will always be totally grateful for.

Christmas was near and I had already bought Augustine her present. Andrew would spend the holiday with us since I started to enjoy my brother’s-in-law company and her niece loved her uncle very much. He became a great help when Charlotte passed away and our daughter was still a baby, he would take care of her while I was working and making the deliveries from time to time.

After Charlotte died I didn’t feel the need to bring another woman to work to the shop and less to start a new relationship, the hollow she left inside me was big enough to be impossible to be filled with somebody else’s presence and the fact was I wouldn’t ever try to replace my wife no matter how alone I could feel. My queen left her throne and I had a princess making her way to occupy it someday and that, for some unexplainable reason, was already a whole challenge that I had gladly accepted the very moment I looked at this little girl into her eyes.

To be continued…

#pennys thoughts #short story

15 notes · View notes

seokoloqy · 6 years

Text

after dark // jjk (m)

➳ GENRE: vampire/knight!AU

➳ PAIRING: jungkook x y/n

➳ WORD COUNT: 8.2k

➳ WARNINGS: smut, blood

➳ SUMMARY: Jungkook has served the royal family for generations, seen them live and die countless times. When it comes to you, he can’t watch you wither away too, but your lust for one another makes it harder and harder to stay apart.

➳ A/N: while i was writing this spotify had the audacity to play an ad about Christian music. i think it’s a little too late for the good words of our lord and savior jesus christ to save me now (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

—

Your feet pad against the rugged carpet extending from the foyer to the end of the dim hall. You pass portraits of your family, generations of them hang on that wall, standing proudly for the artist who painted them with precision and detail. The newest addition to the collection hangs below your father with a crown adorned on his head—a much smaller painting of you and your guard, Jungkook. You demanded they add him in the collection after generations of loyalty and servitude to your family. He stood behind your smiling face remaining stoic and professional, but you knew he was secretly elated to finally be included.

You smile at the portrait and gently run your finger along the curve of his cheek. Even in a simple photo he somehow makes your heart race, not that you can ever admit to these feelings aloud. You don’t need to admit them anyway, he already knows, but Jungkook will never allow it to get that far. He sees it—the longing—in your eyes whenever you glance at him across a crowded room. A relationship is not only unprofessional, but his loyalty to your family stops him every time.

You continue the journey to his quarters at the end of the hall, your silk dress flowing behind you. The uncomfortable heels belonging to your outfit clutched in your hands sway beside you. You’re rushing to see him because of the infuriating news you had just heard, the shoes only slow you down.

Your father has planned for you to go off tomorrow and meet another prince as a way to introduce you to bachelors and potential husbands. You knew this day would come, but not so soon after your twenty-first birthday—not when you felt this way about Jungkook.

A sliver of his door is open, letting out light letting you know he is awake and you could barge in unannounced. Maybe you’d crawl into his useless bed too, he has no use for it seeing as he doesn’t need sleep. You could stay there the whole night without anyone disturbing you. No maids coming in to wake you, no mother there to pester you into marrying a man you’ve never met, and feeling the comforting presence of Jungkook was enough to lull you to bed easily.

And as you approach the pounding of your heart in your chest isn’t loud enough to hide the breathy moan from inside. You stop in your tracks, heart stuck in your throat, standing outside his door with your hand against the wood. Another soft whimper reverberates through your ears, like pleasure mixed with pain. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peer through the sliver in the door hoping to find the source of the voice.

His room is void of any personal belongings—just a bed and a closet. Despite his years with your family, he was no collector of fine items. Preferring to keep his space clean so if the situation ever arose where he will have to leave, he will leave nothing behind, it will be easier to cut ties this way. Which is why he chooses to distance himself from you as well. He’s seen generations of your family live and die. Feeling any sort of sorrow when they pass is only weakness, and knowing your time will be up before he can even blink destroys him.

Your eyes first go to the flickering kerosene lamp beside the bedside then upon the blood, dripping to the floor as Jungkook pulls his fangs away from the bleeding neck of the guest straddling his lap. He looks mesmerized by the wound he has created, his pupils nearly black and swimming in desire. With fingers tangled in her hair, he cranes the woman’s neck further back and licks along the trail of blood that has escaped his greedy lips.

He’s feeding off one of the townspeople. They’re selected either by raffle or volunteer to feed the soldiers. You’d heard from maids who have been fed off of that it was merciless but you never realized the act could also seem so intimate and as the woman released another wanton moan you couldn’t help but wish it were you.

You wish it were you he was holding, gliding his rough hands along the curve of your spine to the base of your ass, as he utters in a hoarse voice, “You taste so fucking good.”

He grabs her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip to shift her onto one of his thighs. The woman shudders, gripping his shoulders as she moves against his thigh.

You’ve never seen him so carnal and seductive anywhere else, it’s mesmerizing. The feeling—that foreign pit in your stomach—begins to grow as you lean against the wall catching your breath, thighs clenching instinctively to satisfy the throbbing between your legs. He doesn’t seem to hear you, too lost in his own lust.

His other hand, not occupied in her hair, pushes the velvet material of her dress higher up her thighs until they’re revealing the seductive lace of her underwear. His eyes roam freely over the design.

“You didn’t wear these for me, did you?” He teases, the satisfied smile adorning his lips makes your heart flutter. You know that smile, but not in this context. That smile is for the times he praises you for acing your studies or when he cracks a wise joke to cheer you up. Perhaps it is a hundred times better seeing that smile here.

You don't realize your pesky heels slipping through your fingers until they’ve hit the floor with a thud and the shock of it seems to echo through the halls and chill you to the core. Jungkook’s head snaps up first, locking onto your figure peeking through the gap in his door, then it’s his partner scrambling off his thigh and onto the bed, flustered.

With your cover blown, you don’t know whether or not to play it off and act as if you weren’t standing there the whole time. Maybe he doesn’t suspect anything and you can pretend that you haven’t seen a thing.

He’s quick to his feet, expression unreadable, as he crosses the room to the door where you’re stood. The blank look on his face convinces you he must be angry. You intruded on his personal time and during his feeding. You scramble to pick your shoe up from the floor as he swings open the door, feeling the guilt weigh down on you.

“Shall I walk you back to your room, princess?” He asks, all the signs of lust and desires vacant in his voice and he returns to his simple tone as he addresses you endearingly. Ever so the excellent and professional guard with you—almost infuriating.

“N-no, I just… No.” You stutter, unable to meet his gaze. “Have a good night.”

You turn and begin to walk away, wishing you had said ‘yes, take me back and finish what you started’. What would it be like to finally have him for yourself?

You thought about him that night, pressing himself against you as his fiery hands roamed your body freely and without shame. You thought about his voice and the way it deepened as he spoke, imagining him instructing your hands to slide off the material of your nightgown and press a finger to your clit while encouraging the silent moans falling from your lips. And as you brought yourself over the edge, you remember the stoic expression he wore as he looked at you, his voice devoid of any real feelings. Would he ever see you this way?

—

A knock comes to your door just as the sun rises. You can’t be bothered with your chattering maids after last night, bringing the sheets higher over your head to avoid the sunlight peeking through the curtains.

“The carriage has arrived.”

You jolt out of bed, surprised by the voice of Jungkook at the foot of your bed. He’s in not in full armor yet, just a simple white tunic hanging low across the smooth expanse of his captivating chest with a hand over the hilt of his sword hanging at his hips. His eyes are immediately drawn to your exposed breasts, jaw clenching as he forces himself to look up at your startled expression and remain in control. The sheets that pool around your waist taunt his imagination and the hand around his sword becomes tighter as his thoughts cloud and judgment has nearly left him.

You don’t realize that you’ve left your nightgown discarded on the floor until the weight of his gaze on you becomes suffocating. You pull the sheets up around your chest, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks which he could undoubtedly hear including the erratic beating of your heart.

“I’ll be just a minute.” You clear your throat, looking at the sheer nightgown laying on the floor. How could you be so careless? You shut your eyes and sigh, this is not how you should present yourself as the princess even in the eyes of your personal guard. You let yourself succumb to your powerful desires, but it won’t happen again. You know your feelings are wrong. The immortal guard who has served generations of your family was meant to be just that and maybe the care he had for you was only part of the job, but the kindness wasn’t. He didn’t need to comfort you everytime your mother would go off on a tangent about meeting suitors or hold you in his arms when you felt frustrated and powerless as every diplomat turned your suggestions away and called you a child. He is far too kind for the tough exterior he wants you to believe in.

When your eyes open again, Jungkook appears at your bedside, nightgown in hand. He extends his arm and leaves it in the palm of your outstretched hand. He doesn’t utter another word and turns, taking long strides out of your room trying to rid plaguing thoughts of you naked and writhing underneath him.

—

“Wow,” the young prince exclaims, reaching for your outstretched hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, finally. I’m Jimin and I’ve been so excited to welcome you to my beautiful kingdom.”

He seizes your hand abruptly to plant a kiss on your knuckles, perhaps a little too eagerly because your body jolts forward slightly and both your heads collide. You wince on impact as his pointed crown lightly scrapes the surface of your forehead and Jungkook comes in front of you immediately to block Jimin from making another move towards you.

Jungkook takes your chin in his hand and inspects the minuscule red scratch on your head. The gentle touch of his fingertips brushing against the mark soothe your nerves. This entire trip is stressing you out. It’s not what you want and no matter how much you protest to your mother and father they refuse to let up. But as long as you have Jungkook by your side, you’ll always feel better.

“Should I kill him?” He whispers under his breath, searching for signs of distress on your face that will give him permission to throttle the awkward prince.

“W-What? No! It was just an accident,” you stammer. You wish the look on his face tells you he is only joking or is just overreacting because he’s on new, unfamiliar territory, but his facade doesn’t crack into a lopsided grin nor have a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jimin regains his composure, adjusting the lopsided crown atop his head and makes haste to apologize to you despite the guard in his way. This will certainly put a damper on your relationship already and he was hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself during the first impression.

“Forgive me, princess! I’m just so clumsy sometimes; I forget my own strength.” He pokes his head over Jungkook’s shoulder, pleading eyes staring at you.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” you assure both parties, pressing your hand flat against the cool metal of Jungkook’s breastplate to move him aside. Instead of retreating back to his original position behind you, he sticks to your side with a curious eye on Jimin, who can feel the hostility rolling off of the guard.

Ignoring the glinting look in Jungkook’s eyes, Jimin kindly offers to tour you around the gardens, his favorite part of the palace. The rest of the day consists of Jimin leading you and Jungkook through various twists and turns of each hedge maze in the expansive garden, trying to entertain you with exciting facts about each flower you come across. He barely tries to woo you with any ridiculous tactics or blatantly flirt. Although during the tour, when he notices you admiring a pink azalea flower from the bushes, he plucks off a flower to offer you.

“As a proper welcome to our kingdom, we’re throwing a party in your honor,” Jimin says, as he escorts you to the dining room.

Your footsteps falter besides his, “A party? For me?”

He sees your bewildered expression and laughs, “Don’t worry about it too much. The people here love to party until dawn and you don’t have to be the center of attention if you don’t want to.”

Jimin’s words ease your nerves only a little, but you’re still wary. A whole party just because of you? Maybe the young prince is going a little overboard with your visit or just too eager to welcome you.

The dining room doors are left ajar, revealing the entire display of food at the table. You gawk at the copious amount of food on the table. It’s enough to feed the entire kingdom, not just two people. Jimin is quick to pull out a chair for you to sit. And just as Jungkook makes his way to the wall next to the butlers to idly stand by and wait for any hint of danger, the young prince lifts his hand.

“No, no, your knight is guest in my home as well,” he says to you. “Come to join us for dinner.”

You cringe looking at the lavish display of food across the table—none of it suitable for Jungkook’s abnormal appetite. The prince must not realize the kind of being he’s let wander into his home.

“I’m sorry for not informing you earlier, your highness, but you must realize that he isn’t human,” you explain, looking towards the prince who has his lips parted in surprise. Realization crosses his delicate features and he begins to nod rapidly, not a single piece of his perfectly gelled hair comes undone.

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard of you—the famous vampire guard from Aglastia!” He clears his throat, looking a bit sheepish as he glances at the food laid out. “I suppose we can have something more suitable brought out for you too.”

“That won’t be necessary, your highness,” Jungkook speaks to Jimin for the first time since you’ve arrived, an unnecessary tinge of annoyance in his voice as he stares at the prince devoid of any compassion.

Perhaps Jimin heard the icy tone in your guard's voice as he scrambles for another solution.

“Or do you prefer blood fresh from the source?” Jimin beckons a server over to him with a simple finger. The frightened servant who hasn’t signed up for the unlucky job of being a snack unwillingly shuffles over at Jimin’s order. “My staff would gladly allow you to-”

“You don’t seem to understand how feeding works.” Jungkook looks to you now, his irritation subsiding. “It’s messy and I need a willing participant who’d allow me to do whatever I please. It’s not just about me or the blood. Vampires mix pain with pleasure, your highness, we’re not savages.” He takes on a sardonic tone when he looks back at the prince whose interest he has piqued.

“Enough,” you demand, curling your hand around the wooden armrest.

“Usually they’ll strip naked, and then I’ll have my fingers in-” he continues, ignoring your demand to challenge the prince. Jungkook’s own jealousy clouding his judgment.

“I said that’s enough, Jungkook! Go! now,” you shout, slamming your hand down onto the table causing the silverware to clash against the wood. All heads turn to you, startled by your sudden outburst.

You’ve never been so frustrated with him. Why is he doing this now? Taunting you about last night and embarrassing you in front of everybody here, he’s getting out of line. Which is unlike the Jungkook you’re so used to.

He stares at you with indignation but doesn’t fight it, stalking out of the room to wander the rest of the castle alone.

The prince sinks back into his chair, defeated, the hospitality he struggled to show your guard dwindles to nothing.

You’re quick to comfort him, “I apologize for his behavior. He usually isn’t so blunt.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he takes the glass cup and raises it in the air, regaining a touch of his usual charm and confidence. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

—

Dinner is over quickly when it’s just Jimin gushing about how he admires your kingdoms use of a vampire army and somehow the conversation turns to himself again as he rambles about his kingdom.

You haven’t seen Jungkook since you dismissed him at dinner. His attitude unnerved you, perhaps it’s revenge for last night, taunting you with images that will only ever be your wild imagination.

Jimin had excused himself at dinner to freshen up and allowed you free reign to explore the castle by yourself. As you venture through the castle without Jungkook attached to your hip or Jimin chattering about absolutely anything that comes to mind, you take in the lavish decorum Jimin had briefly spoken about at dinner. The midnight blue walls complemented the golden frames surrounding each painting that hangs across his walls, mostly just images of the garden you can spy from out the window across the way. He told you he had taken an interest in nature and life itself and commissioned a young local artist to paint them.

But what catches your eye isn’t the yellow brushstrokes of sunflowers reaching towards the sky or the colors smoothly blended into the sunset, it is the single painting in the middle of it all that holds a smiling portrait of Jimin and his family. Unlike the painting back home with your family, he is grinning ear to ear, the painting encapsulates the very youth and beauty he radiates. You admire the work and precision the artist took in sculpting his delicate features.

“Do you consider his highness a potential suitor?”

For the second time today Jungkook has managed to sneak up on you and make you jump. He looks up at the painting, glowering like a petulant child.

You hesitate with your answer; he certainly is charming and thoughtful, but you can’t imagine a future with a man who incessantly speaks without a breath in between.

“Luckily he is handsome…” you admit, hoping it will calm the tension you still feel from dinner. It’s the only thing you can say about the prince you know for a fact. To consider him a potential match for you is pushing it over the edge.

Jungkook scoffs, “He’s full of himself. You can do so much better than him, Y/N.”

As his eyes gaze over the painting, he looks at the bright cheeks and smiling eyes of the young prince and grimaces. This human is everything Jungkook will never live up to, someone who can provide for you and not silently watch as you grow old and he stays young: a man with a crown and withering mortality.

But he just can’t stand it. Half of him is telling him Jimin is what you deserve, but the other half wants you to himself, to stop denying himself of you.

“Why are you behaving like this? His Highness has done nothing but show us hospitality and kindness and you dismissed him at dinner. It isn’t like you.”

“Why should I like him,” he turns to you and you can see his slightly sweat-matted hair, wicked ferocity in his eyes as something has changed within him. “When he’s trying to take you away from me?”

The air escaped your lungs, as you stare into the crimson abyss of his eyes. Is there something wrong with him? You know how he feels towards you—nothing. The times he would ignore your subtle hints or the disapproving looks he would give you when you came too close during events. You’ve seen it enough to back off, to know he doesn’t feel the same and stay within your unspoken boundaries. It’s nothing but pain hearing his enticing words.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I would never lie to you, Y/N.” His hand reaches for yours, an action you’ve been accustomed to whenever he tried comforting you after your father dismissed your propositions to help the kingdom. You rip your hand from his calloused ones, roughened from all the training he’s done over centuries. His red eyes look pleadingly at you, however, you don’t notice it too overcome with frustration.

“But you’d never tell me the truth either.”

If he feels the same, even an ounce of what you feel for him, he should tell you and relieve the pain you feel from this one-sided love. You don’t want to get your hopes up and make a fool of yourself in front of him anymore.

You leave him without a goodbye and exit the hall, dreading the rest of the night to come.

—

Jimin was not lying when he said his kingdom loved to party until dawn. When you emerged from your bedroom in the dress you found neatly wrapped and laying on your bed, a gift from Jimin for the night, the roaring laughter and music echoed through the halls. You walked to the ballroom alone, Jungkook nowhere in sight, and even after your dispute you expected him to be at your door to escort you because he’d never let something as trivial as an argument get in the way of his duties.

The room is in chaos with patrons flooding the floor cheerfully moving to the rhythm of the music. Wallflowers stick to the side, but still chattering and laughing amongst themselves as they pass the time drinking themselves into ruin.

“Y/N! You look beautiful!” Jimin suddenly appears at your side, swaying slightly on his feet as his arm hooks around yours to steady himself. “The party is just getting started! Let’s get you a drink.” He shouts over the blaring music.

“I’d rather not,” you reply, tilting your head away from the alcohol lingering on his breath as his face nears yours. “Have you seen Ju- my guard?”

Jimin leans his tired head on your shoulder, sighing heavily, “No, I’m afraid I haven’t, but you’re awfully close to that guard, aren’t you?” He hiccups, “I suppose it’s only fair for me to give up this foolish proposal, you’re already in love. Poor me, I guess.”

You’re listening to a drunk man wallow about the feelings you wouldn’t dare admit out loud.

“I-I’m truly sorry, Jimin. You’ve been so hospitable and y-you threw this whole party on my behalf. I feel like I’ve just used you to avoid my true feelings.”

“Don’t feel bad, princess, I’ll use any excuse to throw a party. I guess we’ve just used each other,” Jimin pries himself away from you, giving you one last glance over with a look in his eye thinking of what could have been. “I need a drink.” He grunts, disappearing for another drink that certainly won’t be the last for the night.

Another scan around the room and there is still no sign of Jungkook lingering in the corner with his eyes trained solely on you. You wonder where he can be. The palace may be enormously vast and confusing, but he would never stray too far from you.

If you’re supposed to find him, it won’t be in here. You doubt he’d stick around in this crowd if he could help it. He would never like hearing the sound of all these beating hearts in one room.

The glass door that leads into the veranda is left open to air out the room and it reminds you of how peaceful the garden was in the morning. Jungkook will most likely be wandering there for space.

You gather your skirts and excuse your yourself through every sweaty and intoxicated guest blocking the exit. They’re all too occupied dancing and drunk to acknowledge or care about you.

A glint of metal from his armor reflecting the ballroom lights catches your eye as it stumbles into the hedge maze. You finally get past the crowd and head straight to the path Jungkook had just taken.

“Jungkook, are you alright?” You call out, the narrow entry shows no sign of him. With the hedges towering over you there’s no chance of looking over the top. Your best chance is to follow your intuition and call out to him.

The area is barely lit, the only light peaking through the hedges comes from the moonlight above.

You walk straight down the path until a fork appears and you either go left or right. “Jungkook?” You try again receiving silence in return.

You choose the path to your right and follow it all the way to a dead end. A disgruntled sigh escapes your lips as you spin on your heels to return to your original position. To your surprise, Jungkook is standing behind you already.

“Oh,” you press a hand to your diamond covered chest. “There you are. I was worried about you.”

“You don’t need to worry about me I’m fine,” he huffs, his breathing turns ragged. “I apologize for not escorting you to the ball, I just - don’t trust myself to protect you right now.”

His sunken, amber eyes tell you all you need to know. He only gets this way when he’s hungry, a look you’ve rarely seen because he always hid it so he wouldn’t scare you when you were younger.

“You’re hungry,” you affirm. He should have accepted Jimin’s offer at dinner. He hasn’t eaten since last night and it’s already taking a toll on him. It must have been affecting him even during dinner, which can explain his irrational behavior.

“Only a little,” he nods distractedly, eyes lingering over your neck.

Images of him with the woman last night flash through your mind. That same hunger and lust from last night is the same way he looks at you right now.

Taking a deep breath and tilting your neck to the side, you nod, “Go ahead.”

He’s never fed from you before, having been forbidden from feeding off any of his charges. If anyone finds out he has bitten you, they’d string him up and burn him alive. But he’s so hungry and the longer he stares, the harder it seems to resist your tantalizing offer.

You stand there feeling completely vulnerable to him. Your dress has a low neckline and your sleeves fall off your shoulders, leaving your neck free and exposed.

He wants it, badly. He craves even the slightest drop of blood, missing the metallic taste of it on his tongue and the way it warms his body as it flows through his system. Temptation drives him mad and you are the source of all his wicked desires.

You brace yourself for it. The searing, unbearable pain from a bite that will paralyze you.

“Fuck,” he hisses, feeling his hands begin to tremble. He is starving. “Not here where everyone will see.”

“What?” You open your eyes finding Jungkook’s amber ones fixated on your delicate neck. You are confused. Why doesn’t he do it now? No one will see him behind the bushes when all the guests are too busy drinking.

Jungkook has a little self-control left in him not to make foolish mistakes. A mark like his will be noticed in an instant by your family.

“I’ll leave a scar on your neck.” He sighs, brushing a finger along your collarbone. Your arms are exposed as well and he can’t risk that either, but he is so, so hungry; desperate for a drink. He falls to his knees and clutches your skirts. “Sit down.” He commands.

You comply with his demand and sit on the stone bench, waiting for his next move. It is like you are frozen, not in fear, but in anticipation for what will happen next. There is a dark allure surrounding him, always casting a shadow over him.

“Will it hurt?”

He hums, distracted by the thrumming of your blood flowing through your veins, “Not unless you move.”

The material of your dress is pushed up your legs to your mid-thigh. You shiver as his cold palms presses against your thighs and when you reflexively shut them, his touch foreign and intimate to you. His mouth hangs open, revealing his sharp canines.

“Keep your legs open,” he grunts, becoming impatient with your squirming ghosting his lips over your knee and dragging his teeth towards the center of your thigh.

His hand keeps a firm hold on your leg, hooking his arm under your knee as he positions himself between your legs and giving you no time to react, he sinks his teeth into your flesh. The pain is instant, prickling throughout your entire body. You struggle to stay still, it hurts to move, but it is an instinct to run away from the pain.

You stifle your cries with your hand. The other clutching your skirts, hoping for some way to relieve your pain. As he continues to drain your body, you feel lightheaded. Your vision becomes blurry and you can no longer support the weight of yourself.

Jungkook is lost in a haze of ecstasy, overwhelmed by the addicting taste of you on his tongue. He can’t stop himself, he is starving. A day without blood is the longest he has ever gone. Being a guard in your kingdom ensures he has a constant supply of blood and he never goes too hungry, the feeling is foreign and the deprivation only makes him crave more.

“J-Jungkook, stop,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder. Your eyelids feel heavy and you desperately grab at his hair, tugging and whining. “P-please, stop.”

It takes everything to pull himself away. Your blood drips onto the pavement and from his lips. He sighs heavily, still high off the taste as he licks the remainder of you off his lips. With his head in the clouds, he fails to realize you are on the verge of passing out from blood loss.

You slump over, coming in and out of consciousness with your arms limp at your sides.

“Damn it,” Jungkook hisses, holding you up to prevent you from collapsing on top of him. “You can’t go back in like this.”

He keeps his hand over the wound to stop the blood from flowing out. His other hand reaches to touch your cheek, wiping away tears that had fallen. He feels a tug at his heart as he gazes at your weak, fatigued face, cursing himself for being too greedy.

“Princess, we’re abo- oh!” Jimin finds you in quite the compromising position with your dress pooling at your waist and Jungkook’s hand between your legs but it isn’t what it looks like.

He falls flustered, struggling to find his words. He turns away instantly at the sight, but if his eyes had lingered a little longer he would have noticed the blood on the floor and staining Jungkook’s chin. He would have noticed your pale skin and the way you were limp in Jungkook’s arms. Jimin flees instead of finding his words and doesn’t turn back, hoping it’s all just a bad side effect of the all the alcohol he’s consumed.

“Ju-Jungkook? I’m t-tired,” you say breathlessly, weakly unaware of what has just happened, reaching for his arm that securely holds you up.

“Shh,” he silences you. “Don’t waste your energy. Come here, I’ll carry you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, carrying you bridal style towards the guest bedroom Jimin had assigned you earlier, away from the commotion of your party. They will no doubt continue the madness without you.

—

The sound of a tray hitting the vanity table rouses you from a deep sleep. As you shift in bed, pain shoots up from your leg. You throw off the sweltering blanket to find your thigh wrapped in white gauze. That’s not all you notice. The dress Jimin had gifted you is discarded to the corner of the room, leaving you in nothing but your underwear and camisole.

“You’re awake,” Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief, coming to the bedside and offering you a glass of water off the tray. He helps you sit up, arms wrapping around your back and you wince as you shift weight onto your leg. You take the cool glass and gulp up every drop until your throat no longer feels tight and dry and manage to croak out a thank you.

The room is lit only by the kerosene lamp beside the bed, curtains are drawn in and you are unaware whether or not it is morning and if the party's over. Jungkook looks gloomy in the darkness despite having just fed on you. His energy is back, but somehow he felt weak and powerless as he watched you sleep. He is supposed to protect you, not be the cause of your suffering.

“I’m sorry,” he says, the words come out before he can even think about it. His hand rests on your bandaged thigh, lightly stroking over the area he had bitten. He slowly unwraps the wound to inspect the area, still red but healed nicely with the two puncture marks already fading. “I should have stopped myself, but you just tasted so good.”

“You taste so fucking good.”

Those words again this time he’s talking to you with the same guttural and lustful tone. You shudder as his hand brushes the inner part of your thigh, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He moves his hand higher until his fingers lightly skim the edge of your clothed core. You bite back a moan as he kneels on the bed.

“I just couldn’t get enough of you, Y/N. And this morning,” he sneers, hooking his finger around the strap of your camisole, pulling you closer to his face. “When I walked into your bedroom I could smell you and I wanted you under me so badly.”

In the flickering light, his features are sharpened and the fine angle of his jaw ticks as he analyzes your innocent expression. The amber in his eyes shifts a shade darker into a rich crimson once your lips part.

“J-Jungkook, it was an accident.”

You’re lying if you say you didn’t like the thrill of it though. The way his eyes roamed over you and how they struggled to look away. You held so much power over him at that moment. You could have had him falling on his knees for you and that’s exactly what you want.

“Was it an accident when you spied on me last night too?” He asks, bringing the hand not wrapped around your shoulder strap to your waist carefully bringing the material of your camisole up. “What if I told you I knew you were watching and I wanted you to watch me as I fucked her.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He confessed to knowing you were there the whole time. You couldn’t help but feel turned on by his words.

His cool fingers run along your side. “Tell me you don’t want this.” He leans down, lips nearly brushing yours.

You press your lips together, not saying anything. In the distance, you can hear the commotion of the party still going on and you tune back into the situation right in front of you.

How can you deny it when Jungkook is in front of you, offering himself to you? An image you only dreamed of since you were a teenager. You want it as bad as him.

That’s why it’s you who leans in, capturing him in a rough, breathtaking kiss, teeth clashing together as you wrap both arms around his neck to bring him closer until you’re pressed against each other and sharing the heat between one another. All the years of pent-up desire and love finally burst from you as you pour it all into this kiss.

You’re crossing the line and he knows it, but fuck it all. When you’re in his arms, desperately clinging to him and tangling your fingers through his hair he can care less about the line between love and loyalty.

His hands pull your camisole up, lips parting for a moment as he throws the thin material off your body. You have no time to feel insecure or embarrassed because Jungkook has his hands caressing your breasts, running his thumb over your pert nipples and muttering how beautiful you are between your lips. You love the way his words fall into a mantra of adoration just for you.

“You’re so perfect. So beautiful.”

He drags his lips away from yours to line kisses along your jaw and neck. You moan as he licks a stripe from the base of your throat to the sensitive spot behind your ear before sucking a dark bruise over it. He pushes you back onto the pillows and hovers over you, desperate to finally have a taste of you.

You watch as his eyes roam your body pressed against the white sheets, a carnal desire brewing behind his crimson eyes. Feeling yourself dampening your panties under his gaze, you squirm around hoping to get him to do something. You’re completely at his mercy and silently begging him to fuck you right into the mattress.

“Jungkook,” you whimper, running your hand down his hard chest to the waistband of his pants, growing tired of waiting.

Only one finger gets past the material of his pants before he grabs your hand, pinning it beside your head and tisks, “So impatient, princess.”

With his hand still around your wrists, he plants wet kisses down the valley of your breasts to your navel, loving the way you squirm each time his lips meet your feverish skin. His other hand circles the edge of your underwear before he rips it off without warning. The sudden breeze and hot breaths coming from Jungkook’s mouth hovering over your core make you shudder as he spreads your legs apart. He licks his lips, eyeing your dripping core as your wetness leaks onto the bed.

Under the predatory gaze, your legs instinctively close around his head but he keeps them open with his hands, fingers ghosting over the long forgotten bite mark on the inside of your thigh.

“Keep your legs open. Remember?” He growls, eyes flickering up towards yours. This time instead of taking blood for himself he’d make sure to take care of you instead.

You cry out, gripping the bedsheets for support as Jungkook’s mouth abruptly comes down on to your clit as his tongue flicks the sensitive bud over and over. His fingers tease your entrance, running down your slit and slowly inserts his index finger into you.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans when you clench around just one finger, wondering what it will feel like when he can finally sink his cock in you. All of his lustful thoughts from this morning finally become a reality with each whimper and moan that fall from your captivating lips as his finger pumps into you relentlessly, curling between your tight walls.

You’re moaning—screaming—his name, prompting him to add another finger, making you cry out even louder and drowning out the background noise of the party with your screams. His other hand releases your wrists and comes down to your waist to stop yours from bucking your hips into his fingers.

With your hand freed, they intertwine with the dark locks of his hair and you try and pull him away from your overstimulated clit. His mouth is too much, you can feel the knot forming in your stomach as his fingers continue their attack.

“Jungkook, please… I-I’m-” You pant.

The words die on your lips as soon as he adds a third finger, the stretch of his fingers inside you has your back arching off the bed and your orgasm rips through you soon after. Your eyes flutter shut, the white-hot pleasure overwhelming every nerve in your body. He removes his slick coated fingers from you and his mouth comes over your hole and laps your juices up like he has been starved of it for years.

He moves back up to kiss you, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. It’s slow and sensual, unlike the first time, and he slowly rubs your stomach, allowing you to adjust after your high.

Jungkook hums, “Better than blood.”

The raspiness of his baritone voice sends chills down to your core again.

“Really?” You ask, still trying to catch your breath.

“Mhm,” he hums, kissing your neck again. His hand slips behind your back to lift you up until you’re straddling his lap with his hardness brushing your core and tired head leaning against his shoulder. “Nothing compares to you, not even all the blood in the kingdom. You’re special to me, Y/N, more than you think.”

Your heart thrums in your chest hearing his soft-spoken words. It’s a relief to finally hear what you mean to him. Not just a charge, not just a duty, but as something more. Your arms wrap around his waist as you take a second to sit and embrace his presence. You put your trust in him to protect you with every fiber of his being, and now you're putting your trust in him to love you just the same. You want to give yourself over to him completely.

“I-I want you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your finger delicately tracing patterns along the expanse of his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure?” He pulls back to look you in the eyes, worry and lust mixed behind his dark eyes. There’s no going back. He needs to be absolutely sure this is what you want.

You nod, leaning in to capture a kiss from him again and your hands tug at the hem of his white tunic. It’s not fair he’s fully clothed and you are the only one exposed.

He helps you tug off the shirt and his well toned, tan chest is revealed finally to you. With his hands on your cheeks, he pulls you in for a kiss which you accept fully. Your mouths move in sync together and as your clit brushes against his straining cock, begging to be freed from his pants, the sensation arouses you once more and you desperately rock against him for more stimulation.

Jungkook tugs his bottoms off hastily, wanting nothing more than for you to sink on to him. He grabs your hips roughly, fingers digging into your sides enough to leave bruises.

He positions you right above his cock and catches your hungry gaze, verifying your need, and slowly lets you sink down on him. You gasp at the excruciating stretch, it’s nothing like his fingers. You can barely get past the tip before you’re whimpering for him to wait.

“Ah, st-stop,” you grasp the hand at your hips, screwing your eyes shut.

“Fuck,” he hisses, forcing himself to stop for you. He’s holding back so much for you. He can’t hurt you. He’d never hurt you.

You can see the pain contorted on his face as he strains to hold himself back. So, you push yourself further down on him, sliding easily from your slickness and clenching around his length. The pain is quickly replaced with pleasure as you screw your eyes shut, moaning a string of incoherent words. You slide off of him before going back down, faster than you had intended and you both groan in unison. Your breasts rub against his chest each time you go down on him and you watch with fascination as your bodies come together each time and he disappears inside you.

He feels his canines extending as the sudden bloodlust hits him with your tightness wrapped around him. Usually, when he’s fucking, he’s feeding off some random citizen as he does it. But you’re not just a blood bag for him to fuck and discard.

He shuts his eyes, stilling himself for a moment and tries to force away his sudden hunger. He’s already fed from you and taken too much to the point you passed out.

You stop your ministrations, noticing how tense he’s become. The canines peeking from under his lip are prominent and you understand what’s wrong.

“You can drink from me.”

“No,” he gulps, jerking his hips up in attempt to distract himself from the hunger. The speed he moves at is inhuman and you tremble with each powerful thrust. Your orgasm slowly builds up and you push his head closer to your neck, allowing him the perfect place to sink his teeth in.

“Do it, Jungkook,” you breathe deeply, waiting for his fangs to sink into your flesh.

He pulls you off of him unexpectedly and you whimper from the loss. Before you even realize, you’re pressed against the bed again with Jungkook thrusting into you harder than before. As the bed creaks under the intensity of each swift movement, your hands reach to claw at his back for something to anchor on to, leaving angry red marks for tomorrow.

You cry out his name over and over, but he doesn’t hear it. The only thing he can focus on is the sound of your rapid heartbeats and the feeling of you clenching and unclenching around him.

The familiar tightness in your stomach returns as you near your orgasm, and Jungkook notices from the way you tremble underneath him. He grabs your leg and hooks it over his shoulder, allowing him deeper access to push into you.

“K-keep going,” you choke out, feeling him hit the perfect spot at this new angle.

He loves hearing you whimper and beg for him. The pace he sets is even faster, but not enough to break you with his strength. He knows himself enough to not take it too far despite the monster in him telling him to let go and tear you in half.

Another sharp movement of Jungkook’s hip and you come undone beneath him, jerking your hips up to match his thrusts and riding out your high for as long as you can. With a couple more thrusts, Jungkook comes inside you, coating your walls and filling you up.

Overcome by this euphoria, he leans down to your neck and sinks his teeth in taking no blood, instead he bonds with you. A mark that will claim you as his forever.

You’re unaware of this, however, still getting over your own orgasm to realize he’s just sealed your future together.

When he removes his mouth carefully from your neck, licking up the droplets of blood, he falls over onto his back, feeling a new sense of energy flow through him. If he were human, he’d be breathless.

You press your forehead against his chest, wrapping an arm around his torso and close your eyes. There’s no heartbeat, but you’re content believing if he had one, it would be racing just as much as yours in this moment.

“I love you.”

For the first time, it is Jungkook who makes himself vulnerable, bearing all his emotions to you. It’s impossible to know what your future together will be like. He’s marked you and now that scar will forever be a part of you. It won’t be long before your family notices. They’ll realize right away what Jungkook has done to their precious daughter and there’s no doubt they’ll want to punish him—kill him, throw him in prison, or end his centuries of service. No matter the punishment, the mark on your neck ensures that you will be together through all those troubles.

You press yourself closer to him. You don’t need to say anything because he already knows how you feel, he’s always known.

—

The next morning, while the rest of the palace is stuck in bed hungover, Jimin at least makes a groggy effort to wish you safe travels back home. He’s still dressed in his rumpled attire from the night before, squinting as the sunlight aids his pounding headache.

As he looks between your beaming face and Jungkook’s fond expression as he gazes down at you, a hazy image from last night appears when he thought he saw you in the gardens with your guard between your legs. He shakes the image away though, finding himself heating up at the thought. Maybe he had too much to drink last night and began seeing things, but as you wave your final goodbyes and thanks to him and turn towards the carriage with Jungkook’s hand carefully pressed against the small of your back, he catches an unmistakable glimpse of a purple bruise blooming on your neck and fading puncture marks. And for once, the young prince has nothing left to say.

—

tags: @winternightmagic

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zaney-hacknslash · 4 years

Text

Devils Bite Prelude: That Night on the Rainbow Bridge

July, 2005

Sugita

For a long time, I gazed at the turbulent water below me, churned by the storm and glittering with all the colors of the rainbow. As the wind whipped at the hem of my coat and my hair, I found I couldn’t move, or speak.

I got lost in the details: the icy bridge railing in my hand, and the rain obscuring my view, time seemingly stopping as I watched, but she wasn’t coming back up. She’d vanished—lost in the merciless depths of Tokyo Bay.

“Fuck.” I gripped the rail tighter, trying to comprehend the failure.

As criminal detectives, rescuing her wasn’t our focus so much as finding a way to take her abusive, drug dealing boyfriend off the streets, but we did try to save her. Of course. That was a duty we had to society—to protect the weak as best we could. And Aki had been weak. A single mom, frail as a bird, meek and terrified from a life of getting kicked around by everyone from her dad to the father of her children. Hell, the first time we’d gone to her door, she’d looked at us like we were there to gang rape her. Us. The good guys.

As a cop, I’d told myself I couldn’t let that stand. I would save her. I’d wholeheartedly believed that putting her boyfriend in jail a few years would give her the opportunity to find herself, or, at the very least, enjoy a little peace.

I did not expect to fail.

“That’s a sight you never get used to,” I murmured, not sure if my partner would hear my voice beneath the storm or that I was even talking to him.

Jumpers were the worst. People who slit their wrists or took too many pills usually survived, but there was a special horror on the face of a jumper—those wide eyes and gaping mouths, unable to so much as scream as they realized their mistake. Sometimes, I even imagined they reached out to me at the last moment, wanting me to save them, leaving me to wish that, somehow, I could.

Just too sensitive, maybe. Like Dad says.

Handa never lost face over a suicide. Nine out of ten times, he was capable of convincing them that life was worth living, because, of course, freedom-loving, fun-seeking, adrenaline junkie Handa completely believed that the ups in life were worth enduring the downs. Even when he failed to save someone, he was apt to remind me—eventually—that there was no way to save someone bent on killing themselves, and it wasn’t on us; it wasn’t prudent to shoulder all the guilt just because we’d happened to be there when they took action. We were the cops.

That helped him sleep at night, but I couldn’t help kicking myself. I should have tried harder. I should have found a way to arrest her boyfriend a long time ago. I should have found a charge that would stick and keep him away from her for more than just a weekend at a time.

Nothing could relieve my guilt—not even a whole pack of cigarettes—and suddenly, all I wanted was to go home to Kozakura, lie in her arms, and feel her tenderness and warmth. Our relationship was good. Solid. Marriage really was bliss. I’d never hit her—never even think it—let alone burn her with cigarettes or rape her. Brushing elbows with all these sick fucks showed me that I had found something rare and pure.

Despairingly, I realized it would be hours before I got to see my wife, and she might even be in bed by the time I returned home.

Overwhelmed by that feeling, I leaned back onto my heels, one hand clutching the rail, the other clasping my damp brow. How were we supposed to tell the kids that their mother was gone?

Handa would tell me that wasn’t our concern—not our responsibility—but, having been the only witnesses to her suicide, I felt it was our duty.

He still hadn’t said anything. Young, single moms were a soft spot for him. He might be even more upset than me, especially given that this was a rare occurrence, in which he had failed to talk her down. He’d barely even tried.

Not his fault. You really just couldn’t win them all.

“Nothing to do now but call it in,” I muttered, and gave the railing another tight squeeze. Her boyfriend could still be picked up and prosecuted; the hope that he’d answer for this was my only consolation. “Come on, Partner.” I finally turned to him.

And froze immediately.

I expected to find him there beside me, leaning coolly against the railing and gazing into the water with that distant look in his eyes he got when we failed. I knew he wasn’t emotionless, but, in that moment, part of me hoped he wasn’t as horrified as I felt. I wanted his collectedness and strength.

However, to my shock, Hideki had gotten well out of my arm’s reach, and now stood up on the other side of the railing, one hand hanging onto a narrow support beam.

“Woah.” My heart, which had been racing mere seconds ago, slammed to a shuddering halt. “Hideki… What are you doing?”

Wind gusted around him, blasting through his black hair and making his tie flap, so strongly, I thought it might fling him from the edge.

His deep-set, gray eyes watched the colored lights play on the ripples and waves of the bay, but his lips curled back from his teeth in a disturbed expression.

Immediately, my heart started pounding again. I let my grip drop from the railing so that both hands hung at my sides, and I stayed exactly where I was. “She’s gone. There’s nothing we can do.”

God. I hoped he’d just lost sight of what he was doing for a moment, that he’d thought to go after her before realizing how impossible that was.

No. Handa was so scared of heights, he couldn’t even stand to drop a safe distance to the ground. Even in a moment of bravery, he’d never get so close to the edge. His posture looked unnaturally stiff. As if he’d simply frozen there. That expression, so horrified…sent a chill down my spine.

So, it’s come to this after all.

The thought passed through my mind, with resignation, followed, immediately, by more guilt.

But there was no time for personal feelings.

I took a quick look around. The path was empty at this time of night, the cars were above us. It was a linear trek to him—too far to simply grab him, though. I didn’t dare make a sudden move.

And police training was kicking in.

“Handa. Get your ass down before you lose your grip.” Physically or emotionally.

Very slowly, Handa turned to look at me, as if just remembering my presence.

Icy needles pierced my racing heart. That look on his face wasn’t just horrified. It was terrified. And utterly defeated. It was a look I’d seen before—always on jumpers, right before they sprang out into space. A look of that final farewell.

No time to fuck around wondering. No room for error.

“Hideki.” My voice turned firm, but not harsh. “Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking, Partner?” Watching for any sign that he intended to move, I edged, half a step, in his direction.

Slowly. Carefully. Confidence. No aggression.

Confidence was hard, given that I’d failed this exact situation not two minutes ago.

This time though… If I failed… I would watch someone I loved die.

I had to be perfect. Think on my feet. Say all the right things. Be alert for opportunities.

Handa shifted his weight. On the support beam, his knuckles were white. I noticed him shuddering. I saw all over his rain-drenched face what he was thinking.

For months now—ever since my bachelor party back in February—I’d been helplessly watching him spiral out of control. He spent too much money, he came into work hungover nearly every day, he had rough, sexual encounters with people he hardly knew. What’s more, he became hostile any time I tried to confront any of it or voice my concerns, even if it was simply to tell him that the things I saw weren’t like him.

Tonight, it looked like the thought had finally hit him full force: I don’t have to go through this anymore.

Calm down. I willed my racing heart to slow. Calm down.

I knew him. I just had to give him something to latch onto. A reason to come down from that ledge on the safe side.

“Come on, Hideki.” Slowly, very slowly, I lifted my hand to offer it to him. Maybe it was arrogance, but I did fully believe in his desire to latch onto me. He’d said he loved me—he wouldn’t put me through this. “Let’s go back to the car.”

“Wh-what’s the point?” he spat, in a low voice. “She was right. It’s all a losing battle.”

“Okay. Just come down from there. We’ll go somewhere and talk about it.”

He loosened his grip on the slick beam, speaking through gritted teeth. “What is there to talk about, Sugita? It’s all fucked from the beginning, and it only gets worse.” His voice hitched just a shade above his normal, cool tone, and his eyes glazed—he’d lost his head.

Handa Hideki never lost his head, and I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle it. Generally, if he lost his shit, I was soon to follow.

Don’t think that way. Confidence.

I just had to get to him. Distract him long enough to reach his side. I had to keep his focus on me, off the water, off this terrible idea that had come to him.

“I know…it feels that way sometimes…” I crept closer. “But I also know you. You don’t genuinely think that. And you’ve come really far.” I pointed a finger at him, just to hold his attention. “You can’t deny that. You have a lot of things going for you.”

Handa sputtered out a bitter laugh. “Stupid shit. What the hell do I have?”

He was alone, and he hated that. Materialistic though he was, all the stupid shit in the world didn’t add up to how desperately he wanted to be loved.

It doesn’t matter.

Plenty of people saw him as fake, shallow, or callous, but I knew he cared about a lot of things.

“You have the opportunity to get what you want,” I reminded him, taking another tiny step in his direction. “You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re twenty-four years old. You’re smart. You’re talented. And you’re not a quitter.”

“Sure, I’ve got the whole endless drudge ahead of me,” he replied, with dark cheer. “A lifetime of doing and saying the proper thing, and for what? A handful of years when people will say, he’s a success? Eventually, we all just die.”

Dark. Way darker than anything I’d expected to hear from his optimistic mouth.

At my bachelor party, he’d talked about throwing himself into traffic… But he’d been blacked out drunk. He’d taken it back. Sworn he didn’t mean it, didn’t intend it, had no reason to go through with it.

I should have known that wouldn’t just go away. Especially not considering the state I’d found him in when I’d returned from my honeymoon. Fucked-up-drunk. Pissed at me. Unreasonable. Hostile.

I…was an idiot. And if he died here tonight, it would be, unquestionably, my fault.

“Hideki…” My breath shuddered as I eased a little closer. This was hard. I shouldn’t be the one trying to talk him down from this. I wanted to jump on him and drag him to safety. “Hideki, listen. Think about all the jumpers we’ve talked down. Everything we always say to them applies to you. This. Is not the answer. Checking out in your early twenties is not the answer.”

“There is no ‘the answer,’ Sugita!” he half shouted, brow creasing with outrage. His grip slackened.

My heart bucked. I froze.

“That’s what I’m saying! Whether you get into a car accident, or you throw yourself off a bridge, or you get sick, or you just get old, we all give up in the end!”

In answer to his semi-hysterical tone, I growled, softly, “I want you to look at where you are. And think about what you’re doing. Because there’s a big, big difference between dying of old age and the mistake you’re about to make. For one thing… You’re going to spend the last few moments of your life wishing you hadn’t done this. And you’re going to wonder what you could have accomplished if you’d just taken my hand.”

It still hung between us, and I’d gotten close enough for him to reach it. “Now, for one thing, you promised you wouldn’t do this. Remember?”

He hesitated. It must have thrown him, he was so used to lying about that night. “I remember,” he admitted, grudgingly.

Good.

“You and I are going to get old together, Hideki. We talk about it all the time.”

He averted his gaze. I knew that the way he thought of getting old with me wasn’t congruent with the jokes we made about being in the same nursing home together.

“If any part of you really wants that—to be partners, to run the squad together, to run the department together—all the things we talk about. If any part of you really wants to climb the ladder with me, be around when I’m thirty. Fifty. Eighty—because I’m doing all that, Hideki, with or without you—you have to take my hand.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Fuck knows…” My chest tightened suddenly, heaving, but I had to keep it together. “I want you to be there.” I shook my hand at him, urging him to take it.

He simply stared at me.

“Come down. Let’s talk about this somewhere dry and warm. Let’s figure this out.”

“There’s no point, Sugita! There’s nothing you can say that will fix it!” His body lurched.

I put my hands up, freezing that way. “Okay. You’re okay…”

“That’s what I’m saying!” he insisted, louder still, voice cracking. “We’re the cops! you have all the tools, you think you have all the answers, but it’s still just impossible! It’s impossible to protect even one precious thing in this miserable life!”

“I disagree,” I rumbled, not as loud as him. “And if you think for one minute that I won’t jump in and die trying to save your dumb ass. Think again.”

At last, a wince contorted his face with agony and guilt. He knew I meant it, and if he felt as strongly about me as he said he did, he wouldn’t want me to die trying to save him.

Obviously, I’d have no choice. This wasn’t some random stranger I had to save out of a sense of duty. This was my best friend. I didn’t want to chalk him up in the category of people I couldn’t help. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life with the image of him falling to his death. I would take a bullet for my partner. Even if he went into the water, I sure as hell could not stand on the bridge, watching to see if he’d surface, and then go home, vent to Kozakura, drink some scotch, and go to bed.

“Now. Stop this.” I held out my hand again, more expectantly this time. “Stop acting like you’re all alone when you know you’re not.”

He locked gazes with me, measuring my resolve, like he always did when we butted heads. “I feel alone,” he countered, lowly.

“You aren’t. You will be. If you jump in the bay.”

Hell of an ultimatum to give a jumper—go die by yourself or come let the guy you’re in love with fuss over you all night. Unorthodox, maybe, but, knowing him, the choice should be clear.

“You aren’t,” I repeated, softer. “A lot of people care about you. I care about you. And you know that. So, get down.”

At last, after what felt like an hour of staring at each other, his expression gave way into resignation. Breathily, he sighed. “Okay.” Slowly, he stretched out his shaking hand. “Okay, Ken…”

Immediately, I snagged his wrist and closed the gap between us, threw my arm around his waist, and lifted him back to the safe side of the railing.

“Stupid,” I husked, straightening his collar. “Are you…fucking kidding?” Hand trembling, I lifted his chin to make him look at me. “Don’t you—don’t you have any idea? How much I’d hate it if you were gone?”

At the sound of those words, his expression collapsed into agony, and then his face sank to rest in the heel of his hand while his other arm folded across his chest. A silent sob wracked his body.

“Hideki,” I sighed and then drew a tight breath. My limbs felt weak. My mind was on fire, but my flesh crawled in the damp cold. This wasn’t over… I had to stay strong.

That’s what we do. When one of us is weak, the other steps up. It’s always been that way.

“God dammit!” He jammed his fingers up into his damp bangs, voice echoing through the night, pitched with fury and despair. “Dammit! God dammit!” And then he covered his face with both hands. “Why is it like this? Why can’t I…?”

“Hey, hey.” I threw my arms around him, quickly, out of instinct, quivering to think of how close I’d come to losing him. I pressed the breath out of him. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Ken! I’m not okay! Everything is fucked!”

“I’m here, man. If you want to tell me why that is.”

He shook his head against my shoulder, sputtering out a strangled sob.

All spring, he’d seemed depressed. I should have done something, even if that meant getting in his face, starting an argument, calling him out on his wasted lies. I should have just said it: you’re obviously not okay, so let’s do something about it.

Since my bachelor party though, and the drunk confession he insisted he didn’t remember, it had become increasingly difficult to know how to handle him.

The rain poured, seemingly harder than ever, and I squeezed him, battling my own wild emotions and trying to calm him down. It would be nice, I thought in passing, if this could be a turning point. A catalyst. It would be great just to know what was going on in his head these days.

But as quickly as it had started, Handa pulled away from me, averting his gaze as he scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just got overwhelmed.”

“Overwhelmed?” I echoed, in sharp disbelief. He wouldn’t dare…

“Yeah,” he sniffed, in an unconvincing tone. “Everything she said. Watching her jump. It was overwhelming.”

Evidently, he would, indeed, dare to try and back-pedal out of this.

“It’s not, normally,” I pointed out, struggling with my outrage. “We do this all the time.”

“Right. Well. This time was too much. One too many.”

“And I’m supposed to believe…” I clenched my teeth. “That everything you just said had nothing to do with it?”

“No, no.” He shook his head, looking flustered, perplexed. “No. I mean, I have my own shit going on. That made it harder, for sure. I didn’t come here to jump off the bridge.”

“Have you thought about coming here to jump off the bridge?”

“This bridge?” He looked around, as if identifying it for the first time. “No. Not this particular bridge.”

“Asshole.” I fisted a hand in his collar. “Don’t fucking joke with me like that right now.”

“No, Ken,” he amended, in an even tone. “I don’t fantasize about committing suicide. I saw her jump and I got overwhelmed. By the problems in my life.”

I gave him a long glare and then suppressed a sigh. Per usual, it only took him two seconds to slip back into his untouchable façade. It made me want to grill the hell out of him until I knew the truth, but that would be a waste of time. Someone else could get to the bottom of his issues. Someone with an objective point of view. Someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

My job was to stay calm.

Not my strong suit.

“Come on.” Laying a hand on his shoulder, I guided him back up the path to where we’d left the car. “Let’s go.”

I put him in first, and then went around to radio in the suicide while he started a cigarette and stared out at the rain with a blank expression.

When I finished the call, I studied him a moment before shaking my head and starting the car. Unbelievable, this guy. Sometimes, just for the hell of it, I tried to put myself in his shoes and imagine what it was like to be such an emotional disaster, but I still couldn’t begin to make sense of why he did or said half the shit he did.

Why the fuck bother to even try to convince me he was fine not five minutes after he’d been screaming about giving up?

“Where are we going?” he asked, dully.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off my headache, trying to make the shaking and the pounding of my pulse stop. What a long-ass day. “Where do you think we’re going?”

“The precinct. We shouldn’t leave the scene, though.” He was speaking in a dream-like tone now. “It’s not protocol.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” I announced, tightly, not in the mood for delicacy. “You fucking dip shit.”

At last, Handa turned to look at me, like he might find that I was joking. “Ken,” he sighed. “That’s not necessary.”

“Don’t make me angry right now, Handa. You almost jumped off a bridge. While on duty. Not only is it necessary, it’s mandatory. Don’t play stupid and pretend you don’t know that.”

“I’m not. I don’t need a doctor.”

“Are you kidding me?” I snarled, glaring over at him. “You tried to kill yourself.”

Calmly, he corrected, “I did not try to kill myself. I got overwhelmed and thought about whether or not I wanted to live—you convinced me that I shouldn’t be thinking that way. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” I screeched to a stop at a red light I’d barely noticed and faced him, half-shouting, “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No. I—”

“I saw what just happened, Hideki—you can’t convince me you weren’t about to jump!”

If I hadn’t been there…he would have.

A shudder shook all my bones.

“Listen. No. That’s not what I mean. Yeah, that’s what happened, but there’s no point in talking to a doctor; I’m just going to tell them what I’m telling you: I saw a woman kill herself, I got overwhelmed because the case was close to home, I thought about jumping, but I decided I didn’t want to. I’m just tired.”

“You’re not hiding behind just tired this time, Hideki. That’s all bullshit! That’s no reason for me to not take you to the doctor.”

“It’s a waste of time, Ken,” he insisted. “Our time, and the doctor’s. If we’re not going to wait here for a team, we should go to the precinct to file a report.”

“You are unbelievable.” My light changed and I crammed the accelerator. “You know that? You get suicidal ideation so bad you actually start to go through with it, and then you expect the doctor to let you go after a simple interview? You’re a cop—he’s going to screen the shit out of you!”

It was going to take days. I’d wind up on modified duty and have a ton of paperwork to fill out. They might put him on leave of absence for the next month or two, if they didn’t just hospitalize him.

Fuck, I hoped they would. I’d tell the lieutenant that they should. I’d tell anyone who’d listen how my partner had been fucked up all year and wasn’t emotionally fit to tour. He could be pissed at me forever. I wasn’t going to risk this happening again, when I wasn’t around.

How dare he act like this was nothing?

But he was still alive. I hadn’t lost him.

Focusing on that reality, I endeavored, all over again, to calm down. He was infuriating, but this wasn’t the time to rip him a new asshole.

He gave a more exasperated sigh. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t…” I heaved a tense breath. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t understand protocol. All I have to do is report this incident to Lieutenant Kudo, and he’ll make you go to the hospital.”

“I’m not a slave to this job,” he sniped, in a tired tone. “And I’m in my right mind. It’s a waste of everyone’s time to make this a big deal.”

“So what if it is?” I growled. “I can’t believe you’re actually trying to talk me out of this! Don’t you give a shit how I feel at all?”

“I do,” he agreed, very quietly.

“It doesn’t seem like you do.” I shot another glare at him. “First you almost throw yourself off a bridge—right in front of me—and then you won’t let me take you to get help. How completely selfish!”

It made him pause, and then, unexpectedly, his voice tightened with emotions. “I do care, Ken. I just don’t want someone else involved. It’s no one’s business. Why can’t we just keep it between us?”

Handa Hideki did not cry. If I thought he was manipulating me—even for a second—so help me, I would pull the car over and kick his ass.

We’d reached another light, so I scowled over at him. I’d give him something to fucking cry about.

Handa refused to look back at me, expression partly hidden by his ragged, wet bangs. It looked like a tear sped down his cheek.

“I’m sorry, Ken,” he husked. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

He had more manipulation techniques than I would have dreamed existed, but he wouldn’t let me see him crying if he could help it. I felt like a dick for yelling at him and calling him selfish, so I reached over and squeezed the back of his neck as we pulled forward again. “Hideki…maybe if we weren’t on duty. But really. It’s not fair to ask me to go home and just pretend this didn’t happen.” I’d be worried all night.

“No,” he agreed in a quiet voice. “I know… I’ll…go if you really want me to. If that’ll make you feel better.”

“It isn’t about me.”

“Well, I don’t want to go. At all. I don’t want to go just because it’s mandatory…” He met my gaze reluctantly. “Can’t we just…go back to my place and talk about it?”

“I would if I thought you’d actually talk to me and tell me what’s going on,” I answered, sternly.

“I will.”

“I have a really hard time believing that. I’m sure you know why.”

“Listen…” He sighed. “I had this fucked up conversation with my dad. That’s a big part of it.” We were getting near the precinct. The building loomed over us already, so Handa turned to face me, with an air of desperation. “He thinks I’m sick, Ken. He insists.”

That fucking asshole. I clutched my steering wheel so hard I thought I might bend it. That complete piece of shit. Why in the fuck would you tell your son that? Especially if your son was already fucked up enough from you kicking the emotional crap out of him his whole life?

Just one chance. I was aching for just one chance to talk face to face with his dad. I’d seen him at our last promo, but that was years ago, and I hadn’t known anything at the time.

We should be getting another promotion pretty soon—I’d heard them whispering about making Handa a corporal before he turned twenty-five—I’d get my chance to look his dad right in the eyes and tell him how much he didn’t deserve to make his most successful son feel like a loser outcast who’d never measure up.

Both his older brothers owned houses and were married. I didn’t pay much attention to the infrequent times he muttered this or that about them, but it seemed like one was a lawyer and one was a stockbroker. Blood suckers. I guessed all that money probably looked like success to the asshole who’d raised them, but he apparently had no fucking clue how Handa made this impossible job look easy, how he seemed to solve cases in his sleep, let alone the insane success rate it took to become a fucking corporal by age twenty-four.

“I don’t want you to think I’m sick too,” he muttered.

I barely managed to keep a controlled voice. “I don’t think you’re sick. I think you tried to kill yourself.”

“Yeah…but it was a mistake, Ken.” His voice had taken on a hint of real worry. “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t want to get put on hold for that. I don’t want to talk to someone I don’t trust about why this happened.”

That all sounded honest. But, then, Handa sounding honest was never the problem.

Nevertheless, I had to take into account the fact that he could lie to and manipulate the doctor even easier than he could me, and it might not do him any real good to go there.

I pulled up outside the precinct, shaking my head and watching the rain.

“And there’s more to it than that. This could fuck up my whole career.”

“It could,” I admitted, dully. I couldn’t say with certainty that none of our superiors were aware of his persuasion, and I definitely wasn’t naïve enough to think that at least one or two of them—like asshole Sergeant Hasegawa—didn’t want to wreck him for it. Were they going to promote an emotionally unstable, potentially suicidal homosexual? That’s how they’d see him, no matter how I explained this. And that just wasn’t the world we lived in. They’d consider him a liability.

“I don’t want to give anyone a reason to say I’m sick.”

Even outside of work, that was a serious factor. What was his dad going to say when he found out Hideki had been committed? It didn’t matter what the reason was, if he had a chance to get in his head and convince him to try some fucked up conversion therapy this could all get a lot worse.

God forbid he should pull some real shit and convince Hideki he was sick enough to need a power of attorney and force him into conversion therapy.

That was paranoia talking. That was the cop in me expecting the worst in everyone. That was my inner pessimist discrediting Hideki and believing he wouldn’t be able to stand up to that.

But I knew. Hideki wanted his dad to love and accept him. Of course, he did. There was a chance he’d give in just to gain favor. He wouldn’t come out of the closet to save his life, and the desperation of living that way might push him to believe conversion therapy was the answer to all his problems after all.

If that happened… Whoever came back to me would not be Handa Hideki.

“I don’t know what to do with you,” I admitted, in a drained tone. I didn’t mean just then. I meant in general. Ever. I never knew what to do with him.

I had thought accepting him myself was the answer, but now that I knew he was in love with me, I was in a tight box, and I felt like all I could do was stand aside and hope to Christ he figured his shit out soon.

“Let’s go up and do our report,” he suggested, sounding a touch calmer. “And then go back to my place, get some beer, talk about it.”

I shot him a scolding look. “If you convince me to take you home instead of to the hospital—like I should—we are not drinking.”

“Okay,” he nodded. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

“And I expect you to talk to me—give me the honest truth about why this happened. If I think you’re lying, I will call in to have you put on hold.”

“I’m not going to lie, Ken. I promise. I would just way rather talk to you, at my place, than spend the next seventy-two hours in some god-forsaken hospital ward, getting grilled and poked by some complete stranger.”

That was just like him.

Beyond that, though, Handa thought a step or two ahead of everyone. He might be worried the doctor would present conversion therapy as an option if he got even slightly into his head. I could all but hear it: if being in love with your partner is such a problem, let’s start by fixing that.

Maybe being in love with me was so painful, he’d resign himself to the torture…

Sighing, frustrated, I met his gaze again. “If I do this, you have to promise me you’ll go on your own and get help, Hideki. No more of this quietly self-destructive bullshit. No more lying about how everything is fine. Get some fucking help.”

“I don’t need that kind of help—”

“No,” I cut in, sharply. “I’m serious. Find a doctor who knows your dad is full of shit and start figuring this out. That’s one of my conditions for not going upstairs, right now, and telling the lieutenant about this.”

Handa held my gaze a few moments, testing my will, and then he nodded. “Okay, Ken. I will. I’ll get help.”

“Please don’t make me regret giving you your way.”

Slowly, he reached over and put his hand over mine, long enough for me to notice that it was cold and shaking; he held my gaze, sadly, but he didn’t have to say anything. I recognized the look for all its passion and longing.

“My friend helped me,” he murmured. “And I appreciate it.”

“Okay, Ki-kun.” I squeezed his wrist. “Don’t lay it on so thick. Just keep your promise.”

#writing #original character #original story #hurt/comfort #suicide #still polishing #Handa #Sugita #not going in the novel #so it's here

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thewildheroine · 6 years

Text

Fly Away |Twenty-Four|

Warnings: Panic/anxiety attack, mental break down, fainting

Word Count:

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

A/N: Really quickly I just want to apologize for the recent hiatus that lasted the entire summer.... I had just grown unmotivated and uninspired for a while but I’m glad to be back now! This is a shorter chapter since I haven’t written in a while. I hope you guys enjoy!🖤🖤🖤

|Masterlist|

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Peter and I remain on the ground for a moment, catching our breaths and doing our best to shrug off the mind gnawing cold that surrounded us in the portal. My legs and arms ache, my head pounds, and cuts I hadn’t even realized existed until now are dripping blood onto the polished oak below. I groan weakly, pushing myself off the ground with what little energy I still have in my being. To my left is Peter who has rolled over onto his back to try and alleviate some of the pain from going through the portal. Both of us are panting, the adrenaline that once filled our veins becoming a memory.

“Are you okay?” I ask. Peter opens his eyes for a moment only to close them the same second. His face scrunches up, making his eyelids disappear and turn into two thin lines of lashes to better block out the light.

At the mere sight of it, I can’t help the pleasant smile that touches my lips. The corners of my mouth are tugged up a centimeter as I watch Peter press both hands to his tightly shut eyes, seemingly thinking that will make the pain any more distant.

“I feel like someone put my brain in a blender,” he informs blatantly. A chuckle is pulled right past my lips and I nod. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Peter peeking through his fingers and lashes to catch a glimpse of me.

I grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “You’ll get used to it after a few years.” Peter releases my hand to try and massage away his headache.

“Magic?”

“Nope,” I reply while standing, Peter extending his hand toward so that I can help him.“The bullshit that comes with it.” No one ever gets used to magic. We now stand side by side, our eyes looking around curiously. I study the hall tables, covered in old relics that have gone unused for decades, axes and swords hanging from the walls, their bodies engraved with different spells to ensure their safety, and old intricately barred windows through which I can see stars.

“Where are we?” he wonders out loud. I shrug and take another look, twirling all the around this time to get the full picture Behind me is a plane wall that has been marked up with an intricate sigil. One that I barely remember reading in my books. To the right is a dim hallway, only lit with light bulbs that continuously flicker. At the end seems to be three separate doors that all lead to completely different places around the world. Finally, I look to my left and see the corridor leads to some sort of library.

Without saying a word, I start traveling down the hall. I listen to Peter’s faint footfalls behind me to make sure he’s following as I lead the way. As we get close to the room the hall becomes brighter and I can begin making out the finer details: bubbling wallpaper from decade-old water damage, scratches on the floor from dragged furniture, exposed wires sticking out of lamps, peeling paint on withered trim. All things that may have been ignored before I stepped in here.

Peter and I reach the large room and I look around even more, taking in all that I can. Natural light shines through the large, circular window adjacent to us, warming both mine and Peter’s aching bodies. I bask in the content it brings me for a moment. Deep in the back of my mind, I wish I could etch the memory of the sunlight into my skin permanently so that I can never forget it again.

Then Peter’s calling for me. His voice, a muffled shout as I wince and look up. I realize the ceiling has fallen away from me just as the floor quickly approached. My eyes blink hard and I feel the ground below, trying my best to remember how I got here.

“God,” Peter mumbles while grabbing both my wrists and lifting me up. “Are you okay? Y/N are you- did something happen? Can you get up.” I nod feebly in acknowledgment. Once I’ve been firmly placed back on my feet I exhale deeply and begin walking again.

I observe a quick path to a stairway just outside the room but before I can even turn Peter slides in front of me. “Woah, woah, woah, Y/N.” He places a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to guide me somewhere to rest but my feet remain stubbornly planted into the oak planks. “You just passed out. Maybe take a second.”

“No.” I shake my head. “The quicker we find other sorcerers the quicker we can save everyone. We gotta focus.” Peter’s hands slip from my arms unsurely before stopping to land over my head. He keeps it there to make sure he can at least catch me as a look of defeat passes over his face.

“Okay just-,” he begins, “just take it slow.” I smile and nod again.

We walk together this time. At least until we reach the balcony.

Looking at the foyer everything in me goes numb. My hand slips from Peter’s grasp and lands against my thigh. The air settles deep into my lungs, refusing to leave like an insolent child not wanting to leave their friend’s house.

I start ambling towards the staircase. Afraid that if I’m not anchored in any way I may begin floating upwards until I’m irretrievable, one foot is always firmly stuck to the floor. Then when I’m going down the stairs my hand is wrapped tightly around the banister. If I hold on any tighter my knuckles may split through the paling skin.

By the time I’ve reached the foyer my thoughts are racing at a mile a minute. This is the foyer of the New York Sanctum. That should be impossible though. I felt it go up in flames. I felt the mind warping heat burst across my cheeks as my consciousness was sent spiraling back into my panicking body. I felt Stephen burn.

I feel as though a hard punch has just knocked the air from my lungs. A struggled gasp crawls out of my contracted throat. Peter quickly runs to my side before I can pass out again.

My hands shake and my head throbs and my soul does both. I feel the flames lick at my cheeks, my stomach, my toes, my neck. I feel myself throw my body in front of my mentor. The way the air shrieks in protest is the only thing I can hear now. That and the last startled, fearful breath Stephen lets out before I’m tossed back into my reality.

Suddenly, I’m hyperventilating. I feel like I’m drowning. Like a boulder is tied to my chest and I’m sinking further and further, nearing closer to the dangers of guilt and anger and grief that lay on the seabed like boiling tar. Trying to calm myself I think of the sun. The warmth. The light. I feel it wrapping around my limbs, warming every inch of my skin and lifting me into the blue sky. But the warmth turns to fire too and I’m falling again. Falling and sinking and hyperventilating and thinking more than I ever have.

“Y/N!” a voice calls, but it’s not Peter’s. It’s a memory now. That’s all it possibly can be. A hurtfully palpable memory still so fresh in my mind. Everything is fresh as I near the bottom though. Everything is a raw recollection that I can’t bare.

The voice keeps calling though, sounding more and more real everytime. More haunting. It takes me a moment to realize I’m screaming. To feel all the air I’m pushing out of my mouth tear the skin of my trachea apart. His voice is persistent though, and soon enough it’s turned to all of their voices. They’ve become a chorus of my guilt. Some are nameless and some have too many names. All the things I’ve abandoned. Through the horror, I manage to wonder if my father hears me calling his name. Screaming at him like some unholy monster who wants to know why.

“Y/N,” his voice breaks through the chorus in my head. I slam my hands over my ears to block them out but they’re still there, persistent as guilt should be. “Y/N, I’m here,” his ghost tries. “I’m right- I’m right here! I’m here. Just stop screaming.”

I shake my head and tuck it between my knees. There faces race in front of me, slowly morphing into one hideous, demonic creature I tremble in front. Go away. I think to myself and hopefully to them. He’s still calling my name though, saying it like a mantra over and over and over again. Go Away. I try again. This time the voice in my head is stern. He doesn’t hear though. He’s just going and going and going going going going. GO AWAY.

But he’s there still. I feel his hands on my cheeks now. I feel the lines of scars pressing into my skin. So real. Too real. Go away. I plead lightly. “Y/N!” Go Away. “Open your eyes!”

“GO AWAY!” I scream. My eyes snap up, fire and rage stirring in them like a hurricane of destruction. I expect to be met with the face of the horrid demon, a living symbol of all the guilt I feel weighing down on my soul.

But I’m not.

I’m met with soft greens, peaceful blues, and a yellow as warm as the sun. I stare at them, completely stunned by the image in front of me for a whole minute. Then my focus floats to the dark hair with two perfect streaks of grey on each side of his head, the short trimmed goatee, and the faint scars drawn on his skin.

“Strange,” I whisper. My throat throbs and I can swear the taste of metallic is dripping onto my tongue. He smiles down at me softly. Almost to further affirm the fact that he is kneeling right in front of me he presses his fingertips into my cheeks.

“I’m here,” he sighs contently. Joy stirs up somewhere distant inside of me. Absolute relief. Stephen is alive. My mentor is okay. I can hear him. I can feel him. With that happiness, something else arrives too though. Rage. Pure, merciless, blood-boiling rage that makes me push away from him. Both him and Peter, who must have been asked to step away while Strange tried to help me, look up at my quaking figure worriedly.

I can feel my feel my heartbeat in my fingertips, my feet, and my head. My entire being is pulsating at an incomprehensible rate. Thunder erupts in my ears and it isn’t coming from outside.

“You.” I point accusingly at Stephen, who has opted to stand for the coming storm. “You goddamn fucking asshole,” I hiss. Before I have time to think or even understand what I’m doing I’m stomping towards him. Instead of turning tail and running Stephen waits for me patiently and it’s that that throws me over the edge. His calm. It’s everything I’m not and I hate him for it right now.

When I reach him my fist slam into his chest angrily. None of my moves are coordinated. I punch and slap and kick and scream. I scream for a reason. For some sort of explanation. Stephen doesn’t do as I command though. He just takes it. He takes every once of anger and dispels it into the air until there is no memory of it. As I keep going more and more of my frustrations leave and soon enough it’s all gone.

But it has been replaced with everything else; relief, fear, grief, joy, love, hatred, emptiness. Everything I felt the past week flows through me now. My fists unravel to allow my hands to coil themselves around Stephen’s thick tunic. In return, his arms curl around my trembling torso and start to coax away they short, heavy breaths that make my body tremor. I press my face into his chest, smearing snot and tears and maybe even blood while my legs go limp. Stephen still holds me though, not allowing me to fall into a heap on the ground.

“You were supposed to be there,” I sob, whimper, blame. “I-I believed you would be there Stephen. You promised you would. Why-Why weren’t you there? I needed you.” Stephen’s arms immediately tighten. I feel the bottom of his chin rest on my head, somehow bringing more comfort to me.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to me and I can feel his throat vibrate. “I’m so, so sorry.” But he doesn’t make any more promises.

____________

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed!!! Comment below or send me an ask if you would like to be tagged.🖤🖤🖤

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swordandcat · 6 years

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Three’s a Crowd but Nine’s a Party: Chapter 7

(AO3 Link)

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Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was plain, and uninspiring, and came from an uninteresting family. She didn’t have a father, and her mother was always busy with work, leaving the girl to her own devices. Despite her tremendous bad luck, there was nothing that others would find interesting in her. No talents, no intrigue, no engagement. She was left alone.

Isolated, and continually plagued by misfortune, she wondered what made her different from the other girls in school. Why were they happy, and why was she not? Why did their parents pick them up, and why did hers not?

She read a lot. Stories, myths, legends. She eventually came to a startling conclusion: she must not be like most people. Surely, she was treated differently because she herself was different.

In her childish desperation to find meaning out of the emptiness in her life, she filled that emptiness with delusions of grandeur. She believed she was an angel, struck from Heaven and descended to Hell. Her misfortune? A curse from God. Her loneliness? Penance for her existence.

Life moved on swiftly with this new discovery. For a time, it filled her heart. Her own imagination was enough to keep her moving, facing forward.

Then the little girl grew up. And her delusions weren’t as well received as they were in her early childhood. It was harmless at first. Teasing, joking, light ribbing. Her delusions made her the center of attention. It was almost fulfilling.

Then teasing turned to pranks, escalating in severity. The jokes were no longer harmless, made at the girl’s expense. Things went missing, diligently done work stolen and copied, or defaced. She was cornered during breaks and lunch, pushed around like a rag doll.

For a time, the girl bore it with patience. Her mother was still busy, all the time. She didn’t want to distract her from her work. She didn’t want to cause problems. If staying silent could keep things quiet, then she would be silent.

She thought, perhaps, it would end eventually. But it kept going. And it kept getting worse. Things of real value were taken from her. Jewellery, money. Public humiliation. The girl’s thoughts got darker, and darker, her delusions driving her into a corner. More than once, she contemplated ending it all, embracing sweet release.

But before she was driven to that, a light shone upon her.

She remembered the moment vividly still. It was in the wake of another merciless round of humiliation. The girl was curled up in a corner, out of sight, hoping she would just disappear.

That’s when she appeared.

“Are you okay?” An angel. A real one, not make-believe like the girl. She reached out with a hand of salvation, and for a moment the girl was so shaken she didn’t even know to take it.

“I’m new around here. Can you show me around?”

Like a drowning soul to driftwood, the girl grasped onto the hand, allowing herself to be saved.

Things got better. No longer alone, the girl was at last happy. The angel did not mind her delusions, delighted in them, even. She humoured the girl’s imagination, gladly going along with her daydreams. It was like a dream come true for the girl. She sought validation from her new friend, proof that her life was worth value. She confided in her as well, her fears, her weaknesses, the darkness in her heart. The angel took them in stride, soothing the wounds in the girl’s soul, showering her in love and affection.

They grew close.

Even the bullying stopped. It was like a miracle. Everything was good.

But it was not to last. Her misfortune reared its ugly head. Signs of unrest began to surface.

“Mana.”

The girl sat with the angel, staring out to sea. Their hands were intertwined, a physical manifestation of their connected hearts.

The angel tilted her head, looking at the girl with a gentle smile. “What is it, Yohane?”

“I saw the she-devils talking to you the other day,” the girl said carefully. She looked at the angel. “Were they bothering you?”

The angel shook her head. “I’m fine, Yohane. They just wanted something from me.”

The girl stared into the angel’s eyes, and she trusted her. She nodded, letting the topic go.

But she spotted more things as time went on. The angel was as radiant as ever, but she seemed less lively. Tired. Sometimes when she smiled at the girl, it wouldn’t quite reach her eyes.

Then one day, she was gone. The girl had only known after the fact that she was hospitalized for severe depression and anxiety. The angel had shouldered the girl’s burden, taking the torture that was intended for the girl onto herself. And even one as radiant as the angel could only take so much. She broke, refusing to see anyone, not even the girl.

The others blamed the girl.

The girl blamed herself as well.

She was cursed. To hurt herself. To hurt anyone around her. She shut herself away, putting on a stoic front. Emotionless, and unassailable. As for the delusions that caused this, she locked them away, knowing that it was exactly those that made her and the angel a target. Even if she was nothing without the delusions, even if she was just an empty shell, at least no one would get hurt.

And never again would the girl allow someone to be hurt because of her.

* * * * *

Yoshiko laughed as she finished her story, her voice hollow and bitter.

“So I distanced myself from the world. I’m not going to let it happen again, not to anyone,” She took a deep breath. “Especially not to you.”

“Yoshiko…” Yo’s voice cracked. “I never knew…”

“I’m not… proud of what I did.” Yoshiko looked away. “I relied on her. Too much. I could have— Should have— seen what was happening. But I let my happiness blind me. Because I was too selfish and cowardly to fight my own fights.”

She bit her lip, feeling a wet heat in her eyes. No - don’t cry, not now, goddamn it.

But no matter how hard she fought it, the dark memories dredged up long forgotten emotions, ones she’s tried to lock away for her whole life. Tears rolled unbidden down her cheeks, and she broke down, the mental walls she built up crumbling as she felt, as vividly as ever, the crushing guilt and regret that had haunted her for her entire life.

She turned to the only person she could - Yo, sitting next to her - and clung onto her for dear life, using Yo as an anchor to avoid being washed away by her emotions altogether.

Momentarily caught off guard, Yo quickly regained her composure and put her arms comfortingly around Yoshiko, gently patting her on the back. “It’s okay,” Yo said soothingly. “Let it all out.”

As Yoshiko continued to wail and sob into her shoulder, Yo said quietly, “I’m not going to pretend to understand how you feel. You’ve been through so much more than I have… You’re so much stronger than I am.”

Yoshiko shook her head, somewhat petulantly, like a frustrated child. “I- I’m not… I’m a coward…”

“A coward wouldn’t throw herself under the bus, again and again, just to protect her friends,” Yo said patiently, but firmly. “You’re brave, Yoshiko.”

She looked away briefly, adding under her breath, “Braver than I ever will be.”

Yoshiko didn’t seem to catch that, just continuing to cry, exhausting her bottled up negative emotions in the process. Yo simply allowed her to do so, rocking her gently from side to side and tenderly stroking her along her back. Minutes of this passed, as Yoshiko let out years’ worth of distress and insecurities.

“But you know…” Yo murmured quietly. “You don’t have to bear it alone anymore. You have friends. People who care for you.”

She licked her lips, trying to think of a way to vocalize what she was feeling. “This Mana... she took it all onto herself. Your pain and hers. We don’t have to do that. I’m not going to take responsibility for all of your problems, and I’m not going to ask you to bear all of mine, either. But there are things that we can share. Weights that we can carry together. Aoki, for example. Pressure from our peers. That’s not something that we should shoulder individually. That would break anyone.”

She paused for a moment, seeing if her words were having any effect. Yoshiko seemed to have calmed down a little, though she was still sniffling and hiccupping. “And it’s not just me. There’s Ruby, and Hanamaru. Hell, even Chika and Riko. We’re all in this together. There’s no need for you to be alone, when you’re surrounded by people willing to support you.”

Yoshiko took a shuddering breath, and pulled back a little so Yo could see her weak smile. “Thank you,” she said hoarsely, wiping the trickle of tears off her cheeks.

“It’s the least I can do,” Yo said. “Given how I’ve… not been the best to you recently.”

Yoshiko shook her head, but Yo put a hand up to silence her objections for the moment. “Just… as I’ve said. I’ve kept you hanging ever since we had the talk. I haven’t really done anything to move forward either, so…”

She took a deep breath, and with newfound determination she stared into Yoshiko’s eyes. “I’m going to confess to Chika. She’s going to turn me down properly. Completely break my heart. Then I can move on and give you the attention you deserve. I can finally be the girlfriend that you’ve waited so long for.”

Yoshiko’s eyes teared up again, but this time not from her repressed memories, but from long overdue joy. Smiling tearily, she cleared her throat and leaned in close, her breath tickling Yo’s face. It was obvious what she was aiming for, but she still paused with an inch between them, and asked breathily, “Can I?”

Rather than answering, Yo leaned forward and closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. It was clumsy and impromptu, and Yo felt like it would have been much better under more romantic circumstances, but it was still a magical experience. The last time they kissed was when Chika broke Yo’s heart by going out with Riko. Yoshiko had kissed her to prove a point.

This time, they wanted it. Both of them. It was like a spark passed between them, drawing them close, a magnetic force binding them together and urging them to push for more and more. Needy hands wandered each other’s bodies, pulling them close, tangling in hair and sneaking under clothes. They were breathless, but energized; emotionally exhausted yet jubilant.

Yoshiko was smiling from ear to ear, and Yo had a lopsided grin on her face. Both were breathing heavily, and being so close together they could feel the rise and fall of each other’s chests, and their beating hearts beneath. “That escalated quickly,” Yoshiko murmured breathlessly.

“It could escalate more,” Yo blurted out, not even sure if she was ready for what that implied but still desperately wanting more.

Yoshiko’s cheeks, already flushed, grew a darker shade of red. But instead of going further, she pushed gently against Yo and cleared her that. “That’s very tempting,” Yoshiko said, shyly tracing a pattern onto the bed sheets. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

She licked her lips nervously. “I’m… not sure if I’m ready for it.”

Yo breathed in, clearing her head of the manic desire that had temporarily overtaken her in the moment of exhilaration. “Right. No, you’re right, of course. I just— I got caught up in the moment.”

Yoshiko nodded, understanding what Yo meant completely. She’d been waiting for this moment for so long. Ever since that first kiss. Yoshiko felt like she was getting drunk off of the affection Yo was showering her with.

But now that they were this close, old fears flared up again. It would be so easy for either of them to get hurt. One misstep and everything could have been for nothing.

For however much Yoshiko craved intimacy, she was just as afraid of actually getting it.

“I need to get used to… thinking about myself,” Yoshiko said quietly. “And what you said as well. It’ll take a long time for me to get back to being normal.”

“You don’t have to be ‘normal’, Yoshiko. You’re you,” Yo said.

Yoshiko shook her head. “You’ve been helping me see my flaws since the first time we’ve met. I didn’t learn my lesson the first time around. I… want to be normal. I want to be better.”

“Until I am, I don’t know if I will ever be ready.” Yoshiko looked down. “I’m sorry if you wanted more.”

Yo shook her head. “It’s only fair that it’s my turn to wait. Besides, I have my own problems to sort out. I… don’t know if I’m ready either.”

Sitting a little straighter, she took both of Yoshiko’s hands into her own. “But we can work through them together. Your change. My problems.”

“Together,” Yoshiko breathed, looking down and smiling. “This sounds ridiculous and cheesy and dumb, you know that?”

“Yes, but,” Yo leaned forward, pecking Yoshiko on the lips. “I’m cheesy, and ridiculous, and dumb. You’ll have to get used to it.”

Yoshiko rolled her eyes, giggling with uncharacteristic glee. “Thanks, Yo. Today just went from the worst to the best.”

“You’d think seeing Aoki get punched would make it best by default,” Yo smirked.

Yoshiko considered that for a moment. “Even bester,” She decided, flashing Yo a wonderfully wide smile. But then she thought a little more, and her expression grew a little more serious.

“But just to be completely realistic, I’m a lot to handle.” Yoshiko began, “I’m not very good at talking. I can be temperamental.”

“That’s okay,” Yo said softly. “No one’s perfect.”

“Are you really okay with someone like me?” Yoshiko asked, her voice small.

“That’s a silly question,” Yo said. “I’m okay because you’re the way you are.”

* * * * *

In the end, Yoshiko had ended up staying the night. Her mom was fine with it, and Yo’s mother seemed all for it as well. At first Yo’s mom was concerned about Yo’s suspension, but after a quick defense from Yoshiko, she even offered to talk to the school to lift the punishment.

They went to bed early that night, the events of the day taking their toll on their exhaustion. They slept together, cuddled up under the sheets. Yoshiko fell asleep quickly, all the crying having tired her out completely, but Yo stayed awake for a while, content to just hold Yoshiko and enjoy her presence, though she eventually drifted off to sleep as well.

In the morning, Yoshiko woke up in a tangle of limbs next to Yo. For a moment she panicked, wondering why she was in bed with Yo, until she remembered what had transpired yesterday.

She lay there, for a moment overcome with conflicting emotions.

She couldn’t believe that this was actually happening. Despite all of her missteps, despite her messing up again and again and misinterpreting what to do, Yo was still willing to accept her. Even after hearing her story, knowing what she’s done to Mana, she didn’t turn her back on Yoshiko.

She pinched herself, to make sure she hadn’t just retreated so far into her mind that she was hallucinating.

No, this was real.

She had to resist the urge to squeal out loud. All this time, she had fully expected Yo to change her mind and decide she didn’t like Yoshiko all along. But she didn’t.

It sucked that her laptop was broken, sure, but that hardly put a dent in Yoshiko’s newfound happiness. Despite being terrified to death that she’d let Yo down again, messing up somehow and ruining their relationship, Yoshiko was feeling optimistic for the first time in weeks.

She carefully freed at least her upper body, turning to look out of the window. The sky was bright, the sun well up into its daily arc. Yo was suspended, and she herself was given time off due to the circumstances, so neither of them was required to go to class.

The clock read about 9AM. She didn’t want to wake Yo, but it was necessary to free her legs from beneath the girl. She pushed Yo gently, shaking her by the shoulders. Yo mumbled something incoherent, and opened her eyes blearily.

“I had the weirdest dream that we actually managed to kiss,” she said, still only half-awake.

“We did manage to kiss,” Yoshiko informed her.

“Oh.” Yo said, taking a moment to absorb that information. “Cool.”

Her cheeks turned red, but she took the news in stride as she glanced at Yoshiko, “Does that mean we’re dating now? I don’t think we established that.”

“Well, everyone at school thinks we are now,” Yoshiko shrugged, feigning disinterest. “Might as well, right?”

“I feel like that’s a really arbitrary way of deciding if we’re dating or not,” Yo said, but nevertheless she smiled and snuggled closer to Yoshiko. “I mean, not that I mind.”

Yoshiko’s cheeks flushed, a warm fuzzy sensation spreading throughout her body just at Yo’s proximity.

It was strange.

In spite of everything, all of her worries and her doubts about whether or not this was the right course of action, and wondering if Yo would get hurt because of her... now that Yoshiko was actually there, with Yo right beside her, those concerns seemed utterly insignificant.

She still felt them, just as acutely as ever, but being with Yo just seemed… right.

The last time she felt like this, she was with Mana.

Yoshiko shook her head as doubt crept back at the recollection of her. It was going to be different this time.

“Hey,” She spoke up abruptly, trying to distract herself. “Do you have plans for today?”

“Well, I want to talk to Riko later,” Yo said. “About… y’know. I don’t want her to think I’m actually trying to take Chika away.”

“It’s not like you could. From what little I’ve seen those two are stupid in love…” Yoshiko mused.

She wondered if things could have gone better between her and Yo if they had just been more honest with each other, like Chika and Riko seemed to be.

“It almost makes you jealous, doesn’t it?” Yo said, causing Yoshiko to look up in surprise. Was Yo thinking the same thing as her?

“They seem so… functional,” Yo tilted her head, smiling self-deprecatingly. “I wonder how they do it.”

“I’m sure we could be functional too, given time,” Yoshiko said quietly.

“You think so?” Yo looked down at her hands. “It took me this long to be able to come to terms with my own feelings.”

“One can hope, anyway,” Yoshiko mumbled, before she sat up, and got off the bed, stretching languidly. “Can we get breakfast now? I’m hungry.”

Yo smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. Let’s look at what we’ve got downstairs.”

* * * * *

Riko sighed. Despite by and large being quite good at studying, she found herself unable to focus on the lesson, the teacher’s rambling about the Edo period going way over her head. She spun the pen in her hand, clicked it twice, spun it again.

“Riko,”

She sighed again, and looked out of the window. Yo didn’t come to school. She heard the news about her being suspended, but it was still a bit of a shock to come to school and find her desk empty.

“Riko—”

She picked up the pen, and doodled a treble clef onto the corner of her notebook. She felt bad for Yo. She was just standing up for the girl she liked, she shouldn’t be punished for that. Sure, she punched someone, but it was righteous self-defense, right?

“Riko!”

Chika jabbed Riko right between the shoulder blades, causing her to squeak out in surprise. “Whuh- What?” She looked around. The whole class was looking at her. Riko whimpered, her cheeks turning bright red.

“Ms. Sakurauchi… please pay attention in class,” her teacher said, mildly annoyed. “Now, can anyone tell me when the Edo period was officially ended…”

Riko breathed out, slumping forward slightly and trying not to draw any more attention to herself.

“Hey, Riko,” Chika whispered, leaning forward. "What’s up? It’s not like you to get so easily distracted.”

“It’s nothing… just worried about Yo.”

Riko breathed out. “The rumour that she and Tsushima are dating has spread. Not all of it is good, too. I heard some girls saying that she’s picked Tsushima just to make herself look better.”

“We know that’s not true, though,” Chika said. “Isn’t that the important thing? Yo’s not the kind of person who would mind, either.”

“But still,” Riko murmured. “It feels like we should do something about it.”

Chika shrugged, and turned to focus back onto the lesson. “I’ve tried before. People will say what they want to say,” She said. “We should wait until she gets back before trying anything.”

Disappointed, but acknowledging Chika’s point, Riko sighed and focused back on the lesson as well.

Eventually the bell for the end of school rang, and Riko breathed a sigh of relief as she stretched her arms out after a long day of taking notes.

“Hey~” Chika sidled up behind her, draping her arms over Riko’s shoulders and pulling her in a loose hug. “You’re gonna go to the music room again?”

Riko nodded. “I want to submit a composition for an upcoming contest,” she said. “You don’t have to wait for me, I’ll probably be a while.”

Chika pouted, but nodded and gave Riko a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. “We playing tonight?”

“I’ll login if I can,” Riko promised, waving her off as Chika left the classroom.

She sighed, touching a hand to the spot where Chika kissed. A year ago, she couldn’t even imagine being this physically close to someone. Now she couldn’t imagine a life - at least in the near future - without Chika.

As she started to head over to the music room, her phone buzzed.

<Yo>

Hey

Are you busy?

Riko tilted her head at the text.

<Riko>

Not really

Did you need something?

<Yo>

Actually yeah

I kinda want to talk

In person

Its pretty important

Riko raised an eyebrow at the message. It didn’t seem like Yo to arbitrarily exaggerate something, so it probably was important.

<Riko>

Can it wait?

I’m at school right now, but I can meet you somewhere

<Yo>

Uhh

Can I meet you at your place?

I might need to swing by Chika’s afterwards as well anyway

<Riko>

Sure.

I’ll go home and wait for you?

<Yo>

Yeah, okay.

Thanks.

Strange. Even through text, Yo seemed tense. Normally she’d be more casual. Breathing out somewhat uneasily, Riko put away her sheet music - she could compose another day - and prepared to head home.

* * * * *

Yo fiddled with the hem of her shirt nervously as she and Yoshiko stood outside Riko’s house.

“What if she hates me?” Yo said suddenly.

Yoshiko shook her head, holding Yo’s hand. “You’ll be fine,” she said consolingly. “Riko won’t hate you.”

“What if she hates me and she tells Chika and Chika never talks to me again?”

“Yo.” Yoshiko stared flatly at her. Yo stared back, and sighed after a few moments.

“…Right, you’re right. I’m just being dumb,” Yo said meekly.

“I thought I’m supposed to be the pessimist,” Yoshiko said jokingly. She sighed, and squeezed Yo’s hand. “Look. If you’re not ready for this, you don’t have to do this.”

“No, I do.” Yo said, her voice firm despite her nervousness. “I… I need this. For closure, if nothing else.”

“Just say what you need to say,” Yoshiko said. “You said we’ll start sharing burdens. I’ll be there to support you.”

“Yoshiko…” Yo smiled, and took a deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

She stepped forward, and pressed the doorbell. A few nerve-wracking moments later, the door opened, with Riko standing behind it in the doorway.

“Hey, Yo,” Riko said, smiling at Yo, then noticing Yoshiko and nodding at her as well. Her gaze did wander over their held hands, but she didn’t comment on it. “Yoshiko.”

“Can we come in?” Yo asked nervously.

“Oh, of course! Would you like to go to my room? It’s a little cramped and messy, but at least Mom won’t walk in on us,” Riko said, leading them inside and upstairs.

In spite of her claims, Riko’s room was neither cramped or messy. Books were neatly shelved away. The bed was tidily done, and the piano was pristine, a protective cover draped delicately over it. Riko gestured towards the bed and seats. “You can sit wherever. Do you want anything to drink? Tea?”

“It’s… fine,” Yo said, sitting down on the edge of Riko’s bed. Yoshiko sat down next to her. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Well, alright,” Riko murmured, sitting down on the piano bench and looking towards Yo. “So, what’s this about having to talk? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is… fine. Nothing is wrong, if that’s what you’re worried about, it’s just…” Yo took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about… Chika. I want your permission to do something.”

“Chika?” Riko frowned, confused. “Permission to do what?”

“I— well,” Yo cleared her throat. “I’ve… well. For the longest time, I’ve had a… a crush on Chika. Even up until recently, I’ve had lingering feelings for her. Even when you two are together, and happy.”

Riko nodded slowly. She glanced at Yoshiko, then back at Yo, gesturing for her to continue.

“I don’t— I don’t want you to think I’m trying to take Chika away from you. Because I’m not. I just,” Yo took a deep breath. “I want to give Yoshiko the attention she deserves. And I don’t feel like I can do that if I’m still thinking about Chika, even if just a little bit.”

“I want to confess to Chika. And I want her to reject me. I think that will give me the closure I need to move on,” Yo said. “I wanted you to know that I’m planning to do this.”

Riko’s expression was unreadable for a moment. She breathed out slowly, nodding slightly. “Okay. I… appreciate you telling me this. I might have misunderstood something if you didn’t.”

She glanced out the window for a moment, over the balcony and at Chika’s room. She then turned back to look at Yo, and smiled at her. “I’m not going to get mad, if that’s what you’re worried about. Really, I’m grateful you trust me with this. And… I trust you too. If you think this is something you need to do, then you should do it.”

She chuckled, playing with a strand of her hair bashfully as she continued, “Actually, Chika and I were kind of worried. You seemed a little out of it lately. I’m glad you’re trying to get to a better place. And,” She grinned at both Yo and Yoshiko. “Congratulations on finally getting together. Took you long enough.”

Yo blushed, as did Yoshiko. “Riko!” Yo whined. “You’re supposed to be the nice one. Is Chika infecting you?”

“Well, it’s your fault for taking so long to do it.” Riko shrugged. She stood up, and gave her a small smile. “So, are you going to do it today?”

“As soon as possible,” Yo said, trying hard not to grimace. “It’s going to hurt, but… I’ll be better for it.”

“Then you can do it right here,” Riko said. Walking over to the balcony, she leaned slightly over the edge and shouted, “Chika! Are you there?”

There was the thumping of feet, and Chika threw the window open, leaning out as well. “Riko! I thought you were staying at school?”

“Change in plans,” Riko said. “Hey - guess who’s here with me?”

Chika frowned, tilting her head. “You have a guest?”

“Yup!” Riko turned around, beckoning for Yo to come forward. “Actually, she has something to say to you.”

Yo swallowed, the fluttering in her stomach getting worse by the moment. As though sensing her nervousness, Yoshiko gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You can do it,” she said quietly.

“…Thanks,” Yo said.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward onto the balcony.

Riko smiled and retreated, gesturing for Yoshiko as well. “Let’s give them some space,” She whispered.

Yoshiko nodded, and the two of them stepped out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Now alone in the room, Yo took another steadying breath and gave Chika a shaky smile.

“Hey, Chika,” She said. She put a hand on her heart, trying to still her heartbeat. “Can we talk?”

#world of oasis #aleneshazam #fanfic #fanfic update #YouHane #YouYoshi

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